Whetting the Appetite for Adventure

RIDING WHITE WATER KAYAKERS AND RAFTERS TAKE ON THE RUSHING VERDE RIVER

“So what do you do if that little thing tips over?” the man in the raft asked me. Unable to resist a chance to show off, I flipped my kayak over, then rolled up sputtering, “Wow, that is cold!” In the second my head was under, I was chillingly reminded that this water had recently been snow. Now the winter's high-country accumulation was melting and swelling Arizona's rivers. Big water was the reason we were there, to celebrate the annual rebirth of the white-water Verde River.

I paddled my kayak upstream along the bank, past five large rafts moored there. Each inflatable was occupied by a guide and several passengers. Some of them looked a little worried, not sure what to expect. But others were grinning, knowing they were in for a great adventure.

These people were going on a Verde River natural history excursion sponsored by Prescott's Sharlot Hall Museum. They would raft the 18-mile “scenic” portion of the federally designated “wild and scenic” Verde River. My friend Clark Kotula and I were along as kayaking safety boaters; if a raft flipped or someone fell overboard, we would tow the swimmers to shore. I would have been there on the Verde anyway, taking advantage of its brief abundance of water, but I always enjoy riding herd on the museum's annual raft trips, sharing the thrills and beauty of my favorite Arizona river.

One by one, the rafts swung out into the Verde's current. Paddle “crews,” each captained by a guide, lined the sides of three of these. Rigged as “oar boats,” the other rafts were each rowed by a guide using 10-foot oars. Being part of a paddle crew may be more adventurous, but oar boat passengers can devote their full attention to the trip's scenery and wildlife.

Early that morning, our expedition had unloaded at the Beasley Flat Recreation Area of the Prescott National Forest. Typical of that time of year, several raft-ing groups shared the put-in. Rafts and smaller “duckies” were in all stages of inflation with mountains of gear stacked nearby. Multicolored plastic kayaks lay in rows along the riverbank, while their owners pulled on neoprene and waterproof nylon garments.

Some of these expeditions would go all the way to Horseshoe Dam, 60 miles and three or four days below. Our group would do only the first 18 miles, the white-water day-run from Beasley Flat to Childs. In that stretch, lie the Verde Falls and several other rapids potent enough to have earned names. At lower flows, this is a fine run for experienced open canoeists. But in the high cold water of early spring, it is the playground of rafters and kayakers. By white-water standards, it ranks as easy-tomoderate, having only one rapid rating above Class III. On a difficulty scale of I (ripples) to VI (suicide), Class III offers great fun without unreasonable danger.

Besides its fine white water, this part of the Verde has much to recommend it. Passing through portions of three national forests, it offers mural-like distant vistas of the Verde rim and Pine Mountain Wilderness. There, too, the river leaves behind such human interference as dams and irrigation ditches to run as it did in 1864 when the first white settlers arrived. And the wildlife is abundant: Bald eagles circle their nests, river otters frolic like house cats and countless waterfowl fly ahead of the boats.

We floated down the relatively calm mile and a half below Beasley Flat. Then it was time for Off the Wall, the first named rapid of the day and a fine warm-up. Kotula and I went first, as we would all day. We stationed ourselves in some backwater eddies along the [OPPOSITE PAGE] After plunging through the first rapids, rafters regroup on the rocky bank of the Verde, a spot overrun with spring high water.

[LEFT] A group of rafters, clothed against the bitterly cold spray, forges through Palisades Rapid.

banks and waved as the rafts bounced and splashed past us down the drops. Near the bottom of Off the Wall awaited a standing wave, river-wide, while Kotula and I took turns riding its trough like surfers in the ocean. We were both using “play boats,” short plastic kayaks designed for performing aquatic acrobatics. In one popular stunt, the boat's flat stern is wedged into a strong current and the kayak does a vertical tail-stand. Of course, this often leads to flopping over face down into the water and rolling back up. Such maneuvers are made possible by the kayaker's peculiar neoprene spray skirt. Sealing paddler to boat, spray skirts keep the kayak from filling with water.

Besides my spray skirt, I wore a Goretex drytop over a fleece sweater, neoprene shorts and the mandatory life jacket and helmet. I prefer to paddle bare-handed for a sure grip on the paddle shaft. But I had brought along “pogies,” neoprene mittens, for when my hands began to ache and stiffen. Without this specialized gear, kayaking would be uncomfortable, if not impossible, in the icy water of early spring.

A few bends past Off the Wall, the rafts floated over to the rocky left bank, and we slid our kayaks between them. A faint path led downstream toward the feature attraction of the day, the Class IV Verde Falls, where the river encounters a hard basalt dike blocking its path, sending an avalanche of foaming dark water over the jagged edge of the rapids. Beneath its drop, unlucky paddlers and their boats can be churned like laundry in a giant's washing machine.

It's great fun for boaters with the skills to run it, but dangerous for novices or the unwary. Unless you are sure of your abilities, carry your boat around Verde Falls. Like everyone who runs it, we scouted the falls to plan an itinerary through the obstacle course of boulders and powerful currents. I decided to run left, the steeper route; our rafts would drop down the more gradual right. Squatting low on the bank, I memorized the approach from river level, as you'd see it from a kayak.

Again Kotula and I would go first, waiting below as safety for the rafts. As I walked back upstream, I felt a familiar twitch in my stomach, an adrenaline-inspired mixture of pleasure and fear. A kayaker's maxim says that too much fear is paralyzing, but a little fear above a big rapid is great fun.

Returning to my kayak, I squeezed into the tight cockpit, fastened the spray skirt, gulped a few deep breaths and shoved into the current. Above the falls, I had to negotiate two smaller drops called the Prefalls. An accident in the Prefalls could wash you over the Verde Falls. In the 1980s, a couple capsized their small raft in the Prefalls and swam over the falls. The woman was evacuated by helicopter with a badly broken thigh bone. Approaching the edge of the falls, I aimed to the right of the black boulder I had chosen as my launching point. On the lip, I paddled hard and leaned back to land flat, safely beyond the nasty recirculating currents.

I pulled into an eddy just below Verde Falls to wait for Kotula and the rafts. As usual, Kotula made a classy run and joined me in the backwater. Both of us were grinning like lottery winners. One by one, the rafts ran the drop safely, passengers silently waving their paddles in triumph. That morning we had cautioned them not to yell at the falls because of nesting bald eagles.

From December 1 to June 15, land access to Verde Falls and for 2 miles downstream is prohibited. Signs mark the boundaries of the eagle area, and the nests are monitored by the Arizona Department of Game and Fish. River runners may come ashore only to scout or portage the falls. In 1998, three eaglets fledged there, among 21 such babies raised throughout Arizona.

The Verde is also river otter territory. You can't predict where these beautiful creatures will appear. Once, as I helped to free a raft pinned against the huge rock below Verde Falls, an otter joined the rescue effort. It circled the trapped inflatable, poking its nose up into the air. I swear the animal was making faces at us. Past the sign marking the end of the eagle nesting area, we pulledto shore above Palisades Rapid for lunch.

At home that night, I roused my tired body to check the day's water levels on the Inter-net. The Verde had peaked at more than 4,500 cubic feet per second (cfs). For perspective, the Verde drops in summer to 50 cfs. It is navigable by kayak above 500 cfs, but rafters find it too low until twice that. Flows up to 5,000 cfs are fun for all but novices. Beyond that, it's "Paddler beware!" Familiar rapids disappear, hydraulics lurk behind every boulder and the danger of being pushed into "strainers," flooded and drowned trees, increases.

People ask me why anyone would choose to run Arizona's rivers, which peak only when the mountain snows melt. I can only echo the water rat's reply to the mole in Kenneth Grahame's 1908 Wind in the Willows: "There is nothing-absolutely nothing-half so much worth doing as simply messing about in boats or with boats . . . in or out of 'em, it doesn't matter." AH When he isn't paddling white water or racing sea kayaks, Norm Tessman works as senior curator at Sharlot Hall Museum in Prescott. Peter Noebels of Tucson says so much of understanding Arizona is knowing its river systems.

High on the bank stand fragments of a mobile home, artifacts of floods in 1993. Across the river, gnarled cliffs tell of repeated volcanic events. Bands of basalt alternate with baked reddish ash; caves and crevices pock lighter-colored layers. At most flows, Palisades offers kayakers an excellent surfing wave and play spot.

In the early afternoon, we reached Punk Rock, about 7 miles below put-in, where the river drops away steeply into a spectacular green vista. Second only to Verde Falls, this is the river's most notorious rapid. Water piles against huge boulders on the right side of a sharp left turn, threatening anyone who fails to move strongly to river left. As we watched, an oar boat ventured too far right, but was pushed safely over the boulders by the high water. One passenger washed out and I ferried him to shore, where a guide offered a dry sweater to the shaking man.

Brown Springs Ranch, just downriver from Punk Rock, is private land surrounded by national forest, and one of the prettiest places anyone could live. Up the right bank is Gap Creek Trail, which provides the only river access between Beasley and Childs. A half-mile up Gap Creek is the dirt road leading back to Beasley Flat.

The day passed all too quickly. After rapids named Bushman, White Flash and Good Ride, we saw power lines marking the road LOCATION: About 70 miles northwest of Phoenix. GETTING THERE: Drive 11 miles south of Camp Verde on Salt Mine Road (Forest Service Road 574) to Beasley Flat Recreation Area. River access via Gap Creek Trail is 9 miles farther down the same road. Childs is reached by the Childs-Fossil Creek Road (FR 708), which branches off State Route 260 about 7 miles east of Camp Verde. This road may be difficult in wet weather.WARNING: Do not paddle the Verde or any white water without instruction and the company of someone who knows the rapids. Wear specialized clothing - hypothermia in cold water is deadly - and a life jacket. Kayakers must wear helmets. Portage any rapid that looks beyond your skills. Respect private property at Brown Springs Ranch and at Childs.

TRAVEL ADVISORY: Anyone going down the Verde River must have a prearranged shuttle waiting at Childs.

ADDITIONAL INFORMATION: For a schedule of Sharlot Hall Museum's trips, call (928) 445-3122.

"Hospital food is really just airline meals that didn't make the grade." * HEAT STROKES BY GARY BENNETT EARLY-DAY ARIZONA

"If I ever used any unkind words, Hannah," said Mr. Smiley, "I take them all back." "Yes, I suppose you want to use them all over again," was the not very soothing reply.

Unusual Perspective

By Linda Perret Arizona boasts 475 native species of birds; 476 if you count snowbirds.

COURSE IT'S A COURSE

A visitor to Quartzsite was amazed to see a golf course with no grass - so he asked an old-timer, "How do you manage to play on it?"

"The same way you do any place else," the local man said as he swung his driver. Then he added, "All you've got to remember is that it's a course of a different color."

COLD ENOUGH

Since my grandfather moved to Arizona nearly 20 years ago, he has become exceedingly fond of the state and its warm summers. He is hardly content with the weather unless it's well above 100 degrees.

Recently he visited his only son, who lives in the state of Washington. Although he enjoyed the time he spent with family, he was relieved to return to Arizona and get away from cold and rainy days.When the plane landed in Phoenix, My grandfather was one of the first passengers to stand up and walk toward the exit. A flight attendant stood by the exit and thanked people for flying the airline. She smiled at the leather jacket my grandfather still had wrapped tightly around himself and said in a patronizing voice, "Oh sir, you won't be needing that today. Even though it's only May, it's already 95 outside."

My grandfather eyed her doubtfully and replied, "If I'd have known we were having a cold spell, I would have brought a warmer coat."

RARE BIRD

As a greeter at Ramsey Canyon Preserve in southern Arizona, I get to talk to many well-informed ecotourists, people who know about the birds and animals of the area. Then again, there are some who aren't so well informed. My favorite was the lady who arrived, a bird book and binoculars in hand, and asked, "What time of year does that extinct bird show up?"

THE RIGHT SENTIMENT

My wife and I arrived for a visit with our son only a few days before his birthday. We remembered his birthday present, but forgot the birthday card, so my wife made a special trip to a local card shop. As she was looking through the birthday cards, a small boy, about 5 years old, stopped by my wife and started grabbing cards, opening and closing them, and putting them back in the wrong places on the shelf.

"Whoa, little guy," my wife said. "What are you doing? You're going to make the store manager mad at you."

"I'm looking for the kind of card my grandma sends me," he replied. "What kind is that?" she asked. "You know, the kind with the money in it."

ATTENTION DEFICIT

After filling up my car at a Tempe gas station, I was grumbling to the cashier about the rising gasoline prices. The clerk told me, "No one bothered to check the oil supply. We didn't know we were getting low, and the reason for that is geographical. Most of the oil is in Texas and Oklahoma, and all the dipsticks are in Washington, D.C."

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The Petrified Forest is a bunch of logs that were covered by silt and mud for thousands of years. They call that a national landmark. I have a few dust bunnies under my bed for a couple of months, and I'm a lousy housekeeper.

This month's topic is the Petrified Forest. Send us your Petrified Forest jokes, and we will pay you $50 for each one we use.