Camp #4--"Little Shot Canyon"

MONDAY, APRIL 13, 2009

After stopping at Jasper Canyon, we paddled another 6 miles, enjoying the sights and eating our tuna sandwiches. At about 3:30 pm, we were looking for a place to camp, and a high sand bank just past Shot Canyon seemed to be the perfect spot. But, a couple and their two young children were lounging on the beach. This same couple had been camped at Jasper Canyon but we never saw them, only their beached canoe.

I called out and asked if they were taking a break or planning on camping. They said they were just taking a break and to come on over. They planned to run all the way out that day. We, on the other hand, didn’t want our adventure to end so were glad that we had this last night in camp.

Protecting myself from this day's sun

I think I look like Timothy in this photo

We sat in the shade and lounged a bit ourselves until the couple left. We did not want to encroach on their privacy. When they left, the two little boys were stashed like luggage. One of them had a small paddle. The family got off to a rocky start and drifted into the T-cat and then the boy with the paddle yelled, “My paddle’s under the boat! My paddle’s under the boat!” He had lost his paddle. With us sitting there watching, the Dad was a bit embarrassed. He said: “Gee I was hoping we could get off with a little more finesse than this.”

The Dad had been fishing but had caught nothing, a consolation for Peter who had wanted to fish on the trip. The river has bottom feeding catfish and small fish that the GBH like but nothing much else. The Green and the Colorado used to have large fish called Pikeminnow but they are now on the endangered species list.

As soon as the little family left, we unloaded the T-cat and set up camp. This night Jess, Kim, and Peter were all going to sleep under the stars with no tent. I, on the other hand, wanted my tent. I set it up and situated Groover down the bank a good way from all. Stuck a long pole in the sand so that everyone would know where Groover was.

Well, the high sand bank began to calve like an iceberg or glacier. Large portions of the bank would suddenly let go with a boom and fall into the river. We were losing real estate at a rapid rate. Suddenly I felt that my tent was too close to the edge. I would be unable to get a good night’s sleep wondering when the tent and I would fall into the river.  Thus, Kim and Jess helped me move the tent, and I checked the Groover stick and repositioned the Groover as well so that all was safe.

See my tent in the distance, too close to the crumbling sandbank; we moved it and the groover back a ways

Tonight we had mac & Italian sausage over the fire. We had lots of time to laze before dinner, which hasn’t been the case before, so we decided to explore our little canyon. It was tough getting back to it through a dried out wash and thickets of willow , but we pressed on and eventually came out in a lovely spot at the base of a ledge where water obviously cascaded during the wet season. Trouble was, there was no way to get up to the top as we had sheer canyon walls on either side and about a 15-foot overhang. Someone had leaned a tree trunk on the lip, and had we been younger and more agile we could probably have monkey walked up that, but we each decided not to break a leg at this point in the adventure.

Jess back at camp after taking an invigorating bath in the cold river; don't know why she is donning her cycling gloves

The very dry, parched wash leading back to "Little Shot Canyon," my name for this unnamed canyon

The stick on the right that we might have used to monkey walk to the upper level; would have been a risky 15 foot climb, however, so our explore ended here

Which reminds me. We asked at the beginning of the trip what would happen if we did suffer an accident. The outfitter said that they were responsible only for taking us to the put-in and picking us up at the take-out. If we did not show up at the take-out they would call search and rescue. Because other people were on the river, this wasn’t true wilderness—like Alaska for instance—so we could either paddle for help or get lucky and find someone who could go for help.

Several shots of the gecko lights I gave to Kim, Jess, and Peter posing on driftwood near the fire pan

 

We returned to camp for hor d’oeuvres of hummus, salsa, Kalamata olives, drinks and dinner, which we all helped rustle up in no time. Kim cooked over the open fire, using the grill from her little two-burner camp stove  to cook on.