Kids in Canyonlands
Cree and Eric were in charge of planning the food, and our first night’s menu featured burritos, followed by cocoa and chocolate bars for dessert. Knowing how important food is in keeping kids happy, I was fairly confident that nothing could go wrong that night. But I’d also learned to never underestimate the Sky Factor.
While relaxing after dinner near the river, I began to hear giggles and snickers coming from camp. The distraction soon transformed into a chorus of exuberant screams, so I returned to investigate. What I discovered stopped me in my tracks. Skyler and Morgan, Eric’s five-year-old daughter and Skyler’s new girlfriend, had decided that my North Face VE-25 tent made a perfect jungle gym. They had zipped themselves inside and, with a full charge of sugar from cocoa and candy, were using it as a kids’ mosh pit. Impressions of feet, hands, and faces pressed into the yellow nylon as the kids bounced off the tent walls. It had survived hellish storms on Denali, but I feared that my mountaineering dome was doomed without serious intervention. With Eric’s help I broke up the rave, and then gave Skyler a lecture on how important it is to take care of equipment in the wilderness. In response, he once again brought up the wilderness question.
One aspect of our Green River trip that was a pleasant surprise was our absolute solitude. The cloudless desert sky, warm sun, and occasional ravens were our only companions. We never saw another paddler during our entire trip. Since it was March, the river was low and there were abundant sandy beaches, allowing us to camp almost anywhere we wanted. We spent our days lazily paddling on the river, digging sand castles during rest breaks. We didn’t see any large mammals, until the kids spotted a beaver.
“BEEEEEEAVER! BEEEEEEAVER! BEEEEEEAVER!” Skyler and Taylor hollered simultaneously and so loud that my ears rang for 10 minutes afterward.
“Be quiet, you guys,” I whispered. “You don’t want to scare him away.”
I watched the plump beaver as we paddled by. It was motionless, inert, almost as if it was stuck in the muddy riverbank. I came to one conclusion—the kids’ screaming had produced the first beaver heart attack ever witnessed. We paddled back upstream, closing in on the poor creature before he flopped back into the river, smacking the water with his tail as he submerged.
By day four I was feeling proud of Skyler and the other kids. They had become solid campers and were really enjoying their adventure in the wilderness. No Game Boys, Happy Meals, or cartoons. Just real-life experiences that build character. Despite his young age, Skyler showed glimmers of efficiency in camp: he helped with loading the boats and even doing dishes. In short, he was making his ex-guide dad happy. Sure, there had been lots of trying moments and nearly a dead beaver, but things were good.
