Kids in Canyonlands

We entered Stillwater Canyon, identified by its vertical to overhanging zebra-streaked sandstone walls rising directly out of the river. Green juniper and piñon trees dotted the red sandy hillsides. We had paddled from spring to summer. At Mineral Bottom, buds were just beginning on the trees. By Stillwater, new green leaves fluttered on the cottonwoods. It was also noticeably warmer in the deep canyon.

The Sky Factor was the furthest thing from my mind when Skyler announced, “Dad, I have to go to the bathroom.”

“OK, fine, we’ll stop in just a minute,” I answered, thinking we would continue for at least another half hour. Anyone who has kids knows that the declaration “I have to go to the bathroom” is a frontal assault on an adult trying to get somewhere on time. Often they don’t really have to go to the bathroom at all, and they’re just bored, employing a tactic to get out of the car, or in our case, the canoe.

“Dad, I really have to go,” Skyler repeated. I looked at his contorted face, which I interpreted as his best feigned look of concern. No way would I fall for this ruse. We continued paddling.

“Dad, if you don’t stop right now, I’m going number two in my pants!” Skyler frantically cried a minute later.

With that, I recognized his genuine agony, and instantly felt deep guilt, then sheer panic. Our river toilet (required by the Park Service) was buried under other gear, and not easily accessible. Our calm afternoon turned into a mad scramble for the potty. I frantically dashed to shore, unstrapped gear, and rummaged through dry bags searching for the toilet paper. Meanwhile, Skyler pleaded, “Hurry, I can’t hold it any longer!” Finally, the toilet was ready—there was no need to move it out of the canoe—and Skyler went about his business. Disaster was barely averted.

On our last morning, we merged onto the Colorado River and continued downstream to Spanish Bottom. The combined rivers had a different personality, with stronger current, pushy eddies, and large boulder-choked channels. Beyond our final camp we could hear the roar of rapids in Cataract Canyon, the start of serious whitewater.

I sat on the beach while Cree and Eric looked for petrified wood behind camp. I watched Skyler and Morgan playing in the wet sand, both obviously having a great time.

Despite my earlier worries about getting tied down, it was now hard for me to imagine not having a kid. Canoeing with Skyler turned out to be the most important thing about our trip. It wouldn’t have been nearly as much fun without him, or the Sky Factor. Funny how times change. But one thing hasn’t—we still don’t own a minivan.