“Disorder! Disorder!” Judge VanLeuven banged a cracked orange mallet on a slightly dented ammo can. Fifteen defendants sat, shifting in a chair circle somewhere in the hellscape that is the last mile above Pearce Ferry on the Grand Canyon. The Judge waited for chaos to erupt, which took exactly no time.

We talked over each other; fingers wagged, and casual taunts were cast. Unwisely allowed to preside over this hurricane, Judge VanLeuven opened his briefcase, extracted a Coors Banquet, cracked it open, and took a long pull. When the talking subsided Kyle asked, “Did everyone have a chance to talk to their lawyer?”  

It’s hard to remember exactly how we escalated to this: conducting a trial on Christmas Day. The 28 preceding days had unfolded with surprising drama. On a river trip with no emergencies and zero carnage, we found a mystery unsolved and evolving. 

It started at Badger Camp, morning one. I was about to walk away from the groover when something caught my eye. A mere few feet from the box of toilet supplies, a man-made object poked out of the sand. My timid excavation revealed a hefty, corroded, copper-colored coin.

The front side was illegible, pocked with holes and melt marks. But on the backside, curving along the bottom edge, it read “One Grand.” Goosebumps erupted. I looked around wildly, searching for someone to share my treasure with. I rarely find treasure! And One Grand?! What’s that all about? I pocketed the coin and sprinted to the hand wash, eager to find friends and hypothesize. 

Camp echoed with a chorus of exclamation as we passed the coin around, tossing out theories. I was feeling very proud of myself.

“Sick,” Kyle said with no intonation and a slight head nod (over the top for him). It amplified my pride.

“Is it an artifact?” Matt wondered. My excitement plummeted. Rule-follower that I am, I didn’t need Ranger Steve’s pre-trip talk, still fresh in my head, to want to return the coin. Immediately. Plus, I wasn’t trying to have bad luck out there. I didn’t need to tempt any sort of fates. But after further discussion, we concluded it was more trash than artifact. I tucked it into the pocket of my fleece, and off we pushed. 

I didn’t think about it again as both minutia and grandeur swept us downstream. We were busy mastering the comm box puzzle and ogling big canyon walls. Busy dialing in our camp chore chart and delighting in side canyon explorations. 

Until Kat returned from fossil hunting at Nautiloid Camp with another coin. “What?’ “No way!” Incredulity and excitement rippled through camp. That’s when I learned Adam had also found a coin at North Canyon while fishing the day before. I was beside myself. I couldn’t fathom how this was happening. Scanning the circle with a huge disbelieving grin, I marveled.

I love a good story; I love not knowing the answers, love getting to wonder. 

My brain searched for logical explanations. I kept obsessing about the High Flow Experiment conducted earlier in the year. Had it dredged something up? It’s not like there are treasure boxes out here. Are there?! Erik theorized a commercial company might have placed them for their guests to find. Guesses abounded. It wasn’t until the corridor above President Harding Rapid that another option arose. Kyle abandoned his oars and boarded my boat. 

Draped across the bow, without preamble, he asked, “Who do you think is planting the coins?” My jaw dropped. Haley and Courtney jumped right in with quick analysis and whispered accusations. I struggled to catch up—I hadn’t even considered an inside job. I was aghast. Everyone was a suspect. What was this? Some massive, month-long game of Assassin? 

Many early fingers pointed at Erik, an engineer. He arrived at Lee’s Ferry with a homemade solar panel battery set up, complete with parts he designed and 3D printed. If anyone was casting aluminum and copper in their garage—well, he seemed a plausible choice. 

Accusations ran rampant as the mystery continued, unsolved. “Kyle seems convinced that it is me and is working hard to try to convince the rest of the group,” Eric wrote in his journal. We pointed fingers and campaigned for our own innocence. We were constantly on the lookout for incriminating evidence.

Our eyes were always peeled for coins, which of course, led to finding all sorts of other treasure. Unique rocks, weird insects, new scrambling routes, unmarked secret ammo cans. As I searched, I started to interact with the landscape in a new way. I noticed beauty not just on the macro level, but the micro, too. 

Derek found a coin on an evening hike at Eminence, miffing the public jury as no one had hiked up before him. Kyle found one in a small slot canyon at Papago during a group-wide dance party. Everyone was there, so the suspects weren’t narrowed down at all. Haley stuck her hands in her jacket pocket at breakfast, and, much to her chagrin, found a coin. She’d been wearing her jacket since she got up that morning!

Not knowing was too much for us; we had to get to the bottom of it. We declared there would be a trial. If we didn’t have answers before Christmas, we’d solve it once and for all on the penultimate day of our trip. Because what says “holiday spirit” like talking over each other at the proverbial dinner table? That and a bit of unsubstantiated blame?

Phantom down brought more intrigue. Four coins were found at Tuck-Up during our layover (Who was the first to explore the canyon? Last out on evening one?). Zoli found a coin while scouting Lava (we were all standing there! How?). Kyle pretended to find one at MatKat. He denies it. Aaron and Zoli borrowed my coin, one of the most distinct for its copper color. They planted it to be found in the presence of certain accused to monitor responses. There was subterfuge. Evasion. Deception. 

Insanely, my friend Riely, who was on a different trip found one at a camp we didn’t even stay at! (Ohmygosh, what if it isn’t someone on our trip?). I looked him in the eyes and laid down the law. “Riely, if you’re lying to me, it is going to be very hard on our friendship.” We’ve literally been friends for a decade. Who had this treasure hunt made me?

“I wish I were doing it,” Erik wrote in his journal. 

The ruse remained (with varying degrees of secrecy) until we arrived at the most desolate and least inspiring part of the canyon. Camp 279.0 was a silty berm laden with cow pies and viscous pokey plants. For inexplicable reasons, we planned to lay over. We had a full day to kill on this strip of sand, trapped by towering silt banks, just one mile above the takeout. Perhaps it was our disinclination to leave this community we’d built. Or a desire to hang onto this slice of wonder before returning to technology and news and notifications and alarm clocks. Whatever the reason, we went full-in on the trial.  

Our Judge was obvious. He’d been our river lawyer all along and would probably be the jury, too. We selected a stenographer, appointed a forensic specialist, and elected a courtroom sketch artist. I insisted on a modicum of order, and we presented our evidence in chronological order. Despite the absurdity of the situation, there was also a poignancy to recounting the trip’s unfolding. Each coin, a marker of our journey through the canyon, we got to re-float 279 miles of memories.

With the evidence presented and the reminiscing complete, the accusations commenced. Judge VanLeuven had little interest in maintaining order, opting instead to instigate pandemonium. At one point, our forensic specialist even requested handwriting samples. Each of the accused submitted a sample to be compared to the writing on the coin. And all the while, laughter was abundant. 

When all accused had presented their defenses, the coinmaker came clean. We settled back in our chairs to hear the backstory. Court records have been sealed, so I can’t reveal their identity. But I can share that the maker didn’t set out with a long con in mind. They intended to make a souvenir for each person on the trip. The treasure hunt and mystery were a happy accident that snowballed. 

 After the trial ended, two boats floated by. We called out, asking how their trip was. “Did you find any treasure?” someone shouted from shore. To our astonishment, they’d found a coin, “It said ‘One Grand!’” 

“It’s probably from Powell’s expedition!” Matt replied.

“Must be!” They shouted back. 

The mystery was captivating, and the conspiracy thrilling. But above all, I loved the way the coin saga invited me to look around more intently. I found lovely and wild patterns in the rocks. Noticed the flora change in each new canyon corridor and saw plants I’d never seen before: I had questions, hypotheses, and so much wonder. 

It turns out, there is treasure everywhere. All you have to do is look.

Editor’s note: The maker of the coins returned to collect planted coins that remained unfound. They succeeded except for two. One was miraculously found by the other group. The other accidentally fell into the abyss in the pool at North Canyon. The maker does have a snorkel and plans to retrieve it when they can. Should you find yourself in North Canyon: happy hunting!

Photography courtesy of Claire Keegan, David Chan, Erik Carlson, Derek Young and Beau Fitzke