{"id":37766,"date":"2025-12-01T00:00:50","date_gmt":"2025-12-01T08:00:50","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/community.nrs.com\/duct-tape\/?p=37766"},"modified":"2025-10-27T22:08:54","modified_gmt":"2025-10-28T05:08:54","slug":"high-church","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/community.nrs.com\/duct-tape\/2025\/12\/01\/high-church\/","title":{"rendered":"High Church"},"content":{"rendered":"

I was at the bottom of a canyon in West Texas, getting sandblasted by 40 mph winds when I first heard about the crew being formed. New to Terlingua, I had been invited to join the season finale float through some of the more remote parts of the Rio Grande with a handful of other guides. We had just finished a gritty dinner and were waiting for the dishwater to heat when I heard some of the other boaters chatting about their upcoming twenty-eight day Grand trip. Three of them, a set of twins and their best friend, were TL\u2019ing a trip that launched February 9th.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

The Colorado sets itself apart in the river community due to its moody behavior, raw power and depth of lore\u2014a reminder of the golden age of guiding when whitewater was an endless series of mysteries for an oarsman to solve and resolve. A place where some of the most outrageous stories in river running history originated, passed down guide to guide whether in humor or warning.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

I had read about the canyon with the same devotion others might reserve for prayer. My copy of Kevin Fedarko\u2019s <\/span>The Emerald Mile<\/span><\/i> had dog-eared corners, my favorite passages underlined, starred and highlighted. In Fedarko\u2019s hands, the river felt alive, its breath matching that of the oarsmen who moved within it. In true river rat fashion, I was obsessed with the thought of testing my skill set against the canyon and pointedly told them that if they needed another oarsman, I was available. And thus, my journey from the Rio Grande to The Grand began.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

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Grand Canyon winter trips encompass a special set of circumstances rarely found in other downriver trips. An equation whose obscure formula, made up of ((length of trip^layover days) – commercial floats +\/- weather) whitewater)<\/em>, has the power to create a self-contained co<\/span>mmunity below the rim. It is improbable for a boater to spend twenty eight days with a set group and not feel the door of vulnerability being repeatedly nudged open by the universe.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Our crew consisted of 16 outdoor guides. NOLS instructors, river guides, canoe and backpacking guides; others worked for national parks or the forest service. While most of the group was meeting for the first time, our universe threads were woven together long before we actually entered the canyon.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

The anticipation of being off the professional clock and on a lifetime trip elevated the excitement and intrigue as we offered up introductions and safety certifications over couch beers. For myself and a few others, this would be our first winter Grand trip; all of us silently running over our pack list as we compared gear loads with the more seasoned boaters.<\/span><\/p>\n

As customary for rig day, we floated a short way down to camp for the evening. Crawling in my sleeping bag that night, the reality of a twenty-eight day trip settled over me; Would I have the mental and physical strength required to run the two hundred and eighty mile stretch with a group of strangers? Would four weeks of being exposed to the elements, cut off from routine and comfort finally push me to a breaking point?<\/span><\/p>\n