San Francisco River, New Mexico

May, 1988, first solo trip

It didn't start out this way. Originally, a friend was going with me. But, at the last minute, his boss told him he had to stay put and be on call –– or be fired. My car was packed. I was ready to go. So I went.

I drove through the night from Parks, Arizona to Glenwood, New Mexico. I parked at the San Francisco Hot Springs. Back then, you could drive right down to the river. Now, there is a locked gate, and you have to walk. I couldn't do a shuttle. Nothing was listed and I knew no one in the area. So I figured I'd leave my boat and gear hidden down at the take–out then hitchhike back to the car and drive back to pick up my stuff.

This was my second trip on the San Francisco. It was my first solo trip ever. This river is small, shallow and rocky. It is mostly class 2 with a few class 3's and a portage. It falls 26 feet a mile.

I loaded up and left civilization behind –– though I wouldn't call some of the folks at the Hot Springs civilized. I pushed the new, self bailing inflatable kayak (an early design) into the river before the sun started to shine.

Once you get on the river, you immediately flow into a deep canyon. The river is easy –– at first. Then it drops over some small rapids with waves a foot high. You line up. Go bump, bump and bump again. It is great fun. The water is very clear.

I floated downstream for miles –– enjoying the absolutely fine weather –– to Mule Creek. I decided to camp there and planned on taking a hike up the side canyon. It is a great site with some Sycamore trees. I had come quite a way down into the canyon. The top of the canyon was over 1,500 feet above me. In the morning, I was awakened by the sound of leaves being raked. I looked out of the tent and saw half a dozen turkeys scratching through the leaves. They paid me no mind and were still around when I made breakfast but took fright when I fired up the camp stove.

I loaded up the day pack and headed up Mule Creek. The water in Mule Creek is clear and it flows about 10 ft.³ per second. The canyon is lush. The path upstream was an avenue of fallen leaves under the towering Sycamore trees.

After an hour of wandering, I came upon an open area of soft, green grass. I couldn't resist the temptation. So I took off my day pack, propped it under my head and lay down on my back to watch the sunlight filtering through the branches. I closed my eyes and heard the leaves rattle in the breeze. Small birds were chirping.

Suddenly, I heard a screeching sound. I opened my eyes and saw a pair of large hawks circling overhead. One landed in a nest in a tree about 50 feet away. The other one was still flying around and yelling at me. It was the size of an eagle –– black with yellow legs and white bands on its tail. I learned later that these were a pair of breeding Blackhawks. They live mostly in northern Mexico and come to the US in the spring and nest mainly in the Gila River country. That's about as far as they get in the US.

The male, I guess it was a male, was squawking at me. He flew over to a nearby tree and landed. He certainly was big! He flew over to another tree and yelled again. He repeated this tree to tree flight, dropping ever closer and calling ever louder. I was intruding. His next dive was right at me! He swooped by within 10 feet of me. I could feel the wind from his wings on my face. I sat up.

"Okay." I said to myself as I got up to back down the canyon.

I can't describe what I saw. I could say it was pretty. But,everything down in the canyon was pretty. So, you'll just have to see it for yourself. I returned back to camp, the hawks gave me warning as I walked by.

At camp, the turkeys were still around. I'd brought along a lawn chair. I never go without one anymore. I sat down to prepare a meal of canned roast beef and noodles, a bagel, chocolate pudding and Kahlua in coffee. I watched the sun go down (actually, the horizon moving up) all while talking turkey with my dinner companions.

It was wonderful! I had no one to deal with and no one to take care of. I didn't have to be affected by anyone's moods. I didn't have to answer anyone's questions. I could sit in my chair for as long as I wanted.

I slept a long time – draining away all the stress of planning the trip and the disappointment and frustration of my friend's job situation. I was really enjoying the spot here at Mule Creek. I could stay and enjoy the freedom. I could see that situations and desires bring you to where you are. And I was there, at Mule Creek. I realized it was what I was trying to do all along. Why did I think I had to go with someone? Well, help with the shuttle would have been nice. And what if I got hurt, how would I get out of trouble?

"Hmm," I thought to myself. You do your own shuttle. And you pay attention and don't get hurt. You bring what you need. That should work for going with people just as well as going alone.

The river was beckoning. I yearned to lie on the boat and feel the water moving me along, like a slow–motion movie. So, I packed up and vowed to go as slowly as I could. Just to drift and use the paddle only when I had to.

I stopped only once at a spring pouring off of the wall into the river. I walked up and opened my mouth. It seemed simple enough. I made camp right after I saw a herd of Bighorn sheep. They were drinking from the river. I stopped above so as not to scare them. I let them drink while I took some pictures.

The next day was rapids day. They were bunched up together and fell abruptly. At low–water, they're usually rock gardens. Anyway, that was the next day. Now it was fine camp time.

As usual, one sleeps, gets up, loads the boat, pushes off and floats down the river, pulls out, unloads the boat, eats, and sleeps. It becomes routine. It's complete freedom.

Day four. I was on the water and looking for the power lines across the canyon. They were the signal that I was getting close to 'Pay Attention Rapids' –– the largest and most challenging I would encounter on the San Francisco River.

I saw the lines! I pulled over and had a look–see. The first one was on the New Mexico side and I named it 'New Mexico Rapid'. It was a definite class 3. It was followed by 'Son of New Mexico Rapid' –– a class 2+. And it was followed by 'Daughter of New Mexico Rapid', also a class 2+. You have to run them all together.

I walked around. I found the route I was most comfortable with and tried to remember key rocks so I could position myself, like road signs. I checked my rigging. I didn't want to be losing things down there. Not in those rapids anyway.

And off I went! Bump off the rocks. Move, move and move some more. I made it through the New Mexico family. A quarter mile of easy water brought me under the power lines. Around the bend awaited 'Arizona Rapids'. That one worried me. It was a definite class 3+. I saw it ahead, and pulled over to the right for a look. It slams into the left wall. Gathers itself together and tumbles down into a boulder garden. At the bottom of that, it gathers force again and, again, makes an attack on the left wall.

"Don't mess up here", I told myself. The walls were steep, dark volcanic stuff. It was less than 100 feet from wall to wall. The riverbed was a mass of boulders of various sizes. Nothing gets a chance to grow down there. It's noisy and kind of spooky.

To get ready, I unfolded the lawn chair, plugged in the headphones and listened to Michael Martin Murphy's "Drink Life One Drop at a Time" Excellent! That was nice. Let's go run this thing I told myself.

I pushed off and stayed on the inside curve to avoid the wall. Chicken run? You bet! I had nothing to prove, and no one was there to witness anything. No one was there to rescue me either. It was pushier than I'd expected. I had to paddle hard to stay away from the wall. Okay, I said to no one, I made it!. Now came the rock garden. I told myself to line up between two rocks, stroke straight and straighten out! Watch that rock on the right. Shit! I spun around. I was going backwards now. Ok, I told myself, turn around –– face the danger. I was back in control. But wait...only 100 feet ahead was another rapid. I had time and room to pull over. But I could see into it, and it looked pretty straightforward.

I called this one 'Son of Arizona'. It was a solid class 2+, maybe a 3 at higher water. It dropped down wide then funneled into a point where there were some waves about 2 to 3 feet high.

In I went. My approach was good. I was where I wanted to be in the rapid. I picked up speed – dodging some underwater rocks. Then I rode up fast on the first wave. It was the second wave that got away from me. I plowed right into it and then, slam! ––– my bow buried into the wave, which poured right through my hips and nearly pushed me out of the boat. The boat was full of water. It wouldn't flip, but I couldn't move very well either. I kept the nose pointed in. In 10 seconds, the self–bailer drained the boat.

"You son of a.... Arizona!" I yelled.

I was soaked but the sun was shining and the air was warm. I thought I would stop to see if everything was okay. I saw a white beach a way down the canyon. I paddled down and landed on the right. It was a big beach and it was all mine. I peeled off my wet clothes and then brought out the waterproof bags to see if they were, in fact, waterproof. They were.

I set up a folding chair. Fixed a drink and puffed on my pipe. You know, I thought, a lot of people pay a lot of money to go to some tropical getaway and sit on a beach. And here, I have this great view of the mountains, this canyon, and this wonderful little river. It was so peaceful. Yeah, peaceful? It nearly kicked my butt back there. But it was okay. We were still good friends.

I had gone about 20 miles into the canyon by that point. I decided to check the maps. Let's see, I thought: Diversion dam was at Martinez Ranch – mile 28; Blue River was at mile 32 and Clifton at mile 53. I decided I would head to the Blue River the next day, portage the dam, go past the ranch and then four more miles to the Blue.

I put the maps away. I heard some weird sounds from across the river. I saw some movement. It was a bunch of peccaries (wild pigs). I had heard that they don't see very well, but can hear and smell keenly. A few had gathered at the bank drinking. One looked my way and snorted. Then they ran off quickly into the shrubs and disappeared.

No, I didn't want the pigs in my camp. I had a solid wall behind me and the river in front, though it wasn't very deep right there.

Day five. I was drinking coffee and watching a catfish surface feeding. The sun was just peeking over the distant rim. I had my headphones on. The little Walkman cassette players are great! I thought back to when I'd first taken music into the wilderness.

It was 1974. Little Ricky and I had packed in a 12 volt motorcycle battery (that weighed about 3 pounds); A car stereo cassette player (a couple more pounds); and a pair of six–inch speakers with heavy magnets (even more pounds)! Outrageous! We took the system down the Grandview Trail into the Grand Canyon. This was about halfway down and way out over the inner gorge. Here we set up and listened to Pink Floyd's 'Dark Side of the Moon'. Carrying it all back out was not so enlightening.

But my little Walkman was better. It weighed only a pound and had better sound.

Well. Better pack it up, I thought, it was time for an all day float to the Blue. A couple of miles down the Blue is a tricky rapid I call 'Boulders Galore. It's a class 2+ maybe a 3 at higher water and it deserves a scout. It's a pinball game. Boulders or bumpers are everywhere. I wasn't sure if I wanted extra points or free game. Or?

I found several routes through. The left didn't look friendly at all. The center was better, though there was a big rock below it. Or, something a little more to the right, I thought to myself, hmmm.......

I went down the center. I bumped a couple of times. "200 points. 500 points. Whoa. 1000! 1000 points!" ...I thought as I descended.... "But you better watch that big rock down there. Geez. Just about crashed.''

When I hit the pool below the rocks, I relaxed and let my nerves unwind. I turned around and looked back the way I'd come, the pinball game...where was my cotton candy?

The canyon was opening up more now. And there were more rapids...miles of them! When coming to the rapids, I heard a baritone roar and then saw a horizontal line. It was a diversion dam...a danger.

I've seen people on rivers hypnotized approaching diversion dams, approaching ever closer. Maybe they are just curious about where the water goes? Usually, they're drunk.

I pulled over to the right and looked around. I unloaded almost everything from the boat and carried it 100 feet around the dam and down to a pool. I put the kayak over my head –– just like the canoe guys do –– and decided to have lunch before loading up again.

Downstream the canyon really opened up. At the ranch there were fields and pasture. Part of a barbed wire fence jutted out from the water. The rest was torn out by spring floods. I told myself to watch for the fence.

It was an easy float from the ranch to the Blue River. The walls of the canyon narrowed near the confluence and were comprised of dark cliffs with white bands running through them. On the right, a large side canyon entered and I knew it was the Blue. the San Francisco's largest tributary. It drains a large section of Arizona's border from way up to Alpine.

I pulled into a sand bar below the two streams. There was a noticeable added flow. I was in camp again, in the chair with chili and crackers for the meal. I thought I would take a walk up the Blue in the morning. Go 'walk about'. It would be good to stretch the legs.

Side canyons are special features on river trips. It always seems I hardly get walking before the lure of 'what's around the bend' gets hold of me. It makes you go on, and on.

I returned to camp in the early afternoon. The ravens had found my crackers and were having a party. "This place is for the birds," I thought, "Think I'll just leave."

I got back on the river. There's more water and it seemed I was hardly bumping into anything anymore. The sky was cloudier. More fences were showing up, also cows, and mining prospects. I was getting closer to civilization. I needed to brace for that. I hadn't seen anyone this entire trip. I had about 10 more miles to go before I got into the Clifton area. I would make one more camp. I timed it to get into town around noon. That would give me enough time to get back to my car before dark.

I went a few more miles and saw a road on the left side that looked suitable for passenger cars. It was close enough. I found a camp on the right. Next morning, I floated through Clifton. I saw buildings, cars, people, liquor stores, and churches.

I pulled under the main bridge. Put on a pair of jeans, and a dry pair of shoes. I tried to fit in. I climbed up the bank and right up onto Main Street. I walked over to a small store and bought a Coke and a pack of smokes. Then I went back down under the bridge, drank my Coke and had a smoke, changed back into shorts and, again, got on the river.

Downstream, below town, was a pizza place on the east side of the river. I tied up and scrambled up the bank to reach the parking lot. They'd just opened. It was empty except for the owner and his daughter. I ordered a big pizza. I explained what I'd done, where I'd been, and how I needed to get back to my car.

"Man. I'd like to do something like that!" Said the owner, "Hey, you can leave your stuff here in the back room. In fact, I am nearly finished here. We're not busy until the afternoon. I'll drive you down to the freeway where you'll get a ride to New Mexico."

We got in his old Ford pickup and drove the 12 miles to the highway junction. There I got a ride in less than 20 minutes with, would you believe, a traveling salesman? We had a good conversation about the times and the status of America – what's wrong and what's right.

He dropped me off at the highway where the road to the Hot Springs turned off. I walked down the road for a mile and put the keys in the door lock. Everything was fine.

I drove back over to the pizza place and ordered another one – for the road – and packed up the gear. The owner thanked me and I thanked him. I drove home to Parks in the dark.