In the Heart of the Canyon (7 page)

JT checked his watch. “Just about to call Park Service, Mitchell,” he said. He reached down into the well of his boat and unstrapped the yellow plastic case with the satellite phone.

“Just worried about my wife,” said Mitchell. “Her asthma, you know.”

“We’re aware of that, Mitchell.” JT unsnapped the plastic fasteners and opened up the box. Inside, cradled in a bed of foam, lay the satellite phone, a brick-sized device with a stubby antenna that swiveled up like an action figure. He hated, absolutely
hated
, using the satellite phone—on the second day, no less!—but he really had no choice here. At the very least, he felt he had to report the dog.

As he punched in the numbers for Park Service, Mitchell gazed serenely downriver and sipped his coffee.

“I guess you’d say we’re not exactly dog people,” Mitchell said to no one in particular.
JT expected the ranger to be more upset about the dog, but in fact he sounded mildly exasperated when JT asked him what he wanted them to do.

“You deal with it!” he exclaimed. “I’ve got three hikers who refused to listen when I told them how much water they need in this heat, and two of them collapsed halfway down to Phantom!”

The line went dead, and JT found himself staring stupidly at the phone before replacing it in its box. He hadn’t eaten breakfast, so he went to the food table and loaded up a plate.

“What’d the ranger say?” Dixie asked.

“He said figure it out.”

“So what are we going to do?”

“Keep the dog,” said JT. “Find him a life jacket.”

“We’re taking him with us?”

JT drenched his French toast in syrup. “You want to hike him out yourself? Scratch that. You can’t; we need you.”

“Can’t they send someone down to pick him up?”

“Organize a whole trip to come pick up a dog? I don’t think so,” said JT.

“Then we should stop one of the motor rigs and get them to take the dog down to Phantom. There’s gotta be a hiker who’ll hike him out. There’s no way we can spend five days with a dog, JT. He’ll get into the meat cooler. He’ll chew everything.”

“We’ll watch him,” said Abo. “Chill.”

“You chill,” said Dixie.

JT scratched his chin.

“Fine,” said Dixie. “But for the record, he’s not riding in my boat.”

Abo shot her a wounded look and reached out and caught the dog by the scruff of its neck. “Such a meanie,” he crooned. “What’s your name, anyway? What do they call you?”

JT set his plate on the sand, and as the dog licked the remains, JT knotted a red bandanna around the dog’s neck. “You know what they say,” he said.

“What?”

But JT didn’t answer. Dog or no dog, he still had a trip to run. Time
to clean up. Time to break camp. Time to load up the boats, and make room for the dog. If there was anything JT liked, it was a first, and this was definitely his first trip with a dog.

You name it, you love it
, was what he was going to say to Abo, but JT didn’t dare articulate the truism, even to himself.

Shortly after breakfast, JT summoned the group for their first morning meeting and told them that for now they were keeping the dog.

Sam and Matthew whooped and roughed him up.

“Until we can figure something else out,” JT continued. “Its not exactly what we expected, but hey, this is the river, gotta be flexible, right?”

Mitchell and Lena turned away and conferred with one another. Mark looked at Jill and shrugged; Evelyn glanced from one face to another, as though not ready to commit to an opinion.

Mitchell rejoined the group and asked what hikes JT was planning for the day.

“I was just about to get to that,” said JT, and he kneeled on the sand and spread out his map. “If we do North Canyon, you’ll see some pretty good geology.”

Mitchell pointed out that North Canyon was not a very long hike. “How about Silver Grotto?”

“What’s Silver Grotto?” asked Jill.

Mitchell closed his eyes in reverence and shook his head. “Unbelievably beautiful,” he told Jill. But he didn’t elaborate, which made it seem to Jill that he was casting judgment on her, for not knowing.

“Let’s see how the day goes,” JT said evenly. He had a name for people like Mitchell; they were known among the guides as copilots. Copilots had done their homework before coming down the river, had studied up on canyon history and geology, had pored over maps and guidebooks and knew where all the best hikes were, knew which waterfalls you could climb behind, which ones you could jump off. JT’s method of dealing with copilots was to be as nice to them as possible but to let their chatter go in one ear and out the other.

Now he told Mitchell, “I don’t know if we’ll make it that far.
Remember what I said yesterday. Gotta be flexible, gotta play it by ear. Right now we’re just going to focus on breaking camp. Take your tents down, get your gear packed, put on your sunscreen, whatever.”

“I have a question,” said Jill.

“Yes, ma’am?”

She placed her hands on her hips. “Do you guides
ever
get a chance to just enjoy the trip?”

There were appreciative nods and murmurs all around.

“Because you work so hard!” Jill exclaimed.

JT didn’t like compliments, and he didn’t like being in the spotlight. “Abo and Dixie did most of the work this morning,” he told them. “I sat and yakked on the phone. Go on. Pack up your things. Let’s run this river.”

Jill had Mark apply sunscreen to her back.

“Bet these river guides get a lot of skin cancer,” he said. He had a slappy, unpleasant way of doing it, and she struggled to keep her balance.

“One of the hazards of the occupation, I guess,” she murmured.

“And I bet they don’t have very good health plans, either,” Mark went on. “If any.”

“Sam,” called Jill. “Leave the dog’s tail alone!” She smelled insect repellent and looked up to see Mitchell spraying his arms with Off. According to JT, there weren’t mosquitoes down here. What was the man doing?

Mitchell finished spraying his hat, then joined Jill and Mark. “Of all the things!” he said with a chuckle.

Jill politely asked him what he meant.

“A dog! First day out! If you wrote a story about it, nobody would believe it. I hate to sound inhumane,” he confided, “but am I the only one who wouldn’t find it totally cruel and unusual to just leave the dog here?”

Jill was taken aback by this.

“I mean, the dog must have some pretty good survival skills,” he went on. “We could just leave a bunch of food. Somebody else will be
camping here tonight. They’ll feed it, just like we did. Why should we complicate our trip?”

Jill wondered if she really wanted to tell Mitchell, on the second day of the trip, that yes indeed, he did sound inhumane. All things considered, she preferred harmony to confrontation.

“Are you just concerned about Lena’s allergies? Because we’re outside,” she pointed out. “There’s lots of fresh air here, not like a closed-up room. I can make sure the boys stay away from Lena,” she added.

“You don’t have to do that,” Mitchell said, although it was clear from his tone that he did in fact see that as a possibility. “It’s just that after forking out six thousand bucks, I don’t want to have to leave the river on the second day.”

I forked out twelve thousand, Jill thought, and it wasn’t to spend two weeks with someone like you.

Just then JT hollered for everyone to choose a boat. The dog would ride in his boat this morning, he told them. Dixie’s boat would be dog-free, for those who wanted. Slowly everyone made their way toward the boats, with the exception of Mark, who hung back.

“Did you bring anything?” he whispered to Jill.

“Like what?”

“Like, you know, bran or prunes or something.”

“No, Mark,” said Jill. “If you wanted me to bring bran or prunes, you should have told me.”

“I was just asking,” said Mark.

H
igh on JT’s list of “Top Ten Ways to Make Friends” was to camp directly above a rapid, so as to start the next day with a good wake-up splash. In keeping with this, no sooner had the three boats pulled off shore that morning than they all found themselves gliding into the tongue of House Rock Rapid, where the current ran green and silky-smooth over submerged boulders before exploding in a mass of white foam below.

“Good morning
campers!”
JT shouted as the first icy wave drenched them. “Hold on to that dog!” He leaned into his left oar, and they bucked and slapped through messy, white-crested waves that sprayed in all directions. Up front Jill cowered and gripped the dogs bandanna, and Mark yee-hawed like a seasoned river runner, while in the rear Ruth and Lloyd winced and laughed. The waves rose higher, then higher still, and JT simply followed their lead, making those quick adjustments.

But then one of the waves collapsed on him, and he felt his boat slap against the next lateral at the wrong angle, and the boat tipped precariously—just long enough for Jill, in lurching, to lose her grip on the dog. Like a seal, the dog slid over the edge and into the waves.

JT punched on through the last hungry crests, then shipped his oars and scrambled up on his seat. The dog had quickly gotten caught in a small whirlpool; his life jacket being way too big, it swirled like an empty tent on top of the water with only the dog’s nose poking up in the middle.

“Swimmer!” JT yelled. “The dog!”

And Abo, who was having a graceful run right down the center of the rapid, deftly steered his boat toward the whirlpool, just close
enough to lean over and grab the life jacket and haul the scrawny animal up out of the water and into the back of his boat.

JT had never witnessed anything quite like it.

Abo guided his boat up alongside JT…s.

“You damn dog!” said JT, as Abo hoisted the dog over to him. “Get in here! Siddown! What’s the big idea, getting yourself sucked into a blender first thing!”

“That’s what we should call him,” said Sam. “Hey Blender! Come on, Blender!”

Dixie, whose smooth run through House Rock had gone unwitnessed, glided up beside them. “See what I mean? This dog has
got
to go.”

“Thank you,” said Mitchell. “At least someone agrees with me.”

“Hey Blender!” shouted Sam. “Come on, boy!”

“You
named
him?” Dixie exclaimed. “What are you thinking? I’m not kidding, JT. This dog is going to kill the whole trip.”

“Fine. He’ll go, as soon as I can find someone to take him. So we gave the dog a name,” he said, avoiding Dixie’s glare. “So what? It was mostly for Sam,” he added, even though Dixie had stopped listening.

With House Rock behind them, with Blender safely ensconced between Jill’s legs, the three boats drifted quietly along. They were in the heart of Marble Canyon now, already some two thousand feet below the rim. Here and there, water seeped from cavities in the rock walls, feeding lush cascades of orange monkeyflower. When they’d left camp, they’d been in deep shade, but soon a rich golden wedge of sunlight slid across the river, drenching them in its liquid heat.

Riding in the back of JT’s boat, Ruth Frankel lifted her face to the sun. She was amused by their unexpected guest; she had learned long ago that a large part of the canyon experience was dealing with the unexpected. And if the unexpected happened to take the form of a friendly lost dog—well, thought Ruth, worse things could happen.

Her face began to sting; she adjusted her hat and glanced over at Lloyd. He sat perched forward, alert, on the lookout. Already a white stubble was growing on his chin. His lips were chapped, and crusty
bits collected in the corners of his mouth. Thank goodness we came, she thought. How awful to have stayed home in Evanston, waiting for him to forget to breathe.

She was glad when JT decided to stop for an early lunch. She was feeling lightheaded and realized with dismay that she’d drunk less than half a liter of water that morning. As a veteran, she should know better. Quickly she guzzled as much as she could before climbing off the boat. The sand was hot and the air twined with insects. The dryness scorched her nostrils, and when she blew her nose, there was blood. As the guides set up a table and began preparing lunch, she waded into the water up to her thighs. She squatted down to pee, and the cold water clamped itself around her hips.

“Don’t go too deep, Ruthie,” Lloyd called.

Ruth smiled. He hadn’t called her Ruthie in years.

Meanwhile, the dog was getting in the way of lunch preparations, sniffing for dropped morsels of food. And he must have picked up the scent of a previous meal, because suddenly he began to dig in earnest, spraying great sandy arcs in all directions, including the prep table with the large open bowl of chicken salad.

“Stop him!” cried Dixie. “Oh, you bad, bad dog!”

Abo lunged and caught the dog by the bandanna.

“Oh, there’s sand everywhere!” Dixie wailed.

“You dumb-ass dog,” said Abo.

JT spat out a mouthful of sand.

“I hope there’s a backup lunch,” said Mitchell, peering into the bowl.

“What’s going on?” Lloyd asked Ruth.

“Nothing,” she said with a sigh. “The dog just got a little excited.”

“What dog?” asked Lloyd. “Dogs aren’t allowed down here.”

“Go tie the dog up,” said JT, wiping his mouth. “Dammit all.”

The whole group looked on as Abo looped a length of rope through the dog’s bandanna and dragged him down to JT’s boat and tied him to the bow line. The dog struggled against the rope, whined a few times, then lay down on the wet sand and settled his head dejectedly between his paws.

Glumly the three guides tried to scrape the sand off the chicken salad. The guests looked on and tried to be cheerful. Sam went over and knelt beside the dog.

“Leave the dog alone, Sam,” Mark called. “He’s being punished.” Sam looked up, grief-stricken.

“Call the ranger again,” said Dixie.

“Not now,” said JT.

“Why not?”

“Because I’m the Trip Leader, and I’ll decide when I call the ranger, and right now I want to eat my lunch,” and without waiting for the guests to go first, as was the custom, JT slapped a heavy scoop of chicken salad onto a piece of bread and walked off to sit by himself.