Days of peaceful floating allow you to savor, and closely study, the landscape unending time has cut into the Colorado Plateau/Patrick Cone

We had come to Canyonlands National Park from North Carolina, Texas, Colorado, Virginia, Missouri, Utah, and California, determined to spend six leisurely days floating the Green and Colorado rivers through one of the most remote, rugged, and majestic regions of the continental United States.

Paleontology was not on our itinerary, but geologic history lay in every direction here in southeastern Utah. As we drifted down the Green River, a pair of sharp eyes spotted high above the river two sloping slabs that bore the stone tracks of ancient reptiles. Now, these animals really didn’t seem to have skittered this way or that; more likely they had lazily trod their path across a muddy shoreline of an ancient sea. You could tell they weren’t being pursued. The two Jurassic Period creatures had left neatly spaced symmetrical tracks on sands time had transformed into Navajo sandstone.

These 185-million-year-old prehistoric calling cards were the last thing we expected when we left the Green River’s sandy bank at Mineral Bottom the previous day. Reminders of another world, they provided some historical context for our watery journey towards Glen Canyon National Recreation Area and Lake Powell, our end point. Our party consisted of 15 National Parks Traveler readers and five guides, all looking forward to a week of boating.

The Green River above the confluence with the Colorado River is a calm, beautiful stretch of water. Sandstone towers, cliffs, and canyons spread in all directions. Further down on the Colorado we’d be busy for a day of rapid-crashing fun, and not trying to decipher paleontological puzzles.

Canyonlands National Park itself is a riddle, wrapped in a puzzle, surrounded by an enigma. Sprawled across more than 527 square miles, the park would fit comfortably within Yellowstone National Park, which covers 3,468 square miles. But, in golf parlance, Canyonlands “plays” much larger than its size. A few Jeep trails cut this tortured landscape towards overlooks, campgrounds, and old uranium mining prospects, but most access is by foot or boat. Hiking here is a serious endeavor for those well-acquainted with canyon country travel. Once away from the Green and Colorado rivers, flowing water and springs are infrequent, and the weather usually is dry, hot, and windy.

Dinosaur tracks, of all things, made an appearance during our river trip/Patrick Cone

River Time Past and Present

River travel is a great way to explore the park’s canyons and get well away from the beaten path. “This is the way to experience and see this park,” Mike Hardinger remarked as we floated along. “I knew about the canyon (Cataract), but couldn’t truly picture its grandeur.” Bob Lacasse had enjoyed his motor trip through the Grand Canyon, but now appreciated the small, human-powered rafts. ”Oar boats offer a much more realistic river-running experience,” he said.

One key difference, of course, is the pace. Muscle-powered boats mainly track the river’s speed. Drifting along through this primeval landscape is timeless, as if you had traveled back to the 19th century or earlier. Desert writer Ed Abbey was particularly drawn to river running, so much so that he wrote an entire book on his favored pastime, Down The River.

In one essay, dated November 7, 1980, he wrote, “We climb a hill of clay and shale and limestone ledges to inspect at close hand an ancient ruin of stone on the summit. An Anasazi structure, probably seven or eight hundred years old, it commands a broad view of river and canyon for many miles both up and downstream, and offers a glimpse of higher lands beyond. We can see the great Buttes of the Cross, Candlestick Tower, Junction Butte (where the Green River meets the Colorado), Ekker Butte, Grandview Point, North Point, and parts of the White Rim.

“Nobody human lives at those places, or in the leagues of monolithic stone between them. We find pleasure in that knowledge. From this vantage point everything looks about the same as it did when Major John Wesley Powell and his mates first saw it in 1869,” he continued.

On our trip last fall we also went ashore to retrace Abbey’s steps—and possibly even those of Major Powell— for an inspection of this same ancient stone tower on the hilltop. The view was indeed sweeping and stunning. It was as if we could hear the echoes of ancient voices from the ruin’s walls. The quiet was interrupted only by the wind, and the canyon country stretched away to all points of the compass. The civilized world, the urbanization of the country, the planet’s unrest, all seemed so distant. Down below, on a flat spot close to the river, squatted the broken down skeletal remains of a homesteader’s cabin, a rugged existence at best, that tagged this patch of river bank “Fort Bottom.”

Had Edward Abbey, and Major John Wesley Powell, also stood in front of this Ancestral Puebloan ruin high above the Green River?/Patrick Cone

While the Colorado River through the Grand Canyon is usually heralded as the river trip of a lifetime, a river trip through Canyonlands is just as spectacular in its own way. Once away from the pavement, this national park is primitive and raw. The muddy rivers flow beneath the ocher, buff, black, red, and blonde walls, having cut their way through this arid landscape.

Our late-September departure also ensured an extra helping of river solitude, as it was well past the high summer season. We shared the river with blue heron and eagles. River otters played on the lip of the serious series of Big Drop rapids in Cataract Canyon. A beaver—bank dwellers here—had no chance of stopping the river, and one evening we watched as a desert bighorn ram led his harem down to water.

Into the Doll House

From Mineral Bottom, the Green River cuts deeper and deeper into the landscape, as the rimming canyon walls rise higher and higher. Below the confluence with the Colorado the rift in the landscape grows deeper thanks to the added water power. Here parapets, spires, and towers stand like some castle’s battlements high above us. Despite their steepness and height, the rising sun quickly fills the canyons to the brim in the morning. We quickly swapped fleece jackets for shorts and T-shirts as the arc of the sun bore down on the landscape, and we sought out high-noon shade for solace from our fiery star.

We left the Green River one morning and scrambled up the precarious switchbacks of Water Canyon toward the sandstone plateau of the park’s Maze District. This was a bonus, for relatively few visitors get to explore the side canyons that snake off from the river.

Though it was late September, the well-named canyon had pockets and pools of water, some reflecting the Creamsicle-colored walls overhead. After a 1,200- foot climb to the rim of the canyon we rambled across open slickrock fields, descended into slot canyons, and passed by rock arches.

We walked through the aptly-named Doll House, with its whimsical towers, some of which resemble house-sized Play-Doh concretions. Off in the distance, the spires of Canyonlands’ Needles District stabbed the blue sky, showcasing the ultimate power of erosion: wind, water, and ice. Then, we headed back down the long, steep trail to Spanish Bottom to what was now the Colorado River, after its confluence with the Green a few miles upriver. Our flotilla awaited us there.

Bucking Cataract

The rapids of Cataract Canyon downriver now were on our minds. This 14-mile-stretch of whitewater is the main attraction for many of us after a peaceful, week-long odyssey. During peak runoff in early summer the Big Drop rapids—Drops One, Two, and Three—transform into raft-buckling, raging, torrents of water. When the flow of the Colorado River reaches 50,000 cubic feet per second or higher, many boaters consider this series of rapids as great as any in the Grand Canyon. Our trip through the Big Drops in the lower waters of early October would not feature such violence, and yet the lower flows revealed a rock garden that demanded attention. A swift stroke or two of an oar would lead us to safety, and not a swim.

Brin Finnagan, our trip leader with Holiday River Expeditions, pointed out a few hazards to the other guides and passengers as we stood on the rocky shore at the top of the Drops.

“There’s a little slot, right between two pour-overs, that leads you just to the left of ‘big mossy’,” he said, raising his voice over the rapids’ roar and pointing out his preferred line down the river. “Usually what I’m doing is using these two little blooper waves up here as markers, and I really like to keep my full ferry—and it’s usually a full ferry left—as long as possible. And I’m going just off the right side of the pour-over that’s closer to us and kinda using that to help you spin and tuck your nose around. Your nose goes around like more than 90 degrees, because it’s (the standing wave) really curling. And right next to that big mossy rock, there’s a pretty good hit. And usually you’re so close to the mossy you have to ship your oar. But it’s really fun. Once that current grabs you, it’s a roller-coaster.”

With these kernels of knowledge we boarded our rafts, shoved off from shore, slowly floated towards the brink, and placed faith in our guides. While I braced myself in the rear of the raft and Bud and Beth McMahon anchored themselves in front, boatman Erika Bash worked her oars against the current, selected her line, and just missed the sweet spot. The raft careened slightly off the “big mossy,” but she corrected with a deft oar stroke and the boat’s nose dropped into place. We bucked our way safely through the whitewater rodeo of the Drops.

As the rapids subsided the hand of man was now evident: the dambacked waters of Lake Powell pushed back upstream and dominated the wild river, turning it into flat water. Deep beneath the calm surface, perhaps 100 feet below, were two of the largest, but now buried, rapids of the river according to old timers: Gypsum and Dark Canyon. Perhaps someday they’ll be run again.

We then realized that we’d just been somewhere very special, where the pace of the river is the pace of your life. For many, it’s a life-changing trip, and the talk flows toward the next time, the next river, and the next canyon.

Traveler postcscript: Join us this coming September on another float through Canyonlands National Park. On board will be Kevin Poe, the National Park Service's original "Dark Ranger," who will provide nightly star shows.