By this time my hands were so sunburned from hanging onto the ropes through all the rapids, they had begun to crack and bleed. That's what happens when you run out of suntan lotion... which was in short supply among all the rats. Digging deep into my duffel bag, I found some white socks for make-shift gloves. Improvising was the name of the game!

The next morning we slept in late and had a leisurely breakfast. An air mattress float was planned for those rats who cared to participate. The big boat would be the first to leave, with the smaller boats hanging behind to pick up the floaters. At lunch a head count was taken...was it possible?...yes we had lost one rat!

One of the passengers was deaf, and had failed to tell anyone. Needing a rest stop he had beached his air mattress and disappeared behind some bushes as the last small boat passed by.

Fortunately Grand Canyon Expeditions was several hours behind us and came to his rescue. A small boat was sent up stream in hopes of finding the missing passenger. Meantime, Georgie spent many anxious hours awaiting word of his recovery.

That evening, after hearing that the missing rat was safe, Georgie decided that a party was in order. Everyone brought their remaining booze and dumped it into a bucket of "Start" mixed with river water. That "Jungle Punch" certainly did have a punch! After several swigs of the potent mixture everyone became more than a little soused...I knew I should have stopped when I misplaced my cup, only to find it setting in the sand between my legs!

As the walls of the canyon diminished in size and the Colorado became calmer, rats looked to other diversions. Balloons and plastic baggies were filled with water and attacks between boats was the order of the day.

After passing Iceburg canyon we entered Lake Mead, meeting its gale head on. The steady rolling waves of the lake lulled some to sleep, while others talked of recent adventures.

Our last evening on the river was spent camping among rattlesnakes. Two had been killed before dinner. Georgie instructed everyone to "walk heavy" if they had to get up during the night. I spent this warm night with my sleeping bag zipped up to my nose...better to sweat than be surprised by one of those creatures!

The next morning everyone was up early for the last leg of our trip. The last organized water battle of balloons and baggies of the May 1970 trip was held before arriving at Temple Bar, Nevada that afternoon. In less than 2 hours the rafts were amorphous hunks of rubber and rope...to be loaded onto an awaiting truck.

An air conditioned bus awaited to take us across the Hoover Dam and back to Las Vegas. That evening a steak banquet was held at the Showboat Hotel and all were inducted into the "Royal Order of River Rats". Georgie said that she would remember this trip since it was the first time in 26 years that she'd lost anyone!

Most expeditions have their accidents in the rapids, not Georgie. She commented, "there's no need to worry about the rapids...nothing much happens there. It's the lake you have to watch. It'll get you every time". Well it got me...with a case of the "Lake Mead Revenge" the very next day. Don't drink the water!

Although it's been over 25 years since rafting the Colorado, fond memories of those few days remain. Seeing the Grand Canyon from the top is one thing, experiencing it from the bottom another.

crew and passengers

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