On the sixth day of our journey we broke camp and set off down river. Occasionally, mountain sheep watched, calmly indifferent to our passage. This ram had magnificent horns.
Around noon, we beached at Phantom Ranch. The narrow bridge high above the river is for the mules that bring people down from the south rim of the canyon. I saw a train of them pass overhead to disappear into the cliff face.
At first sight, Phantom Ranch confirmed the worst. Here, the flag flew at half mast. It was here, days after the unprecedented attack upon Americans on American soil, that we numbly listened to the unthinkable, four planes..the twin towers.....the pentagon....thousands dead.......
Heavy of heart, we shoved off, carried downstream by the strong currents of a river that was impervious to our existence. Appropriately, storm clouds rose above the canyon walls, eventually blotting out the sun and casting a shadowy gloom into the canyon.
That night, we sat in a somber circle where each member of the party voiced his or her feelings. The consensus was that we were where-we were, in the middle of this trip with no choice but to continue downstream as planned. We decided, as much as possible, to put our fearful emotions on hold and to allow ourselves the full magical experience of river and canyon.In the night, it rained, a hard cleansing downpour and the next morning we set off with somewhat renewed spirits. On September 23, 2001 we beached at Diamond Creek to re-enter a world that had changed forever.
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