Into the Inner Gorge
Right after Hance Rapid at mile 77, the dark Precambrian rock of the inner gorge appears. Very soon, you're in a somber gorge over a thousand feet deep. The rock was metamorphosed into schist about 1.7 billion years ago, deep underground at the time. It was intruded by molten fingers of igneous rock, some of which were later apparently deformed themselves.
Rapids await you in there. First is Sockdolager, then Grapevine. Several big ones are after Phantom Ranch.
Presently, you arrive at the suspension bridge where the Bright Angel Trail crosses the river enroute from north to south rims. Here, you can walk up to Phantom Ranch, or you can use the payphone nearer the river where the campground is. You can phone friends and refill your water jugs.
Hikers were waiting "until four o'clock," they said, on the beach by the river. We saw why. Along the trail was a sign, shaped like a stop sign. It said something like this: "Stop! Heat Kills!" It told about the folly of hiking out of the canyon during the heat of the day. It recommended not starting up until four in the afternoon.
How well I know! In college, around thirty years ago, four of us hiked down into the Grand Canyon and camped at the Bright Angel campground. No hiking or camping permits were needed then, as now. Coming back up, we didn't get an early start, and it must have been 120 degrees down there! Black rock radiated heat like a furnace. Not a bit of wind stirred, though a hurricane would have been nice. Somehow, we slogged up to Indian Gardens on the Tonto Platform, where there are shade trees and water. We fell dead, at least for several hours. What to do next?
There was going to be a full moon that night, and a plan was made. Soon as that moon came over the rim, up we'd go. That's what we did, and it was most pleasant.
While stopped, I overheard a lady using the pay phone near the campground. An injury had occurred on a motor trip, and a helicopter was coming to evacuate someone. Jeanette had seen the injured being taken in a wheelbarrow from the ranger station to the helipad. Sure enough, a helicopter came dropping down into the canyon, swooped around to land, and soon was on the way out again.
Some of the biggest rapids in the canyon come right after Phantom. Horn Creek is down the river just a couple miles, but it's easy at the high water level we had. It was getting late in the day, so we camped near Trinity Creek. A commercial motor trip guide at Phantom had said they needed that big camp, but they must have gone farther. We took it.
Granite Rapid looked worse than it was. John, an AZRA guide, had said he didn't see much way of avoiding the giant waves there. We didn't avoid them by much, but we had a good run. This was one of two places where a motorboat ran the rapid, and then turned and waited for us to come through. We appreciated it.
Hermit Rapid looked easy, and it probably was. But we still got taken too close to the giant waves and were hammered. It was high water and wave #5 was periodically exploding. It was a good wakeup call for Crystal, just downriver.
Crystal was the only place that seemed lonely. I thought there'd probably be several boats, and people scouting the rapid. No one was there. We walked down, scouted it, refreshed my memory about what had to be done, made a rather exact plan that had better work, and wished for another group to come down the river. But nobody came.
We wanted solitude and aloneness, and that's what we were getting! Nothing to do but walk back to the boat and run the rapid. As Martin Litton says, it's only water. Somewhere down on the left side, not in clear view, is The Awful Thing, said to have been moderated by high water in 1983. You'd better not go there, but the whole river tries to pull you left.
Solemn scout of Crystal Rapid
You have to pull off the tongue, but if you get fooled into pulling off too early you'll get spun around by the current and taken out to the middle of the river. You want to wait 'till the time is exactly right, but don't wait too long! That's bad, too.
Truth be known, I rather enjoy making plans for places like this. Here, the plan has got to work and the pressure is on. A single-boat trip, and nobody around! We tightened things up and snugged our life jackets, but there's only so much of that you can do. To execute our plan, we would row out into the current and be borne off toward the rapid.
We floated down the right side of the tongue with a backferry angle plugged in. When I saw we were in the right place, I took my eyes off the river and rowed. I don't remember much about the rapid, just about rowing hard, stern angled downstream toward the right bank. When I felt the boat start to turn bow downstream a little, I knew we'd reached the slower water right of the tongue. We'd made it and were gonna be ABC (Alive Below Crystal). I did glance over at the terrible waves to our left as we were passing. It was hard to get to the right of the long gravel bar below the rapid, but we made it. We wanted the camp right there below Crystal, but there was no way. We went around the bend and camped just above Tuna Creek Rapid.
There used to be a show on television where George Peppard would say, "I love it when a plan comes together!" So do I.
Tuna Creek Rapid, from our ABC camp
Below Crystal, the river enters "The Jewels," a section of river where rapids are named for certain crystals. I suppose Crystal itself is a jewel, and it's appropriate that its name be inclusive of all the others. Others are Agate, Ruby, Sapphire, and Turquoise.