winter 07-08 / 20:4 - Grand Canyon River Guides

The Final One
Much like a tribe of semi-nomad people,
Some band of mid-aged warriors in a common test,
Each quick to lay a claim to windy campsite,
Grouped as family for some days, at best.
The daybreak comes, with pump and conch and feasting,
The blue tents fall—in an ecstacy of fumbling,
The piles of poles and bags take shape against the sand,
With weary warriors to the water stumbling.
Ten blue bags, and six of those, and heavy boxes now,
More sacks, the food, the tables, and the stove,
Haste—make haste!—to morning’s destination rowing,
Through the daybreak to some quiet saving cove.
The transformation thus complete—a final check,
Our homes that ballast now for tiny ships,
“Snap the carabiner here…not there!” and fasten down,
For fear the oarsman in the torrent slips.
Prickly things and aches and minor cuts. The boatman
Tries to act concerned, between his frequent sips,
Then presses on with daily work, regaling us
With tales of other long-forgotten river trips.
Near day’s end, we gather close again as one,
To talk and tell and drink and swear and lie,
To speak of things we learned or should have learned,
If time had just permitted, by and by.
Indeed, as life o’er takes us all, who would not pay
A dearly sum…to pull up short and scout this journey’s end
But river Life, alas,…it bears no sandy point
For observation there—no saving bend.
No chance to see what lies beyond the rumble-roar,
On faith alone we wander to the water’s top,
In hopes our entry, late, but well-positioned, will
In some way unexplained protect us from a hellish drop.
One can only hope for time to read the currents,
Scouting waters for each other when we can,
And verve to face our fears with equal courage,
As consequences so dire awaits aborted plan.
Vishnu, though, will little note not long remember,
Whether we approach in darkness or in sun,
Not how we strain to read the water’s subtle eddies,
As we’re carried slowly forward to The Final Run.
The lizard with the reddish neck makes little note,
Observing from his place upon the wall.
The bighorn sheep cares even less, it seems…
And Vishnu Schist…cares not at all.
Charles Walker
page 26
grand canyon river guides