As we round a bend and come over a small rise, I feel
like I’ve been hit in the middle of my everything. I grab for
Frank’s arm and say, “Wait a minute, Bigfeets, I don’t think I can
take much more of this. It’s too beautiful!” Suddenly, I’m crying.
He nods, takes my hand, and squeezes hard. When I look at him,
there are tears in his eyes as well.
I ask
myself, what’s here that triggers an emotion so overwhelming it
brings tears? It’s not like theater, where our emotions are aroused
by what we hear, and we cry over words and evolving situations.
This is rock – inert – water, air, aromas, silence, light, and
shadowplay. Words would mock this scene.
Our
tears have come unexpectedly because we’re thankful to the point of
overflowing. We’ve just been handed a spectacular gift – rare,
flawless, stunning to the senses – and the privilege has touched
our hearts in a wash (of) humility and reverence. I am humbled and
bow my head before these generous Canyon Gods, glad to be the one
who can shed tears.
Floyd Dominy would probably
stop here and take a piss.
“
Katie Lee,
All My Rivers Are
Gone
from an Oct. 1, 1955, journal noteA river
rat remembers
Almost 45 years ago, a young
folksinger named Katie Lee escaped from Hollywood and started
rafting the Colorado River. She soon fell head over heels in love –
with both the power of the river and the beauty of Utah’s Glen
Canyon. Sixteen river trips and less than a decade later, her love
affair was interrupted by the Bureau of Reclamation, which built
Glen Canyon Dam and put the redrock canyon under 500 feet of
water.
Now, a 70-something Katie Lee is sharing
her memories of Glen Canyon in a witty, angry scrapbook of journal
entries, songs, and stories. From the start of All My Rivers Are
Gone, it’s clear that her passion for the Colorado isn’t just
nostalgia for what used to be: On the first day of her first trip,
before she’d even heard of the Bureau of Reclamation, Lee’s notes
show that she was bowled over by the river and its canyons. During
the next few years, she immersed herself – both literally and
figuratively – in Glen Canyon, skinny-dipping, sunbathing and
squeezing through side canyons at every
opportunity.
She can’t say enough about “my
river,” but Lee is anything but sentimental. “It started raining
and blowing like hell! I spilled hot coffee on my hand! Ann dropped
the bench with all the food on it! Everything was full of sand!”
she complains to her journal at one point in a river trip. She’s
cynical and profane throughout, with a self-described “sadistic
sense of humor,” and you get the feeling that she never puts aside
her hard shell unless she really has something to say. In All My
Rivers Are Gone, she most definitely
does.
” Michelle
Nijhuis
This article appeared in the print edition of the magazine with the headline A river rat remembers.
Republish our articles for free, online or in print, under a Creative Commons license.
