"You'll have to figure that out yourself," she said. "Evelyn, you ready with the batter?"

Evelyn knelt beside Dixie and tilted the mixing bowl so Dixie could sc.r.a.pe the cake batter into the great iron Dutch oven.

"I'd like to flip, just to see what everyone's talking about," Amy said.

"Ride with Abo," said Dixie with a grunt as she hoisted the Dutch oven over the bed of coals. Evelyn offered to wash the bowl.

"Leave it for Abo," said Dixie.

"Leave it for JT, you mean," said Abo.

Who at that moment came over lugging a full jug of water.

"I'm taking a survey," Peter said. "How many times have you you flipped?" flipped?"

JT set the jug on the drink table. The corners of his eyes crinkled. "Why're you asking?"

"I'm trying to figure out the safest boat to ride in."

"Not mine," said Dixie.

"Or mine," said Abo.

"Definitely not mine," said JT.

They were all joking, and Evelyn knew that, but joking was one thing she had never been very good at. She wished right now that she could say something that would make them all laugh, and admire her, and want to ride with her tomorrow.

"How do you tell when ravioli is done?" Abo said, poking a long spoon into the pot.

"When they float," said Amy.

"Oh," said Abo. "Okay. DINNER!"

Amy sc.r.a.ped the pile of red peppers into Peter's salad. They faced one another, beaming, and high-fived.

"WASH YOUR HANDS!" Abo yelled.

Evelyn stood in line and hugged a plate to her chest.

"My oh my," said Lloyd, peering into the pot.

"Get in line, Lloyd," said Ruth.

"Where have you been?" Mark asked Jill, who had rejoined the group.

"Talking with Susan."

"You look very rested," said Mark.

"I am," said Jill. "Oh Evelyn, I'm sorry, were you in line?"

Evelyn didn't understand how it could appear that she might not not be in line. She told Jill to go ahead, but Jill insisted Evelyn go first, so Evelyn picked up a plate and made her way through the food line. Her shoulders ached from paddling, and as she carried her plate across the sand, she thought of Julian, who kept a set of weights in front of his television set. She should buy a set of weights. be in line. She told Jill to go ahead, but Jill insisted Evelyn go first, so Evelyn picked up a plate and made her way through the food line. Her shoulders ached from paddling, and as she carried her plate across the sand, she thought of Julian, who kept a set of weights in front of his television set. She should buy a set of weights.

Suddenly famished, she sat down in a central spot and waited for others to join her.

That evening the bats came out. One minute there was nothing; the next minute they swarmed down from the cliffs, fluttering in jerky loops. The air seemed hotter than it had during the day, a phenomenon that Mitch.e.l.l claimed made no sense but which JT knew could easily happen on a midsummer evening.

Already he could sense the water levels rising for the night; even though the surge from the dam wouldn't come until after eleven or so, the waves seemed to lap more hungrily at the sh.o.r.eline. They were camped right below Saddle Canyon, at River Mile 47, and before turning in for the night, he enlisted the help of Abo and Dixie to move the kitchen back a few feet, just to be safe.

He was tired but sensed he wouldn't sleep much tonight. He couldn't have said just why. Maybe because of the heat; maybe because of Ruth's leg, which wasn't looking any better when he rebandaged it that night. Then too there was the dog, who-despite a second tomato juice bath-still smelled like skunk. At least they had a better-fitting life jacket for him now.

Wearily he dried his feet, rubbed them with cream, and put on his socks. He stretched out on his sleeping pad and told himself to stop worrying so much. In the grand scheme of a river trip, one sc.r.a.ped shin and a skunked-up dog were minor things. They'd be fine. Letting his weight settle, he sighed deeply and closed his eyes, feeling his boat gently bobbing in the shallows, listening to the rea.s.suring murmur of nearby voices.

Up at Glen Canyon Dam, the engineers opened the spillways, and beneath the stars the river rose.

July 6 Day Three

This morning we stopped at this humongous cavern. People played Frisbee, which I hate, I've never been able to throw it right, it always flies slanted and then rolls away and everyone gets p.i.s.sed at me. They tried to make me play but I took out my camera and pretended I was busy and they figured it out and were probably relieved anyway.

Then we stopped at this tunnel where they were going to build a dam. This is where things get interesting. We go into the tunnel, and it gets really really dark. At some point Mitch.e.l.l decides to take a picture, and the flash spooks the dog, and the dog bolts. Sam's dad gets mad at Sam because Sam was supposed to hang on to the dog. Sam's mom yells at Sam's dad for yelling at Sam. Anyway, we head back-and THE DOG'S GOTTEN INTO A SKUNK!!!!!!!!!!! I didn't even know they had skunks in the Grand Canyon!!!!!!!! The dog totally REEKED, and JT washed him with tomato juice, but it didn't help AT ALL. So now we have a dog that smells like skunk.

I love sleeping out in the open. But Mom wants me to sleep near her. What does she think-I'm going to go have s.e.x with the guides?

Like they'd want to.

DAY FOUR.

River Miles 4760 Saddle Canyon to Sixty-Mile Rapid

18.

Day Four, Morning Miles 4753 It was still dark the next morning when a noise from the kitchen startled JT awake. He sat up. Often the ringtail cats came scrounging for food in the night, and he didn't want to face a mess this morning. Taking care not to step on the dog, who lay curled in the well of his boat, he strapped on his headlamp and hopped off his boat onto the damp sand. The wide expanse of beach was pale against the dark blur of water, rock, and thicket. JT wedged his feet into his flip-flops and headed toward the kitchen, wondering why the dog hadn't sensed anything.

But instead of a ringtail, he saw a human form bent over the kitchen supply boxes.

"Lloyd," whispered JT. "What do you need?"

Startled, Lloyd raised his arm, as if to strike.

"Lloyd, it's JT," he said gently. "What are you looking for?"

"Somebody took my stethoscope!"

"Stethoscope?"

"Somebody stole it," said Lloyd.

"What makes you think that?"

"Because," said Lloyd. "Because."

JT waited patiently.

"I'm going to find out who took it," said Lloyd. "And when I do ..."

JT glanced around the campsite for signs of Ruth but saw no other movement. "Lloyd," he said. "Where did you sleep last night?"

Lloyd scanned the darkness surrounding them. "I think," he said, "I think it's this way," and he trudged off toward a blurry shape on the sand.

"Ruth," JT said in a hoa.r.s.e whisper.

A head popped up from the lump.

"I told told you we were right here!" Lloyd said to JT. "You didn't have to wake her." you we were right here!" Lloyd said to JT. "You didn't have to wake her."

"Lloyd, what are you doing up?" Ruth asked groggily, feeling about for her gla.s.ses.

"Somebody stole my stethoscope," Lloyd said.

"You didn't bring your stethoscope, Lloyd," said Ruth.

"Yes I did!" shouted Lloyd.

"Ssshhhh!" Ruth tried to stand, but her leg must have hurt because she sat back down. "We'll find your stethoscope in the morning," she told him. "Come lie down, Lloyd. It's too early to get up. I'm so sorry," she said to JT.

"No problem," said JT.

"You'll go back to sleep, won't you?"

JT looked at the sky. "Nope. Time to make coffee."

"My goodness," said Ruth.

"When it's light, I want to check your leg again," said JT.

"Oh, pooh," said Ruth. "It's fine."

"G.o.dd.a.m.n hundred-dollar piece of equipment," said Lloyd.

"Get some rest," JT whispered, and as he walked away, he could hear Ruth scolding Lloyd. "You have to tell me when you get up in the night! You can't just walk off like that!"

Returning to the kitchen area, JT clicked the light stick and the stove whumped whumped up into a hot blue circle of flame under the pot. The confusion over the stethoscope only confirmed what JT had begun to suspect after three days of Lloyd losing his day bag and forgetting everyone's name and wondering where the dog had come from. It didn't take a neuroscientist. If you'd asked his advice generally, he'd have said without hesitation that a thirteen-day rafting trip through the Grand Canyon was no place for a seventy-six-year-old man with Alzheimer's. But JT knew Ruth and Lloyd. He'd guided four or five trips with them over the years and knew that if any two people depended on the river for their soul and sustenance, it was this couple from Evanston, Illinois. He also knew that Ruth was a capable woman with a good head on her shoulders, who had presumably consulted with Lloyd's doctor and made an informed decision on the matter. up into a hot blue circle of flame under the pot. The confusion over the stethoscope only confirmed what JT had begun to suspect after three days of Lloyd losing his day bag and forgetting everyone's name and wondering where the dog had come from. It didn't take a neuroscientist. If you'd asked his advice generally, he'd have said without hesitation that a thirteen-day rafting trip through the Grand Canyon was no place for a seventy-six-year-old man with Alzheimer's. But JT knew Ruth and Lloyd. He'd guided four or five trips with them over the years and knew that if any two people depended on the river for their soul and sustenance, it was this couple from Evanston, Illinois. He also knew that Ruth was a capable woman with a good head on her shoulders, who had presumably consulted with Lloyd's doctor and made an informed decision on the matter.

Nevertheless, he was bothered by the fact that Ruth hadn't disclosed anything about Lloyd's condition on his medical form. The guides had extensive training in emergency medicine, but they depended on their pa.s.sengers to tell them about chronic conditions.

All he asked was that people be straight with him.

Instead of rushing off that morning, they hiked up into a shadowy canyon abloom with the showy white trumpets of the sacred datura. Lacy maidenhair ferns lined the streambed, and orange monkeyflower spilled out of glistening pink walls. Eventually, the canyon dead-ended in a long, narrow slot pool, where everyone-including Peter-dunked themselves.

Back at the river, Mitch.e.l.l surprised them all with an abrupt turnabout: he and Lena would be riding with JT today. No offense to Dixie, but he was wanting to get to know JT a little better. He'd thought about it long and hard last night, and as long as the dog stayed at the other end of the boat, Lena would be fine.

Thus JT found himself rowing with Mitch.e.l.l and Lena that fourth morning. And he was glad it had worked out this way, because in his heart, he liked to think that beneath the surface of every pain in the a.s.s was a well-intentioned individual who could probably shed light on some topic that JT had always been wondering about. To this end, as they headed out onto the river, he began to ask questions, and Mitch.e.l.l was glad to talk, and within the first half hour, JT learned that Mitch.e.l.l had paddled every mile of John Wesley Powell's 1869 expedition except this last stretch.

"And what'll you do when you finish?" JT asked.

"Write a book," said Mitch.e.l.l.

JT was pretty confident somebody else had already written that book.

"I've seen you writing in your journal," he said, to be friendly.

"Oh, he has notes galore," Lena chimed in. "We're running out of s.p.a.ce! I tease him. I say, 'Mitch.e.l.l, when are you going to write the darn thing?'"

"That's an ambitious project," said JT.

"Well, you gotta have a project when you're retired. What about you boatmen? Do you ever retire?"

This was not a question JT could easily answer. Some of his friends stopped guiding when they had families or simply left the river in search of a steady income. Others developed back or shoulder problems. But some kept rowing well into their seventies-wooden dories, rafts, kayaks, whatever they could get their hands on, because keeping them out of the canyon was like keeping them away from food or water.

JT didn't know if he would be one of the old-timers or not. In fact his son Colin, a lawyer with a Phoenix firm, had begun pressing JT to retire from the river. "You're fifty-two, Dad. Get a real job. You need medical benefits, you need a retirement plan." JT would point out that a retirement plan wasn't going to do him much good starting at this late date. "Doesn't matter," said Colin. "You shouldn't be lifting coolers in and out of boats. Who's going to take care of you when you need back surgery? Or when that hernia you've been complaining about starts hollering for some attention?"

JT was moved that Colin was looking out for him, but he suspected that Colin always wished he'd had a more traditional kind of father, not someone who was perfectly happy to fill in with some carpentry during the winter while waiting for the river corridor to open up in April.

"Some of us retire," he told Mitch.e.l.l now. "Some of us will never leave, though."

"And which are you?"

JT grinned. "Haven't figured it out yet."