I've always been in awe of canyons. The history they reveal in each color, in each craig, in
each rough spot, captivates me. My mind often wonders about the people who were the first to discover such places. Did they look upon the rocks in awe too, or were they terrified at the depth of these geological giants?
A river that formed one such giant is the Arkansas River. She pushes her way down through the Colorado Rockies until ending her timeless journey in the Mississippi. That is, if irrigation and draught don't drain her first.
Closer to her headwaters, high in the Sawatch Range, she rushes over granite boulders and rubs against high elevation prairies forming turbulent rapids. Her snow melt waters churn and thrash forming holes and eddies that trained eyes navigate. Her story exposed in sediment layers and gneiss rock.
From Pine Creek Rapid down through the Royal Gorge, rafters and kayakers navigate boulder fields, flat waters, rebar, and up river winds starting in early spring through mid fall. Thrill seekers flock to the waters to try their own luck. My father was no different, and through him I came too.