In the Heart of the Canyon - By Elisabeth Hyde Page 0,37

corridor to open up in April.

“Some of us retire,” he told Mitchell now. “Some of us will never leave, though.”

“And which are you?”

JT grinned. “Haven’t figured it out yet.”

“Do you ever get tired of it?” asked Lena.

“Oh,” said JT, “maybe there’ll be a trip in October that seems to last too long. But generally, no. If I ever get to the point where I feel like I’m shuttling people back and forth, then I’ll retire. I’m not there yet.”

Mitchell flipped open his guidebook, then scrutinized the cliffs. “Looks like we’re coming up on Nankoweap,” he said. “Are we going to stop? I’d sure love to see those granaries.”

“We’ll see. It’s a popular place,” said JT. “If there’s another party there, I’d just as soon not clog up the trail.”

It turned out there was, in fact, another large party at Nankoweap; from the river, JT could see a line of tiny figures inching up the steep peppered hillside to the ancient stone granaries. JT was tempted to skip the hike, but it was already past noon, and people were hungry.

“It’s a hot, dry hike,” he cautioned them after lunch. “If you come, bring two liters of water, and dunk your hat and shirt. No,” he told Sam sternly. “The dog stays here.”

Not everyone went; Dixie stayed with Ruth and Lloyd, and Peter opted for a nap. Of those who went, all but Mitchell followed JT’s advice and clothed themselves head to toe in wet cotton. Mitchell wore just a T-shirt, a dry one at that, claiming that he really did like the heat, and a wet shirt would just dry out within the first few minutes anyway, and he didn’t like that yo-yo feeling of being hot, then cold, then hot again. JT was too hot to argue, and Mitchell seemed to do just fine on the half-mile hike through desert scrub and then up along the side of the cliff, until, just fifty feet from the stone cubbies, he leaned over and vomited, not just once but retching repeatedly, so that JT had to grab on to the waistband of the man’s shorts to keep him from tumbling over the edge of the trail. He sent the others on ahead and made Mitchell sit and take small sips of water, but the man’s face and neck had turned deep red, and, sensing he was dangerously close to heat exhaustion, JT uncapped his own jug and poured half a liter of good drinking water over Mitchell’s head and shoulders.

“Sorry,” wheezed Mitchell.

Next time do what I tell you, JT wanted to say.

“This is amazing!” Lena called from above. “Mitchell! Are you coming?”

“In a minute,” Mitchell replied.

In a minute my ass, JT thought. “You okay?”

“Better,” said Mitchell, just before vomiting again.

Mitchell never made it to the granaries; he couldn’t seem to muster the strength to climb the last fifty feet. He didn’t seem to care about it, either—a bad sign for someone who’d been so intent on getting up there an hour ago. JT knew the signs of heatstroke and didn’t think Mitchell was there yet, but he was dangerously close.

It was hot this trip. He reminded himself that all trips in July were hot; but still, he had an elderly couple and an overweight girl and a man who refused to follow directions; and as they headed back to the boats, JT wondered just how hot it could get without these people going really strange on him.

19

Day Four

Miles 53–60

Whoa. Dude. What happened?” Peter asked Mitchell.

Without answering, Mitchell strode into the river and dove under.

“Mitchell got a little overheated,” said JT.

“Heatstroke?” asked Evelyn anxiously.

“No,” said JT, “but it could have been. Listen up,” he told the group. “In case you haven’t noticed, it isn’t getting any cooler down here. I want you all to drink as much as you can, and then some.”

“What’s heatstroke?” Sam murmured. He and the dog were lying on their sides, facing one another like spent lovers. The dog’s eyes were wide open, and he was panting heavily. Every so often, Sam poured a handful of sand on one of the dog’s paws, causing it to twitch.

“Heatstroke can kill you,” said Mark. “You better listen to JT.”

“And you gotta keep your body cool,” JT said. “Jump in the river. Dunk your clothes. I don’t care. If you’re hot, you’re stupid.”

There were somber faces all around as they stood in line to refill their water bottles. Peter held the jug, and as he poured for people, he whispered to Amy