In the Heart of the Canyon - By Elisabeth Hyde Page 0,79
to have to spend another 180 days of school with those people—
take me away
take me far, far away
DAY ELEVEN
River Miles 168–179
Fern Glen to Below Lava
37
Day Eleven
Miles 168–179
On the morning they’d be running Lava, JT brewed the coffee twice as strong. While the grounds were settling, he got out his sewing kit and mended one of the straps on his life jacket. He clipped his fingernails and washed his face well. Finally, he dug through his dry bag and got out his Lucky Lava shorts, which thus far had taken him safely down Lava Falls 124 times.
When the coffee was ready, he brought three steaming mugs down to the boats. Dixie wrapped her sheet around her shoulders and blew on the coffee. Abo sat like a bullfrog, blinking.
“Rise and shine,” JT said. “Its Judgment Day.”
He didn’t have to tell them, for they’d dreamt of it as they tossed and turned in their boats that night. Lava Falls, Mile 179, rated ten on a scale of ten. Lava, with a sharp drop-off at the top followed by the Ledge Hole, which could suck you straight down into the center of the earth.
Dixie took a sip of coffee and winced.
“And take these.” JT handed them some vitamins.
“It’s just Lava” complained Abo. “What’s the big deal, everybody?”
JT knew he was kidding, but there was an element of truth in what he said. Lava was unquestionably the Big One, but it got more than its fair share of horror stories. Which naturally Mitchell had passed on the night before—near drownings and broken limbs and wooden dories getting ripped to splinters. Swim Lava, Mitchell promised, and your hair will turn white.
“Mitchell’s got Susan scared to death,” Dixie said now. “She asked me if she and Amy could walk around it.”
“Nobody’s going to walk around it,” said JT. “We’re going to have good clean runs. We’ll take it from the right, hit the V-wave, get drenched, bail like hell, and be through in twenty seconds.”
“Mitchell’s just trying to scare people off so he can get a spot in the paddle boat,” said Dixie.
“I call Not-Mitchell,” Abo said promptly.
“Not-Mitchell,” Dixie echoed.
They both looked at JT.
“That leaves you, Boss,” said Abo.
“I’ll take Mitchell,” he said with a shrug. “Abo, you want to let Sam paddle?”
“Why, SURE I do!” Abo declared.
Dixie closed her eyes. “Abo? You’re here,” she said, leveling her hand up high, “and you want to be here.” She dropped her hand.
“And Evelyn,” said JT. “I think it’s really important to her.”
“Evelyn can paddle,” said Abo. “As long as I have Peter up front. This quiet enough for you, darlin’?” he asked Dixie.
“Now cover up your butt.”
Abo glanced over his shoulder, then pulled the bedding farther up around his hips. “Who’s taking Ruth and Lloyd?”
“I am,” said JT. There was no argument here. The fact that he had more experience than either Dixie or Abo didn’t guarantee anything. It did, however, make him feel prudent.
“How’s Ruth’s leg doing, anyway?” Dixie asked.
Fair is how JT would have characterized it. Holding. No more Cipro had turned up, so Ruth had only taken half the course, which meant they’d probably contributed to the global problem of antibiotic-resistant bacteria.
However, he wasn’t going to ship her off the river, not on Day Eleven. Two more days, and the Flagstaff ER could take over.
“I’ve seen worse,” JT told them. “But this is definitely Ruth and Lloyd’s last trip.”
“That’s so sad,” said Dixie, blowing on her coffee.
At breakfast JT had to tell Mitchell to shut up with his stories. Despite the apprehension, everyone ate heartily. Yesterday’s rift over Mark and Jill’s parenting judgment had healed for the moment in the presence of excitement over Lava. They all applied sunblock liberally today, as though it would protect them from the rapids themselves.
“I am so sick of groovers,” said Peter, relaying the roll of toilet paper to Jill.
“Anyone seen my water bottle?”
Mitchell called out. “Mitchell,” said Peter, holding his camera. “Smile.”
Mitchell smiled broadly.
There are no real rapids to speak of in that stretch of river above Lava Falls, and without them, the guides and the paddlers had to work extra hard to keep up their speed. They passed a landslide, with boulders perched precariously atop towers of rubble. Then they entered a vast volcanic field, with glistening black basalt dikes and lumpy beds of lava. Soon they rounded a bend, and a huge black rock rose up from the middle of the river—Vulcan’s Anvil, a malevolent ship in placid water.