A sample of my personal speechwriting

When I told a friend that I’d be talking today about our trip down the Colorado River through the Grand Canyon four years ago, she laughed and said, “So, you’re going to try to put the indescribable into words.” I nodded my head and smiled, acknowledging a concern I’d already had, and knowing that I simply have to give it a go. I’d like to persuade you to consider taking the journey yourself.

Nine people. Nine horizontal layers of rock striping the canyon walls with color. And nine days spent watching those towering walls as we alternately eased along the river and crashed through the rapids.

During the still, quiet times on the river our group learned the melodic names for each of the ancient rock layers. Bob, the guide on our 33-foot motorized raft, had been doing this for 25 years and wasn’t about to let us by without learning about the river and canyon he held so dear. So we listened as he gave us a memory device: “Know The Canyon’s History. Study Rocks Made By Time.” And we dutifully tried to recall the rock layer names from top to bottom: Kuy-bob, Torroweap, Cocinino, Hermit Shale, Sue-pie, Redwall, Moo-Ahv, Bright Angel Shale, and Tapeats.

We took to Bob like just-hatched ducklings imprinting on an Eagle. We were far outside our element as we traveled the more than 200 miles of our river journey. And with each mile we were more grateful to have a guide who had lived on the river for half of every year for a quarter century.

We relaxed because we trusted Bob. And each morning we were as excited as children because we knew he had secrets and treasures to share.

Bob saturated us with well-told stories about the river and the rocks, the people who had explored and lived here centuries before, and the politics and progress that now threaten the river. He told us jokes and taught us river songs. And he led us on hikes through side canyons as beautiful and rare as a glittering kaleidoscope of precious stones. And just as importantly, he was the guy who put the portal-potty downwind of our campsites and out of view each night when we made land!

One of the side canyons we visited held the Little Colorado River, and on the day we were there it was a milky turquoise. Bob encouraged us to ride the little river with our life vests strapped to our rears. We rode down the river dozens of times screaming in delight. At one set of rapids, I got my foot stuck underneath me and it scraped the rocks. A smile of happy reverie crosses my face every time I glimpse the scar the ride branded onto my right instep.

And I’ll tell you, placement of a porta-potty seemed like a no-brainer until we came upon a group whose inexperienced guide failed miserably in the job. We had come around a bend in the river and saw a group that had already put in for the night. They were socializing and setting up camp and waiting for their dinner to be made. Typical stuff. Then, just past the group was a little canvas closet of sorts with one side open to a view of the river. In it sat the most prim looking woman, wide-brimmed straw hat on her head, pants around her ankles — and the startled look of a trapped doe on her face as she realized that her river view also afforded river rats like us a full view of her constitutional. We figured she’d be constipated for weeks after, so as we eased away from her down the river, we serenaded her with one of our newly learned river songs. She was stunned into silence by the experience, but our laughter roared down the river and left us rolling around the boat in stitches.

Every day of our journey was full of contrasting moments that created a balance that seems lacking in the day-in-and-day-out of our normal lives. Every day we enjoyed the gift of solitude and stood up to the responsibilities of a communal life. Every day, we raged through a rapid and sat quietly on a sandy beach. Every day, we saw big horned sheep butting heads and tiny lizards doing pushups in the shade. Every day, we heard a story and told a story. Every day, we witnessed the towering stillness of the sharp canyon walls and fluttered our fingers along the surface of a ceaseless river surging with life. Every day, we learned about the deep and nearly unfathomable past and took a moment to contemplate our brief lives. And every day we laughed out loud and bowed our heads in silent prayers of gratitude.

Yes, the journey and the place still seem indescribable to me. I feel that words cannot do it justice, but I hope that by sharing a bit of my journey I’ve inspired you to find your river — and ride it well.

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