“We are soooo lucky!” Rondo’s words no longer need to be spoken; we know them; they are in our dreams. The familiar call of “Coffee’s ready” moves us out of our sleeping bags. Packing up is easy this morning. Caroline runs the nearly overflowing blue bucket to the river, gives it a rinse, and adds it to the other buckets being collected.

The sky is heavy and overcast; it is one of the signals that our time here is done. Bruce and Katrina have prepared us banana walnut pancakes with a side of peaches and yogurt. Dishes are quickly cleaned and stowed, tables collapsed, and put back on rafts. Dry bags land with their familiar thump on the sand before being stacked in the equally familiar pattern used to best distribute their weight on the rafts. Another drop of the toilet seat in the distance indicates that the Unit is about to be free. With most everything packed up, Jeffe announces, “Last call to shit in a can!”

It’s 8:30. Time to go. One more laugh has been saved for us. Rondo is wearing his “Going Home” shirt, the one his wife doesn’t quite appreciate. It is emblazoned with the caption, “Arrgh, Prepare To Be Boarded.”

In our seats, Rondo leads a final cheer of, “Dories, Hooooooo!” We push off. Echoes of the days past follow me down the Canyon. I can still hear the faint song of “Wagon Wheel” sung during our Halloween party. “Do you want to go big?” and “I’m her mom” blur with the sounds of raindrops hitting the tent and the rumble of snoring. “A clean boat is a happy boat,” “keep us level,” and “bail, bail, bail” trail off, and finally, “That was fun.”

The oar slips into the water, and with a gentle pull, we go further. Like all of these days, the dory takes us to the place we know not. For these closing moments, we are still on the Colorado, living the experience of a lifetime. One more stop. The dories and rafts form a circle under a large sound-reflecting cliffside, and Katrina sings us one final song. It is titled “Traveling On” and was written by her friend Rick Meyer on the Lower Rio Grande during a river trip much like this one. Our boats spin slowly on the calm water while we listen to the poignant lyrics. Her voice has me traveling far outside of my emotional comfort zone, and I’m not alone. Many a tear is being added back to the river during Katrina’s heartfelt parting gift.

Mile 224 is behind us, and 225 will come and go as the trucks are spotted on the short beach ahead. They stand ready to make this entire enterprise disappear. Other boaters will soon arrive behind us. The speed with which our evacuation is orchestrated is evidence that we will soon be gone. One more riverside box lunch is prepared, but this one is not to be eaten next to a waterfall; it won’t be enjoyed in the Grand Canyon either. It is for our drive back to Flagstaff. We choose the van that will carry us and our belongings, and for the first time in weeks, we will put ourselves in a vehicle without oars.

There is no last look back up the river. There is no time for sentimentality. There can be no eye contact with anyone; the emotions are running harder than the river we just left.

The road out is bumpy. Dust kicks up, and the Canyon fades.

And of the days that follow?

Those are your days, your story. Make the time to find the magic in your experiences.

It all starts when you fall in love with it all.

–From my book titled: Stay In The Magic – A Voyage Into The Beauty Of The Grand Canyon about our journey down the Colorado back in late 2010.