LATEST EXCERPT, FROM "SINYALA FAULT":
Back at camp, I try to lose my worry in the book, to no avail. Something’s wrong, and I don’t know what it is. Dehydration? The flu? Too much water? Not enough? What? Alan won’t send out a search party for nearly two weeks, and that’s enough room to die in. I hadn’t counted on this.
To those unfamiliar with this desert canyon world, it might seem a trifle melodramatic to talk of death at this point. It is difficult to describe the terrible realities of this unforgiving ecology, more so to explain why one would even want to be in it in the first place. Withering heat and dryness; tiny, ephemeral, well-hidden water sources; impenetrable cliff barriers at every hand, accessible only via barely discernible flaws hewn from solid rock a million years before, or along breathtakingly steep, jumbled fault lines. Human visitors since that time can be counted on one hand, perhaps two.
Indescribable beauty and solitude, every step a discovery, a challenge not only to body but to spirit and will. A twisted ankle, a blocked path, and you’re on your own to solve the puzzle or perish…
...I’m feeling worse, moving slower. I finally reach the saddle overlooking Matkat, in dwindling light. The view makes me reel—it’s too big, too powerful. Mount Sinyala absorbs the rays of the brilliant Arizona orange-red sunset, cleaving the light in two and throwing shadows into the depths below. I lie down right there, my bed a spacious flat slab of sandstone left by some ancient sea, the only furnishing the perfect backrest of a sole, smooth boulder. Reserved seating. I’m too tired and ill to sleep, so I read on well into the shortest night of the year by headlamp, finishing as the stars begin to fade.
I also finish the last of my water.
I pack up in the growing light, leaving A Farewell to Arms under the boulder. I need to drop unneeded weight. This is crazy—it’s only day four and already trouble is manifest.
It’s too quick for trouble. I’m too alone for trouble.
It comes anyway.
The Author
"He wore a smile you could see a mile."
(from Robert Service, "The Cremation of Sam McGee")
River "Gods"
River guides are a band of brothers & sisters. An eclectic bunch of "talented misfits", anti-authoritarian and craving adventure. Often, our clients only see our professional sides, poised in the face of the storm. Thus, the moniker "River Gods".
We know better. The stories in River God show who we really are, our fears, frailties, and failures.
And our shining moments.
About the author
Jeffe Aronson
I row Dories in Grand Canyon. Best job in the world. Best damn river trip on earth.
I escaped my Chicago Jewish neighborhood young, rebellious and lost, frantic to leave “civilized” far behind. Rivers saved my soul, specifically the one that carved the Grand Canyon: The Mighty Colorado.
My love of rivers, spiced with evocative descriptions of the wild places I've been and a rather wobbly tightrope of life and death, will grip you. Whether you're sitting around a campfire or sitting on your couch–get lost with me in River God.
A riveting collection of adventure narratives
River God reveals Nature at her
wildest, which, like a woman, is when she is most beautiful. Follow along on a search for the essence of things, a new
tribe. Perhaps, like me, you will feel the beating of your heart through wilderness.
“Jeffe's stories take readers places they yearn to glimpse, but dare not go. Hell, you can die out there.”
Click Any link below to see some great videos! (The photos are random)
