by Kathryn Retzler

Bluff, Utah [Summer 2003]

How can you tell when a river guide is lying?

His lips are moving.

The question comes from our river guide, Jeff Matlock who’s been "running" the San Juan for more than ten years. Marcus Buck, a Navajo river guide trainee and self-described "nature dude" provides the answer, with a quick cut of his eyes toward Jeff. Both guide with Wild Rivers Expeditions out of Bluff, Utah, an outfit that prides itself on providing guides with archaeological and geological backgrounds. 
 
 

Passengers ready to take off on Wild River Expedition.

It’s eight o’clock on a cool morning and we have just "put in" the San Juan River at Sand Island. We expect to "take out" late this afternoon at Mexican Hat. In between, explains Jeff, we will get to see some rock art, hike up to an ancestral pueblo and see some interesting geology.

It is a massive understatement.

There are six of us on a heavy rubber raft—industrial strength, Jeff tells us— and a lot of neatly stowed gear, including the lockers holding our lunch, a barrel of drinking water, WWII vintage metal amo boxes (watertight) to hold our cameras. We are layered in sweaters, jackets and life jackets, all buckled up and ready to go. Jeff starts the 8-horsepower motor—the oars remain shipped. "Feel the power!" Jeff exults, gently turning the motor. We meander around a large cobble and resume our leisurely course.

Today the river is flowing at a leisurely 1600 cubic feet per second (CFS). It’s been a lot higher, 15 thousand CFS during recent near-flood stage, a lowly 200 CFS at the end of last summer. "I had to get out and push then," Jeff says, his lips barely moving. The rafts are heavy, the mud and cobbles under the water uneven and uncertain. Jeff is wearing rubber sandals. The better to get out and push? I wonder. His feet must be freezing.

"Will we have any rapids today?" I ask.

"Several," says Jeff, lips definitely moving. "Wait till you see ‘Eight Foot.’"

I shiver with anticipation and check to see that my camera is safely locked in the amo box. Marcus hides a quick grin. Uh huh.

This will be a "daily" (a day trip). Wild Rivers makes longer trips, three days to a week, some here, some as far away as Mexico or Siberia. On the San Juan River trips, visitors float from Mile 0, at the bridge by Sand Island, deep into the canyon above Mexican Hat, at Mile 26, or into swifter water below it, in some cases all the way to Lake Powell (a seven-day trip). Along the upper part of the journey, above the canyon, guides stop frequently for tours of archaeological sites.

There is too much to see in one short day, but Jeff has picked out some good spots. "See the rock art?" he asks, pointing toward a huge wall of Navajo Sandstone. I peer, see nothing but red rock. "There," he says, gesturing again. I think I see something now, some squiggles and circles, cuts revealing the lighter, natural color of the sandstone beneath its "desert varnish," an iron and manganese coating that darkens the surface over time. We are floating along beneath eight miles of visible archaeology, Jeff informs us.

He deftly turns the boat, heads briefly upriver, angling toward the shore, then touches our bow to sand. Marcus jumps off, grabs the bow rope, fumbles with the knot, ties us up to a tree. We climb out, hook our lifejackets to a handy branch—so they won’t fly away in a sudden gust of wind—then amble up from the beach, dogging Jeff’s footsteps. My bum leg makes it difficult to negotiate the not-very-steep trail, so Jeff pulls and Marcus strategically places himself behind me—to push. The others clamor along behind us. I’m watching the ground, not looking ahead, so it’s a big surprise when we stop, look up...and see petroglyphs placed there a long time ago. When Jeff tells us how long—more or less; everything in archaeology is subject to conjecture—my jaw drops. These are San Juan anthropomorphic figures (square bodies, short arms and legs, broom-stick hands and feet, big round heads, big eyes), rock art from the Early Basket Maker period, about AD 200-300, Jeff tells us. The later layers, which are more abstract, are more toward the Pueblo Rock art period. The earlier, the Glen Canyon linear style, is Pre Basket Maker, and could be as old as 4000 B.C." He points to some lower carvings, mostly horses, obviously fresher, newer... "Historic" rock art, done maybe 100-150 years ago. We are looking at the Lower Butler panel.

"How did they get up there to do that?" I wonder aloud. "Why did they do that?" Jeff gives the answer I’ve heard often on these expeditions. "Nobody really knows," and goes on to explain his theory, conjecture only, that they might have used ladders, and maybe one shaman, or medicine man, would go along, over a period of time, doing a whole series of drawings with spiritual or ceremonial meaning.

In other words, nobody really knows. I like the sense of mystery. How nice to be able to use my own imagination instead of having it all written down for me to study and take a test on later. Except for the enigmatic rock art, the Native American peoples relied on oral, not written, communication of their culture and traditions.

We head back to the boat then reboard, ready for our next adventure. It’s a dandy: River House. (Also known as "Serpent House," because of the snake-like pictograph painted above it.)

Jeff beaches the boat again, Marcus ties us up, we anchor our life jackets and go with the guides, Jeff pulling and Marcus pushing me when we reach the BLM-carved steps at the old pueblo. Jeff stops, cautions us to "take only pictures, leave only footprints," and not touch or lean on the ancient walls. Along the way we see some "museum rocks," where people have placed items found at the site—tiny corn cobs, seeds, shards of pottery, arrowheads. Jeff cautions us to stay on the trail, not step on or into the "midden," ancient trash heap, which has yet to be excavated by archaeologists.
 

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