fall break: in which the desert reminds you that summer is over and you may as well suck it up

The thing about the desert is that it never rains. Unless it does rain and then it really rains.

Over the weekend, I went on a much-anticipated paddling trip on the Green River, through Labyrinth Canyon, a 68-mile stretch of flatwater between Green River and Moab. I've been wanting to make the trip for years and trying to plan a trip for at least a year and finally all of my fellow paddlers figured out a weekend that would fit our schedules.

I anticipated that the trip would give me a final dose of hot sun before the inevitable winter blues set in. I expected to be wearing shorts and tank tops and relaxing. I even bought a new cooler to fill up with ice and beer.

Ha, ha, ha.

What I needed was a constantly brewing coffee pot.

It rained at least three inches over two days. The river gained four feet of depth, maybe more. Waterfalls cascaded all around us. The river was full of floating logs, garbage (and we're pretty certain, sewage). We had to make an early morning canoe rescue because the shore had disappeared over night. We did jumping jacks to keep warm on a one foot wide stretch of sand where we stopped to eat lunch. We paddled thirty-four miles in one day and paddled well beyond sunset because all of the campsites were under water. Not exactly what I had expected.

The rain that we experienced flooded Hanksville, a hundred year flood apparently. The trip was wet and soggy and cold, but it was damn amazing. I've always wanted to see a flash flood, but not be in it and I think I got pretty close. Watching the rain tumble down the canyon walls, watching streams form and surge and disappear in a matter of hours, watching pounds of silt shift and collect, I felt like all of the desert's secrets were being revealed.