Thunder River Falls

At one point, John decided it was time to get some information from the other side of the Canyon. He had been checking the situation with the Rangers and heard that there was a big wood signpost that had to be hauled to the North Rim side via helicopter, and shopped the idea that his three researchers could make up the rest of the helicopter’s crew. Flight over the Canyon! Seagull in action! This news electrified us. None of us had ever ridden in a helicopter before, and my heart beat faster as I packed my gear, plenty of surveys, and the luxury of clipboards since I did not have to carry them too far. 

We were to be flown to Thunder River Falls, a pretty spectacular spot and one which was used by rafters to exit the River from the North side. The Falls surge down from two cave outlets during wet times, crashing into a spectacular pool below before rushing on down to the Colorado River. 

My heart was beating like a jackhammer as we went over to the helipad, where we met “Seagull” (John must have thrown a few rocks) and got ready for takeoff. The rotor blades were spinning slowly, and we were told to carefully approach in a crouched posture. It felt a bit like meeting royalty. We set our packs in the small storage area in back. Up next to the pilot, occupying the front seat, was that thick post, our excuse to fly. We were to meet the Ranger near the Falls, who would help us with the lay of the land and collect the post.

We three researchers were stuffed into the cozy back of the cabin. It was possibly the first time in my life I was jealous of a wooden post. We rose slowly into the heavens.

Shortly after, we swung far above the Abyss, a section of the Canyon that all aircraft had been asked to avoid, as a pair of breeding Peregrine falcons had been spotted in recent days. Yes, we knew all the Resources Management scoop. The rim dropped away and I remember thinking how magnificent, even if noisy, this all was.

Before I could even begin to process the thrill, we began to drop down near Thunder River. The Falls were fantastic, but the pool below looked incredibly inviting. I had read some comments from hikers about skinny-dipping in the pool, only to be outraged as helicopters swooped by, camera shutters clicking and capturing the scene. They were not best pleased.

We did our own swooping and landed. The Ranger (crouched over) collected the post, chucked our packs to the ground, and waved a farewell to Seagull. What a way to get around the Canyon! I was sold.

The Ranger took us to a small campground with just a few other folks milling about, staring at the strangers (without uniform) who had dropped from the sky in a National Park Service helicopter. My, weren’t we special!

As I recall, the Ranger pointed to the post and explained to them that there was really no other practical way to transport it there, and the area needed signage. We set up our tents and pulled out the surveys. I can remember one person in particular pointing out the hypocrisy of using a helicopter to collect information about aircraft intrusions. We pointed to the post again, but he didn’t look convinced.

We had a lovely afternoon, enjoying the pool at the base of the Falls and hiking around a bit. It was a gorgeous area. That night, we settled in at the campground and tried to absorb an amazing day. I remember pondering how difficult it would be to get a helicopter pilot’s license. Pretty thrilling!

Sometime late that night, or early the next morning (Oh dark thirty) my wife abruptly sat up in the tent and announced “I’ve just been bitten by a scorpion!”

I dragged myself away from a beautiful dream (probably soaring in a helicopter) and inquired irritably “How do you know? And anyway, they don’t bite, they sting.”

“I know it was! Oh, God!” She was panic stricken, and in no mood for semantics. I got out of the sleeping bag and started a meticulous search through all of our gear. She shivered in a corner of the tent, rubbing a small welt on her calf. I hunted for a bit, but it was in vain. No scorpion here. I tried to calm her down and checked the spot where she claimed she was “bitten.” A small red dot, hardly worth mentioning. Could have been anything. No cause for alarm. Calm down. Let’s get back to (yawn) sleep. 

We rearranged the bedding and she carefully zipped up the sleeping bag, even though the night was hot. I rolled over to shut off the flashlight, which swung its beam up the back of the tent. It revealed a very real and probably spooked scorpion (and a rather impressive shadow, I must admit). I said “Oh!” She screamed and bolted out of the tent door, dancing around in the darkened desert in her socks. I worked very hard not to laugh at the scene. Grabbing a hiking boot, I carefully (very carefully) scooped up the beastie, admiring it with respect. I am a Scorpio, but this was my first one in the wild. It was small; not a good sign. The smaller pale Bark scorpion is the one with the deadliest sting, and the reason it makes good sense to check shoes and showers in Arizona. 

I flipped the rascal out onto her dance floor, which immediately elicited a small shriek as she jumped back into the tent. It took me a LONG time to calm her down and finally get her back to an uneasy sleep. Unfortunately, I realized that I had to stay awake to make sure she was OK. It was a welcome dawn that crept over the Canyon walls as we assessed the situation the next morning. The Ranger stopped by and looked at the sting. The radio crackled and we reported the situation back to Headquarters.

After some discussion, it was determined that we would need to evacuate her back for observation, and Seagull was roused once more to bring us home. I was pretty disgusted, as we were to have spent several days in this fantastic spot, but there it was.

On the way back, I got to sit up front, and talked about helicopter flight with Seagull. He explained how absolutely safe helicopters were, and told me about “auto-rotation” or the ability to land the helicopter safely, even if we ran out of fuel. I was clearly not convinced. He talked of the helicopter’s stability, and how it could almost fly itself. I was totally not convinced. Then – to prove his point to this skeptic, he let go of the main control and let the helicopter hover in space, over the depths. I begged him to put his hand back on the control and leave it there. I don’t EVER need to be convinced of that again!

P.S. looked back on our adventures recently.

“Your remarks on things like the hackysack, the nymphs at the waterfall, Marty’s scorpion bite [sting!] were fabulous triggers.  I have never, never since the Canyon hikes enjoyed Ramen in a cup as tremendously as I did then.”