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Today's
Stories
January 9,
2008
Cockburn /
St. Clair
The
Empire Strikes Back
Alan Farago
As Florida Sinks: the View from the Titanic
January 8,
2008
Paul Craig
Roberts
No
Jobs for the New Economy (or the Old)
Russell Mokhiber
The Black Hillary: Obama is Just Another Political Sedative
Robert Fantina
The Gulf of Tonkin and the Strait of Hormuz
Dave Zirin
Butts on Parade
Shamako Nobel
I Am an Emcee: the Politics of Hip Hop
John Ross
Zapatista Women Encounter Themselves
Brenda Norrell
Apaches Defend Homeland from Homeland Security
Laura Carlsen
Why Bolivia Matters
Patrick Irelan
Remember the Maine!
Evelyn J. Pringle
The Holes in Bush's FDA
Jonathan M.
Feldman
After Iowa and New Hampshire: a Strategy for Rebuilding the Peace
Movement
Michael Dickinson
Playing Soldier
Website of
the Day
Sean Hannity on the Run!
January 7,
2008
Chris Floyd
There
Will Be Blood: But No Justice for Iraq Atrocities
John Blair
Remove That Man! Creeping Fascism in Indiana
Uri Avnery
The Case of the White Bird
Andy Worthington
Who Are the Gitmo Saudis?
Binoy Kampmark
Needling the Convict: Lethal Injection and the Supreme Court
David Macaray
Women on Strike
Ralph Nader
Obamarama: the Politics of the Smooth Mood
Michael Donnelly
It's the War Vote(s), Stupid!
Ron Jacobs
Ron Paul's Run: Is Being Against the War Enough?
Gideon Levy
The Hostile President
Dave Lindorff
A Real 9/11 Cover-Up? Sibel Edmonds, Turkey and the Bomb
Website of
the Day
Plagues and Pleasures on the Salton Sea
January 5 /
6, 2008
Douglas Valentine
Good
Guys in Black Hoods
Kevin Young
The
US Occupation and Popular Opinion in Iraq
Richard Rhames
Saddam
Who?
Saul Landau
Bush Snatches Defeat from Victory
Marc Lynch
Why Bush's Iran Strategy is Failing
Robert Fantina
Iowa, Democrats and the Iraq War
Donna Volatile
Antiwar Soldier: an Interview with Jonathan Hutto, Sr.
Jelle Bruinsma
Norman Finkelstein in The Netherlands
Bob Sutcliffe
Remembering Andrew Glyn, Rebel Economist
Harvey Wasserman
Anti-Nuclear Renaissance
Missy Beattie
Why Obama Can't Save Us
David Swanson
Remembering the Separation of Powers
Jacob Hornberger
The Importance of the Padilla Case
Shepherd Bliss
Survival Tools from Kokopelli Farms
Ron Jacobs
Bleeding Kansas
Poets' Basement
Patti Smith, B.R. Gowani and Peter Buknatski
Website of the Weekend
Jimmy Dean Sausage Call Complaint
January 4,
2008
Cockburn /
St. Clair
A
Good Night in Iowa
Jonathan Cook
War Crimes Airbrushed from History
Paul Craig Roberts
Thinking for Yourself is Now a Crime
Stan Goff
Ron Paul's Monkeywrench
Dave Lindorff
Clinton's Iowa Flop Exposes DLC Myths as Frauds
Niranjan Ramakrishnan
To Pindi Station
Allan Nairn
U.S. Elections Over Before They Began
Joshua Frank
The Failures of Sectarianism
Peter Morici
Economy on the Skids
Mary McInnis
Iowa Cocky-Us: How to be a Caucus Tease
Website of the Day
The Return of Obama Girl
January 3,
2008
Fatima Bhutto
Farewell
to Wadi Bua
Pam Martens
The
Free Market Myth Dissolves into Chaos
Joanne Mariner
The Presidential Candidates and Torture
Zoltan Grossman
Remember the '80s: Social Movements Between Woodstock and the
Web
David Domke
The Echoing Press and Huckabee
Norman Solomon
Edwards Reconsidered
Nikolas Kozloff
Return of the Faux Liberal
Jacob G. Hornberger
The Padilla Case and the Future of Habeas Corpus
Martha Rosenberg
Quit Picking on Huckabee's Son, Michael Vick
Russell Means
This Property is Condemned: a Notice to Those Occupying Lakotah
Lands
Website of the Day
WolfQuest
January 2,
2008
Jeff Taylor
The
Left and Ron Paul
M. Shahid Alam
The Life and Death of Benazir Bhutto: a Pakistani Tragedy
Gary Leupp
Madness Compounding Madness: Calls for Intervention in Pakistan
Paul Craig Roberts
Criminals with Badges
Heather Gray
Georgia's Racist Death Penalty
Fred Gardner
and Shobhit Arora
Dr. Strangelove's Nemesis
David Macaray
Labor Unions and Taft-Hartley
Benjamin Dangl
Fear and Loathing in Bolivia
January 1,
2008
Iain A. Boal
City
of Disappearances
B. R. Gowani
Benazir's Death in Crisistan
Shahid Mahmood
Bhutto and the Press
Linn Washington,
Jr.
Old Injustices Endure: From Crack Sentences to Racial Profiling
Harvey Wasserman
Taking Leonard Peltier to Iowa: the Moral Low Point of the Clinton
Era
John Ross
2008, Already a Year to Forget
Website of the Day
The Thrill is Gone: BB and Gladys
December 31,
2007
Alexander Cockburn
Goodbye
2007 and Good Riddance!
Tariq Ali
Pakistan, the Aftermath
Liaquat Ali Khan
The Perfidy of Pakistan's Rulers
Wajahat Ali
After Bhutto, a Nuclear Pakistan?
Robert Fisk
Who Killed Bhutto?
Ajai Sahni
Myths and Realities About Benazir Bhutto and Pakistan's Dark
Future
Marwan Bishara
You Say Talk, I Say Attack: The Middle East and the US Presidential
Election Campaigns
Uri Avnery
The Beilin Syndrome
Mark T. Harris
Does This Happen in Canada?
Brenda Norrell
Resistance and Censorship
Website of the Day
A People United Will Never Be Defeated
December 29
/ 30, 2007
Alexander Cockburn
Options
in America: Kill Yourself or Have a Baby
Tariq Ali
Indignation and Fear Stalk Pakistan
Fawzia Afzal-Khan
My Encounter with Benazir Bhutto
Gary Leupp
The U.S. and Pakistan After 9/11: Blowback from an Unholy Alliance
China Hand
Pakistan Stares Into the Abyss
Jacob Hornberger
Stop Medddling in Pakistan
John Chuckman
Pakistan and the Failure of Quick-Fix Politics
Missy Beattie
Evaluating Bush with the Bhutto Corruption Standard
Ralph Nader
Who Will Take the Next Step?
Fidel Castro
There Hasn't Been a Day in My Life When I Haven't Learned Something
Robert Fantina
The Sham of Homeland Security
Greg Moses
Beauty from the Heart of Texas
Catherine Lutz
What We Can Not See: Art and Bombing
Kristin Van
Tassel
Seeing in the Dark
Kim Nicolini
Redacted: Brian DePalma's Scream of Outrage
Phyllis Pollack
Keith Richards Runs With Rudolph Once More
Poets' Basement
Landau, Gibbons and Davies
Website of
the Weekend
Driving Karachi in Search of the Perfect Naan
December 28,
2007
Farzana Versey
The
Complex Electra
Wajahat Ali
A
Pakistani Requiem
Binoy Kampmark
Death in Rawalpindi: Bhutto and Her Legacy
Ayesha Ijaz
Khan
Not Dead Yet: The Pakistan People's Party Still Survives
Anthony DiMaggio
Turkey's Bombing of Iraq
Ray McGovern
Creeping
Fascism
Jim Goodman
Biofuels, the Biggest Scam Going
Ron Jacobs
Transcending the Colonizer's History: Iran, a People Interrupted
Russell Hoffman
Mini-Nukes by Toshiba
John Murphy
Greens Gone Wild
Website of the Day
Guiliani Campaign Official: "Only Rudy Can Defeat the Muslims"
December 27,
2007
Dilip Hiro
A
Tragedy Foretold: Will Bhutto's Death be a Boost for Her Party?
Murtaza Shibli
Who Killed Bhutto?
Stephen Soldz
Fallujah,
the Information War and U.S. Propaganda
Bill Quigley
Locked
Outside the Gates
Paul Craig Roberts
The Great American Lock-Up
Omer Subhani
Killing Bhutto: What Happens Next in Pakistan?
Marjorie Cohn
The Torture Tape Cover-Up: How High Does It Go?
Allan Nairn
Cataclysm By Money Whim
Jacob G. Hornberger
Smearing Ron Paul: Shame on the NYT
Norman Solomon
Channeling Suze Orman
Patrick Irelan
Rumsfeld Spills the Ink
Ben Tripp
Pass the Razor Blades
Website of the Day
Quagmire, For What It's Worth
December 26, 2007
Charles Tripp
From
One Saddam to Fifty
Paul Armentano
No-Knock, You're Dead
Rannie Amiri
Lebanon in Search of a Government
Stanley Heller
Brzezinski and Charlie Wilson's War
John Walsh
Two Unreasonable Men
Martha Rosenberg
The Strange Career of Scott Gottlieb
Norman Madarasz
Bolivia Amends New Constitution and Faces Mutiny from Within
Website of
the Day
Cockburn at the Battle of Ideas
December 25,
2007
Patrick Cockburn
Conscience
and Empire
December 24,
2007
Andrea Peacock
A
Dark Ride on the Border
Tariq Ali
Thinking of Edward Said
Uri Avnery
Help! A Ceasefire!
Jill Jameson
Burma is Not Back to Normal: A Trip from Rangoon to Mae Sot
Steve Melendez
Russell Means Goes to Washington
Mike Whitney
The Big Fix
Chuck Munson
Not Getting It About New Orleans
John Walsh
Clueless Crusaders
Farzana Versey
Tony Blair and the Hawking of Religion
Richard Neville
Dreaming of a White House Christmas
Website of the Day
Back in the USSR
December 22 / 23, 2007
Alexander Cockburn
Mike
Huckabee's Ascending Chariot
Ralph Nader
Politics
and Profits: How the Oil Cartel Gets Its Way
Andy Worthington
Intelligence Failures, Battlefield Myths and Unaccountable Prisons
in Afghanistan
Ahmad Faruqui
The Comedian of Pakistan
Bill Moyers
Society on Steroids
Rev. William
E. Alberts
Blessed are the Peacemakers
Timothy J. Freeman
From Kant to Lennon: Can War Really be Over?
Anthony DiMaggio
Democrats Continue to Capitulate on Iraq
Fred Gardner
Molecule of the Year, Cannabiodiol
Paul Krassner
Enhanced Hazing Techniques
Seth Sandronsky
17 Years of Meanness: Repealing California's Three Strikes Law
William Loren
Katz
Christmas Eve Freedom Fighters: Recalling the Battle of Lake
Okeechobee
Michael Dickinson
In the Dungeon of the Zabita
Ron Jacobs
Why Leon Russell Still Matters
David Vest
Doyle Bramhall's "Is It News?"
Poets' Basement
Orloski, Davies and Ford
Website of the Weekend
George W. Hates Santa
December 21,
2007
John Ross
New Massacres Loom in Mexico
Jacob Hornberger
Nothing Can Morally Justify the Invasion of Iraq
Dick J. Reavis
A
Way Out of the Newspaper Abyss
Jeff Cohen
and Norman Solomon
The 2007 P.U.-litzer Prizes
Peter Morici
Business as Usual as Recession Looms
Jack McCarthy
Let Us Now Praise Judith Regan (Even If She Did Sleep with Bernie
Kerik)
Raúl Zibechi
Sex and Revolution
Steve Early
How the Presidential Candidates Made Me an Atheist
David Macaray
Union Aftermath
Patrick Bond
Zuma, the Center-Left and the Left-Left in S. Africa
Lakota Freedom Delegation
A Declaration of Independence from the USA
Website of
the Day
Solomon v. Beck: Tale of the Tape
December 20,
2007
David Rosen
Mitt
Romney's Secret Life as a Pornographer
Alan Farago
The
Huckster and the Wreckage: Jeb Bush and the Subprime Mortgage
Crisis
Laura Carlsen
Standing Up to NAFTA
Ashley Dawson
The Return of the Bread Riot
Wayne Smith
and Jennifer Schuett
Cuba Changes, US Policy Stagnates
Website of
the Day
How to Talk to a FoxNews Reporter
December 19,
2007
Saul Landau
Is
the NIE Bush's Watergate?
Paul W. Lovinger
Hillary the Hawk
Norman Solomon
The Mad Corporate World of Glenn Beck
Dave Zirin
George Mitchell's Drugs of Choice
Marjorie Cohn
Bush Still Spinning Iranian Nukes
Sen. Russell
Feingold
The Iraq War is Exhausting Our Nation
Sonja Karkar
A Christmas Reflection on Palestine
Anthony Papa
Open the Drug Gulags
Christopher Ketcham
Pave the Holy Lands with Good Intentions
Davey D
Britney's Little Sister is Pregnant: Should We Blame Hip Hop?
Website of
the Day
When Republicans Use the F-Word on TV
December 18,
2007
R. F. Blader
The
Politics of Teen Pregnancy
George Wuerthner
Gunning for Wolves in Idaho
Steven Higgs
Can the NAFTA Superhighway be Stopped?
Vijay Prashad
Encounters with Ghadar
David Macaray
The Free Rider Problem
Ralph Nader
Nine Books That Make a Difference: a Reading List for the Holidays
Eva Liddell
Privatizing War Abroad, Invading Privacy at Home
Martha Rosenberg
While the Bodies are Still Warm: Drugs, Shrinks and Shooters
Dave Lindorff
When Impeachment is Out of Print
Peter Morici
The Consequences the Trade Deficit
Website of
the Day
Ron Paul: How Fascism Will Come to America
December 17,
2007
Mike Whitney
Staring
Into the Abyss
Tom Barry
Planning
the War on Immigrants
Uri Avnery
A
Gaza Masada?
Greg Moses
Crossing the Line in Texas
Allan Nairn
Terrorism; Counter-
Terrorism: Excuses for Murder
Patrick Bond
South Africa's Fight Between Hostile Brothers
Stephen Lendman
Police State America
Charles Jonkel
Grizzly Right of Way
Laray Polk
An Inside-Out Crisis in Gaza
Stephen Fleischman
Pawns in Their Game
December 15
/ 16, 2007
Peter Linebaugh
A
People's Penny for the Magna Carta
Howard Zinn
Bomb After Bomb
Standard Schaefer
The Greening of Big Tobacco
Raymond J.
Lawrence
Let's Take Christ Out of Christmas
Alan Farago
Down on Desolation Row: the Vultures and the Growth Machine
Saul Landau
Lord Byron and the Bad Tourists
Jenna Orkin
Lying to "Reassure" the Public: Bush's EPA and the
Post-9/11 Toxic Air Cover-Up
Ahmad Samih
Khalidi
Why a Palestinian "State" is a Punitive Construct
Robert Fantina
Politics By Photo-Op
Missy Comley
Beattie
Resistance Amid the Ruins
Ramzy Baroud
Of Mormons and Muslims
James L. Secor
A Vision for China's Future
Elijah Wald
Ike Turner's Music Won't be Forgotten
Website of
the Weekend
The Alliance for the Wild Rockies Needs (and Deserves) Your Support
December 14,
2007
JoAnn Wypijewski
The
Dirty Cad: What Giuliani's Sex Life Tells Us About Him
John Ross
Iraqi
Refugees Return: One Cruel Hoax
Jacob Hornberger
Terror Suspects Belong in Federal Court
Andy Worthington
Guantánamo and the Supreme Court: What Happened?
Allan Nairn
"Shoot Them on the Spot": Rewarding War Crimes
Dave Zirin
The Mitchell Report: Absolving the Owners
Dave Lindorff
The First Cut is the Deepest
Misty MacDuffee
Toxic Grizzlies
Ben Terrall
What Happened to Lovinsky Pierre-Antoine?
Dr. Mustafa
Barghouthi
Prerequisites for Peace
Website of the Day
Sen. Kit Bond: "Waterboarding is Like Swimming"
December 13,
2007
Paul Craig
Roberts
Shrinking
the Dollar from the Inside-Out
Mike Whitney
Dershowitz for the Defense--of Waterboarding
Ron Jacobs
Blank Check DemocratsL the Great War Funding Conspiracy
Norman Solomon
The USA's Human Rights Daze
Peter Morici
The Dragon and the Toothless Dog: China Doesn't Flinch
Sandy Mayes
Blocking the Strykers: 13 Days of War Resistance at Port Olympia
Franklin Lamb
The UN in Lebanon: Whose Mission Is It Fulfilling?
Jacob Hornberger
Don't Reform the CIA, Abolish It
Nadim Rouhana
An Interloper in My Own Land
Dave Zirin
On Pigskin and Petrol
Website of the Day
Rachel's Needs (and Deserves) Your Support!
December 12, 2007
Allan
Nairn
US Intelligence is Tapping Indonesian
Phones
Alan
Farago
How Sprawl Eats Its Young
Ray
McGovern
Torture, Lies and Videotape
Winslow
T. Wheeler
The Phony Pentagon Budget Cuts
Evan
Jones
The Raid on Great Western: Why an Australian Bank Might Spell
Doom for the US Farm Belt
James
Petras
An Open Letter to Sarkozy on the Exchange of Political Prisonsers
Joel
Hirschorn
The Horserace Fiction: Clinton, Obama and the Democratic Machine
Joshua
Frank
Why Ron Paul Deserves Our Attention
Sherry
Wolf
Why the Left Should Reject Ron Paul
Dan
Bacher
Survey of a Fish Graveyard
Website
of the Day
Men Eating Bugs
|
January
9, 2008
Get Back Work
The
Pursuit of Happiness
By MIKE ROSELLE
And so it ends just as it began, in
mud and cow shit. After two-and-a-half months on the Green and
Colorado Rivers, rowing 1,024 miles in an old leaky rubber boat,
80 sunsets and 80 sunrises, two full moons, two broken oars,
a few brushes with death, and after rowing some of the biggest
and most dangerous rapids in North America, we are now standing
on the landing in South Cove on the reservoir called Lake Mead,
with my spirits slowly deflating along with my raft. During the
last two days of the trip, we had run almost completely out of
rations. We were down to nothing but food and water!
The water here at the takeout
is unnaturally clear and lifeless. The reservoir is only about
half full, leaving a bathtub ring on the surrounding cliffs and
exposing several square miles of mudflats strewn with driftwood
and (unfortunately) empty beer cans. In the distance, you can
see the petrochemical haze hovering over Las Vegas like a bad
hangover. I know now why the dam that forms this reservoir is
named after Herbert Hoover: it can cause a deep depression.
I try to make sense of what
just happened, to understand the feeling I have in my gut, but
it's no use. There are no words to describe my emotions. After
what seems like a lifetime in the glorious canyons of the Colorado
Plateau, I will have to go back to work. And even more disturbing,
I don't have a job to go back to.
But I am getting ahead of myself.
My goal here is to recount the last leg of our trip, the portion
that takes us through the Grand Canyon, truly one of the great
natural wonders of the world. Running the Grand Canyon is a privilege,
and for most of the people who do get the chance, it's a once
in a lifetime opportunity. This has been my third trip in 12
years, and given that the number of people who want to run this
river greatly exceeds the amount of permits issued each year
by the National Park Service, I cannot decide if I am lucky or
perhaps a little greedy. As we roll up the boats and load the
coolers onto the truck, I realize it's a bit late to worry about
that now.
If you have been reading my
previous posts, you will recall that we arrived at the Glen Canyon
Dam just 40 minutes behind schedule, a feat accomplished only
by Josh working me like a galley slave. Note to self; never try
to keep up with two highly athletic people half your age. After
two nights in a real bed and a full day off, we re-launched our
rafts at the foot of Glen Canyon dam. Most Grand Canyon trips
begin at Lee's Ferry, but there is 15 miles of river above that
we must row, if for no other reason than that it runs through
the only portion of Glen Canyon that is not underwater.
To get there, we must be towed
up river by the pontoon boats that regularly ferry tourists down
this stretch to the takeout at Lee's Ferry. The large commercial
rafts have to make the return trip empty, and the operators are
happy to tow us up river for a small fee. We float down casually,
our coolers restocked with beer and ice, and I can see for the
first time what Glen Canyon must have looked like to the few
people who were lucky enough to see it before the dam was constructed.
And it is incredible.
Since we launched in Wyoming
above Flaming Gorge, we have become accustomed to seeing steep
cliffs of various colors rise above us on both sides of the river.
Every layer of sandstone or limestone has its own unique characteristics,
giving each of the canyons their own special shape and color,
from pinks and reds, to light buff colors, and dark shades of
brown's and even coal black. In most cases, the walls are too
steep and unstable and the climate much too arid to support much
plant life above the waterline, except were there are large side
canyons entering or where there are large enough seeps in the
porous rock that run throughout the dry season.
This all changes dramatically
when we enter Glen Canyon. Everywhere there is water seeping
out of the cliffs, and these seeps and springs have formed cavities
in the rock walls, from small alcoves to vast caverns, many large
enough to be called amphitheaters. Some of which resemble large
parks and others are suspended hundreds of feet above the canyon
floor. And where there is water there is vegetation, lush green
hanging gardens like nothing we've seen anywhere up river. It
is no wonder that despite the presence of numerous arches, pinnacles,
hoodoos and other fantastic stone features, John Wesley Powell
chose to name this canyon after the glens one might expect to
see in the hills of Scotland or Ireland. The landscape is truly
magical, which only deepens the sense of loss one feels looking
upriver at the large obstruction that has buried what most surely
was one of the most beautiful places on Earth.
When we reach Lee's Ferry late
in the late afternoon, we find the camp of the 13 people who
will run the Grand Canyon with us. The campsite is deserted and
they are up at the lodge on the rim having dinner. We are used
to retiring early, so we share a quick meal, get in our sleeping
bags and wait for morning, which arrives with a bang. An illegal
hunter fires two quick rounds from his shotgun while standing
on the boat landing, kills two ducks, which his dog obediently
retrieves. In the process this knucklehead had almost sprayed
Josh with birdshot as he was loading his raft. By the time anyone
can figure out what has happened, the poacher was driving off
in his truck, never to be seen again. Where are the Park Rangers
when you need them?
Most of our new team members
are from Missoula, and two are from Lander, Wyoming. And then
there is Bob, returning from his two month absence, and who is
the only one who I have met before. We receive our obligatory
orientation from the River Ranger, who is thorough, but thankfully
brief. To save time, anther party that is scheduled to launch
the same day has joined us for the briefing. During the question
and answer period that follows, their trip leader complains that
because of the new regulations that prohibit anyone from going
on more than one canyon float per year, he was unable to get
the boatmen he wanted because they were all ready committed to
other trips. This elicits an understandable groan from the boatmen
he did have, who rightly felt slighted. From this time on, we
refer to them as the B-Team. Fortunately for both of us, because
there are not many other rafts on the river, we see them very
infrequently down river.
At the moment, I am more concerned
about our team. Spending 21 days in close quarters on a river
trip can strain even the closest of relationships. I have had
very good luck on my previous canyon floats, but have heard plenty
of stories about trips that were plagued by personality disputes,
so try to size them up a little. They are a pleasant group, mostly
in their forties, a few older, one younger and most have a good
deal of whitewater experience.
None of them are activists,
so I'm thinking that if they don't like loud, self-important,
obnoxious environmentalists, they won't like me either. Not to
worry, though, there is than enough ego around to float a large
battleship, and before long we have bonded into a happy, if somewhat
dysfunctional family. I don't want to bore you with yet another
account of running the Grand Canyon as there are enough published
accounts out there already to fill a library. Few of them rise
to the level of literature, or even reflect well on the sport
of river running. Suffice it to say that our days were filled
with bloodcurdling rapids, stunning vistas, starchy food and
long nights of drinking. We did flip a heavy gear boat early
on in House Rock rapid, and only with great effort and a lot
of yelling did we manage to right it. The rest of the trip went
without major incident until an emergency developed when the
two guys from Lander ran out of beer and began to raid the coolers
of their teammates.
I will say that no matter how
many times you have run the Grand Canyon, it is nothing short
of terrifying. Looking down river at the churning waters, hearing
the sound of the thundering waves, gazing into those big holes
and contemplating a collision with the jagged rocks always makes
me question my own judgment. Why do I put myself in these positions?
I am not that experienced of a boatman. My raft is smaller than
the recommended size. Josh's boat is even smaller. I do not enjoy
this feeling of abject fear. But there is no other way out of
this canyon, at least without abandoning my boat and my honor,
and even then it would take an extremely difficult climb up the
canyon walls through a parched desert.
But like most of the expeditions
that run these rapids every day, we somehow get through the rapids
unscathed, which is a cause for celebration. Every moment, every
move is then endlessly recounted in song and story, as if we
had just battled an invading Mongol horde and chased them out
of Arizona. And like victorious warriors everywhere do after
a hard battle, we drink ourselves into a stupor. At least I did.
And when reach Diamond Creek, we leave our new friends while
Jen, Josh and I continued on towards South Cove at the top of
Lake Mead.
Most boaters get out at Diamond
Creek even though the canyon extends for another 60 miles. Usually
this is because the next opportunity for taking out is on Lake
Mead, which requires a few days of rowing on flat water. For
most white water rafters, flat water is to be avoided like Utah
beer. Some will make the trip down river from Diamond Creek only
if they can be met by a motorboat to tow them out the last 20
or so miles. For us, since we had already rowed over 250 miles
of flat water, the prospect of rowing down to South Cove was
not especially troubling. For me, it would be a relief.
Diamond Creek is on the Hualapai
Reservation, and the gravel road out is maintained by them, and
they meet every party and count every head, charging a $75 fee
per boater to drive out. As we pushed off, an elderly Hualapai
man, his long white braids hanging beneath his cowboy hat, raised
his hands and gave a loud holler as we entered Diamond Creek
rapid just downriver from the take-out.
Coming up soon was Mile 232
rapid, considered by many to be one of the most difficult rapids
in the Grand Canyon, and for good reason. On river right, at
the end of the long rapid, a formation of pointed black fins
of Vishnu Schist jut out of the river looking like Darth Vader's
gloved hand. A train of large pyramid-shaped waves leads up to
the fins, and unlike most rock formations, these fins only deflect
a small percentage of the water that is forced against them,
as the rest of the current surges through them. Imagine holding
your spread fingers at the opening of a fire hydrant. Many boats
have been ripped to shreds on these rocks, and some rafters have
died here, not realizing in time that it is very difficult to
pull back from the fins once you are in the wave train. The only
safe option is to stay left, and avoid the waves altogether.
Well, this was certainly my
plan. I had heard enough stories about Mile 232, and even though
those waves looked tantalizingly fun and pulling off didn't look
that difficult, I decided to heed the warnings and stay left.
I got into trouble right off the bat. When I entered the rapid,
instead of pulling left, I decided to face my boat left and push
on the oars. This made it easier for me to enter the rapid, and
I was initially successful in getting left of the waves, but
halfway down the wave train thecurrent sucked my raft back in.
Now I was pushing on the oars frantically, and going sideways
over 14-foot haystack shaped waves, and heading directly towards
the fins that some rafters call the Fangs of Death. Realizing
that I would not be able to push the oars hard enough to avoid
the rocks, I attempted to spin my boat around to face them, so
I could pull back on my oars, which would give me considerable
more power.
It was too late. The water
moves much faster in the lower part of the canyon. Instead of
facing the fins while pulling away as planned, I was now moving
sideways up the big pillow of water directly in front of them.
I was so close to the rocks that my oar hit one of the fingers
and I had to quickly ship it so it wouldn't be knocked out of
my grip. The other oar was useless, pulling or pushing it would
only change the angle in which I would collide with the rocks,
so I shipped it too, bracing for a collision and hoping for the
best.
As I rose up the wall of water
towards what was surely my stony death, the front of my boat
hit the rocks which spun the raft around helplessly, spinning
me backwards and dropping me about four feet below in the turbulent
hole on their downriver side of the fins. The boat landed hard,
almost knocking me out of my seat and into the swirling vortex,
and it immediately filled with water. This was good; as it meant
that I had spun off the rocks rather than be pushed up against
them. Soon, I was flushed out of the hole and back into the current.
A close call, and my heart was beating wildly. Just when you
think you are almost through with danger, it hits you like a
freight train.
We continued downriver and
on the last night we camped beneath what is now being billed
as either one of the eight wonders of the world, or the most
hideous abomination ever constructed on a wild river. I am of
course talking about the controversial Hualapai Skywalk. We had
heard a lot about it, and from all the stories you'd think that
it was going to be a development so hideous that it would spoil
our entire experience in the lower Grand Canyon. One of the Park
Rangers even grumbled that he wanted to blow it up. I fully expected
to see something like Bob Stupak's Stratosphere Tower in Las
Vegas, complete with neon lights and a roller coaster.
Instead, what I saw looked
like a tiny basketball hoop way up on the canyon rim. There was
no hotel, no casino, no roller coaster, only a gift shop, and
the dang thing was even closed at night. Given what the National
Park Service has allowed to happen on the South Rim in the so-called
Grand Canyon Village, the Ranger's objection seemed highly hypocritical.
Even though we were camped directly beneath this incredible structure,
it seemed far less intrusive than the hotels, gift shops and
IMAX Theater in Canyon Village, some of which is also visible
from the river.
While I do not approve of the
skywalk, I cannot figure out why is it O.K. for the white people
to build Las Vegas, which impacts the air quality of the National
Park and consumes large quantities of water and fossil fuels,
while it is sacrilegious for the Hualapai to build what is basically
a pier on the rim high above the river to generate a little badly
needed income on what has been their land for centuries?
After loading up the rental
truck we head into In Las Vegas, where we have rooms waiting
at the Gold Nugget, an old downtown Casino. Jen and Josh have
decided to stay on the river and keep rowing to Yuma, and possibly
beyond. They invite me to join them, but I have no desire to
sit in a wet raft, not for even one more day. This is close to
where John Wesley Powell took out and if it's good enough for
Powell, then it's good enough for me. I was excited about spending
a few days in Vegas, taking a hot shower, sleeping in a real
bed, and eating at one of those big hotel buffets and getting
home for some rest and recuperation.
Las Vegas, however, was a letdown.
After being in the wilderness for so long, it seemed like I had
been transported to another planet. I am no stranger here. During
the years that the Pentagon was conducting underground nuclear
weapons tests at the nearby Nevada Test Site, I had spent months
at a time here organizing protest rallies and taking part in
backcountry expeditions to ground zero. Two of these incursions
actually forced the Department of Defense to delay a nuclear
bomb test, a very expensive proposition. But now the place seemed
just too strange to enjoy and I couldn't wait to get the hell
out of there and back to Wyoming to pick up my car.
One thing I did look forward
to was drinking coffee and reading a newspaper in a café.
At the café in the Gold Nugget I picked up a fresh copy
of The November New York Times and tried to find out what, if
anything had changed since we launched in mid-August. Perhaps
the world had woken up to the threat of global warming. Perhaps
all sides had decided to end hostilities in the Holy Land. Maybe
Dick Cheney went to see the Wizard and got a heart. Maybe the
San Francisco 49ers had developed an offense. But, no, very little
had changed.
My attention was drawn to an
op-ed in the Times by Eduardo Porter. In it, he bemoaned the
fact that while Americans are richer today, in a material sense,
we are less happy than we have been in earlier times, and this
got me to thinking. Now happiness would seem to be of paramount
importance. It was important enough for the framers of our constitution
to include in the Declaration of Independence. And yet, with
all of our wealth and technology, we seem to have forgotten how
to be happy.
I do not believe that what
Thomas Jefferson, James Madison and their friends had meant by
happiness and what Porter means by it is exactly the same thing.
Happiness meant more to the participants of the Enlightenment
than just feeling good. They were careful to say that it was
not happiness that we had an unalienable right to, but the pursuit
of happiness. Now I am not generally a happy person. I might
say that I am mostly content and I consider myself fortunate
that my situation is no worse than it is.
Like most of us, I experience
fleeting moments of happiness, but usually I am depressed. It
is hard to be happy when you see the planet going to Hell in
a handbasket, and there are so many millions of people who don't
have diddly-squat. Aldo Leopold once said that the price of an
ecological education is to forever observe a landscape of scars.
Climate change is depressing, and so is the prospect of mass
extinction. It seems wrong to me to be too happy under these
circumstances.
One of my reasons for rowing
1,000 miles down the river was to ponder all of this. I was not
trying to pursue, much less catch happiness. No, actually achieving
happiness would engender so much guilt and self hatred that it
would probable have the opposite effect and make me even more
depressed. Generally, people who are happy all the time tend
to annoy me, even more than people who are depressed all the
time. As a rule, I wouldn't wish happiness on anyone, even my
worst enemy. Over the last 80 days I did have fleeting moments
of pure happiness. Thankfully, they were not permanent.
For the founders of our great
nation, happiness was more often defined by what it is not, rather
than what it is. In the eighteenth century, if you were not royalty,
clergy, landed, or wealthy, you were supposed to work. The lower
classes were to expect nothing more from life, just hard work,
a short miserable life and if you had sufficient piety, a reward
awaited you in Heaven. You were not even supposed to enjoy sex!
You worked all of your waking hours and got a little rest on
Sundays so you could worship the Christian God. No one was willing
to see a poor serf sit around in idleness, because that meant
a loss of income for the higher ups. Unless you were one of the
elite, leisure time was not something in great supply.
It has been said that at either
end of the economic spectrum there lies a leisure class. Once
you give up the desire to be one of rich, you may then begin
to live like them. I have seen the look of pure envy in the eyes
of my wealthy friends when describing my plans to row from Wyoming
to Arizona. They have the money, but they don't have the time.
With all of our wealth and technology, few of us have the time,
or take the time to hike a canyon, run a river or even take a
walk in the local woods. Time cannot be money if the people with
a lot of money don't have any time.
In the modern era we have simply
become too busy pursuing wealth and security to be happy. Yet
studies show that people who do volunteer work in their communities,
work such as helping out the disadvantaged and caring for the
environment are among the happiest people. They are also healthier
and tend to live longer. And I think most of us know this, we
are simply too depressed to do anything about it.
So am I happier now? I am
in better physical condition. I've lost some weight and have
a nice suntan. I am more rested then I have been in years. I
have had some time to reflect on the reason for my own existence
on this planet, and to think about the road that lies ahead.
But I am glad to report to you that I am no happier for all of
effort. And that is how it should be. We have a lot of work to
do and very little time to do it. If we want to ensure that our
children can have a decent planet on which to pursue their own
happiness, then we will have to think less about our own wealth
and comfort, and more about happiness itself.
Mike Roselle writes turgid prose for Lowbagger.org
and other fine publications.
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