What can you say about the Grand Canyon? Words fail a writer early on, for there are none big enough, nor grand enough, nor glorious enough to express the size, the intricacy, the intimacy, the colorfulness, the continual change, the pure awe. "The most awesome landscape on earth" is a phrase commonly used, but it hardly implies the wonder. It is vast and tiny, open and narrow, colorful and drab, plain and fancy, old and new, everything in between, all in one, one in all.

After some days in the Canyon it's possible to detect some themes that vary upon themselves in endless profusion -- the vast layers of sedimentary rock, in a wide variety of sizes and shapes and morphologies, differing in ages from the relatively recent, measured in fractions of millions of years, to the ancient, measured in billions. It's possible to perceive that the Canyon really is a desert; there's little vegetation, except near the few watercourses, which include the Colorado River of course. Away from reliable water, the vegetation is sparse where it exists at all; tough grasses, cacti of various kinds. In some places near the river there are occasional patches of low trees called tamarisks. They are a recent invader to the Canyon by the hands of man, but eradication has proved nearly impossible. Still, they provide the sun beaten traveler with occasional shady places to sit along the shore when a hot sun beats down from the blue Arizona sky, or occasionally from strong winds that sometimes gust about the shore, so the tamarisks are welcome for that.

If there is a continuing base theme, it is the river, and the rock -- and the sky above.

Down at Lee's Ferry where the trip would start there is a small grove of tamarisk trees and the last flush toilets they would see for two weeks. A number of rafts were drawn up on the boat ramp all ready to go, loaded with gear and food for two weeks of passage through what many felt was the most awesome scenery on earth. Raft guides, swampers and helpers had started loading things the day before, getting the rafts rigged. They were running a little late, so lunch was already set up for them.

The Canyon seems relatively shallow at Lee's Ferry, a hundred miles north of Flagstaff. It soon deepens, running through ever higher vertical walls, and the sky narrows in its view from the river. Amazingly enough, the Canyon itself is relatively young, measured in the single digits of millions of years. It was formed as a vast dome hundreds of miles across, pushed slowly upward; the river cut down through it as it rose, exposing rocks from distant ages past. Near Lee's Ferry the rocks at river level are relatively young, sandstones with strange, ringing names like Kaibab, Toroweap and Coconino, rocks perhaps only 250 million years old. As the traveler proceeds on down the river they travel deeper into time. In the dark heart of the Canyon, the Vishnu schist approaches two billion years of hard rock, hidden for nearly half of the earth's lifespan, and now exposed to the eye.

Just below the launch point at Lee's Ferry there is a small rapids that the raft crews don't think too much of; it's called Paria Riffle, and is the first of a hundred and sixty rapids, more or less, that will be passed through along the course of a trip through the Canyon. A few miles and small rapids farther on, twin bridges appear in the sky, the old and new Navajo Bridge, which carry respectively a footpath and the highway from Flagstaff across the river. The next place to cross the river in a vehicle is over 300 miles downstream; two small footbridges exist about 80 miles downstream, but involve long, steep, and difficult walks to use.

The many rapids usually lie at the mouths of side canyons entering the main river. Rock and debris are carried down the side canyons by the rain from violent thunderstorms and deposited in the river, forming them. Some, like Paria, are small; others, with names like Crystal and Lava and Hance are large, difficult, and dangerous for the inexperienced, which is why the rafts are piloted by boatmen, some with vast experience, some just learning the trade under the watchful eye of the experienced. Many rapids don't have names at all but bear only numbers, even some of the more fearsome ones.

The travelers in our tale vary, some seeing it for the first time, some for times numbered in double digits, and one, several hundred times over a period of thirty years. But to all, each bend of the river revealed something new. Even the most jaded eye discovered in most glances something they had not seen before. Some might only make this trip once, but there were others who planned on making it again and again until they had to be carried out. Some of the younger were young enough that their last trip might not come for another forty or fifty years, still but the flap of a gnat's wing measured against the awesome span of time they were passing through.

Since there were scheduling difficulties the trip ran quickly for the first several days, sometimes bypassing places that would have been interesting to stop and explore, but still stopping at some of the major visual delights that the Canyon offers, places with names like Redwall Cavern, the Little Colorado River, and Nankoweap, and other places that have ever gone unnamed; even the raft crews referred to them in terms such as, "that neat little side canyon on river right, just below mile so and so." Often, the boatmen would set down their oars and talk about the Canyon, some of the things to be seen, some of the known history and hints of the barely-known history of the human past, or of the geology or other natural items of interest.

When they came to a rapids, the passengers would hang on, often shrieking with the thrill of passage while the boatmen at their oars steered the raft through the tumbling waters. It could get wet, and sometimes they were soaked; but no one minded, even though the water still bore the icy cold of snowmelt of years past and its sojourn at the bottom of Lake Powell above Lee's Ferry, for it was hot, hot even for May, and most of the party wore swimsuits or light clothes most of the time. In the dry air and warm sun, a mile downstream such clothes as they wore would be dry again, ready for the next soaking.

Each day as the afternoon wore on, the rafts would nose into shore, almost always on some sandbar large or small off to one side of the river. Sometimes the spots were small and cramped, as on the first night, nineteen miles below Lee's Ferry; others were expansive, with broad views of the sky. Much of the gear would be unloaded from the rafts with everybody in the party pitching in. Boatmen and helpers would get started on dinner and set up such other facilities as were needed, while the rest of the party spread out to find likely spots to spend the night, almost always sleeping under the broad expanse of the sky.

Mesh bags called "drag bags," full of cans of various beverages, had been towed behind the rafts, being chilled in the river water; now they were broken open, and there would be refreshments for those who wanted them. Shortly there would be dinner, and feasts they would be indeed. The meals varied -- always something different, always good, always enough for everybody. No one had reason to complain about the food, for everything tasted better under that narrow sky deep below the Canyon rim. The dish washing went quickly, too; by custom, everybody pitched in with that, and soon mesh bags of dishes, pots and pans were hanging around, letting the last of the day's heat and low humidity dry them.

Shortly after dinner every night, the party would gather on a selected patch of beach, and there'd be a fire. Collecting firewood is not permitted this time of year and ashes may not be left behind, but part of the gear on every raft was a small bundle of firewood, not enough for a big fire but enough for a cheery one. The fire would be set in a firepan, and when blazing merrily, people would talk, guitars or a brown Celtic harp would be taken up, and there would be music -- and oh! the music. Popular tunes, current tunes, tunes well done, for two of the musicians were at least partly professionals, and some of the boatmen were musicians as well, and their tunes ran into old Western songs, or old popular and campfire favorites. And there would be stories, stories of the Canyon mostly, of the people who had been there and the things they had done in the distant past, on the last trip, and everything in between. One of the people who wrote about the Canyon the best was the first to see it from river level and write about it. The most experienced boatman would usually recite something from his journals from memory. As the flames flickered and died, people went in ones and twos off to their awaiting sleeping bags, ready to do it again tomorrow, and the day after, and the day after that.

Four days below Lee's Ferry and a mile below the feet of the tourists standing on the Canyon Rim far above, the travelers we are following came upon another group of rafts from the same company. They had left several days earlier, but had run more slowly, waiting for our travelers to catch up. There, at a small rapids by the name of Pipe Springs, even more travelers joined them after hiking down the long and steep trail from the rim, friends and guests who hadn't been able to find the time to make the full trip.

Up till this point, the rafts had been more lightly loaded with people than normal, and now they were spread around the dozen rafts, more crowded now. In a huge group they started down through what the boatmen called "Adrenaline Alley," which contained some of the toughest rapids in the river, with names like Horn Creek, Granite, Hermit, and, what some said was the toughest of all, Crystal. Certainly everyone in the expanded party believed that it was the toughest if for no more reason than the fact that it was the namesake of one of the boatmen, the daughter of the couple who would soon be wed. Though all experienced a wild and thrilling ride with the prospective bride and groom at the oars of different rafts, there were no incidents worthy of mention.

It was still early in the afternoon; the combined parties only drifted a few miles farther, to a tiny beach below a small, twisty side canyon. There was barely enough space for the dozen rafts to nose into the sand and tie their painters to the scattered tamarisks above the high water mark. Once again the rafts were unloaded and the gear spread about, but this afternoon the crews delayed starting dinner. It was a tough scramble up a narrow trail to get where they were headed, but everyone made the trip. Two of the musical instruments made the trip too, strapped precariously to the backs of two of the boatmen so that they could use all hands as well as feet to climb with. And there at a tiny pool overlooking the river, a story came full circle as a wedding was performed.

Afterwards the party worked its way back down to the tiny beach. Now the tables were set up, the propane burners started, and one of the best meals imaginable in a group known for good meals began to come together. The drag bags were opened again, the musicians played again -- less solemn music this time. As the light grew low the newly wedded couple took sleeping bags and pads and scrambled back up to the pool where the wedding had taken place, there to spend their wedding night as music drifted up from the party that continued below.

Dawn broke early; before it was fully light the tiny beach echoed to the roar of propane burners again, preparing a big breakfast. Given the large number of people and the small space, there was more confusion than normal in getting loaded up and on the river. Soon enough the group had moved on, leaving only their tracks in the sand of the small beach along the river, taking their memories with them.

They ran on together for a short day, and again the rafts landed, at a place called Bass Camp. Here the combined rafting parties split back into their original groups. The first party set out again to run a few miles farther in their attempt to make up for their slow days at the beginning of the trip, while the group we have been following spent the rest of the day exploring around several of the local sights. The second group would follow behind the first group for the next eight days, until they reached a place named Diamond Creek Wash, nearly a hundred and twenty miles farther on.

* * *

It was at Bass Camp that Crystal first really noticed that Myleigh was acting a little strangely, even for her.

From the first minute they'd met in their dorm room at Northern Michigan University almost a decade before, Crystal had noticed that Myleigh was a little eccentric. Well, more than a little, in fact. They were two very different women, and always had been -- so different that people at NMU had often commented that they couldn't see how the two could share the same planet, let alone the same room. Each marched to very different drummers, but both heard the beat just as loud. And it hadn't kept the two from becoming fast friends almost from the minute they met. Perhaps the fact that they were so different was what had made them friends. Myleigh was quiet, cultured; Crystal was loud, and had lower tastes. Myleigh was bookish and musical; Crystal was athletic and outdoorsy. Crystal was big and dressed sloppy, Myleigh was small and neatly clothed. Each complemented the other's strengths and weaknesses nicely. They lived in each other's pockets, shared everything they could -- there wasn't much in the way of clothes they could share, obviously -- but they shared their meager funds, troubles and triumphs, trips away from college, and eventually wound up sharing a boyfriend, Randy Clark.

For four years, they'd been the closest of friends, only separated during the summer when Crystal went to work at Ocoee Adventures in Tennessee, while Myleigh stayed at Marquette to work at the school. The start of fall terms had been like coming home for both of them. But then, Myleigh graduated -- Crystal had to do an extra term -- and in the years since, they had seen each other only rarely. When both were estranged from their families, for several years, the only place either could call home was Randy's parents' house in Spearfish Lake, though neither was there often, and rarely at the same time.

Crystal had been looking forward to spending some time with her old friend in this place she had come to love, the Grand Canyon. It wasn't going to be perfect; it was, as always, a working trip for Crystal, and a somewhat-more-hectic one at that. While a boatman's life might be full of adventure and magnificent scenery, it was also long days of a lot of work and some degree of responsibility and danger. It was made worse by the abnormal schedule of this trip, some unexpected events, and the crowd of other friends and relatives -- not to mention the strange tensions of her parents, both of her real parents, getting married on this trip.

So, what with everything else, Crystal just hadn't been able to pay as much attention to Myleigh on the first half of the trip as she had hoped to. She had been able to see, of course, that there'd been some changes in her friend; when she'd first met her, Myleigh had been shy and frightened of the new world she was entering, and that took some time and effort on Crystal's part to overcome. Now, while she still appeared meek, Crystal knew it was just the way she appeared. There was intelligence and an iron drive hidden behind that flighty exterior and fancy language. She was a confident, competent, outgoing adult, ready to attempt new things. Crystal was happy for the change.

What really surprised Crystal was how Myleigh met their new swamper back up at Lee's Ferry with a seriously hot kiss. That wasn't like Myleigh at all; Crystal could never remember her acting like that with Randy back at Northern -- but it had been the three of them back then; the dynamics were different. Crystal had seen Myleigh and Trey back at Buddha and Giselle's over the holidays, and while they'd been friendly, there had clearly been some distance between them, so, it was obvious they'd covered some ground in four months.

A trip down the Grand Canyon was very much in Crystal's world, not Myleigh's. When Crystal hiked on her own, on the AT and elsewhere, she pounded out the miles like she meant it; Myleigh's idea of a hike was a short stroll on an easy path, preferably paved, through a well-groomed park. The hikes in the Canyon, at least most of them from river level, were not necessarily long, but they were rugged, and some of them had some exposure to falls and hurting someone or worse. Normally a good part of the crew accompanied the passengers on the hike to keep them out of trouble. But always some crew stayed back to attend to camp details and usually some passengers stayed in camp, for one reason or other. Back up at North Canyon on the second morning on the first real side canyon hike, it had been a little surprising for Crystal to notice that Myleigh was out of the camp. She'd figured on staying back in camp to get a little one-on-one with her, but she was nowhere to be found, so must have gone on the hike. Myleigh reappeared in the middle of the hikers, so Crystal figured, yup, she must have been with the hikers. Well, it was a nice one, she'd probably enjoyed it.

A couple nights later they'd stopped at Nankoweap, and again, Myleigh disappeared about the time the hike group started up to the Anasazi Granaries, a popular hike. Everyone had been warned that it was a steep climb and got exposed in spots, so Crystal had been a little surprised to think that Myleigh was in the group. But, before they returned she noticed her friend walking carefully downstream through a rock field just above the river carrying her harp case. The mystery was solved, she thought; she knew that Myleigh liked to practice an hour or two each day, and she'd probably just found a spot where she hadn't been likely to be bothered by the camp activities. Crystal thought the roar of the propane burners sometimes got irritating, and Myleigh must have thought so as well.

Over the next couple of days, on two or three different occasions Crystal noticed Myleigh digging the harp case out of the waterproof drybag it was carried in and going off by herself to play it in some lonely spot or another. The wedding was coming up, there were some other things going on, the camp was busy; there were hikes, and Crystal just didn't think about it too much. There was too much else to do.

But after the rush of the last several days, it was different at Bass Camp; part of the party was off on a long hike; others were still sleeping it off in the shade of the tamarisks on a ledge above the river. And of course Myleigh was nowhere to be found. Again, Crystal didn't think too much about it, except to be a little disappointed that again she'd missed the time for some one-on-one with her friend. In a silent moment when the wind died down, she heard a snatch of harp music coming from downriver. Searching around, she saw Myleigh playing her harp, sitting on a ledge well above the river. Having nothing better to do at the moment, Crystal decided to go check it out. It was something for her to do.

It took a little figuring out to work out how to get down the river to the ledge where Myleigh sat, but after a little route study it became fairly obvious. Crystal moved well through the broken rock -- she was used to it -- but not long before she reached her friend, she happened to notice Trey half-hidden in a patch of tamarisks and grass and rock. He was lying there quietly, just watching. The surprise drew her attention away, and a rock tumbled when her foot slipped. She caught herself immediately, but the falling rock drew Trey's attention; Crystal saw him swing around in surprise at seeing her, and quickly he held his forefinger to his lips, urging her to silence.

As unobtrusively as possible, Crystal quietly eased her way up to him, lay down beside him in his hiding place, and whispered, "What's going on?"

"Shhh," Trey whispered back. "Listen."

Crystal had heard Myleigh play the harp for years. It was strange to see her with this brown one rather than Blue Beauty, but the music was totally unfamiliar. When she'd first met Myleigh, her playing was mostly traditional old Celtic ballads and classics along with some occasional very old pop music; pop and newer ballads after she'd started playing with Randy, and a lot of unpublished Jenny Easton stuff the last year in college. But this was different -- so different, she couldn't put a name to it. It was haunting, eerie. Myleigh was a confident player and usually played something right through, but not now; she'd play for a few seconds and stop, sometimes just to look around with the harp in her lap, sometime just with her fingers on the strings, obviously concentrating. Sometimes the music would go on for a minute or more, and sometimes she'd sing along -- not words, just her bell-clear voice accompanying the music of the harp.

Crystal must have lain by Trey in wonder at the scene before her for ten minutes before the curiosity got the best of her. "What's she playing?" she whispered in his ear.

"Beats the hell out of me," Trey said. "I've never heard her doing anything like that. It's been going on since the second day. I've walked up on her a couple of times, and she's been nice enough, but it's been pretty clear that she was irritated at being interrupted. So, after that, I've been sneaking up on her."

Again Myleigh set the harp down and looked around, while Trey and Crystal hunkered down in the weeds and tried to be as inconspicuous as possible. To anyone looking from the river, all would have been in plain view, but they were just about out of sight of her. Myleigh stared off up the river for a while, up at the rim far away, then again picked up the harp and began to play some more of that indescribable music -- sort of like what she had been doing before, but even richer, somehow.

"That is something," Crystal whispered. "I can feel it from here."

"Yeah, me, too," Trey whispered. "I think we better sneak off before she notices us."

"I think so, too," Crystal whispered back. "If we can work our way down to that bunch of tammies in the draw behind us, I think we'll be OK. I'll go first."

"Right behind you," Trey nodded.

Very stealthily they moved out of the hide site and back into the grove of tamarisks, but they kept moving until they were a hundred yards or more away. Crystal found a spot in the shade of the tamarisks where they could see Myleigh without likelihood of being noticed. They could barely hear the harp from there, but at least they could talk to each other in low tones.

"God, that's awesome music, what I heard of it," Crystal said.

"Yeah, that was the best yet," Trey said. "I haven't snuck up on her to listen every time she's gone out, but whatever she's doing, I think she's getting it."

"I've never heard her do something like that before," Crystal said. "But then, I haven't been around her that much recently."

"I have," Trey said. "And I've never heard it either. It's different here than it was elsewhere, but it's been different every place we've been. You want my guess, I think she's trying her hand at composing. We had a long talk a while back about how she wants to do something original. She was a little frustrated at Harp Strings being mostly Jennifer and Blake's stuff."

"It's not her kind of music," Crystal said flatly. "She always liked to sing or to show off the harp. This is new age stuff, if you have to put a word to it."

"Maybe," Trey shrugged. "I don't know."

"Trey, I've been running this place for three years, and the one thing I've learned is that everybody reacts to this place a little different."

Trey looked down at his sandals and was silent for a moment. "Look, you know her pretty well, don't you?"

"I probably know her better than anyone but Randy, but that was years ago, and she's changed some," Crystal said.

"Crystal, did she scare you?"

"Not particularly," she replied. "I don't scare easily. That's how I'm made up."

"Don't get me wrong, Crystal," Trey frowned. "I like Myleigh a lot, but she scares the hell out of me."

"You mean, you think she's losing it?"

"No," Trey said thoughtfully. "Not like that. Sure, she reacts a little differently to things than other people do, and she does act a little, well, odd."

"Eccentric."

"A basketful of that," Trey said. "I think I understand some of that. But, she is just so damn smart, and so damn talented, so cultured and individual that I feel like I'm hanging on to the tail of a tiger. She's just so far ahead of me in so many ways I don't know how I could ever handle her."

"Yeah," Crystal sympathized. "I felt like that a lot, too. Of course, I was so far ahead of her in a lot of other ways that it balanced out. We just never let the differences come between us."

"I don't know much where I'm ahead of her," Trey said quietly. "I tend to be a little more organized, I think. I'm good at handling practical stuff that sometimes confuses her. But, I don't have all that much talent at it. Crystal, I've seen you in action enough to know that you have your own talents."

"Look, I know with Myleigh it's hard to tell. Are you two in love, or what?"

"I wish I could tell you," Trey said unsure of himself. "I like her a lot. Maybe I love her, but I can't help but wonder if it's the love a moth has for a flame. She acts like she's in love with me, and I'm not sure why, except for the fact that I got lucky and tracked Blue Beauty down when it got lost back in January. When you get right down to it, I'm nothing special, not like she is, and I don't know how I could ever compare to her."

Crystal glanced back up at her friend, playing the harp in the distance on the ledge overlooking the river, trying to get things in perspective. "I wouldn't want to speak for her," she said finally. "But like I said, we all see things in different ways. Maybe she sees something she needs in you that you don't see in yourself."

Trey shook his head. "I don't know what it could be."

"Maybe she doesn't know what it is, either," Crystal said. "Look, as well as I knew her, there were parts of her that were never clear to me. She never talked about it much, but it's obvious that she was hurt and hurt a lot. I'm just guessing, but maybe she sees something she needs in you. Loyalty, maybe, or dependability, or stability. You might never know what it is. She might not either. If it works I wouldn't worry about it too much."

"You could be right," he nodded. "But, damn, I don't know what to do."

"I don't know what to tell you," Crystal smiled. "Other than to ride it out and see what happens. I've been watching the two of you, and you seem to care for each other a lot. Yes, Myleigh is intelligent, talented, complex and a little unpredictable. You know, I've often thought that life is kind of like a rapids. You study it, but sooner or later you have to pick your line and run it. Oh, you can maneuver around a little to make the ride a little rougher or a little smoother, but in the end you're pretty much going to come out at the bottom no matter what you do. But, the roughest ones are usually the ones that make for a more exciting ride, and you feel better when it's over."

Trey looked sideways at her; it obviously wasn't real clear what she was talking about, at least as it applied to Myleigh. "You're telling me I need to pick a line to run?" he said finally.

"Hell, no," Crystal grinned. "You're way past that."

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