In this dreamlike voyage any unnecessary effort seems foolish. Even vulgar, one might say. The river itself sets the tone: utterly relaxed, completely at ease, it fulfills its mighty purpose without aim or effort. Only the slow swing of the canyon walls overhead and the illusory upstream flow of willows, tamarisk, and boulders on the
John shuffles and spreads the animal medicine cards in a fan before me. Pausing for a few seconds, I carefully select one of thirty at random. Butterfly: the master of transformation. First an egg, then a larvae, a cocoon, and finally, a rebirth as a entirely new being. The card asks its receiver some questions.
Groover: a bucket or rocket box with a detachable toilet seat that is used as a means of disposing fecal matter on river trips. The number one rule of the Groover is DO NOT pee in the Groover. The second rule is to always remember to bring the key back or put the paddle up
“They were born just a couple of days ago,” Randy told the group as he hoisted a tiny goat into the air. Voicing himself over the bleating of a concerned mother, Randy went on to explain how the newborn kids would soon join his functional goat herd. For now, the younglings clustered together in the