Obviously Jimmy didn't show up Tuesday night and he could not be reached at his home in Berkeley. Finally we gave up and left for Kanab, Utah in Larry's Toyota (55 top speed except downhill) Land Cruiser. At those amazing speeds - blowing VW busses off the road - it takes all night to reach Kanab. It was somewhat stormy but we were determined not to repeat the preceding fall's fiasco on the Escalante where Jimmy had driven from Berkeley to Escalante to meet us. We had, however, decided that the roads would be closed and returned to LA leaving him alone. About four in the morning the snow caught us. After breakfast I called Jim to tell him not to fly to LA to meet us. Since there was four inches of fresh snow on the ground, he was glad to be home. Not for long, however. We drove east from Fredonia to where the Paria crosses the highway. It was as dry as Les' supply of Vitz sayings. There was no snow and it was only sprinkling slightly. While Jerry and Larry ran a car shuttle to Lee's Ferry we sat at the roadhead and contemplated the BLM's sign and the nasty clouds downstream. The sign says that below this point there are five miles of narrows with no exits and no campsites - and not to enter in threatening weather. It was so we didn't. It wasn't raining hard enough to cancel, so we found a semi-sheltered spot to camp. About three in the morning we heard a weird sound. Seems that someone upstream had opened the faucet and the river was flowing. Our water problem was solved at the expense of wet feet. After our usual one and one-half hours to get started we made the first of many river crossings. The upper reaches of the canyon are pretty but not spectacular. The walls, brightly colored in red and white Navajo sandstone, slope gently away from the stream bottom. We passed many wide benches covered with cottonwoods and willows trying to decide how the BLM could say that there were no campsites let alone no escapes. After a few miles we had the nagging feeling that we had been ripped off. If this were the most exciting part of the canyon, why continue? Every once in a while we would see a corner and think that the narrows were beginning. But they never did. The stream was growing constantly more foam-covered and finally we passed the front of it. You've all crossed rivers, but how many of you have ever passed one? We no longer had a wading problem, but we might have to drink sand later on. After about five miles we entered the narrows. Apparently, the BLM means that the narrows are downstream but they neglect to mention how far. It was not too narrow - 25 to 50 feet - or deep - 300 to 500 feet - but an improvement nevertheless. Then a little narrower and higher and then some tanks with clear though not fresh water and finally a trickle between the tanks as the walls rose to 800 feet. And then the Buckskin. It is the one and only major tributary to the Paria. In the heart of 800 feet of sandstone two clear trickles come together to form the Paria. Both water and walls were a luminescent gold in the reflected light. We had time to go up the Buckskin for an hour each way. The BLM pamphlet says that there are no recorded ascents of the Buckskin. There are tanks, falls, and quicksand to be traversed. A short distance up the Buckskin there is a gigantic sweeping corner where the canyon widens. A cottonwood covered bench makes one of the finest campsites imaginable. And then the canyon gets serious. Narrowing down to three feet in spots with fantastically sculptured walls rising vertically for 800 feet; it is impossible in some spots to see the sky at all. The bottom is sandy and pockmarked with tanks, some of which are wall to wall and many yards in length. Luckily none were more than waist deep.

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