With just nine miles left in the journey for six of the eight of us, I rowed with my partner Steve; we started at about 8:30 am.

Since my mind was on the upcoming transition of people and related logistics, I didn’t think much about the few rapids we were to encounter, a couple of which caught both of us by surprise.

All too soon however, we were within sight of the Diamond Creek boat ramp, which was a bee-hive of activity. The Rastas had wisely stopped in some shade on the left side several hundred yards above the ramp to await their turn to disembark.

We joined them and for the last time shared some laughs and for the first time some names. Along with trip leader Mark, the group included among others Arturo, Leonard, Tyson and Raven, whom despite having severely sprained or even broken his ankle two weeks earlier on this trip, was there until the “bitter end”.

When Gary signaled us, our turn came and we joined the hot, busy crowd on the ramp.

It is hard to describe the frenetic moments between the time we arrived at the ramp and the time we left, but there were some photos and goodbyes to Gary, Leslie, Mason, Spencer, Jim and Steve, who took with them Dave’s raft.

My kayaking friend Brian joined Loren and me, as did two groups Loren invited-one of three from Arizona, the other of four from New Mexico.

After spending way too much time in the blazing afternoon sun transferring gear into and out of the two remaining rafts, the ten of us shoved off. Brian was kayaking and Loren and I rowed.

I had been down this stretch only once before, on my first trip down the Grand Canyon twenty-one years ago; this was the first river trip of any kind for many of those in the two groups who joined us.

The New Mexico group of Heather, Lila, Sergio and Mariana rode with me while Loren’s raft carried Jeff, Jesse and Diana.

I was immediately taken by how much parts of this area resembled the inner gorge. For additional visual pleasure, Sergio spotted two condors.

We all were ready to camp when we arrived at Travertine Falls, less than five miles downstream. A small flow of water drops at least 60 feet. It is dispersed not unlike a shower flow, and you can imagine how good it felt after such a long time in the dust at Diamond Creek.

Just below our campsite a rapid created the muffled roar with which I had become so familiar. As night fell, I sat on the raft taking photos of it over and over, as if I could somehow stop this from being the last night of my trip that the river could be heard.