TheTraveler

 

Solitude on the San Juan
By Jill Florio

A lot of people boat the San Juan River. There's a reason for the crowds: the deeply orange canyon walls beckon with just enough water action for a rousing, but not wrenching, time. Sand Island to Mexican Hat, the Hat to Clay Hills: by all means, by any means, do it. Just expect company.
Or go it alone. There's an upriver stretch you can have all to yourself, from Aneth through Montezuma Creek, to Sand Island. Here lies easy adventure without a map. I took my best friend there last week for some serious relaxation and bonding time. Two little kayaks, packing light, pickle jars and all.

Coming from Flag, take 89 to 160 through the Navajo Reservation, make a right at Kayenta and drive to Bluff. If you have two cars, leave one at Sand Island, or arrange a shuttle at one of Bluff's tourist shops. Next stop is Aneth, a tiny oil-rig community whose biggest claim to fame is its proximity to an obscure Indian ruin on the edge of Colorado.

We leave our pickup by the church/post office/convenience store (after asking permission first; always a smart move), and walk down a dirt road on the west side of McElmo Creek. This is the put-in. From here, it's a smooth trip downstream, past braided river channels, sand waves, drowned cows, miles of willows and leafed-out cottonwood trees, and the occasional riffle. Don't expect rapids on this stretch. Just lean back and let the river carry you down...

There are worse ways to spend an afternoon than rafting up with your buddy and dangling legs in the river on a hot summer's day. We discuss free will versus destiny, why most men are morons, and argue whether the ancient Anasazi had more leisure time than we do today. We're constantly distracted by course adjustments to keep us out of entangling clumps of river debris and curving shorelines, and the frequent decision of which braided stream to take (it doesn't really matter, they all meet at the end).

We see great blue herons, a herd of wild horses, steers and heifers and calves, but no people. It's a quick nine-mile jaunt from Aneth to Montezuma Creek, and you can get out at the bridge and replenish supplies/cold brews at the Texaco in town.

We camp on a quiet sandbar and listen to the water rippling on, and the breeze through cottonwood leaves. We sit and read, write in journals. Long rays of warm sunset give way, finally, to cooler twilight. Conversation over hot tea. Distant pinpoints of light from Montezuma Creek echo the stars in the black swath of skies above. Not too shabby, life.

Below Montezuma Creek, the BLM requires a permit. This stretch is free, unlike the fee-per-day required past Bluff (contact the San Juan Field Office at 435-587-1544 for the permit application).

Slipping past Montezuma Creek, the river picks up more character. Shattered shale hills give way to more sandstone mounds and massifs. Still not a soul in sight. It's about 20 miles downriver to reach Sand Island, where all the people are.

River restrictions still apply here, even so. There is no camping permitted on the Navajo side (river left) and a fire pan is required for every stove.

A pickle jar is an unpleasant necessity; ask about it when you get your permit.

There's a certain art in using a portable poop pot. Balance, aim, and the capacity to ignore your distaste all come into play. Its just a part of life, here.

Coming in to Bluff, civilization encroaches on the river. Flotsam from the past, mysterious metal junk, and one random pedestrian bridge alert us to the incipient takeout. The wind begins picking up, and we fight its determined headlong strength.

Sand Island still lies three miles past the town, but at last the river finally appears on the San Juan River Runner's Guidebook. Don't miss the takeout:it's a serious excursion from here to Mexican Hat, the next place water meets the road.

By the time we pull ashore it's surprisingly cold. We make a run for the pit toilet, pull on some fleece, and change into dry shoes. It actually snows in the desert this night. Who knew?

Groups wait patiently at their put-in. The gorgeous downstream sections are worth the wait and hassle, but our trip seemed wilder, more spontaneous. We find ourselves wanting to try the San Juan even further upstream next time, where it's closer to the source, in New Mexico. We'll boat right through Four Corners! We'll make our own river map! In the spirit of John Wesley Powell we'll boldly go where there is no guide.

But for now we just head to a cheap motel room in Bluff and watch TV while it storms outside.

Back to TheTraveler.