It's the little things that count. It's fictional counterpart, The Monkey Wrench Gang , is equally good, but this tells you how you can act on how you feel. We're afloat, finally, easing into a delirious languor, still upstream from Navajo Bridge and barely 20 miles below the concrete monolith called Glen Canyon Dam. Creatures of wristwatches and leather shoes, we are molting, reinventing ourselves, crossing over to river time. This is by definition a private process.
Chatter seems vaguely profane.
It's Dave Foreman who spots the great blue heron on river left. We watch as it trolls the shoreline for fish, then launches itself abruptly and effortlessly, skimming the water's surface and gaining altitude, gliding along the contour of the sandstone wall until it vanishes from our view. Foreman keeps staring, as at an after-image. Contents are copyrighted. We are pleased to allow reprinting if credit is given, except for those articles specifically copyrighted by the author.