NEWS, UPDATES and STORIES FROM THE RIVER

Some are long, some are short.
Some are funny, some are scary.
Some begin with "No $#*!, there I was...",
Some begin with "I'm only going to tell this once..."
Some have been around for decades, others only for hours.
Some are true. Most are exaggerated.
All end with a smile.

Here are some of our favorites (and remember: this isn't Vegas; what happens on the river might just end up on the internet!)

2011

MARCH 24 SNOWPACK REPORT:
The short story is that we're not worried about low water. Snowpack levels for the rivers we run are in great shape. We'll have plenty of water everywhere (and we'll definitely have high water in California). Here are the specifics as of March 24, 2011:

Left-Brainers:
Merced = 148%
Tuolumne = 151%
S F American = 152%
M F American = 152%
Illinois = 120%
Rogue = 124%
Selway = 110%
MF Salmon = 104%
Main Salmon = 103%
Yampa = 124%
Green/Lodore = 119%
Green- Desolation = 119% Right-Brainers:
Merced - high & fast in June, pretty flowers
Tuolumne - really wet & exciting in May & June
SF American - half again as good as before
M F American - perfect for July and August
Illinois - always unpredictable, but promising
Rogue - lots of warm water all summer long
Selway-better than average&average is great
MF Salmon-spring temps will matter but good
Main Salmon - no worries, warm water in Aug.
Yampa - great conditions, July trips should go
Green/Lodore - this is what we dream of
Green- Desolation - July will be fantastic

NEW SIGN IN GROVELAND!
Every summer, some moron driving an RV heads down Ward's Ferry Road thinking it is a shortcut to Sonora and every summer they get wedged on the hairpin bridge across Deer Creek that is about 5 miles down the one-lane road. Traffic (usually our passenger busses, vans and equipment trucks) backs up in both directions on the one-lane road and chaos ensues (many think this is the origin of the term "cluster#*@&"). Anyhow, this sign is now at the top of the road; hopefully it will help. Here's a story that references the road at the other end of the trip:

ONE NIGHT STAND ON THE TUOLUMNE
By Stephanie Wallace

There are three things everyone remembers about a Tuolumne River rafting trip: the legendary Clavey Falls, the unexpectedly beautiful sidestreams, and the bus ride to the put-in. “I have seen strong women break down in tears and grown men vomit.” says Nolan Verga, a 7 year veteran river guide. “Every year, someone gets out and walks.”

It is easy to understand why, as the “road” from Groveland to the river is little more than an eroding cattle trail scratched into the side of a steep canyon wall and the bus looks as though it was red-tagged by the Mexican Police. As we ease around a particularly narrow outcropping and 15 of the 16 passengers crowd to the outside edge for a better view, I cling to my seat on the right and fear that I may become this season’s walker, or worse.

But I survive the ride and the trip is well worth it. After 5 miles and 45 minutes of slow, rocking descent and long, precarious views, (Nolan calls them “inspirational”), the bus comes to a stop at Meral’s Pool, a shady, idyllic spot where the road and the river briefly meet. I step off the bus and all my senses welcome the setting: towering pines, rushing water, fresh air, and solid ground. I don’t know if I am relieved that the bus ride is over or calmed by the tranquility of the surroundings, but immediately I am at peace. I begin to understand the love affair that river guides have for this incredible river and this majestic canyon. The bus ride seems like a trivial price for such a magnificent reward.

A friend of mine once defined true wilderness as being a day’s hike from the nearest road, and until today, I wouldn’t have argued. But just one mile (and two rapids) downstream from our launch site, I am questioning the definition. If not true wilderness, the Tuolumne canyon certainly qualifies as wild. The shore is thick with the typical foothill mixture of alders, maples, willows, blackberries, and wild grape; the hillsides are covered with oaks, pines, manzanita and the ubiquitous poison oak and there don’t appear to be any signs of human influence.

However, I admit to not really looking around. For the river itself is truly wild here and it demands my full attention. For the first six miles of our 18 mile trip, the rapids are nearly nonstop and, even at these normal summertime flows, always challenging. Rock Garden is followed by Nemesis is followed by Sunderland’s Chute is followed by too many more to remember. Ben, the guide of our six-person paddle raft, gives us the genealogy of each rapid (some were named for the first to descend them, i.e. “Hackamack’s Hole”, some for a particularly noteworthy event, i.e. “Framecrusher”; and some for both, i.e. “Phil’s Folly”). His short histories are made longer by the frequent interruptions of his paddle commands, which we execute with supreme diligence and pathetic efficiency. Ben seems amused and assures us we are not the worst paddle crew he’s ever had, but I think he is being polite. We careen through the rapids, secretly blaming each other every time we fail to execute the requested maneuver and laughing like kindergartners on a Slip ‘n Slide. This is really fun.

But six miles, (and a short stop for a riverside picnic lunch), go by in a blur and in the early afternoon we pull in to shore to set up camp. At first, there is the expected letdown, “OK kids, time to put away the Slip ‘n Slide”, but that is soon replaced by the second of the Tuolumne’s unforgettable charms: the Clavey River. “How about some cake and ice cream?”

When Loren Eisley wrote: “If there is magic on this planet, it is contained in water”, he was sitting, at least emotionally, at the confluence of the Clavey and Tuolumne Rivers. The Clavey is a pristine, free-flowing river featuring crystal-clear water, cascading waterfalls, granite boulders and Olympic-sized swimming holes. Its water, warmed over 17 miles of south-facing slope, is cool and inviting. It joins the main Tuolumne in a deep, tranquil pool, rimmed by smooth rocks and rippled by an afternoon breeze. The golden hillsides and the pink sky are reflected in the blue water; the trickle of the Clavey is subliminally mesmerizing. It is the kind of place you expect to find swans, or Buddhist monks. It is here, in what most guides call “the heart of the canyon”, that I fell hopelessly in love with the river. It was like discovering that the man whom I had been respecting for his power and admiring for his looks also volunteered at the daycare center: “All this and sensitive too!”

But my love affair had another twist in store. Just downstream from the confluence was the Tuolumne’s third and most memorable attraction: Clavey Falls. Heeding the siren’s call, I foolishly made my way the 200 or so yards from camp to the rapid and took a look before dinner. I was shocked. The river poured over a formidable barrier of car-sized boulders, ran straight into a sheer cliff on the left shore, then proceeded directly into a pretty nasty looking hole. Even my rudimentary knowledge of whitewater navigation told me that this was a step up from the Slip ‘n Slide. I wouldn’t exactly say the river was hostile, probably not even mean, but it was sure upset. Just when I was beginning to think that this was "it". “I don’t even know you!”

That night, as we sat around the campfire sharing secrets and a bottle of Tequila, I caught a glimpse of how much this place means to Nolan and Ben. I noticed the respect in their words, the fondness in their thoughts, the reverence in their stories. I got a sense for why they come back season after season. Why they tolerate rainy trips in the Spring, blistering trips in the Summer. Why they agonize over high water and worry about low water. I saw how they feel like it is their river, but they know it will never be theirs. I learned that they, too, are hopelessly in love.

The next morning, during the official scout of Clavey Falls, Ben told me that Clavey is his favorite rapid. I was relieved, until he added: “when it’s over. Up here, before I run it, it’s my least favorite.” Fitting, that the relationship should be so complicated. I’m not one to kiss and tell, so I’ll leave the details of my rendezvous with Clavey Falls to your imagination. Suffice it to say that it was better than imagined, although maybe a little too quick.

Below Clavey, the Tuolumne mellows out a bit and offers longer calm stretches between rapids. Ideal places to drift along and appreciate the wonders of Mother Nature. Ben fills us in on the Tuolumne’s geology, (mostly granite upstream, limestone downstream, chert at Clavey Falls), history, (Miwoks and 49ers) and politics (John Muir and the Sierra Club versus San Francisco and Hetch Hetchy). It is hard to imagine this place millions of years ago, or even hundreds of years ago. Was that rock here? Was that tree? Or maybe it is easy to imagine it. Ben has a story for each rapid; a swimmer here, a flip there, one time in high school… and pretty soon we are all telling tales and offering exaggerations. Our paddling improves, too, and subconsciously we start working with the river rather than fighting against it.

We stop again for lunch, this time at another sidestream: the North Fork of the Tuolumne, which beckons us to stay and explore. But the other world imposes, (Nolan admonishes us for calling it “the real world” – “This is the real world” he correctly insists), and, despite our resistance, schedules and appointments force us downstream. At the take-out, the bus is waiting for us and we file aboard our old friend with confidence. On the ride up out of the canyon, I sit on the outside and lean out the window to get a better view. And to get one last look at the river.

Click here to see our 2011 Tuolumne schedule.

2010

TRIP REPORT
HALLOWEEN! - LAST TRIP OF THE YEAR! (AGAIN) - It was cold, dark and cloudy. The wind was swirling. The trees had lost their leaves. There was no one else on the river. It was sort of spooky; it didn't feel anything like the South Fork of August! Thank goodness my fellow guides broke out their inner KISS personas and decided to turn the trip into a real live performance, (we are closet rock stars). And thank goodness the group from Stanford was good "spirited" as well and joined us with some face paint and air guitar sessions. Rock and Roll All Nite! (Click here for more pictures).

Jessica's Last Trip of the Season
Last weekend Elana and I laid out our Paco pads on a sandy beach along the Middle Fork of the American and settled in for our last night on the river. It had been a long day of loading gear, resolving logistics and making new friends, and Tunnel Chute, with its ominous drop and steep, narrow rock slot, had taken the last drops of adrenaline out of us early. We were exhausted, but we kept our glasses on to watch the stars and we heaved sentimental sighs as we bathed in the cool night air and fought off the sandman. We were bittersweet and emotional recollecting a summer of immense improvement, many achievements, and, of course, those rueful times when the river, inevitably, got the best of us (see photo from my "acheivement" at Clavey Falls).

At some point, one or the other of us turned on our headlamp and began to read aloud from Waterlines, ARTA’s collection of nature-themed stories, poems and quotes that we bring on every trip. Over the course of the next few hours (it was by far the latest we had stayed up on a trip – ever) we traded off reading essays, reciting poems and telling our own stories that had affected us in some way: made us laugh, tugged at our heartstrings, revealed our deepest fears or inspired our greatest hopes. Increasingly we were filled with a great sense of pride and a great sense of purpose. We felt a part of something bigger than just the two of us. We felt connected to everything.

This is the reason I love rafting, the reason I want to spend my summers living and working on the river for decades to come. The river is magical. What we get to share on our trips is something incredibly special. We get to share our love of the river, our love of the outdoors, the stars, the black bears, the rapids, the flat water, the belly laughter, the sweaty days, the connection with others, the sound of oars dipping gently into current, the silly games, the gorgeous vistas, the sand under our feet and the canyons over our heads.

And in sharing this world with others, in being the instrument that makes it possible for others to discover the magic of the river, we are a piece of the puzzle that will make this world a better, more understood and more appreciated place.

2010 Lead Guide Seminar

We gathered on a wickedly cold weekend in May to share the secrets, hints and tips that it takes to be a great lead guide. Everything from how to patch rafts, fix stoves, and repair thole pins to how to motivate groups and entertain people when the van is late. All of the things that we worry about so that you don't have any worries. It was a rip-roaring success.

Our First 2010 Trip Evaluation
(thank you Vicki Ramsey!)

River: Green Lodore
Date of Trip: 6/8-6/11
Names of Guides: season, claire, tess, sam, heather, izzy

Pre-Trip Service:
Friendliness and efficiency of our reservations staff Superb
Reservation materials and process Superb
Directions to meeting place Superb
Supplemental trip information and equipment list Superb
Shuttle Service Good

On River Service:
Condition of ARTA equipment Superb
Quality and quantity of food Superb
Sanitation procedures Good
Amount of time on and off river, in camp, etc. Superb
Preparedness for emergency Good

Guide Service:
Lead guide's professionalism and presence Superb
Guide attitude and friendliness Superb
Guide skills and safety procedures Superb
Guide knowledge of the river and area Superb
Overall guide service Superb

Did any guide make a special contribution to your trip? Yes. All the guides were enthusiastic, friendly, hardworking and knowledgeable. Very impressive. I spent time in boats with Claire and Season. Claire explained a lot about the geology, and how to read the river (currents, eddies, etc,) and how to row an oar boat. All very interesting and fun. Season was also great and explained a lot too. I was on a paddle raft with her, and it was great fun. It was my first time on a river in a raft and I was very comfortable with Season. The operation of the trip appeared seamless, but I'm sure it was because of the hard work of the guides. My birthday was on the first day of the trip and the guides made it very special. I will always remember it. ARTA is lucky to have such employees. The trip exceeded my expectations. They took time to see the wildlife and appreciate the setting.

Other comments or suggestions: The trip was such a wonderful experience and the guides were so good, I plan on taking another of your raft trips next summer with some friends. The food was very good , much better than I had expected (it was a pleasant surprise). The food handling was good also.

More About Your Trip:
Which parts of the trip did you enjoy the most? The experience of being on the water. I tried the oar boat, paddle raft and duckie. All were fun. It was my first time. Next trip I will spend more time on a paddle raft and duckie. The scenery was wonderful. We saw peregrine falcons in Echo canyon , a merganser with a large brood of chicks (some on her back), several groups of big horn sheep just grazing by the river and even a moose and calf (in Utah). The side hiking trips were great. The peace and quiet and stars was exquisite. I miss it already. Were there any parts of the trip that you did not enjoy? Is there anything we could have done to make your trip more enjoyable? The heater got stuck on the bus and it would not turn off.

Stories from the Past...

Our Church

Last year Pat Shea, past Director of the Bureau of Land Management, asked the guides on his Middle Fork of the Salmon trip to write something about what the Frank Church Wilderness meant to them. He was collecting letters for Frank’s wife, Bethine. “The Frank Church” as it is affectionately called, is the largest wilderness area in the Lower 48 states, (in fact, at 2.3 million acres, it is larger than 2 of the Lower 48 put together), and the Main and Middle Forks of the Salmon flow through the heart of it. We are fortunate to be able to spend part of our summers there and fortunate that Frank had the foresight to protect the area in 1980.

One of our guides, Lauren Oakes, has spent many nights in the Frank Church, (and many nights out of the Frank Church thinking about being in it), and offered these thoughts and reflections:

What does the Frank Church Wilderness mean to me? Why is the Middle Fork of the Salmon always with me? Though I have guided rivers for years, it wasn’t until this past one when I returned to my little cabin in Juneau, Alaska, that I could start to answer these questions. Living in the vast “North” has redefined my perception of wilderness and reshaped my own connection to our natural resources. Alaska is, indeed, the last frontier, where rivers run free, salmon return in millions, the pristine land and waters seemingly have no boundaries. So many friends had wondered why I would leave Alaska during the best month of summer for the Salmon in Idaho. But there is something about this one river and its tributaries, the sense of history and vastness, that far surpasses even any extremely remote river I have experienced in Alaska. There is something I feel the Middle Fork still has to teach me time and time again. Pancake mornings and ponderosa pines, time dictated only by flow, tales of salmon that once were. Beauty like none other. Afternoons soaking in hot springs. Laughs, endless laughs, and adventuresome days. Looking at notes in my journal scrawled late at night sitting on the back of the boat, I thought about what makes the Frank Church Wilderness my church.

Frank Church Wilderness

Water droplets of destiny finding their path.
Seemingly charted in course and yet not.
A cascade of my dreams,
A flashflood of my memories, of emotion, of passion, of love.
Love of place, love of patience,
Love of what still stands and still moves,
What still drifts wild and free.
A moment, an eternity, a mere opportunity,
A deep beckoning for pause.
Pause.
A breath from this current pace, humanity's trajectory.
What can the river teach us?
How do we learn to listen?
Where did the salmon once return?
What home remains?
What history resides in the bedrock?
The earth moist beneath the souls of my feet,
I stand beneath the veil. And like the aurora borealis,
It dances across the sky above me.
Rain drops pounding in a chorus of notes,
We have lost sense, lost awareness,
Of natural rhythym.
The playful call of the chukar,
The drum of the grouse,
The steady tones of the thrush;
It takes but a beat, a breeze, to slow, to step backwards,
From today's relentless momentum.
Silence and solitude long gone
From far too many souls.
Where does wilderness reside?
A cascade of dreams,
Droplets falling upon my head, my shoulders, my back.
A thousand echoes of water splashing to rock.
Here, for a moment in time, I simply can be.

Lauren is co-producer of the movie Red Gold, a film about the sockeye salmon of Alaska's Bristol Bay.

(Too) Frequently Asked Question #12

What do you do in the Winter?

Our laundry, of course. And all the other things we don't have time to do in the summer. - like updating our trip information, filing release forms, reviewing logistics, and testing new menu suggestions. But that's just the office staff; our guides are contributing far more to society. Of the 40 full-time seasonal guides we had working for us last summer, 13 are undergraduate students, 5 are graduate students, 5 are working in the ski industry, 3 are teachers, 3 are traveling, 2 are engineers and 2 work for non-profit environmental groups. We also have a construction worker, a nurse, an after-school recreation program director and someone who helps people make things (instructables.com). Thankfully, we also have a massage therapist and a family counselor. Even more thankfully, none of us is on unemployment. We are spread around the country (Alaska to Massachusetts, Maine to Arizona) and all over California (Humboldt to San Diego). Two of us are getting married in June and one of us became a father in October. The one thing we are all doing, is getting excited for that first trip of the 2009 season; only 8 weeks to go!

Last trip of the year -

Like Milk Duds, you never know if it will be your last one.

The rafting season winds down slowly and for those of us who don't have a clear-cut end to the season, those of us who don't have classes calling or a teaching gig waiting, the last weeks of the season are full of uncertainty. Trips are usually smaller, and fewer, and further between; days off are always longer, and closer together, and longer. We don't really know if there will be another trip, don't really know if there will be another scrumptious deli sandwich picnic lunch, don't really know if there will be another night under the stars.

So we savor these last days on the river. Not that we don't appreciate every day all season, but when we know it might be our last day, we tend to dally. We tend to dream. We tend to notice things a bit more: the sparkle of the water, the green of the trees, the quiet of the calm stretches. We try to capture a piece of the river and put it in that special place that we can find in the middle of the winter to warm us up and get us through 'til 5:00 or 'til Illinois season.

We should live every day like that.

ARTA (and Governor Schwarzenegger) featured in Newsweek

California Governor Arnold Schwarzenegger is shown entering Satan’s Cesspool rapid on the South Fork of the American during a family rafting trip with ARTA in the April 16 issue of Newsweek Magazine (with Arnold on the cover).

ARTA has a long history with the Governor, dating back to his Conan the Barbarian days, and we were proud to take his entire family on their first river trip. “It was fun to raft with Arnold again.” said Steve Welch, ARTA’s General Manager, who also guided the Governor down the Klamath River in 1982, “I easily recognized him and he hasn’t lost any power in his stroke!” The day was full of tension (you really don’t want to flip with the Terminator in your raft) and distinction (we also provided a “security raft” that escorted us down the river and took care of all the gawkers) as well as the normal, everyday fun and laughter of a family river trip.

A day in the life of ARTA:

At around 8:00 am this morning, our American River guides were getting ready to greet a small group of guests at Camp Lotus for a lovely, quiet float on the South Fork. The weekend crowds had once again magically disappeared and it looked like we would have the river to ourselves; a welcome change from Sunday’s hubbub of activity and rush.

Meanwhile, far, far away in the Idaho backcountry, our first Middle Fork of the Salmon trip is enjoying their fourth day on the river, preparing for the big series of rapids at Tappan and maybe lunch and a short hike up Camas Creek. The trip has surely found its rhythm by now, waking to cool mornings, shedding layers as the day warms, eating when the feeling comes, sharing childhood memories and astounding at how light it still is at 9:30 at night.

Meanwhile, in Oregon , our crew is rigging rafts and loading coolers for a four day trip down the Rogue. They met the guests last night: 20 new names and faces whose first impressions are unlikely to survive four days of communal travel and living. The parents will be more relaxed, the kids will be better behaved, the quiet older gentleman will turn out to be not a grump but just shy, (and full of great stories). The morning air is filled with anticipation and potential and yes, our guides are excited too.

Meanwhile, in Colorado , day two of our Yampa trip is waking up to their first morning in the canyon, enjoying coffee and the spectacular light on the majestic canyon walls. Maybe there was a thunderstorm last night and the breakfast conversation is punctuated with stories of midnight lightning and rainflies. Or maybe it was clear and the city dwellers are commenting on how bright the stars were and how it reminded them of “the time I visited my Uncle’s farm in Kansas as a kid, and, by the way, my name is George and this is my wife Kay.”

Meanwhile, in the heart of Utah ’s Desolation Canyon , our youth whitewater school is stirring to morning number three. As on past schools, the nine students have woken up closer and closer together each morning, a phenomenon that is likely to continue, incredibly, for all seven mornings of the school; the silt and sunblock of the Green River replacing the teenage shield of insecurity and apprehension. Conversely, our four instructors (one of whom is a graduate of a past youth whitewater school), seem to sleep further and further away each night – partly to encourage independence and partly to avoid the late-night pillow talk and giggling.

Meanwhile, back in California , our Tuolumne crew is getting ready to launch another two-day trip; getting ready to find yet another way through Rock Garden. The hardest rapid of the trip is the first rapid of the trip; not the biggest, not the wettest, certainly not the most fun, just the hardest, made harder because it IS the first. In the eddy below, a collective sigh of relief will be exhaled and the fun will really begin.

Meanwhile, in the front office, the staff is juggling phone calls; following up on Guest Information Sheets, describing Main Salmon transportation options, and talking about Chacos (sandals) and Pacos (sleeping pads).

All in all, over 25 guides on 6 different rivers in 5 different states. And more than 100 people getting ready for one of the best days of their lives.

First Trip -

Saturday, April 12, 7:10 am: The dually makes the slow turn off of the pavement of Ferretti Road onto the dirt of Lumsden Road and we all observe the spontaneous moment of silence that always comes as we bump over the first few ruts and potholes and start to creep down into the Tuolumne canyon.

Every trip down Lumsden is different; each has a different feel, a different vibe. Sure, they all have the standard undertone of anxiety brought on by driving a heavily loaded truck down a steep, nasty, narrow, cattle-trail-turned-access-road, but above that, there always seems to be something else going on. In the springtime, when the water is high, the truck trembles with nervous energy; some guides hiding their butterflies with incessant talking, others hiding it with incessant silence, everyone discreetly trying to catch a glimpse of the raging river 1,500 feet below and silently scouting for a miracle surprise line through Ramshead or Sunderland’s Chute. Later in the season, after the water has dropped, the truck is flooded with battle-earned confidence and the stories of earlier flips or close calls come with more laughter and less “I-feel-sick-to-my-stomach” queasiness. By August, there is usually a new guide on the way to rowing the T for the first time and traditional calls for the stories to come thick and deep. By the time the poor, nervous trainee arrives at put-in he is shaking and can only envision 18 miles of wrap rocks with ominous names like “Indecision”, “Helicopter”, “Pelican” and “Dinosaur”. A rite of passage that the new veterans are now happy to perpetuate. All in good fun of course.

Today, we are filled with excitement and anticipation. The sun is shining, the hills are green, the road is re-surfaced. Seven months since we were last here, a day of adventure and five months of heaven ahead. Five miles ‘til we’re there.

Meeting the challenge

At the pre-trip orientation of a recent trip, our Lead Guide challenged all of the guests to try to get the most out of their stay on the river by stepping out of their comfort zone, or doing something they’d never done before, or spending some time reflecting on their role in the universe.

On the first morning of the trip one of the passengers returned from the groover and asked the Lead Guide: “Got any other challenges, because I just finished the first three you gave us.”  

The Improv

It started out as a standard six boat, mid-summer South Fork Lower. Another hot day in the Gorge. During lunch, while all the guides were slicing cheese and enjoying a respite from the blazing sun, an unfamiliar, (yet unmistakable), sound was heard; sort of a muted “BANG-HISS”; and hearts sank. One of the rafts, topped off in the relatively cool morning air had expanded in the hot afternoon sun and blown a tube. Not a little rip either, but a healthy, two-foot long gaping hole along the front right chamber. Even with a well-stocked repair kit and a two-and-a-half-foot long piece of patch material (neither of which were available) this was going to be a tough fix. After a little bit of head scratching, someone came up with the idea of deflating and removing a thwart from one of the other rafts, stuffing it into the hole so that the valve stuck out through the gap, then re-inflating it in place. Worked like a charm. 10 minutes early to take-out.

Repeat business

After a trip last year, one of our guests sent us an envelope with two pictures in it. One was an old, faded, black-and-white print of a kid about 9 years old standing in front of the pictographs that are up Jones Creek in Dinosaur National Monument. The other was a full-color, computer-printed, digital picture of a family of four standing in front of the same pictographs. The father in the second picture was the kid in the first picture and the accompanying letter was pretty nostalgic: “My parents took me when I was 9 years old and I have never forgotten…” “I’ve been waiting 34 years to take my kids, the youngest of whom is now nine herself.” “I remember so much about the trip.” “What ever happened to ‘Moss’, our lead guide?” “The world has changed so much.” Needless to say, the pictographs looked remarkably the same.