Moab Jett

I may risk sounding like a tourist brochure here. That's where I learned about this, the official Moab, Utah tourist mail-out brochure for potential visitors. Moab itself had become a goal for two reasons. Steve and I had both been turned on to the area by a series of Rich Curtin novels featuring Manny Rivera, plus we'd grown the goal of visiting as many national parks as possible for this trip as we could reasonably cram in. That brochure mentioned activities other than driving around and hiking. We hit on an outfit maned Moab Jett, deciding on their scenic tours up the Colorado River. They also offer more adventurous tours, but our goal was scenery and keeping our cameras dry. (FYI: the company does offer ziploc bags for cameras, free.)

 We made a morning reservation for a three-hour tour, $99. each. They even offered dog-sitting services when I called to inquire, just $20. Considering the alternatives, it was a bargain, and worked out very well.

We arrived early. Of course. Timing is my thing, particularly after 29 years where time was an essential part of every job. I still tend to arrive early anywhere, but more so when going the first time to an unknown address in an unfamiliar town with half the lanes blocked for construction. We were warned that they would not wait for late arrivals, and no refunds for that kind of stupidity. (They said it nicer of course.) While sitting in the car waiting for the office to open I noted their large van for toting customers to the put in / pull out spots in the river. The first step was over two feet high.

Who the heck did they think their customers were? 

Apparently I underestimated them. When loading they furnished a stool, the van had another step up, and there were handles on the door and back of the front seat for aid. We can't have been their only load all seniors. For more help, there was always somebody or two somebodies to give whatever assist was needed to get a body where it needed to be. If they could get Steve and me where we needed to be, and comfortably, without embarrassment, I believe they can deal with anybody.

Once loaded, Grant, our driver took us downriver to the launch spot. We headed just north of Moab on the main drag, hwy. 191 to 279, turning left past the old uranium mine which has been a superfund site for about 15 years now, according to our driver/guide. As we passed cliff walls on the side, he pulled off at a site with petroglyphs so we could disembark if we chose to see them. It took a minute to locate the first batch, but once we knew what we were looking for there were several patches of them. They were way over our heads, but Grant explained the river was much higher then, so presumably cliff climbing wasn't required.

Required or not, just a few yards away, several cars were parked while their occupants were honing their climbing skills. I agree with Steve's opinion that those people were some level of crazy.

Our transfer to the launch site occurred at a steeply sloping concrete parking pad with our jett boat tied up to rocks past the end. Grant parked sideways on it so I had to climb uphill to exit the van! For convenience there is an outhouse for those needing one, with a few minutes given both starting and ending the ride. If I thought getting in the van was a challenge, this looked impossible. We were to go from ground level to the top front of the boat, (yes, I'm sure there is a proper word for that) then maneuver across to the beverage cooler/step in the middle of the front seat, then down onto the front seat, climbing over each layer back to the seat we got for the ride. At least the last part was mitigated by giving us both the front seat, separated by the beverage cooler from our boat driver, Jeremy. (They provide water, lemonade, even Steve's favorite ice tea.)

Both men together got each of us on. Steve thought, since the boat rocked side to side on its keel while people moved around, that he'd feel safer crawling across the front on his knees. They rapidly switched him to sitting and scooching backwards on his hips to the spot where he could be turned around one leg at a time to where he could stand on the cooler, then down to the seat, then the floor in front of the seat so he could finally sit. With two strong men helping it worked. Safely. I had my own version of what would work for me, relying on those two men myself. Our fellow travelers managed more easily, still relying on two sets of arms keeping them steady on the rocking boat, but keeping on their feet the whole way.

Now the real fun began. Grant left to return the van for its next set of tours, the shorter adventure tours  on a different part of the Colorado offering whitewater. He'd be back in time for us. Jeremy rocked the boat to get off the rocks it had beached on, then proceeded to wind a course at both slow and fast speeds from side to side along the water. Levels were low so sandbars and piles of driftwood were hazards. At one spot he stopped to show us the ripples on the surface and explained how the edges of the sandbars disrupted the flow. He knew how to read those accurately "nearly all the time" and proved this was one of them. 

Our tour guide pointed out features along the way, named particular features, paused occasionally for a bit of history, then kicked back into a high powered zigzag down the river. We saw great blue herons standing immobile , imitating driftwood in hopes that passing fish would let their guard down and become their next meal. A pair of helicopters flew their meandering path down the channel, likely taking pictures of us while we took pictures of them. A later stop pointed out petrified logs up on the canyon wall, one sticking out like a post, the other lying horizontal. Further down a cliff face showed a white line of what we were informed was petrified Beech trees.

For a while I was fascinated by the colors in the reflections of the water. With the sun mostly behind us, red rocks and green foliage decorated the water. Since mostly during this part of the tour we were zigzagging, I braced the camera on the boat in front of me and hit the video button. Over the several segments, I figure I have a ten minute movie - when I figure out how to use that software.

Jeremy stopped and tied up to trees along shore for a trek inland to see a petrified pine tree and another set of petroglyphs. Steve and I declined the climb and hike, instead cuddling in the tight seat, getting pictures of unfamiliar foliage and flowers, listening to a flock of Canadian gees squabbling upriver as peace returned.

Once everybody returned, we continued downriver past Dead Horse Point to a spot carved out by the river into a natural amphitheater called "the Grotto." There was a shallow bank where boats tied up, people headed up to hear concerts put on yearly in September. Jeremy informed us he'd even made a few trips there with a grand piano on a jet boat. While capacity is large, it still is limited, paid ticket admission only. The piano gave him free entry.

This was our final point on our journey, so we returned to our launch point fairly quickly, no more stops.  With the different camera angle, there were excellent views of red cliffs setting off cloud formations heralding a front moving in, white dendritic explosions of cirrus offsetting red rock and deep blue sky.

 Disembarking was so much easier than loading. As promised, Grant was there waiting with the van. On our trip back he again stopped, this time to point out the only arch visible on the trip, a thin vertical line called "jug handle arch" with its own conveniently placed pullout on the side of the road. Both Grant and Jerermy well earned their tips before the trip was over.

As we were getting off the van in Moab Jett's parking lot, I said something to Steve. Heather Too heard me from inside the office and started barking her unique bark, ready for me to hurry up and come give her some more love. As always, to give is to receive.