Trapped on the Green River in Utah

In which an attempt to feel differently about boats goes spectacularly wrong

Dear readers! Don’t forget to hit the ❤️ if you’re enjoying the journey.

Day three of our stay in Flaming Gorge, Utah, Mike booked a fly fishing trip with a guide in a “drift boat” going down the Green River. The fishing trip would be a new way to see the amazing red bluffs of a canyon that we’d only been able to admire from above.

“You don’t have to come,” he said. “I know how you feel about boats.”

In general, boats and I don’t get along. I get seasick easily, and hate feeling sick.

The biggest problem with boats is that once you’re on one and it’s going somewhere, you can’t just get off and go home when it’s not fun anymore.

But I wanted to feel differently about boats, much the way I wanted to like four-wheel-driving; sometimes boats are the best way to travel to see something special. I wasn’t going to be able to take in the view of Flaming Gorge from the bottom of the canyon any other way. “Sure. I’ll give it a go,” I said, squelching apprehension.

Mike cocked his head, gazing up at the sky.  “Seems like it will be a beautiful day on the river.” 

“I sure hope so.” Based on the clear skies, I dressed in layers.

We drove from the clifftop campground down to the river and met our guide, a soft-spoken twenty-something young man named Tyler (hiding lack of years behind a huge black beard) near the dam that created the Flaming Gorge Reservoir.

Tyler had brought his own watercraft, one created for this kind of outing. Drift boats have a high bow and stern and low sides. Generally made of sturdy fiberglass or metal, they are designed to be able to rock over shallow spots or boulders in a river should they get hung up on them.

Exhibit A: the Drift Boat on Green River

Tyler sat on a seat in the middle of the craft and piloted the boat with a pair of long, sturdy oars. Mike sat on a swivel chair in the bow, and I on one in the stern.

By the time we launched for our half-day cruise, clouds had massed high above over the steep canyon walls—but they brought welcome shade from the sun and the temperature was perfect.

I was delighted to try fly fishing for the first time; Mike and I have always been spin-casters. Though my first few casts were clumsy, I caught the first fish of the day, a fat rainbow trout. Mike decided to switch from to fly equipment too after that, and we both worked either side of the boat as Tyler rowed and guided us.

And then, we hit our first stretch of rapids, discovering that the Green River, peaceful from above, was unexpectedly turbulent and boulder-strewn from below. 

Clinging to a stanchion anchored to the floor meant to stabilize a standing fisherman as we bucked and heaved along, I asked uneasily, “Do we have a lot of rapids on this route?”

“Lots of class 2’s, a few class 3’s,” Tyler replied. 

I didn’t remember rapids being mentioned, but there was no quitting now—I was on a boat on a river, and the only way off was at the end of the route. 

I tried to focus on the positive: the kid was doing a good job positioning us at the head of each rapid, then using the oars to power and guide us between massive rocks as we bumped and zoomed between them.

Suddenly, the innocuous clouds that had gathered overhead went berserk. 

Lightning flashed directly over us, going off like a camera strobe. Thunder reverberated against the narrow walls of the Gorge in ear-banging rolls. Rain spattered down in mega-drops the size of marbles or nickels.