A Journey Downriver
Sunset|April 2019

Into the future of water in the West.

Heather Hansman
A Journey Downriver

The neck-craning canyons of the Gates of Lodore spring out of nowhere, at odds with the rolling bluff of Browns Park. After the mellow undulation of the park, the walls of the canyon pinch back in, and the red rocks of the Uinta Mountain Group fold up, pushing skyward. The water picks up speed as soon as we get on the river, and we paddle into a stiff, persistent headwind. You’re ruled by wind and light in the canyons, and the sun diffuses as we get deeper into this one. I keep spinning my face skyward, trying to get a look at the top.

The evening before, I’d shown up at the O.A.R.S. rafting outfitter’s boathouse in Vernal to prep for a river trip through Lodore. Permits for the 44-mile-long section of the Green River are among the most sought-after in the country because those canyons hold sustained class IV rapids.

There have been eyes on the Green River, the most significant tributary of the Colorado River, since white people first spread out across the United States. This particular river was a pivot in the opening of the West. It was everything I thought a western river should be: far off, achingly beautiful, seemingly wild. I eventually decided I wanted to run the 730-mile length of the Green, from the glaciers of Wyoming to the desert canyons of Utah, to see if I could understand the complexity of the way rivers are used.

This story is from the April 2019 edition of Sunset.

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This story is from the April 2019 edition of Sunset.

Start your 7-day Magzter GOLD free trial to access thousands of curated premium stories, and 8,500+ magazines and newspapers.