he last issue of Boatman¹s Quarterly prompted me to think and write.

A motorized trip through the Grand Canyon is like going to a dance with a beautiful date and dancing all night long until it is time for each of you to go home. An oar-powered trip is all of the above, plus getting to sleep with your date.

The first experience is great; the second is so much better. I know, because in the early ¹70s, for three consecutive summers, I was fortunate to be a guest in my boatman¹s (and boatwoman¹s) living room. My first two trips were in motorized baloneys, my third was in a dory.

Importantly, the third never would have happened without the first two.

What is the case to be made for motors? They make a trip through the Canyon accessible to many more people than oar trips. I¹m not speaking of the physically challenged. I¹m speaking of those city people from New York or Chicago‹those who (like I was) have virtually no outdoor experience beyond softball or hoops‹who would no more think of spending more than two weeks in a row boat on some river in the bottom of a canyon than they would plan on going to Mars.

The problem with those who would support a ban on motors is that they already love the Canyon and they¹ve seen the bottom‹know that the ride through wildwater is but a small part of the Canyon experience. They cannot really relate to those for whom a river trip might be only part of a two or three week vacation, including a stop in Vegas.

Why should we care about these people? Why not save the Canyon for those really willing to make the effort? The answer (at least one of them) is votes; and letter writing; and voices at ³town meetings.² There are more Congressional votes in New York City and in suburbs than there are in Utah. Unless the Canyon has a constituency in places like New York, there will be little but small pockets of support for it among ³tree huggers.²

I know. I was a city person with no outdoor experiences, once.

Guy Blynn