Where It Has Went

   Short story. Since the last bqr the Colorado’s clock has roared ahead in startling detail. During the past three months Grand Canyon has seen, not necessarily in this order: a new Lava Falls; a pending Memorandum of Agreement between the US Coast Guard and nps; final stages of the gcnp General Management Plan; a Grand Canyon Public-Private Partnership Act; vast changes—and significant unchanges—to river concessioner’s Commercial Operating Requirements; the issuance of Glen Canyon Dam’s Final Environmental Impact Statement and the first meetings of a Transition Work Group; the birthing of a Colorado Plateau Town Hall; a host of nominations for upcoming gcrg board elections; possible removal of the Bat Towers and; with the greatest of sincere thanks to Andre and Christa, and Martha, and to Ted Hatch and Patty Ellwanger, the most deepgoing and homefelt gts ever to cross anybody’s path.

   Puzzle that agenda. Most of it happening within the past few weeks. Add 3500 highway miles and three flat tires to your truck. Toss on a bqr once you get to the computer for a couple weeks; respond to mail, make and answer phone calls, send and receive faxes, while at it. Cram a board meeting in there. And another. Write a letter—NO ... Make that TWO!! And have a nice drive home. At midnight. Don’t hit the elk.

   gts finished me off. Completely. I must tell you: the one physical task I managed before collapsing was to hang Bremner’s poster on my kitchen wall; his photo of Kent Frost says it all. But that’s the tip of only one iceberg. Here’s the big picture: WHAMMM!!! For four days solid. And here’s the punchline. Rob Arnberger, his family, and his top staff, were there for the whole thing and in the end he said to me: This has been one of my most rewarding experiences as Superintendent.

   Jesus! Let’s cut to the chase. The folks from Reclamation told me: Don’t win the EIS battle but lose the war. Or was that Osmosis speaking? The Upper Colorado River Commission, if there, would have told me the same thing, and I would have said a few things to them as well. But we would have talked—that’s the point. Lois [Jotter] Cutter, never mistaken in a crowd, sought me out and said, to keep this absurdly brief, Thank You. Really short: one body can only handle so much of that.

   So ... I snored for three late days and long dark nights. Occasionally I drank tall pitchers of black coffee. I took vitamins; I worried about the test. But more than anything I tried to understand what happened at Hatchland, which was nothing in general and everything in particular. I pondered on that. After much wide-eyed soul searching I render the following account,. not exactly stream-of consciousness but its as close as I get at one in the morning. And not because you want to hear it but rather because you must.

   TO WIT: gcrg has undergone a transformation almost impossible to describe within the boundaries of a printed page. I will work on getting you started. After that you’re on yer own. Hang on. Here goes.

   Hundreds made the crossing, and did not worry the journey. Call that scripture. Compare it to a folk music festival where Katie Lee would sing, and did. Visualize a snowstorm in freezing cold and, as usual, howling winds, not seriously considered until the kitchen flew off one more time. And somewhere in all the commotion those people so manifested later went away with more than the sum parts previously gathered. If that sounds like a joke, its not. Regard it as communion, everybody’s innards working together. Make it fresh pizza dough rising in a proper Dutch oven. And say dinner was served on Sunday. Bill Beer, the last swimmer on stage, told us like it was. And is: You are a very powerful organization. Do not underestimate yourselves. That is a real mouthful, even from Beer, someone who understands his own language. Nobody missed the point. There wasn’t a dry eye in the house. That’s the story from gts.

   Here’s the rest of it. Remember when you were young and had a superspecial place you went every day after school? Remember how you crawled in there and imagined what you’d be when you grew up and then Mom made dinner and you slept ’til morning? Really cool. The best bread and butter ever, a picnic enjoyed in thick honeysuckle vines, the one place you and your chums could plan bank robberies, or talk deep-down guts-and-gravel soul, man. That was you back then. Bigtime. And that's the message this round. When you were a kid, you were a boatman. 

   Here comes another one. We need a clubhouse. Really, really bad we need that. Just like before. Heck, yes! Like when you shared your secrets with the world through ga-ga eyes and threw-out what you’d learned to everybody because that was the one thing that made your heart pound and moved your blood best? Damned straight. And I am not kidding when I say there’s a bunch of people pounding on the door right now. They want in. Whether its Friday Night Live And In Your Face, or not. They don’t care. And who does? There’s room for all. We’re in it together, right?

   Right. The end.

Shane Murphy