Fran's World…and Welcome to It!

In the summer of 98' my dad visited the Grand Canyon. He was struck by the beauty and vastness of it all. He made me promise that I would take my son, Spencer there one day. Always looking for ways to experience life, I thought why not raft the canyon, sleep under the stars and really get the full feeling of being one with nature. How cosmic.

A friend once asked me why I do all my "crazy" adventures. My answer is simple. I want to live life as much as I can without regrets. I don't want to put off saying I love you to someone, or climbing the mountain, or changing that job. You have to live now... Carpe diem.

In January of 99', I booked a three day rafting trip to begin on Saturday August 1st, for Spencer and myself with Western River Expeditions.

In April, my dad's cancer took a turn for the worse. We cared for him at home with the help of the Calbrini Hospice program. He was given three months to live. I debated on canceling the trip. My dad insisted I go. He asked that if the time came, his final wish would be to have his ashes spread across the great canyon.

On July 30th, my dad was put on the critical list. By then he weighed only 124 lbs., could not talk, could not eat, and could not move. As my family surrounded him, we told him it was "Okay to let go. That God was waiting with open arms." You have to be brave enough to let those you love go, when it is in their best interest.

I bent over and whispered to my dad jokingly, "Hey dad, if you are going to go, better do it now. My plane for Grand Canyon leaves on Saturday." He raised an eyebrow and smiled a weak smile. Eight hours later he passed on with my sister at his side.

With the help of Charlie, a very caring funeral director, we expedited the cremation and made arrangements to have the ashes with us as we flew the next morning.

Spencer and I flew into Vegas and met with the tour group at the scenic desk at 8:15 AM. We checked in our regulation 14" x 21" bag with the recommended supplies from the list that was sent along with our trip confirmation. Every means of transportation possible, except maybe mule or llama was utilized to get us to the 37 foot long, motorized neoprene J-Rig raft in the Colorado River.

Thirty six people were signed up. Eighteen on each raft, plus two crew members. We were randomly handed green or yellow slips, which determined which raft you were on. From the McCarran Airport we were put on a bus to meet our 20 seat scenic plane. After the pilot made a few jokes about the airsickness bags being our personal belongings if we used them, we were off on a breathtaking audio guided tour over the Hoover Dam and the Grand Canyon.

Then we landed in a remote airport. I mean remote. No landing strips, just a dirt road and a wooden sign saying "Airport". Good thing they labeled it. We were then herded onto a van and driven up a bumpy dirt hill to a lodge to get our last minute supplies, like candy bars, toothpaste or anything from civilization you felt you really had to have.

A few feet from the lodge, four at a time we were dispersed into a helicopter with our bags and brought over the ridge of the canyon, down... down... down onto mile 188, the Whitmore Rapid on the muddy Colorado River where we meet our Western guides.

I approached the first crew member, Shane Phelps, and told him about my dads final wishes and if he could let me know the most beautiful place to release his ashes. He told me about Travertine Falls. He would let me know when we reached it.

Spencer occupied himself with a lizard, as the waterproof bags, life jackets and camping gear were handed out. After a briefing on safety instructions, we chose our seats on the rafts. Nine of us straddled the raft in front for maximum wetness and excitement.

It took all of ten minutes before crew member Tyler howled, "HOLD ON!" With hearts pumping those of us in front braced ourselves by grabbing the ropes in front and back of us. The raft went smashing into the 55 degree waves as the rapids licked our smiling faces. We looked like a bunch of wet Poodles, but loved it. The dryer, more conservative "chicken" passengers sat in back amused. To them it was better than IMAX.

Shortly, we pulled over for a taco lunch. We were amazed at how much food; luggage, utensils, gear and even an extra motor were stored on this rig. It was like one of those clown cars where an endless amount of funny folks keeps piling out.

After our Mexican snack we were off again, this time facing rapids ranging from class 1- 6 (ten being the highest, where the boat stands up straight). After a few more exhilarating rapids, some jokes and historic stories, we reached mile 202 where we camped for the night, the old fashioned way with no tents, just cots and sleeping bags under the gorgeous constellations.

A tent with a portable potty was set up for privacy, but if you really want to be one with nature, you could do like the bears and go in the woods. Your choice.

Our bath was the muddy waters, or you could just stay dusty for the three days... up to you... it wasn't a Ms. Cover girl contest.

Dinner was hot and delicious prepared by the fantastic four; Tyler and his brother Tanner Cornell who have been with the outfit for over 10 years, and Shane and Casey. With satisfied stomachs, we were in bed by eight as the sun went down. We were lulled to sleep by the sound of flying bats, hungry mosquitoes and the rumbling of the rapids.

The next morning you are awakened by the call of "BREAKFAST!" Hot eggs, bacon, fruits, and breads were spread out in grand fashion. I'm telling you, these guys were Julia Child graduates with a Dutch oven.

Within an hour we are packed and back onto the river, hitting rapids with names like Satan's Gut and Bloody Finger. At Diamond Creek Rapid, Spencer got knocked clear across the boat, a last minute save by Shane kept him from going over. It was like riding a wild Bronco. We were laughing as the adrenaline pumped through our veins... exhilarated by the force of nature.

At Pumpkin Springs, near "Little Bastard Rapid" we stopped for about an hour. The spring was warm and had a sinkhole that sucked you in waist deep, or for Spencer, neck deep.

Here we were offered another challenge, a seventeen-foot cliff you can jump off of into the river. Spencer did a nice belly flop, not once but twice, and some other guys in the group chose to hold tight to the family jewels as they jumped. I just hesitated, and then ran over the cliff yelling "Geronimo!" Corny but I was in the moment.

From there we headed to Travertine Canyon. Tyler, Tanner and Shane pulled me to the side and said we were approaching the place that would be the final resting spot for my dad. They were nice enough to make arrangements to let Spencer and I have some time alone to spread my dad's ashes among the pristine flowing falls. We had to climb a rope to the falls, but it was worth it.

In the crevice of the red colored canyon walls, with this beautiful falls flowing, we said a prayer and let my dad go. We watched as the ashes mingled with the rest of nature. Spencer and I cried and hugged, knowing we had, with the help of divine intervention, carried out my dad's last wish.

Teary eyed we climbed down the falls, and finished out the trip.

At camp that night we reflected on the meaning of doing things in life with no regrets. Living life to the fullest gives you a peaceful feeling of satisfaction.

We dined on steak and shrimp; complete with personal tuxedoed service from our handsome crew (too bad they live so far away!). Warm cake, fruits, fish finished out the evening. It was magnificent.
That night the moon shone so brightly we thought Con Edison turned on a switch. A little nervous from the cougar tracks Spencer found, I mistook, for a moment, the snoring of a fellow camper for the snarl of an angry cougar.

The final morning we awoke to the sound of swarming bees and the flipping of hot blueberry pancakes. We ate and loaded the raft one last time.

With calm waters, our raft floated down the river to meet a jet boat that would speed us to a beach and to a waiting bus to take us back to Vegas, or what we call "civilization"... indoor plumbing.

As I turned and looked back at the Canyon one last time, I saw a bird swoop down, flying freely. A warm breeze passed my face, and I swear I heard my dad laughing in heaven.

No Regrets...Happy Fathers Day

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