Disclaimer: This story is written for the private entertainment of fans. The author makes no claims on the characters or their portrayal by the creation of this story. Fraser, Vecchio, et.al. belong to Alliance; the McKenzies and friends belong to me; Cat Madden belongs to Carol Trendall and is used with permission. No infringement of any copyrights held by CBS, Alliance, CTV or any other copyright holders of DUE SOUTH is intended. This story is not published for profit, and the author does not give permission for this story to be reproduced for profit.

By Cassandra Hope

(Copyright April 1997)

"What time is it, Benny? Benny?" Ray Vecchio fought his sleeping bag finally managing to extract an arm. Still staring at the apex of the tent, he reaching out a hand to shake his partner awake only to discover that Benton Fraser was no longer there.

"Hey, Fraser, where are you? Where'd ya go?" He struggled with the confining bag, finally freeing his other arm. Pulling himself into a sitting position, he ran a hand through his thinning hair and muttered several imprecations at sleeping on the ground, sleeping bags, and missing Mounties.

A noise at the entrance flap soon resolved itself into the head and shoulders of said Mountie. "Morning, Ray. Did you sleep well?" Invigorated by the crisp morning air, Ben was eager to begin this day's adventure.

Scowling at his friend, Ray snapped, "As a matter of fact I didn't! Not that that should concern you. You slept like a log, once you stopped flopping around. Me? Well I couldn't get to sleep for hours."

"I'm sorry to hear that, Ray," Ben said, his voice echoing with ill-concealed mirth. He smiled at his own recollections of the previous night. Ray had not only fallen asleep first but had filled the confines of the small tent with his deep full-bodied snores as well. Gauging Ray's receptiveness, Ben decided not to mention that fact. No, today was the start of their adventure and there were other 'problems' to be dealt with this morning--namely the boats. How would Ray react to the boats? Ben pulled free of the tent as Ray renewed his fight with the sleeping bag.

"Damn sleeping bag!" Ray muttered as he tugged the edges of the bag. Something gave and Ray pulled free of the confining bag. Sliding over onto Ben's bedroll, Ray fidgeted with his bag trying to figure out what had gone wrong in the depths of the night. "Oh shit, the zipper's broke," he mumbled as he examined the metal strip. "Brand new fucking bag and the damn zipper's broke. What else can go wrong?" Ray ran his hands over his face.

'Well, it isn't as if I really need the fucking thing. 'Bout roasted my ass off last night. Maybe I can use it to pad the ground better than that thing...' He stared at the small sleeping pad that he'd been assured would make sleeping on the ground feel like 'sleeping on a down-filled mattress'. 'Down-filled, my ass!' he thought with some ire.

Sighing in resignation, Ray just knew that the rest of this trip would be an ordeal and he wasn't looking forward to it. How could anyone in his right mind enjoy 'roughing it'? He pulled on a pair of denim shorts, grabbed his sneakers, and crawled out of the tent joining Ben who waited for him outside. Grumbling, he settled at the entrance of the tent and pulled his shoes on, then laced them. His head came up as a tantalizing aroma stroked his sensitive nostrils.

"Is that bacon and eggs I smell? And coffee? Real honest-to-God coffee?"

"Bacon, eggs, sausage, pancakes, and coffee," Ben supplied.

"Oh man, lead me to it!" Ray clambered to his feet, closed his eyes, and turned to where the aroma was the strongest.

"Damn but I'd kill for a cup of that coffee!"

"Well, I can't have that happen on the first day of our trip, now can I?" Ray's eyes flashed open to see Phil approaching him with a cup of coffee in her extended hand. "I just knew you were a don't-talk-to-me-until-I've-had-a-cup-of-coffee kind of person."

"I love you, Phil. You're a lifesaver. Will you marry me?" He took the offered cup and savored a long swig of the bitter brew, his eyes closing in pleasure. He didn't see the scowl that briefly swept across Ben's face. "Now that is good stuff!"

Phil grinned broadly. "I'm glad you like it. Terry or Travis usually makes the coffee, but their idea of coffee..." She shuddered. "I guess as a means of self-preservation I make a pot of my own when I go on one of these trips. I'm just not ready to 'grow hair on my chest'!" Startled, both Ray and Ben stared at Phil. "Well, I'm not!" The mischievous smile lit her gamin features.

Ben's memories readily supplied him with an image of Phil. His eyes moved up to her face and locked with hers. Recognition and understanding of shared memories united them before Phil glanced away.

"Breakfast is about ready." Motioning toward the tent, she continued, "You need to strike your tent and get ready to load your stuff on one of the dories." A quick glance back at the two men and she was gone.

Ray and Ben quickly repacked their backpacks, rolled Ray's sleeping bag and Ben's bedroll, and folded the tent. Ray occasionally lifted his nose to the air gauging the readiness of breakfast. They soon joined the crowd around the cooking area, eagerly awaiting the go-ahead.

Ray took his loaded plate and searched for a place to sit. He smiled as he watched Phil settle on the ground near the remnants of last night's fire. He sauntered over and motioned with his foot. "Pardon me, but is this seat taken?"

Phil pushed the brim of her hat back and squinted up at him. "It is now! Have a seat, Ray."

Ray carefully situated himself on the ground, balancing his plate of food in his lap. He took a long draw on his coffee and smiled at her. "If the food is like this for the duration of this trip, I just might forgive Fraser for dragging me along. It's a good thing Diefenbaker isn't here!"

Phil smiled remembering the comments Cat had made concerning the wolf. "I understand he's quite a moocher."

Ray glanced at Phil. How did she know that? Had she heard that from Cat? "Moocher just doesn't quite describe Dief. He's a junk-food addict. He'll steal your last donut and make you feel guilty about not having any more." Phil laughed and Ray joined her.

Ben watched the interaction between Ray and Phil. Should he join them? Should he join some of the other participants in the group? He glanced around and recognized the 'come-on' glance from one of the graduate students. What was her name? His brow furrowed as he dredged up a name-- Mara Taylor and her friends were Steve Felderman and Bruce Chalmers. He returned Mara's smile but made no move to join her. His gaze continued to sweep over the members of the group. He didn't notice Terry's approach.

"Fraser...Fraser!" Ben turned to Terry. "Here, Spuds made this for you." He handed Ben a cup, grinned conspiratorially at him, then went back to the food line.

Ben cautiously tasted the contents of the cup-Jasmine tea--just the way he liked it. His mind made up; he joined Ray and Phil.

* * *

"Okay, okay, let's get this stuff loaded on the damn raft." Ray clutched his backpack, sleeping bag, and the tent in his arms. He staggered off in the direction of the three large pontoon boats on the bank of the river.

"Ray...Ray...Ray!" Ben's voice rose with each repetition.

Ray's steps ground to a halt then he turned to face Fraser, a long-suffering look on his face. "What is it now, Fraser?"

"Ray...our group...those pontoon boats..."

Ray rolled his eyes. Would the Mountie ever learn to just spit it out? "Yeah, what about them?"

Meekly, Ben answered, "Well, they're not exactly for our group."

That had Ray's attention. "What do you mean they're not exactly for our group?"

"Remember the description of this trip in that brochure that I showed you?"

Ray's voice filled with suspicion. "The one about following in the footsteps of someone?"

"John Wesley Powell...and yes...that's the description."

"Well, what about it?" Ray snapped hoping that Ben would eventually get to the point before his arms gave out and he dropped the stuff he was carrying.

Timidly, Ben continued, "Well, Ray, Powell didn't negotiate the canyon in pontoon boats."

"Yeah, so?" Ray shifted the tent from one hand to the other and dropped the backpack onto the ground.

"Uh...Powell used small wooden boats called dories and our group..."

The tent and sleeping bag joined the backpack on the ground as Ray spun around and confronted Ben. Stabbing a finger into the Mountie's chest, Ray enunciated slowly, "No way, Fraser. No way am I going to go in one of those fucking little boats. Don't you remember what happened the last time we went rafting?"

Ben took a step backward. "Ray, it's not as bad as it looks. These boats are nothing like our raft..." His voice ground to a halt as he caught the look on Ray's face.

"Well, from where I'm standing it looks pretty bad!" A quick glance over his shoulder confirmed that the boats had not changed into something more to his liking.

"Actually the boats are just as safe as the larger pontoons." The face that turned back to gaze at him was etched with skepticism. "Terry is supposed to give us a short briefing on the dories. Why not wait to pass judgment until after that? Please?"

It was the note of desperation in Ben's final plea that changed Ray's mind. He grudgingly agreed to wait before stealing a vehicle and driving back to Chicago and civilization. He once more burdened himself with his belongings and, without a further word to Ben, carried ithem down to the dories placing ithem with the rest of the equipment that was being loaded.

Ben watched him stalk away. 'Oh dear, I didn't handle that very well,' he thought.

Ray accepted the large orange life jacket from one of the boatmen. His shoulders sagged and he sent a beseeching glance heavenward. "Why me, Lord? What did I ever do to deserve this?" he mumbled under his breath.

"You became the friend of a certain Mountie, Ray." Phil joined him, her nimble fingers rapidly fastening the catches on the life jacket she wore. "Do you need some help with yours?"

Ray struggled with the catches finally letting Phil show him how to fasten them. Looking down at himself then over at Phil, he grumbled, "Well, yours looks better on you than this one does on me."

"Why, thank you, Ray," Phil grinned as she replied.

Ray plucked at the life jacket and asked, "Do I have to wear this thing? I'm a good swimmer."

Phil's grinned widened and a sparkle of amusement entered her eyes. "Sorry, Ray, but you have to wear it anytime you are in one of the dories." Raising her hands in appeasement, she said, "As uncomfortable as they are, they do serve a purpose. These big wrap-round vests with the high collars are buoyant enough to keep a swimmer afloat even in a whirlpool. No one and I mean no one steps a foot in any of these dories without a life jacket on. There are just to many things that can happen when you're out on that river."

Nodding his head slowly, Ray sighed. "Okay, you've convinced me to wear the damn thing. Now, you gotta convince me to get in that fuc...uh...little boat." Ray quickly put a reign on his profanity.

Her gentle laugh rippled through the air. "Which of the 'fucking little boats' are you going in?" she asked, wrapping an arm around his as she led him down toward the dories.

"Haven't decided yet if I'm going!" Ray pouted.

"What about Fraser?"

"What about him?" Phil fought the urge to glance over her shoulder at the man in question.

"I thought you and he..."

Phil swallowed, then lightly ran her tongue over her lips. "I think Fraser is quite capable of making his own seating arrangements. In fact, it looks like Ms. Taylor is making her move."

Ben had seen enough--the surge of jealousy surprised him. Surely he couldn't be jealous of Ray. Then why did the sight of the two of them together bother him as much as it did? Ben tightened the clasps on his own life jacket. He had watched Ray struggle with his but before he could offer his help Phil approached Ray. He held back and watched Phil help his friend. He finished fastening his jacket, all the time watching Ray and Phil. Turning his back on the pair, he strode over to the dories and lent a hand loading the gear. He didn't see the measuring stare that Mara gave him then Phil then back to him. Nor did he see the hand that unbuttoned another button further enlarging the plunge of the neckline.

Mara sensuously trailed fingers down Ben's arm capturing his hand in hers. Moving closer to him, Mara purred, "Which dory are you in, Fraser?"

"I, uh...I don't...that is..." He jerked his face up away from the abundant skin exposed by the plunging neckline of her shirt. The blatant sexuality of Mara's gaze annoyed him almost as much as it startled him. How to diplomatically defuse the situation? He sent a frantic look toward Ray. "I'll be riding with my partner..." His glance again found Ray and Phil and a look of desperation settled on his face. His eyes telegraphed a plea for help to Ray.

"Shit, Phil, you can't let that...that 'child' sink her teeth in him."

Phil watched Mara's actions surprised by the pang of anger that swept over her. Why couldn't Mara leave Ben alone when he made it clear he wasn't interested? Why should it bother her if someone else put the move on him? After all, hadn't she said that they had no claims on each other? But for some reason it did bother her. She lowered her thick, black lashes and took a deep breath to steady her quavering resolve. Lifting her voice, she shouted across the intervening space, "Ben, if you'll get your gear you can stow it here with ours. I've saved a spot in my dory for you and Ray."

The call from Phil surprised him. He stared across the distance separating them and watched her smile and nod her head as if to say 'I understand your dilemma'. He sent her a look of intense relief. Slipping free of Mara's clinging hands, Ben excused himself, "I'm sorry, Ms. Taylor, but I already have a place with my partner and Dr. McKenzie."

"Perhaps some other time?" Mara cooed. She'd seen the brief exchange of looks between her target and his partner and Dr. McKenzie. Maybe she was mistaken in thinking that he might be attracted to the woman. Maybe there was more than friendship between the two men. They were partners but what kind of partners were they? She'd have to watch them more closely and see if her target was straight or not. She gave him another measuring stare. It would be a downright shame if he was gay.

Ben cleared his throat, "I uh...maybe...I..." He stammered to a halt then mentally shook himself. "Pardon me, Ms. Taylor, but I think I need to gather my gear and stow it on the dory." He hastily claimed his backpack and bedroll and hurried to join Ray and Phil. He could feel the heat of Mara's gaze on him all the while.

Phil grinned then waved at the despondent girl. "Mara? Would you care to join my group today?" Ben's head shot up and his look shot daggers at Phil.

"Phil, you are one mean person!" but Ray grinned as he said it. "I'll just get my gear, too."

Phil stared at her slender fingers not knowing why they had brushed across Ben's arm. Feeling his eyes on her, her own moved upward to stare at his broad chest. Surprised by the wave of emotion that smote her, she took a step back. Clearing her throat, she said, "I know, Ben, but on these trips I try to spend an equal amount of time with all participants." Glancing between Ray and him, she said, "I have a feeling that two of the spots in my dory are going to be permanently taken. So, the fourth spot will have to be shared among the other people." She grinned and patted Ben on the chest. "Might as well spend time with Ms. Taylor early on."

The logic of the situation struck him. Better to spend the first day with Mara then have the rest of the time free from her advances. He would just have to make the best of the situation. If he had to spend the day in her company he would do what he could to put as much distance between them. He asked, "May I at least sit with you?"

"It looks like some things haven't changed, Ben. Do women still throw themselves at you?" The rosy hue in Ben's cheeks darkened and he bowed his head. Phil chuckled sympathetically at his obvious discomfort. "If it will help any, Ben, feel free to use my name to discourage any more unwanted advances of that sort. I remember how much you disliked them." She grasped his arm and caught the look in his eyes as he raised his to hers. An eternity passed before Phil swallowed and said in little more than a whisper, "Just tell them we're old friends. You don't have to say anything more."

Phil dropped her hand and turned away from Ben, searching for something to take her mind off of him and the confusion that seethed just below her conscious thoughts. Why had she just committed herself to spending most of each waking day in his company? It would be so much easier if he was in one boat and she in another. Why had she just told him to let others know that something had once existed between them? Why couldn't she leave well enough alone?

She caught the wave by Terry. Grateful for the reprieve from her whirling thoughts, she motioned with head. "It looks like Terry is ready. I guess it's time to get this show on the road," she breathlessly said as she made her escape from Ben and headed over to where Terry was motioning for everyone to gather.

Taking several deep-calming breaths, Phil watched as the Hunter's drew the small group to the water's edge and the dories that patiently waited for their passengers. "Is everyone here?" Phil glanced around at the expectant faces turned toward her. "Good, today we'll cover over half the length of Marble Canyon. There are only a few good camping spots in the canyon for large groups. Thankfully ours is a small group or we'd have to share one of the larger campsites with another group." She motioned toward the three baloney boats that were in the process of launching.

"Even with this small group, we'll travel with specific campsites as daily goals. We don't want to make the mistake of setting up camp on a shelf of sand that is above water level at dusk, only to be awakened by rising water. I promise you, though; our campsites will be more comfortable than those enjoyed by Powell's party over a century ago. One of his boatmen wrote in his diary, 'If I had a dog that would lie down where my bed is made tonight, I would kill him and burn his collar and swear I never owned him.'"

That little tidbit of history was met with widespread grins and chuckles. Phil waited until the chatter died down before continuing, "The way I like to handle these trips is to do all the talking up front before we start down the river. So, each morning before we push off, we'll spend some time discussing the geology to be observed, we'll warn you of approaching rapids, and I'll read an excerpt from Powell's journal to set the mood. Does that sound agreeable to everyone?"

"The dories we will be using are only remotely similar to the boats that Powell used when he traveled the river. They descend from the MacKenzie River fishing dories of Oregon--no relation to Dr. McKenzie." He winked at her then continued, "Our dories are specially built to negotiate the rapids and other surprises this canyon has a habit of throwing at us." He grinned at the alarm on several of the faces. "Don't worry folks, these boats are among the safest means of traveling the river. Each dory is 16 feet long and is nearly 7 feet wide at is broadest. You'll notice that they are also flat-bottomed. That comes in handy in the shallower areas and it also tends to keep them from flipping over. You'll also notice that both the bow and the stern are tapered and have a pronounced upward rake. This allows them to negotiate rough water with either end foremost. The importance of this will become apparent as we tackle Badger Creek Rapids."

Travis handed an oar to him, and he continued, "The oars are made of ash--the same wood used in baseball bats. The reason for this particular wood will also become apparent as we tackle the rapids. Any questions?"

"Yeah, I have a question," the geography professor, Dr. David McMillian, spoke up. "Is there some significance to the names on the dories?"

"We named that one to remind us that there are still 'parties' that want to dam the Colorado and flood the Grand Canyon." A rueful smile settled on his face as he shook his head.

Travis let this information sink in before continuing his description of the trip. "Boatmen in North America have adopted a scale for rating rapids according to their violence. It runs from 1 to 6. However, the rapids of the Grand Canyon defy description and the regular scale is modified to accommodate them. Generally, the rapids in the Canyon are about twice what they would be on the national 6-point scale. The Grand Canyon scale runs from 1 to 10. 1's are no more than tiny riffles, 2's and 3's are light, 4's, 5's, and 6's are medium, 7's, 8's, and 9's are heavy, and 10's are the maximum recommended. Anything above a 10 is classed as not recommended..."

"What does that mean?" Ray asked.

Travis grinned before answering, "That means it is the 'mother of all catastrophes' and there is at least one in the Grand Canyon." There were some groans among the group. Whether they were of terror or of anticipation was hard to tell.

Addressing the rest of the group, he continued, "Of course, since the amount of water flowing through the Canyon is dependent upon how much is released from Glen Canyon Dam, the scale for the rapids changes with the seasons. In the spring, most rapids are rated higher than they are later in the summer. For instance, Crystal Rapids is rated 10 during high water and 7 at low water. Since this is late summer, the water levels are low. Don't let that fool you. You can still expect the rapids to be fast and furious. The Colorado is not like most whitewater streams that require constant maneuvering. It's a big, pushy river, with the entrances to the rapids very important, and there's not much maneuvering once you get in!"

Phil took over the discussion. "Most of the rapids we will encounter were created in a similar fashion. In the arid climate of the desert southwest many streams do not have a steady supply of water. They are generally dry gulches or canyons." She motioned to the surrounding area. "You've already seen many of these." Several heads nodded in confirmation.

"However, a few times a century flash floods thunder down these dry canyons and dump not only sand, gravel and cobbles, but boulders as big as houses at the mouths of these canyons. This debris creates a partial dam in the river and that, in turn, creates rapids with a long, quiet pool above it. Badger Creek Rapids was created in this manner and Crystal Rapids was changed by a debris flow back in 1966."

"How tough is Badger Creek?" Ray asked.

"Terrifying," Phil said with a faint smile. "Powell carried his boats around it. Badger is so bad that up until 1927 most boats that negotiated it refused to try Soap Creek rapids below it. They couldn't stand the thought of another rapid like Badger."

Ray noticed the same smile on the faces of the Hunter brothers and the other oarsmen. "I knew it, I just knew it. You're trying to get me killed!" Ray whispered to Ben.

Their attention was drawn back as Travis added, "Badger Creek is rated a 4 in low water, 6 in high. That means it can be a little on the violent side. It has a drop of 15 feet and contains boulders 15 feet in diameter. If you listen you will be able to hear the rapids from half a mile away."

Phil withdrew a small book from her pack. "I'm going to read a short excerpt from Powell's journal. This was written from a camp in this general vicinity." Opening the book, she turned several pages before finding the entry she wanted. Glancing up at the group surrounding her, her eyes were drawn to an intense pair of blue eyes. How was she going to be able to act normally with him watching her all the time? Dropping her eyes to her book, she began reading.

Phil closed the book and avoided looking at Ben. "If you're ready, let's get this adventure under way."

* * *

Lee's Ferry is in a region of fairly open country where the Colorado River flows between the deep gorges of Glen Canyon to the north and Grand Canyon to the south. Here the river is calm, with a current of only 3 to 4 miles per hour--giving little warning of the 'roller coaster' ride ahead. The four dories and two rafts cast off amid general excitement and began their journey down the river.

Phil settled into the stern of the dory, watching Ben and Mara crawl forward. Somehow it didn't surprise her to see how closely Mara insisted on sitting next to Ben. In fact, she was almost sitting in his lap.

"Excuse me, Phil," Ray said as he tripped and fell across her.

"Laughing, she said, "That's all right, Ray. I imagine by the time this trip is over I will have fallen on you several times. We tend to get to know everyone pretty well."

Ray finally slid onto the seat and sighed. At least the seat was padded. He glanced at Phil doing a double take. Phil busily spread a white cream across the bridge of her nose and under her eyes. She offered the tube to Ray.

"Here Ray. This zinc oxide will help protect your face from sunburn."

Ray accepted the tube and stared at Phil. With the white cream streaked across her face, she looked a little on the savage side. He handed the tube back. "No thanks, Phil, I don't want to look like some Indian on the warpath."

Carelessly tossing her chestnut hair, Phil smiled before answering. "Just remember, Ray, I offered to share. I hate to think of that elegant nose of yours turning beet red then peeling."

Ray ran a finger down the length of his nose not liking the idea of sunburn either. Choosing the lesser of two evils, he held out his hand for the tube of zinc oxide. He stared at it a moment before screwing the lid off.

Phil took the tube from Ray's hand and spread a small amount on her finger. "Let me do it, Ray. If you're not used to doing this you might not put enough on."

Ray grunted and closed his eyes. The feather-soft touches of her finger on his nose and then across his cheekbones was soothing and very sensuous.

Phil chattered while she spread the cream across Ray's cheeks. "You should talk to Carol about using this cream for a sun block. She told me that as a teenager, she used to write her name with it across her back. The name lasted until her tan line faded. Aussie teens are a little on the crazy side, if you ask me." Ray chuckled and opened his eyes smiling his thanks.

Phil returned the smile. Placing the tube in a pocket of her shorts, she placed her Rainforest Cafe hat on her head. She turned to Ray for his opinion. Ray only shook his head then placed his own hat on his head.

Ben watched the interchange between Ray and Phil from the bow of the dory. If he hadn't had to continually fend of Mara's adventurous hands, he would have been more incensed by what happened in the stern. As it was, he missed the glances shared by his friends and only caught the placing of the hats. As Mara scooted closer to him, he finally said in a voice that bespoke volumes, "Ms. Taylor, there is ample room on this seat for both of us and I do not think that we should overload one side of the bow with both our weights. Don't you think it would be prudent for you to sit on the other side so that we might balance the dory?"

"Oh I don't know, Benton, I like it right here."

Travis, hearing everything that was said in the bow, gave a particularly energetic sweep to the oars. The dory rolled and Mara overbalanced and rolled away from Ben to the other side of the seat. He shot a look over his shoulder at Ben. Ben mouthed a silent thank you as his attention was drawn back to the stern and the duo seated there.

"Travis, tell me truthfully, how safe is this trip?"

Travis regarded the man sitting next to Phil. "It really is quite safe, Ray. Because of the special broad-beamed, double-ended design of these dories they are no more hazardous to ride than the baloney boats. They just put you a lot closer to the action. And since there are only 4 passengers per boat, you get to know your boat-mates better." He grinned and flicked a glance over his shoulder at Ben and Mara in the bow of the small boat. Ray and Phil shared a laugh as Ben turned a long-suffering look on them.

Travis continued, "I won't lie to you, Ray, there are accidents and people do drown. About a half-dozen die each year--but they are generally the ones that would have been killed jaywalking, speeding, or drinking and driving. If you have a decent respect for the wilderness, you have an excellent chance of surviving. So, keep your wits about you, watch your step, and wear your life jacket whenever you're in the dory."

Immediately below the Ferry, the cliffs began to rise on both sides of the river. One by one the rock strata that formed the Canyon walls--Kaibab limestone, Toroweap, Coconino, Hermit shale--emerged at water level and seemingly pushed the formations above it upward. Eventually the cliffs towered 2,000 feet overhead. A few miles downstream from the launch site the small group passed under the silvery spider-work of the Navajo Bridge, the replacement for the ferry at Lee's Ferry. Phil's camera was in frequent use.

Phil maintained a running commentary on the stratigraphy. Ray stifled a yawn as she waxed poetic about the seemingly endless layers of rock. Honestly, how could anyone get that excited about a bunch of rocks?

"Am I boring you, Ray?" Phil had noticed the yawns and the decided lack of interest in her commentary. She had experienced the same reaction many times from her brothers.

Ray jerked around to face Phil and was unsuccessful in hiding the guilty look on his face. "No, not at all, Phil. I just had a lousy night--can't seem to get used to sleeping on the ground. Boy does my back ever hurt!" He stretched to emphasize his point.

Phil continued to grin at Ray. "I understand completely, Ray. I can't take the ground either. That's why I bring along my own mattress."

Travis laughed at that remark and added, "That's what she always says--whines about her back, and then drags that horrible thing out and expects us to put up with it!"

"Now, Travis, I told you I had a new one!"

"Yeah, yeah, sure. I'm just glad you've decided to do without it. Now Ray, don't believe a word about how she hurt her back. She has a whopper of a story to explain that. Personally, I think she's just soft."

Pulling himself away from the attentions of Mara, Ben turned around and joined the conversation. "Would that story be the one about not paying attention and falling over a cliff?"

"I see you've heard it." Travis grinned over his shoulder at the Mountie.

Ben nodded his head and added, "Actually, I found that story to be perfectly in character. Phil does have a tendency to have a one-track mind and easily gets distracted--especially when it comes to photography."

"Keep it up, Fraser. I'm beginning to regret inviting you to share my boat," Phil called down to him then turned to the boatman. "Hey, Travis, how far are we from Badger Creek? Do you think anyone would miss this know-it-all Mountie if I was to 'accidentally' push him over the side?" She turned to Ray. "What do you think, Ray?"

"I think you'd have to knock him out first. I tell you what, you distract him and I'll club him over the head for you. Then, together we can dispose of the body." Ray readily conspired with Phil to do in the Mountie.

"Sounds like a workable plan. Hey Mara?" Phil called to the girl seated next to Ben. "Care to change seats with me? I got some serious distracting to do."

Mara laughed and clung to Ben's arm. "I won't let anything happen to you, Benton!" she purred as her other arm slid behind his back. Ben jumped as if he'd been goosed, panic spreading across is face.

Between chuckles, Ray leaned over and whispered in her ear, "Phil, have mercy on him, please!"

Having witnessed Mara's roving hands, Phil felt sorry for Ben. She nodded and whispered back, "I think the only way I can pry him away from Mara is if you trade places with him."

Ray cast a glance at Mara then stroked his chin. "I think you're right. The things I do in the name of friendship!" He groaned melodramatically and rolled his eyes but carefully made his way to the bow. "Phil wants to talk to you," he told Ben. "Why don't you go and sit with her so you two can talk rocks and whatever? I'm sure I can keep Mara entertained for a while."

Ben shot them both a grateful glance and traded places with Ray. Mara watched his crawl to the stern through narrowed eyes.

As Ben settled onto the seat beside her, Phil felt as if she had returned to a time over 12 years ago when talk of the Grand Canyon had meant something else for the both of them. Withdrawing her mind from that path, she smiled at Ben and watched the slight wariness in his eyes change to anticipation. It had been over 12 years since she had watched the changing expressions in his eyes, but she found that she could still read him. She stared at her hands as a wave of regret washed over her. She immediately squashed it. She was in love with Martin, wasn't she?

"Ray said you had something you wanted to tell me." Ben regarded Phil and wondered why she was so silent.

The edges of her lips curved slightly. "Is that what he told you? Actually Ray was feeling sorry for you so he volunteered to sacrifice himself in your place." They looked toward the bow where Ray and Mara were talking animatedly to each other. Mara cast a glance back at them then pointedly turned her attentions to Ray.

"Oh dear."

"Oh, I wouldn't feel too sorry for him, Ben. It looks like he's enjoying himself too much."

A low growling reached their ears and Phil recognized the sound of approaching rapids. She glanced once more at Ben, then turned to the two in the bow and called to Ray, "That rumble you can just begin to make out is Badger Creek Rapids-our introduction to the Canyon."

Travis, Terry, and the other boatmen stood in the cockpit of their respective dories studying the sky, the current and water level, trying to calculate how many feet or inches of clearance there might be over various rocks in the rapids. The rafts trailed along behind the boats.

Ben observed the concentration of each of the boatmen, taking note of what they were observing. Cocking his head slightly, he asked, "Travis, is there a technique to running big rapids? I've noticed the intense scrutiny that you've given to the sky and the water..."

Surprised that Ben had noticed his study of the water and sky, Travis gave an approving nod to his head. "You catch on fast, Fraser. Yeah, there is a technique to running these big rapids. You try to slide down the tongue--that V-shaped chute of smooth water that contains no waves, whirlpools, rocks, or other obstructions. Where there is one, the tongue is the place to enter rapids."

Wishing to learn all he could, Ben leaned forward on the seat. "What if there's no tongue?"

Travis chuckled and took another sweep of the oars before answering. "If there's no tongue then we have three choices." He took another sweep with the oars.

"Okay, Travis, you know you've got him hooked. Why don't you answer the question Ben's dying to ask?" Phil leaned back in the stern of the dory and stretched out her legs.

He grinned then answered, "Well Ben, the first choice is to burn the boat, swear you never owned it, and climb out of the Canyon--if you can. The second's to portage the boat around the rapids and put it back in the water downstream--if you can. The third is to line the boat and maneuver it downstream--if you can."

"Line the boat?"

Travis nodded his head. "We attach long ropes to the bow and stern and anchor the boat to the men that clamber along the rocks on the shore. They maneuver the empty boat downstream until smooth water is reached." Travis waved to the other boatmen then turned again to Ben. "We're going to stop and look the rapids over before we decide what option to take."

The current in the pool at the head of the rapids was not strong. The group had little difficulty in bringing the dories to shore. Travis and Terry got out, the other boatmen got out, Phil, then Ben got out and the rest of the passengers followed suit. They stood above the rapids and watched the water madly dashing over the boulders before them.

Ray turned to Phil. "Terrifying, you say?" Phil nodded her head and smiled slightly.

After studying the rapids for a few minutes and conferring amongst themselves, Terry and Travis decided on the course that seemed most likely to take the group past the worst of the rocks and holes. They returned to the boats, each person instinctively fastening their life jackets a little tighter.

The boats started in a slow single-file toward the rapids. Travis took his dory through first. He and the other boatmen occasionally stood up in their boats to make certain that they were headed directly for the tongue.

"Phil, might I ask a stupid question?" The tone in Ben's voice invited her to share their common memory of other 'stupid' questions. Phil's eyes met his and she nodded. "Why do Travis and the other oarsman stand? It would seem to be contrary to the principles of good seamanship to stand in a boat at anytime--much less while approaching whitewater."

Travis shared a quick grin with Phil before returning his attention to the river before him. With a few carefully timed strokes of the oars, he turned the craft until it was moving stern first toward the rapids. Each of the other dories executed the same maneuver.

"All right, Phil, are you going to answer him?" Ray shouted over the roar of the water. "And don't tell me this is some little trick that's used to scare the holy beegeebers out of us! If it is...it's working!"

Phil laughed outright then, cupping her hands about her mouth, shouted at Ray, "No, Ray! I'll answer all your questions after we get through this!"

Mara screeched and clutched at Ray as the dory encountered some turbulence. Ray put his arm around her, slightly hampered by the life jackets, then grinned at Ben and Phil. His attention then returned to the white water ahead.

Travis pivoted the bow 90 degrees toward the right shore and pulled on the oars to escape being dragged into the nasty hole just right of center. Mildly annoyed at how the river seemed like molasses, he pulled harder on the oars turning it to the left. One last stroke to the left and then, at the last instant, he pivoted the dory 90 degrees again to face directly downstream.

Although, to the passengers in each dory, it seemed like an eternity, each boat boomed through the rapids in about 30 seconds. Not enough time for them to become alarmed, merely overconfident. Phil continued to smile at no one in particular.

Still in the tail waves of Badger, the dories pivoted and rowed across the eddy fence--the interface of whirlpools between the downstream current and the reverse current of the eddy rushing upstream--and pulled ashore for lunch just below the rapids. During the meal of cold-cut sandwiches and fresh fruit, Phil spoke with mock dread of the rapids at Soap Creek, a few

miles downstream. Travis and Terry echoed her sentiments, while Ron and Brian, the other two oarsmen, and Josie and Carol simply smiled. As they had done with Badger Creek Rapids, they described Soap Creek Rapids as horrifying and awful. Their tactics worked, and by the time the dories had slipped out into the current of the river no one seemed the least bit apprehensive.

Phil and Ben occupied the stern seat once more, leaving the bow to Ray and Mara. Phil called to Ray, "To answer Ben's earlier question on why the oarsmen stand--all experienced rivermen do it. Standing gives them a better view of what's ahead. And--although conventional seamanship calls for an oarsman to face backward, occasionally glancing over his shoulder to check his course--Colorado boatmen have long since learned to turn their boats around before entering rapids so they can face in the direction the boat is going. This allows them to powell--row against or across the current--and they can see what lies ahead." She noticed the blank expression on the faces turned to her. "That way they can control the boats easier. You wouldn't want them to lose control of the boat now would you?"

"No, I don't think I would like that," Ray replied sarcastically, thinking back to the rapids now receding behind them.

Ben took the opportunity to lean closer to Phil. "That explains the unusual design of the dories. The tapered, peaked sterns serve equally well as bows and their broad flat bottoms and high flared sides would presumably prevent them from overturning."

Phil glanced at Travis and they both grinned, "Presumably..."

The dories floated through the pool above Soap Creek Rapids and beached themselves above the rapids. As before, everyone trooped out to study the rapids. This time, however, the group did not dread the coming encounter. There was widespread joking and a light banter pervaded the group. The boats were again loaded and aimed at the tongue.

Ray dropped his hands momentarily content to let his curiosity be satisfied later. He, too, watched the place where the river vanished. As the dory drew closer to the drop-off, scattered rooster tails and haystacks of water flying into the air became visible. Three sets of eyes turned to Phil.

She shrugged and said, "Terrifying." She had not realized how much she'd missed this annual trek to the Canyon. Shooting the rapids had to be one of the most exhilarating experiences she had ever had. She laughed with the sheer joy of it. Glancing out of the side of her eyes, she admitted to herself that one of the reasons she was enjoying it so much had to do with the man sitting beside her.

At the beginning of the tongue, the water was smooth and dark and deceptively gentle. As each dory moved into the current, the power of the river gripped each boat in turn and dragged it down the smooth slope toward the seething maelstrom now visible below where the rapids exploded. Waves, some as much as 10 feet high, battered each dory. The peaked sterns of each boat rose to meet the waves without floundering. In the middle of the rapids the boats plunged along at about 20 miles an hour.

"Damn that water's cold!" Ray was heard to mutter.

The dory was prevented from sinking by the watertight compartments, but the cockpit where everyone sat was swamped. Phil reached for a bailing bucket and began to remove the river from the boat. The others soon joined in. Ray glanced at Phil; she was no longer smiling. She was grinning widely, her white teeth sparkling.

"Horrible," was all she said as she continued to bail water.

Down and through, all the dories made the transit safely. As the dories floated below the rapids, movement within each indicated the continued bailing of water. As the dories drifted closer to each other, the jeers and catcalls directed at Phil and the boatmen were omnipresent.

Ben leaned close to Phil and whispered, "I don't think anyone will believe your future descriptions of these rapids."

"Why not? I told you they were horrible and terrifying. Can I help it if you didn't believe me?" But that devilish grin of hers was plastered across her face.

Just below the rapids, Travis pointed to a faint scratching on the canyon walls. It was an inscription, chipped into the red sandstone a few feet above normal waterline. "That inscription reads: 'F.M. Brown Pres. D.C.C. & P.R.R. Co., was drowned July 10, 1889, opposite this point.' The initials are those of the Denver, Colorado Canyon and Pacific Railroad Company, of which Brown was the president. He wanted to build a railroad through the Canyon to haul coal from the East to the West Coast. He set out with a survey party in six little boats made of brittle cedar, each 15 feet long and only 3 feet wide. Refusing to invest in cork jackets, Brown figured that the river wouldn't dare to drown the president of the D.C.C. & P.R.R. Co. A few miles into the Canyon, the Canyon proved him wrong. His boat capsized and his body was never recovered. All they ever found was his notebook circling in a whirlpool." Travis grinned at the group in his dory. "Can't say I feel sorry for him. Looks to me like he got just what he deserved!"

As the dories floated deeper into the Canyon, passing Ten Mile Rock, and encountering rapids ever two or three miles, it became routine for waves to jump into the boat and to be returned by the bucketful. As mid-afternoon passed, the group of dories negotiated the 'Roaring Twenties', a series of rapids starting at 21 Mile Rapids and continuing through 23, 23 1/2, 24, 24 1/2, 25, 27, and 29 Mile Rapids. The boats pulled to shore at Stanton's Cave.

Phil called the tired group together as they climbed from the dories. "This is where we'll spend our first night in the Canyon. There's still plenty of light left for those of you who want to explore Stanton's Cave. For those of you who want to relax a bit, now's as good a time as any." She turned to Terry.

"Dinner will be ready in approximately two hours. Carol and Josie will need some volunteers to help...good," Terry said as several hands came up.

Each member of the group set about setting up their first camp within the Canyon. The normal first camp concerns hovered in the air as the camp gradually approached completion--getting through the rapids, something to eat, locating the portable toilet. Everything brought down the river was also carried out, including all wastes.

Dinner for their first night in the Canyon was a regular feast of Chicken Cordon Bleu roasted in Josie's infamous Dutch ovens, corn-on-the-cob, rice, and strawberry shortcake for dessert.

"I think I've died and gone to heaven," Ray whispered to Phil.

* * *

A short stroll down the river gave Phil what she searched for each night of a Canyon trip--a spot of peace and quiet away from the turmoil of the camp. She sat on the bank idly writing in the sand, mentally planning ahead to the next day. She glanced down at what she had scratched in the sand then quickly erased it with her hand. Why had her finger traced Ben's name there? She rested her forearms on her knees and sat her chin on her crossed arms. Staring across the river, she let her mind drift to where it really wanted to be--with Ben.

Today had gone rather well. She had enjoyed his company without feeling the bitterness she had carried for so many years. Maybe she was over him. Maybe it was time to get on with her life. Did that new life include Martin Stevenson? Wasn't that what she was trying to decide? No, she already decided that. Ben's presence here made no difference. That love was of the past, Martin's was of the present and future. The why was she having doubts? Closing her eyes, she drew on her memories of Martin trying to place him here with her on the banks of the Colorado. Somehow, she couldn't. Martin just wasn't the kind of man to spend two weeks away from the creature comforts he'd had all his life. No, Martin was totally different from Ben. She could easily picture Ben here beside her. That brought her thoughts back to the events of this day.

She had really enjoyed Ray's company, too. She knew she was going to enjoy their developing friendship. His caustic personality cloaked a really nice man. 'I can just hear him complaining about being called 'a real nice man.' He'd probably turn green and puke!' Phil chuckled.

"What's so funny?" Ray lowered his lean frame down beside Phil.

Startled, Phil's mouth dropped open. "Ray? I...I was just thinking about how perfect today was."

"And you found that to be humorous?" Ray stretched out his long legs and leaned back on his elbows.

"No, actually I was thinking about how you were such a nice man."

"Oh no, not that! Please, Phil, not a 'nice' man...anything but that!"

"That's what I was laughing about. I knew you would react like that."

Ray gave her a startled look. "Benny said you had this uncanny ability to know what he was thinking. Can you read my mind, too?" Ray drew his legs up and rested his arms on his knees in imitation of Phil.

"No, I can't read minds. Sometimes I can figure out what's going on because I've been in a similar situation. But, there's nothing uncanny about that."

Ray smiled and they sat together watching the moon cross the narrow confines of the Canyon. Ray turned his head and studied the woman seated next to him. Phil sat with her eyes closed, arms crossed and resting on her knees. She was listening to something. Ray closed his eyes and listened, too. The sounds of the river carried to the couple and Ray opened his eyes and focused on Phil once more. Eyes still closed, she tilted her head back exposing the pale length of her throat. He watched a faint smile play across her lips and without thinking he leaned over and placed a gentle kiss on them.

"What...?" Phil's eyes flew open.

"I'm sorry, Phil," he apologized as she caressed her lips with a finger. Desire welled in him and his voice lowered, "No, dammit, I'm not sorry! I enjoyed that. And I'd do it again in a flash!" He grinned unrepentantly at her.

Phil chuckled, surprised at her own reaction. Ray's lips had been whisper soft against hers but had moved with the experience of a man that knew how to make love to a woman. She could feel the sexual magnetism that made him so self-confident and she was by no means blind to his attraction. "And I think I'd let you. Only this time I'd like to participate. I'm not much for these hit-and-run jobs. If you're gonna do something, do it proper." Why was she encouraging Ray's advance? What about Martin? What about Casey?

"Well, in that case..." He leaned toward Phil and smiled when she met him halfway. Yes, it was definitely better to share a kiss than to steal one. The memory of other kisses with another woman on the bank of another river was quickly shuttled to a dark recess of his mind. Casey wasn't here. Phil was.

Ben watched the silhouettes finally part. A tight feeling settled in his chest as Phil's head rested on Ray's shoulder and Ray's hand gently stroked her arm and shoulder, then threaded fingers in her hair to lift her face for another kiss. Ben closed his eyes, bowed his head, then

quietly returned to the camp leaving Phil and Ray alone.

* * *

To be continued (?)

***Excerpted from 'First Through the Grand Canyon' by Major John Wesley Powell

Copyright April 1997 by Cassandra Hope

1. On a Collision Course--Redux
2. Second Chances
3. A Cop, A Mountie, and a Dory