There’s something special about a riverside sunrise coffee call. Stirring in our sleeping bags on the sandy shores of the Colorado River on a late-season whitewater rafting trip. Rising with the sun and the hawks. Sipping on liquid gold made from beans roasted back where we launched in Moab, Utah, a town booming with fall mountain bikers, rock climbers and groups like us, thirsting for one last river trip before winter forces flows to slow and rafts to be shelved.

The best part about this five-day October trip may have been the zero cell service in isolated Canyonlands National Park. Or, the luxury of having all decisions made for us. It could have been the OARS Whitewater Rafting guides cranking out three gourmet feasts a day. Being catered to in the wild — and devouring ribeye, smashed garlic potatoes, chopped salad and open-fire Dutch oven brownie pie from camp chairs — is a distinctive treat.

The definitive standout, however, was the bonding that unfolded across three rafts amongst our mish-mash group of 13. Getting to know the family from New Orleans, the father-son duo from San Francisco, the young, adventure-thirsty Ohio couple, and the knowledgeable guides who lead us on day hikes to hidden petroglyphs was unforgettable.

Connecting on rivers and over campfires is timeless. The collective joy and appreciation for clean air, flowing water and sunbaked skin is somehow heightened, and strangers become fast friends swapping stories and happily helping each other load and unload gear.

And then, Coronavirus floated onto the scene.

Spring 2020 was a quarantined blur of home schooling, hand sanitizer and a ski season cut much too short. As whitewater junkies, my husband and I naturally fled to the water with our 5-year-old son as soon as snowmelt hit its stride. That first unmasked float in late April felt like pure freedom. We rafted six feet from other boats, flashed knowing smiles to other families, gratefully unplugged from the latest virus case counts and political chaos that had dominated the previous six weeks.

Summer rolled around, pandemic became the norm, and we marveled at clever tactics and professional pivots in the outdoor world. People emerged from their homes pale and squinting, swooping up paddleboards, tents and river gear faster than outfitters could stock supplies. Rafting companies came to the adventure table with revamped and impressive policies built to keep guests safe and healthy.

California-based OARS — the company I hitched along with last fall — is an outfitter that runs guided adventures all over the world. COVID-19 has them screening guests and guides before trips, instituting masks and gloves, limiting boats to individual families and pulling in SUPs and inflatable kayaks when groups of one or two sign up for overnight trips. They’re increasing hand washing and sanitization on the river, taking daily temperature checks and really going all out to make these trips safe and accessible.

“We assume that because there is risk of contracting the virus during activities like visiting the grocery store, getting fuel, eating out at a restaurant or getting a haircut, there will be a portion of the population that will be completely comfortable with, and longing for, an outdoor adventure where fresh air is abundant and physical distance can be maintained in most circumstances,” OARS officials announced in its June mitigation plan.

The outfitter assigns guests their own paddles and personal gear and has nixed high fives and handshakes. Guests are now asked to bring their own sanitizer and a clean face covering for each day on the river. For safety, masks aren’t worn on boats — the suffocation risk is too high if they swim or face coverings get wet.

In Fruita, Rimrock Adventures is following CDC guidelines with the ultimate goal of helping people get out into nature and experience guided recreation, while feeling safe and taken care of. Transport vehicles are cleaned and sanitized after every use, trip sizes have been minimized and digital forms have replaced paper ones. Up to two households can jump in a boat together in groups no larger than 10.

These swift, admirable measures have put rafting right up there with camping as a premier social distancing must-do. It’s a way to tap clarity during muddied messy times and a true disconnect from reality and technology — something we could all benefit from.

I remember that feeling, returning home from Utah calmer, more in touch with nature and as a better mother, wife and friend. A time-out from the world was everything. I want others to have that — to let go of the anxiety and fear that COVID has put into place and experience a secluded stretch of the wild West exclusively reached by boat. No service, no screens. Just pure floating zen six feet apart and closer than ever to your fellow river tribe.

Originally published in the Fall 2020 issue of SPOKE+BLOSSOM

Finding Clarity Downriver