Grand Canyon – Day 4, Part 2: Hance and Sockdolager

Our fourth day on the river had already seen some spectacular whitewater challenges. Now it was time for one of the biggest. According to trip leader Steve Mace, Hance would be the most technically challenging rapid we would encounter during our 12-day trip.

Powell climbed the cliffs to scout what others would later call Hance Rapid, returning with somber news. A mile downriver, the Colorado passed over hard granite—a situation the men would come to dread, for it often equated with hellish whitewater. The river’s course through softer sedimentary rock, which they had run and labored through since Green River City, now yielded to metamorphic rock, forged by continental-scale pressure and heat from within the Earth’s interior to come out as hard, sharp, and unforgiving. The jet-black Vishnu Schist seemed to suck the light from anything near it, except when occasionally—and surprisingly—veins of raspberry sherbet–colored Zoroaster granite shot through it. Unable to erode this unyielding rock as easily as the sedimentary formations, the river becomes a caricature of a whitewater passage, cutting through vertical walls now thousands of feet high. “No rocks ever made can make much worse rapids than we now have,” noted Bradley gloomily. The jagged rock gnawed on their ever-weakening boats. The next morning, “emphatically the wildest day of the trip so far,” wrote Bradley, they lined and portaged Hance, then ran a bad rapid at its foot.

HARASSED BY HANCE

Unlike Powell and his 1869 crew, our team was not going to portage around Hance. A few members — blind and sighted — didn’t feel comfortable about running it in their kayaks, so they opted for a raft ride through Hance. And that’s okay.

We took out on river right above the rapid so Mace could lead the kayaker guides and safety boaters on a short hike to scout the line. At mile 77.2 on the Colorado River, Hance is one of the longest rapids on the river. Dropping 30 feet over half a mile, Hance is rocky with several huge holes. It’s a long, left bend in the river with an island of big boulders on the right side known as the “Land of the Giants.” For some of the canyon’s other big rapids our mantra was “Hey diddle diddle, right down the middle.” However, a clean run through Hance requires proper angles and turns; a test not only of nerves but also kayaking skill.

The “conservative” line, Mace explained, is to start river right to avoid boulders and a big hole in the center near the top. Then paddle left for all you’re worth to avoid the crashing lateral waves created by Land of the Giants downriver on the right. Mace would lead the way. We would follow in a line. In theory it sounded like a good plan. But I also knew it might be a real s**t show, as they say in the Canyon.

As we hiked back down to the kayaks, I had a few minutes to think about the run. I tried to keep a mental picture of my line. But scouting is one thing. The river always looks different from the seat of your kayak. Steve was among those who elected to not kayak it, which meant I could focus all my attention on getting myself through Hance.

Our planned line started out fine but soon deteriorated. With Mace in the lead and entering at the correct river right position, we each followed the kayaker in front of us. Somehow the entire line stretched out and drifted left. By the time I floated to the cusp and started to drop in, I was too far left. I immediately got sucked into the meat of the top hole, where crashing water knocked me over. Up-side-down, I thought, “Not a good way to start Hance!” Luckily the hole set me free so I was able to roll up. I found myself facing upriver with no clue where the “line” was. The waves were huge and chaotic. Turning my kayak around to face downriver, I saw the bottom of an overturned kayak. Then Jeff Vannoy popped up in front of me. Looking around, we both realized we were too far right, headed right toward the Land of the Giants.

YOUTUBE: https://youtu.be/ssXChKq3AbY

“Go left! Go left!” I heard Craig Larcenaire shouting from behind us. Jeff and I paddled hard left and managed to stay upright through the rest of the rapid, eddying out river left and joining Eric Carlson and Mace in the eddy. Catching my breath, I waited and watched, ready to pick up swimmers if any came our way.

I could see Eric Guzman out of his boat near the opposite shore. Our guys on that side swiftly moved in for the rescue and got him safely to shore and back in his boat. Later he told me that tumbling through the rapids felt like he was being punched in the face from all angles. As for me, I was elated to have made it through Hance without a swim.

SOCKED BY SOCKDOLAGER

There wasn’t much time to pat myself on the back. Just two miles later we entered Sockdolager Rapid.

Once again, excerpts from the John F. Ross book The Greatest Show on Earth:

Two miles later they heard the throaty rumble of yet another menacing rapid, so thunderous that they had to shout to be heard—“a long, broken fall, with ledges and pinnacles of rock obstructing the river,” wrote Powell, the torrent breaking “into great waves on the rocks” and lashing itself “into a mad, white foam” for a third of a mile before the river turned sharply to the left and out of view. Sumner, never one to show fear, noted that a line of 15-foot standing waves made his hair curl. The steep walls offered no point of purchase to line the boats or any places to portage. “We must run the rapid,” wrote Powell, “or abandon the river.”

Sumner, Powell, and William Dunn shoved out into the turbulence, riding one wave to its top like a roller coaster, then dropping precipitously into the trough. Again and again they bounced and thrashed through these mad waves until they struck the crest of one as it broke. The boat plunged underwater, its center compartment filling completely, Sumner and Dunn desperately trying to avoid the rocks. Powell frantically bailed as best he could. A whirlpool spun them, but the boat did not sink, and somehow came through.

They named the rapid Sockdolager, a 19th-century term for a bare-knuckled knockout punch. They had just entered what later boaters call Adrenaline Alley—40 miles of chaotic whitewater.

Next: Day 5 – “Tell Me Why It’s Beautiful”