HIGH LIFE
Dinosaur National Monument – Fifteen million years ago, there was no Canyon of Lodore. From the broad flats of Browns Park along the northern edge of the Utah-Colorado border, the ancient Green River flowed east to join the North Platte and Missouri rivers, long before the uplift of the Rocky Mountains along the Great Divide forced it to change its course to the south.
While 15 million years might seem like an eternity to the human mind, it is, in geological terms, a mere blip on time’s radar, considering the dinosaurs that Lodore’s surrounding national monument were named for were the dominant form of terrestrial life in the region for about 150 million years. Consider further that scientists date the rich deposits of dinosaur bones now visible in the park headquarters known as the “quarry” back an additional 75 million years or so, and the formidably lethargic pace of evolution gradually begins to reveal itself.
Evolution is a recurrent theme throughout the 44-mile stretch of river now sluicing through the Uinta Mountains of Colorado’s northwest corner, evident from the moment you lay eyes upon the stunning view of one of the most dramatic canyon entrances in the West. Passing through the rocky portal of Lodore, the constantly changing panorama spans from precipitous red sandstone walls to vividly folded layers of gray limestone and pale sandstone throughout the journey to Split Mountain, interrupted periodically by the sandy open flats of Island Park and Rainbow Park.
If the awe-inspiring uplifts of stone never inspire at least a flicker of evolutionary curiosity during the four days it takes to float through the monument, well, you must be deader than a dinosaur.
It occurs to me, though, that we humans view evolution at a far more rapid pace. In a nation less than 250 years old, most Americans never will grasp the concept of even 1 million years, rendering all those other ticks of the clock as abstract as an eon among a people who reference “a dog’s age” as a lengthy span of time. Excluding the handful of sand-studiers who actually determine the dates of all those rocks and bones, we aren’t concerned with much beyond the here and now of daily existence.
And – apart from the ever-encroaching threat of Armageddon our species seems hell-bent on nurturing – I’m often fine with that. Especially when I’m floating down a river.
Perhaps it is our innate frailty that dictates our rapid evolution, combined with a keen instinct for survival that forces us to learn and adapt – progress or perish.
Surviving the desert rivers of the West in relative comfort is its own feat, demanding its own brand of evolution. And among the most critical skills to develop throughout the process is survival of what in the workaday world might be considered boredom.
To the evolved river runner, there is, of course, no such thing as boredom. What our so-called advanced society might perceive as a worthless waste of time and energy is distilled to an awareness, an intimacy with the world as you exercise your option to sit still and face the fear of nothing to do but live and breathe and think as an eternity passes by.
There is, as a Taoist master once said, a time for being ahead, a time for being behind; a time for being in motion, a time for being at rest; a time for being vigorous, a time for being exhausted; a time for being safe, a time for being in danger. The master sees things as they are, without trying to control them. She lets them go their own way, and resides at the center of the circle. Or, as the case may be, on a whitewater raft.
The beauty of a river trip lies in the unknown around every bend, whether it’s a whitewater rapid or a rainbow made of rock. And in between lies opportunity. Day after day you are presented with the opportunity to discover not only a new place, but your own place in the world, and ideally a harmonic blending of the two through that coveted awareness.
Whether we are willing to admit it or not, we are ultimately bound to the lethargic pace of evolution, and the sooner we learn to embrace it, the more satisfying the journey will be. Life itself evolves like the river, endlessly repeating itself, endlessly renewed.
Scott Willoughby can be reached at 303-820-1993 or swilloughby@denverpost.com.
