Havasu Flush

Havasu Flush

By Noel Laflin

February 4, 2013

Low water levels reveal the tunnel's inner workings.  Jumping beats flushing at such times.

“It feels,” the precocious twelve-year-old was telling me, “like a giant flushing toilet taking you down and through a tunnel in the rocks.   It then throws you into a giant pool on the other side there!”  With this, the youngest member of our rafting party pointed to an area of the creek about fifteen feet downstream.

“Try it, Noel!  Don’t be afraid.  Just keep your arms close to your sides so you don’t scrape them on the rocks below.  And remember,” she dramatically paused for effect, “hold your breath!”

And with that final bit of advice, the youngster squealed with delight as she slowly walked downstream until she was a few feet from two large boulders, one barely visible through the pristine creek, resting in the middle of the waterway.  The water had risen up to her chin.  Then she stopped and brought her arms to her sides, fingers pressed tightly together, pointing straight down.  The girl inched forward in this ramrod torpedo-like posture until, whoosh! – she disappeared, blonde ponytail and all.   It was as if she had stepped into a giant hidden pneumatic tube.

Within seconds, Christa’s blonde head and upper torso came bursting out of the lower pool just beyond the two large boulders, as predicted, some ten or fifteen feet away.  Giggling once more, she swam to the right, climbed the bank and ran back upstream.  She wadded out to where I still stood - awestruck.  She gave me a gentle nudge.

“Your turn!”

I felt the soft wet sand squish between my toes as I inched my way forward ever so slowly.

“Oh, man,” I said aloud.  “I’m not sure about this…”

Christa just laughed as she plunged ahead of me, swam out to the boulders, brought her hands to her sides, took a deep breath and disappeared for a second time, only to resurface in the cool clear pool beyond a few moments later.  Her infectious giggles shamed me into moving forward once again.

We were in one of the finest natural playgrounds on Earth - Havasu Creek, at river mile 156 to be exact, in the bottom of the Grand Canyon.   The pull-in point for Havasu can be a harried affair, as there is limited room for rafts before the confluence of the creek and Colorado River.  Thus, if a boatman can’t find room to dock before the natural outlet, he is forced to pass it and dock off the slab of massive flat rocks smack dab in the middle of the fast moving flow.  This is where we ended up.  With extraordinary skill, however, our boatmen maneuvered the boats up to the rocky outcrop and had them securely tied off within seconds, before the current could carry us away.  We scrambled off and helped with the unloading of the lunch items. 

As the temperature was sitting well above the hundred degree mark we were soon on our way in search of a cool swimming hole.  Back into the shade of the canyon we hiked, marveling at the blueness of the creek.  Less than a mile in, we came to the first of several great swimming areas.  The creek was running swift, strong and clear all through here.  It was also running at an extremely high rate, due to the recent heavy rains.  But, one could scamper up western walls and jump out into deep pools.  Or, you could just float with the current and end up in a cool eddy and enjoy the view of the narrow canyon.

My favorite spot among all of these choices, however, was where I stood now – just waiting for the nerve to take one more small step.

I must admit that I was a might apprehensive about trying this trick.  Suppose the tunnel below was too narrow for me?  Suppose I got stuck?  Suppose, suppose, suppose! 

 Don’t go there, I thought.

Instead, I pressed my arms tightly to my sides as instructed and did a little duck waddle to the point of no return.  I could feel the hidden vacuum below tugging at me more fiercely as I approached the large rocks – one well above the surface and the other, massive as it was, submerged below the water line of this high running creek.  I felt a tremendous pull - as if my feet were being grabbed by some unseen water monster lurking beneath. There was no time to even draw a small breath as the opening below sucked me down.

 

Jesus!  This was like being flushed.

With eyes still wide open I saw a flash of dark rock to either side of me and felt my elbows scrape, ever so slightly, against smooth rock walls.  Suddenly, I was cast into a large underwater pool of blue lit faintly from the sky above.  It was an Aquarian fairyland.  In short order I was able to right myself and felt the strong tug of the current raise me to the surface.

Wow!  I’ve got to do that again!  And again.

Soon, others from our party joined us as the young tutor and I both explained the mysteries of the vanishing trick. 

Now, Marshall, a large guy from Michigan, followed Christa and me, riding the underwater tube and bobbing to the surface as expected.  I sat at the end of the pool just to keep an eye on folks, letting others take a turn or two.  But Marshall stayed in the pool treading water, looking sheepishly, if not a bit frantically down and all about him as if searching for something lost.

That something – in the form of his swim trunks came floating my way.  I snagged them and hid them behind me.

“Hey Marshall,” I cried out.  “How’d you like that ride?  You want to try it again?”

“Ah, well, yeah – it was great,” he replied, peering nervously all around the pool.  “But, I think I’ll just stay here a while and catch my breath,” he concluded.

“Marshall,” I yelled - “you better get out of the pool and make way for more folks about to ride the chute.  You don’t want ‘em torpedoing into ya.”

“Oh, for Christ’s sake!”  Marshall finally hollered back.  “I can’t get out of here.  My damn suit was sucked right off me somewhere in that rocky tube.”  He was looking a bit nervous now.  “Anybody seen it?”  There was dead silence all around.

“Did you bring a towel, Marshall?” I finally deadpanned.

“Nope,” he said sadly.  “I left it on the raft.”

“Guess it’ll be a breezy walk back to the boat then,” I replied.  “Those trunks have got to be all the way to the river by now.  They’ll probably be in Lake Mead by the end of the week.  Bummer, dude!”

By now the poor man was beside himself so I decided to let him in on the find.  I tossed the runaway garment back his way and apologized – kind of.  And with that, the happy guy slipped them back on, climbed out of the pool and ran back to ride the flushing toilet once more.  This time he made sure his arms were not only tightly pressed against his sides – they clamped handfuls of cloth all the way to the end as well.

At the same site 24 years later - with another twelve-year-old daredevil.
Imagine the water level being level with our shoes.  
That's when the water slide becomes a water tunnel.