Swamping the Green River with the wife of ‘Jaws’ author
By Jim Thaxton
In the annals of adventure and camaraderie, few experiences can compare to my time as a swamper on the Green River.
A swamper is the title given to nonpaid assistants on multiple-day rafting trips.
The job description included everything from setting up and maintaining the camp privy to helping prepare daily meals and if qualified, serving as a guide in one of the rafts or inflatable two-man duckies.
My invitation came from Jerry Mallott, the executive director of the Western River Guides Association at the time.
With an air of excitement and promise, Jerry described the journey as a crash course in lobbying — a unique blend of nature and environmental advocacy, where the rugged beauty of the river would serve as a backdrop for critical conversations about environmental conservation and river access.
The event was hosted by the esteemed Bill Dvorak of Dvorak Expeditions and Sherry Griffith, who described her rafting company as having a distinct “touch of class.”
Today, their reputations in the world of river guiding are unparalleled.
On this trip in the late 1980s they were still getting established. Their hospitality and expertise ensured that the trip would be both educational and exhilarating.
Sen. Tim Wirth was one of the notable participants, along with Mark Udall, the executive director of Outward Bound who would later enjoy a distinguished career in national politics.
While their presence underscored the significance of the excursion, two others were internationally known environmentalists: Sally Raney and Wendy Benchley, whose passion for preserving the natural world, resonated deeply with all of us.
Wendy’s husband, Peter, wrote “Jaws” and many other books, all dedicated to her.
Our journey began at the very location where John Wesley Powell had embarked on his historic expedition through the Grand Canyon over a century earlier.
As we stepped into the Green River, the sense of history was palpable, weaving a tapestry of past explorations with our present endeavors.
I found myself in a ducky, which is propelled using kayak paddles. I was assigned to safely guide Wendy Benchley, my fellow paddler through the infamous Gates of Ladore. I couldn’t resist mimicking the “duunnn-dunnn, duuuunnnn-duun” musical introduction to the movie “Jaws” as we floated toward Entrance rapid.
Together we navigated the thrilling rapids of Upper and Lower Disaster. The roar of the river and the spray of the water created an exhilarating atmosphere, forging bonds of friendship and shared purpose.
The first night after I completed my chores, I pulled my sleeping bag, cassette player, headset and a couple of tapes from my dry bag and made myself comfortable for a night under the stars.
I must have been exhausted because I fell asleep before the tape ended.
Normally, when the batteries are good in the cassette the tape would stop automatically.
This time, instead of stopping, it made a clicking noise that as it woke me from my slumber sounded like a rattlesnake that with the headset still on made me vision the serpent was wrapped around my head.
I lay there trying not to panic. The rattling continued nonstop.
Finally, I got the nerve to softly yell for help. I know that “softly yelling” is an oxymoron, but it is the only way to describe what I was doing.
Sally was walking by. She thought I was having a bad dream and reached down to wake me up.
“Snake!” I screamed as I nearly bowled her over springing up off the beach still in my sleeping bag and shaking off the headset like I was trying to get rid of the snake without getting bit.
“You seemed to be having a nightmare,” Sally said, calming me down as I slipped free of my tangled sleeping bag then began gathering my stuff that was flung all over the river’s edge.
My reputation as a rugged outdoorsman was now lost on the first day of the trip.
On the third day, Sherry assigned me to a raft with a crew made up of the teenage children of some of the guests.
She briefed me on the route to take through a technical rapid called School Boy.
“Whatever you do, don’t go left of center on the river,” she warned.
As we approached the rapid, Senator Wirth’s ducky cut in front of us from the right side.
He and his partner were going slower than the river current heading upstream right into our path. My raft was going to run over top of them.
I instinctively cut left of center and — too late.
As our raft was swallowed by a massive hole called School Boy and about to flip upstream, I shouted as loud as I could over the roar of the river, “HIGH SIDE!”
The teens responded and two managed to capture the downstream current and we slipped out of the hole like pros, celebrating with our paddles high in the air and giving each other high fives.
Later that day, I got a true lesson in leadership when Sherry took me aside at camp well out of earshot and the sight of the group and gave me holy hell for disobeying her instructions. I took it.
As we were approaching camp, Senator Wirth came up and apologized for forcing us left into School Boy and said his kids can’t stop talking about how they managed to avoid flipping the raft in the rapid.
Sherry just shook her head, smiled and sent me to take care of latrine duties.
One of the most memorable moments came unexpectedly. I was assigned to accompany Senator Wirth up a feeder stream to fly fish for trout.
He made a couple of casts and we found ourselves temporarily arrested for fishing without a license — a humorous twist of fate that highlighted the unpredictability of life on the river.
The officers, upon realizing that they had detained a prominent senator who made an honest mistake of thinking he was in Colorado where he had a license to fish, but we were in Utah, quickly rectified the situation.
When Senator Wirth mentioned we were running low on beer, in a gesture of goodwill, the rangers offered us several cases of beer, more than enough to finish the trip.
It was a lighthearted interlude that added to the rich tapestry of our adventure, reminding us that even amidst serious discussions and legislative aspirations, there was room for laughter and camaraderie.
Reflecting on this journey, I am reminded of the profound impact that nature can have on our lives.
The Green River, with its untamed beauty and historical significance, provided the perfect setting for fostering connections and advocating for the preservation of our environment.
The lessons learned, the friendships forged, and the memories created will forever remain etched in my heart, a testament to the power of shared experiences in the great outdoors.
One our way back to Denver, we stopped in Aspen where Sally Raney met with the renowned author Leon Uris. Using Sally’s back, Leon wrote a five-figure check in support of Sally’s nonprofit wildlife preservation organization.
We dropped Sally off at the Aspen airport where a private twin engine aircraft brightly polished sporting an aspen leaf insignia was waiting for her. The pilot, John Denver, waved from the pilot’s open window.
I am still friends on Facebook with Wendy, who remains active protecting sharks around the globe.
Sally Raney continues her work in wildlife protection.
I enjoyed watching Mark Udall’s political career blossom over the next two decades.
Jerry Mallott was instrumental in creating an artificial whitewater course in his hometown in Colorado.
Senator Wirth decided not to run for reelection on personal ethical grounds, which, as I recall, was related to campaign finance reform.
And as for me, I got to use all I learned on the Green representing outfitters’ interests at meetings in our state capitals, D.C., Ottawa and even Tokyo. Thanks, Jerry!
Thaxton is a retired Pendleton County High School math teacher. He and his wife, Ann, foounded founded Thaxton's Canoe Trails and Paddlers Inn in Butler.