The river wild
Local recounts harrowing night the sleepy San Juan roared to life

Chances are, a lot of us have had some wild nights on the San Juan River. But none were probably quite as epic as what Durangoan Forrest Jones and his crew experienced the night of Fri., June 21.

Jones and son, Rico, 14, joined old Fort Lewis College buddy Trevor Metzger, who now lives in Golden, and nine others for what was supposed to be a leisurely float down the normally docile but scenic Lower San Juan. However, as we’ve all likely seen by now from social media reports, the San Juan was anything but tame that Friday, as a storm and ensuing flash floods catapulted the San Juan near Mexican Hat, Utah, from a lazy 1,000 cfs to a raging torrent of 20,000 cfs in a matter of hours. 

Like many trips, Jones and friends put on under deceivingly sunny skies on Wed., June 19, from Mexican Hat. Experienced boaters, Jones and Metzger, however, both knew it had rained the week before and that the ground was probably saturated and they needed to keep an eye on the weather. The following day, they were met with rain, followed by sun. They set their camp high above the water line that night just to be safe. On Friday, it was a similar scenario, although the afternoon thunderstorms seemed especially fierce. The group decided to camp at False John’s, a camp about 20 miles from Mexican Hat and a few miles up from the popular John’s campsite. After setting up camp, they hunkered down in their tents to wait out the storm.

Forrest Jones, right, and son Rico after the mayhem had passed and the full solstice moon was rising over the canyon walls./ Courtesy photo

“We were watching the water levels,” Jones recounted. “There was a rock in the river, and the water would surge over it.”

Finally, around dusk, Jones ventured out to get a wish light (don’t worry, it was biodegradable) from his dry box to light in honor of the solstice. When he set the lantern free, the wind immediately slammed it down into the river. When he went to pick it up,  he noticed the water had risen about a foot higher than when he first grabbed the lantern off his raft moments earlier. And the rock in the middle of the surging river was now totally submerged.

That’s when Jones, a kayaker and boatman with 10 years experience guiding on the Upper Animas, and crew sprang to action. 

“We began to move the dish washing station because the water was lapping up to it, and by the time we did that, the water was halfway to the kitchen,” he said.

Fortunately for the group, they had camped on higher ground, far enough away from any side canyons or washes. Still, what ensued was a fast and furious couple hours of securing boats and relocating gear.

“It was a frenzy to move everything – boats, stuff that was drying in the tamarisk, the groover,” he said.

The good news is, they saved the groover. The bad news: by now it was completely dark, forcing them to salvage gear from the rising tide by the light of their Petzls. As they feverishly worked to haul the boats in by their strained ropes to higher ground, they were met with an eerie sight no river person ever wants to see: so-called ghost ships.

“We shined our lights to see three empty boats, one with a pirate flag, come rocking by. They were tied together, and we were like ‘holy sh**,’” Jones said.

From there on, they saw a constant parade of flotsam (or was it jetsam?) including Yeti coolers, dry boxes, and an inverted raft. It was all the detritus from a group of 23 camped upstream at Lime Creek, the epicenter for the flood. That group lost everything but thankfully survived.

Bear in mind, though, deep in the remote canyon where cell phone signals are nonexistent, Jones and his group had no idea what was going on upstream. They just knew things were about to get real.

Thankfully, as a former student in Walt Walker’s Outdoor Pursuits program at FLC, Jones was prepared for all manner of natural episodes on the San Juan, from high winds to flash floods. He ran to his boat, grabbed the two throw bags and extra bowline has always brought “just in case” but never used – and began the work of securing the boats, which by now were about 30 feet into the rising current. It required all hands on deck to heave the boats to higher ground and tie them to a sturdy tamarisk. (Jones prefers the half-hitch, and if you don’t know your knots, now might be a good time to learn).

He credited the group’s experience and preparedness – Metzger actually got to use his river knife for the first time in 20 years for something other than limes when he was forced to cut a raft line. But Jones also credited the group’s fast action, calm headedness and ability to work together when the proverbial mud hit the alluvial fan. “We had an amazing group that responded quickly. There were no arguments. We would make a decision and move on it,” he said.

And then, almost as quickly as it started, the waters began to recede. In all, Jones estimates the entire episode lasted about an hour and a half (but no one really knows, since it’s river time and watches are frowned upon.) Judging by the mud line and debris lodged in surrounding trees, he estimates the water rose an astonishing 8 feet in that time. 

“It came up really fast and dropped really fast,” he said.

So fast, in fact, that the next morning – after a futile, sleepless night to the sounds of crashing boulders and the raging river – his raft was marooned some 30 feet from shore, requiring an arduous portage back to the river. The river by now had dropped to a more manageable 8,000 or 9,000 cfs – a muddy, frothy, black mess. The group contemplated staying put but decided to forge ahead.

“We decided we gotta go help. We have no idea what’s going on, but we saw five boats go by, people might need help,” Jones said.

Fortunately, around the same time BLM San Juan River Ranger Chad Niehaus was putting on at Mexican Hat with a member of the Bluff Fire and Rescue team. Although officials had been expecting a rain event later in the weekend and had warned rafters to take precautions, Niehaus said the storm arrived much earlier and more severe than expected.

“We knew something was coming, but we certainly weren’t expecting what happened,” he said.

Niehaus, who has been a ranger on the San Juan for four years, said there have been two other comparable 20k events in recent memory: in 2003 and 2016.

Fortunately, his patrol to Clay Hills on Sat., June 22, showed all parties – there were an estimated 70 people on the upper and lower sections – accounted for and unscathed. “All the groups patted their heads to show they were OK. They were shaken but relieved and had some close calls,” he said.

In all, Niehaus said the ranger station has been notified of seven missing boats, five from the Lime Creek group and two from a group camped on the lower section at Steer Gulch. He said a flyover from Red Tail Aviation showed the boats were located in a massive quagmire of debris at a spot called the “Great Bend,” a few miles below the Clay Hills take out and below the infamous Fatt Falls at Paiute Farms. He described the boats as “tiny pinpricks of color among a sea of brown.”

In other words extraction will be difficult and complicated – and out of the BLM’s hands, as the area is in the Glen Canyon Recreation Area, which falls under the jurisdiction of the National Park Service. “We will continue to try to help where we can,” he said, adding that such rescue and recovery operations are a concerted effort between several partner agencies, including the USGS, San Juan County Sheriff’s Office and Bluff Fire and Rescue.

“It really is a partnership, with all of us sharing information and trying to figure out how to help,” Rachel Wootton, assistant field manager at the BLM Monticello Field Office, said.

And, for as terrifying and powerful as the flood was, Jones and Niehaus see it as an awe-inspiring gift to experience that rare intersection of human and geological time.

“It’s helpful to go through something like this,” Niehaus said. “It of course makes it much easier when everyone is safe and nobody was injured or lost. But I think we’re in a position to pass along some really detailed, specific and relevant tips to future boaters.”

Jones is also thankful for the experience, on many levels.

“We were so lucky we didn’t lose anything, not even a dinner plate,” Jones said. “And I feel so lucky to have been there. It was really cool to see that power and intensity.”

And he added a word of caution to other boaters.

“Every time I’m putting that rescue kit in, I’m thinking, ‘I’m such a dork and over-preparing – nothing ever happens on the San Juan,’” he said. “But you know what? We used everything I brought.”