On day two we stopped at Trin Alcove to hike up to the first alcove. Weary of the incessant talking, I hung back out of view. I had issued myself a challenge. I pulled out my recorder (the flute-like instrument, not the electronic kind for playing tapes) and played a song. Then I paused to listen. Then I played another song.
Now, the voices were muted and they seemed to be trying to figure out where the music was coming from. One more song and, without any prompting, a couple of dozen high school kids fell absolutely silent. For another 15 minutes I played with lengthy pauses between songs and heard not a sound from the alcove.
The kids began to file back down the canyon speaking in hushed tones. Many of them still had no idea where the music had originated until they saw me standing there holding my recorder. One boy who had probably never been beyond the constant din of urban motor vehicle traffic in his life walked up to me and said, "I just want to shake your hand. That's the most incredible thing I've ever heard."
The last night of the trip, each kid took a turn describing his/her experiences the past four days. Some of them spoke with more eloquence, wisdom and insight than I've ever heard in 28 years of guiding river trips in Utah, Idaho and the Grand Canyon.
The same boy who shook my hand at Trin Alcove spoke about how profoundly moved he was by the incredible silence of the canyons and the music that seemed to emanate from the canyon walls. Then he spoke of how violated he felt by the noise of a solitary motorcycle roaring up and down the river as we floated between Hey Joe and Spring canyons.
He could see himself riding such a motorcycle at home in the city, proclaiming to everyone within earshot how "cool" he was. Now the irritating whine of one motorcycle in Labyrinth Canyon drove him to anger bordering on rage. He likened it to listening to a chainsaw in a cathedral.
As we parted ways at the end of the trip, it was my turn to shake his hand for his profound commentary. Yet, what he said that night was not a rare reaction to the incredible silence of the canyons. In fact, it's a common refrain. Others may not state it so eloquently, but for almost 30 years I've heard people speak as frequently about the sounds as they do of the stunning scenery. Many are amazed when they can hear a conversation a quarter-mile away. And, they express their dismay when motorcycles, ATVs and helicopters shatter the solitude.
It's good public policy and plain common sense that activities that create the greatest public nuisance and health hazard face the greatest restrictions. Smoking is prohibited in work place environments, restaurants, airports, enclosed public places and even some outdoor public places for these reasons. Cities, campgrounds and other public places regulate noise. Congress even passed a law restricting overflights of the Grand Canyon to protect the "natural quiet." One of the most common reasons people call the police is to complain about a noisy neighbor.
It's not right that one person, possibly completely oblivious to the nearby presence of dozens and maybe more than a hundred people peacefully floating the Green River, be allowed to subject all of those people to the racket from a motor vehicle echoing repeatedly off the canyon walls for extended periods of time.
This example is not just hypothetical. On one trip, about 20 of us had to listen to the whine of two motorcycles for over an hour along this stretch of river. Instead of being able to hear people talking in a boat over 100 yards away, we had to raise our voices just to hear each other in the same boat.
For good reason, some people express concern about the potential economic impact of restricting motor vehicle travel. Ironically, the failure to restrict motor vehicle travel to reasonable routes probably has a greater negative economic impact. A number of people have asked me what's the best time to visit to avoid throngs of off-road vehicles. If the BLM fails to act to restrict ORVs on public land, our tourist economy may suffer as people seeking non-motorized recreational activities are literally driven away.
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Pete Gross is a professional river guide with 28 years experience on the rivers of Utah, Idaho and the Grand Canyon. He lives in Moab.
