After staying up OH SO LATE, we take a leisurely breakfast, before our 10 AM rendezvous with Mr. Black.

You get to sleep in on Hole day. After sipping scotch at midnight and a restful sleep, the call went out at 8AM. The sun was up, offering one of the few sunrises, of note, on the trip. The sky was almost clear of clouds. Some big puffy white ones, hung somewhat low and the breeze was stiff and gusty.

The trip had been so warm that I had passed on warm breakfast, all but one of the mornings (not counting Tom's pancakes one AM) of the trip. While not a cold morning, by any stretch of the imagination, prudence called for something hot, with the cold, cold Black Hole ahead. Hot soups felt good going down the pipe. A different set of gear for this day required a reorganization of the packs, wet suits and drysuits packed, among the waterproof barrels and extra calories...and extra calories...and extra. You get it.

We get ourselves prepped up for the day. A bit of flow had us suiting up right away.

We make the drive over toward the Black Hole trailhead by 10 AM. We stop at the bridge over White Canyon at the 54 mile marker. This old trick works like this. If the canyon, 300 feet below, is dry, you are fine. If it has potholes filled with water, then it is fine also. If it is flowing white or brown water, find something else to do. If it is, as it was this day, flowing BETWEEN placid potholes, then you are in the gray territory. Some other points of reference. The area by the bridge is an area where water comes above ground more than the average stretch in the canyon, so the canyon won't average as wet as you see right here. Wetter in the Hole area, drier through most of the rest of the canyon. A gentle flow at the bridge may not mean flow almost anywhere else that day. It does NOT indicate what is coming down canyon from the myriad of canyons that drain into this system. We contemplate. The weather looks fine over head. Looks like it will stay that way. It did not rain at our camp or where we are, overnight. The uplands draining the canyon has some clouds, but not much and at that altitude, we guess precip will be in the form of flurries, if indeed it does let loose some moisture at all. If it did precip in the uplands last night, it will definitely have been snow. This is a "granddaddy system" and one walks the edge here, at one's own peril.

We arrive. Dave Black arrives minutes later. He has looked in at a few places, up stream and seen conditions like what I have described. We decide to pack and the take a closer look, leaning toward going. The commitment point, in this canyon doesn't come for a while, except in REAL floods. We feel a big flood is not in the cards. We are a group of 4. The first year we were 6, last year 7. The smaller group feels better, with things maybe on the "iffy" side. Go..... We hike down to the canyon floor and what do we see? Water...a lot of water. Tom looks and says.."Gonna be a cold one, boys" Ahhh, yeah. A little bit of flow, maybe 3cfs. Lots of placid pools and trickle between them. The decision to put the suits on then, is made. Awful early, compared with the standard dress up party. Suits would stay on until the climb up, 4 miles down canyon.

A smaller team, a strong team.

Dave finds some quicksand.

The day is warming up nicely. It will top out in the 50's, warmest of the trip, but sunlight will be at a premium, with the low sun angle and the high wall. Ryan continually asks if "it is going to be OK in this flow." I catch him asking each of us separately and also together. An intelligent lad. A psychological aspect to this type of day is that every time you hit a drop or the canyon gets steeper, the flowing water makes more sound. Over your shoulder you look, expecting more flow to be coming down, but no, it is just a loud spot. You have to be careful not to let this into your head. It grinds away at confidence, silently and unnoticed.

Finally the first swims come. In gentle flow, we are off. Tom and I are in drysuits, me for the first time, in exactly one year. Dave and Ryan are in beefy wet suits. Ryan's may be a tad thicker than our hero Dave's. It is tricky in drysuits. What to wear? Too much and you fry and drown in your sweat. Too little and the cold conducts on you. A torture that then leads to hypothermia. Dave and I strike out front, hit the sun and notice no one behind us. Wait. Eat. Wait. Grow concerned. Finally I tell Dave I am headed back, but...it makes more sense for a wet suit clad fellow to do that, to stay warm. It is always guaranteed, that when someone heads back, they meet who they are going after, around the first bend. A law of nature or something. Explanation? Tom had not worn enough clothing and had to open the suit, add layers and close it again, with Ryan's help.

It's slower, with all that water and soft mud. But we trundle onward.