The river not-so-wild

Melissa Schorr

Friday, May 16, 1997 | 11:59 a.m.

Slackers ahoy!

All aboard the Black Canyon River Raft Tours, where you don't need to practice your paddling, your bailing or your impression of Meryl Streep in "The River Wild."

This is a ride for the faint-of-heart, a ride for rafters who couldn't shoot the rapids if you gave them a shotgun. A ride you could bring your momma on.

You don't need to wear a life jacket. And since this is Vegas, you even get to stop for a smoke.

Your sole duty on the ride from Hoover Dam to Willow Beach Marina will be to tan and veg. You will also have to wake up fairly early, slather your body with sunscreen and make your way to Boulder City.

It might sound like a tough sell -- a snooze cruise down the most placid 12 miles of the Colorado River. But instead, it has become a successful operation now in its 15th year, with 15,000 to 20,000 "guests" each year.

On this particular day, there were the non-English speaking Japanese tourists content to watch the scenery go by, the two Pennsylvania sisters out for a Graceland wedding and a tan, and the upstate New York postal worker, weary of shoveling snow, scouting for a retirement site.

There were the Richardsons, restaurant operators from Park City, Utah, weary of gambling.

The Holladays from Henderson, entertaining some outdoorsy guests from Indianapolis.

The Traisons of Detroit, back for another raft ride with their friends, the Beals.

And the Ambruses, Hungarian natives now living in Queens, N.Y., who came out for a quickie wedding and a mini honeymoon.

The merry group was loaded on the bus at the Expedition Depot off Nevada Highway, turned off the main road and set off down the gated Lower Portal Road, which boasts an "850-foot drop," our guide told us. "That is," he quickly amended, "a descent."

The day's first rush of excitement came at the sight of Hoover Dam. Not only at seeing the dam, but the way the crowd recklessly rushed to one side of the bus, already perilously perched on the steep side of the cliff.

And, yes, more danger was still to come -- the ankle-twister of a trail down to the shoreline.

Worst of all, we had to get through dreaded Ring Bolt Rapid.

"There are 345 rapids on the Colorado River, and 344 are behind us," our guide said ominously.

"There are some ranked '10s' you have to see to believe."

Tension mounted.

Not to fear, though. The only one ahead of us, on a good day, is a .0025 on a scale of 1 to 10.

However, on this day, just like the rest of us, it was on vacation.

"I don't want to lie to you folks," said our guide, "Pope" Paul Coniglio. "I could make believe there is something there and we go hoopydooing through it. The river is so high, there's nothing there."

Alas, we had to get our cheap thrills in in other ways. So the Pope entertained us with tales about the nudist colony that occasionally camps at a sandy beach along the river.

"They would all stand up and moon us," he said. "Some on the raft laughed it off, others were insulted -- the Americans. All you could hear was 'click, click, click.' Even those insulted were taking pictures."

He told of gliding the raft, with 42 passengers aboard, into Weeping Springs Cove, right upon a guy and a girl doing what comes naturally. "We backed out of there fast," he said with a laugh.

He told of other times the raft has interrupted nature from taking its course.

"We noticed a ewe, one of the 'protected' bighorn sheep, very agitated. There was a coyote holding a day-old lamb by the throat in its jaws. Every single face turns -- and looks at me, like, 'What are you going to do?'

"Of course, I don't think we should do anything. But all the people on the raft start screaming, and the coyote got so rattled it dropped the lamb and ran away. That little lamb that we all thought was dead got up and followed its mama up the hill.

"It was cute," he admitted. "All I ever see is the opposite -- the coyote wins."

He told us his philosophy on survival of the fittest: "These solitary barrel cactuses could save your life if you're running out of water. But you have to be dying to get that (pulp) stuff down. I've tried twice and I can't swallow it. But you'll do whatever you have to do when you're dying."

Luckily, we were not that desperate, and instead, broke for a box lunch. Only polar-bear-blooded Marc Beals from Detroit braved the chilly water at the rocky cove. "Major shrinkage," he joked.

The water, drawn from 250 feet below the lake's surface and passing too quickly downstream to warm up, remains an icy-cold 52 degrees year-round in this section of the river.

But those looking for warm water don't have to go far. There are numerous hot springs and waterfalls alongside the river.

"I'm astounded by local people in Las Vegas who don't even know about this place," scolded the Pope. "I think it's worth a trip to Nevada in and of themselves."

He often lands for a dip after work at a hot springs in Gold Strike Canyon. "Talk about Jacuzzi heaven," he said of the 104-degree water. "If you can't mellow out there, there's something wrong with you."

Man vs. government

The Pope is the second-longest tenured "pilot" with Black Canyon.

After retiring as an air-traffic controller, he came out to spend one summer on the river and never left. He has been ruling this particular stretch of the river for 12 years now.

But his sovereignty is being infringed by other governing bodies -- the National Parks Service and the Bureau of Reclamation, which oversee the Black Canyon within the Lake Mead Recreation Center.

Take the 1993 decree that rafters could no longer go shirtless despite the hot temperatures, as they had for years, pinning their badges onto their shorts. "I can't hack it," he said. "I'm having a career crisis over this shirt thing."

The Pope's congregation, half undressed themselves, was sympathetic. "Go ahead," they called. "How would they know?"

"You're going to think I'm making this up," he said, laughing. "They have Shirt Patrol."

His white shirt stayed on, glowing against his leathery skin.

Other decrees are coming down: Congress has allocated funds for heightened security at places of national import. One will put up a floating barrier at the mouth of the dam in June. Future raft trips will not be able to do what we did -- go right up to the mouth of the tunnel and call "hello" up to the tourists at the top of the dam, and hear it echo in the distance like a stadium crowd.

"Folks, with all the terrorism in the world, they don't want boats going up to the base of the dam. It's just that simple."

But the Pope is sympathetic to the little guy's plight. "A guy gets into a boat, he comes 50 miles to see the Hoover Dam, and sees that little "Restricted Area" sign. He has 200 yards to go. What do you think he does? They go for it, every day."

But overall, he points out, there is one main thing that the government has done right: preserving the canyon.

Our lake

Near the end of the trip, he points to a spot along the river. "A group of business people from Michigan have bought that spot," he jests. "They're going to put the first McDonald's on the river here."

"No, no!" everyone laughs.

"No," he says. Then quietly, to himself. "They'd have to get by me first."

"I want you to think about something," he says, turning serious for the first time of the day. "All day long, we've been in Lake Mead National Recreation Park, which means it's federal property. What that really means is it belongs to us -- the American people. It's ours.

"Thank goodness, because if it wasn't ours, on that side," he points to his right, "there would be a casino every hundred yards, and on this side, there would be a McDonald's.

"Believe me, I'm the first to criticize our government when they've done something wrong," he says. "But boy, they did this right."

It may not have been the same kind of thrill as shooting the rapids, but it was a good ol' patriotic thrill just the same.

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