The Verde River is formed by the junction of Big Chino Wash and Williamson Valley Wash just above Sullivan Dam, but it gets most of its water from Oak Creek, which drains the San Francisco Peaks-at 12,637 feet, Arizona's highest point. It runs free for 125 miles to Horseshoe Dam and then another 45 miles to the Salt River, including 12 miles through Bartlett Reservoir for a total length of 170 miles.

Sullivan Dam, built in 1938 and anchored in 150-foot-deep Sullivan Canyon, has been fully silted up for many years. The canyon is sculpted from irregular columnar basalt-perfectly vertical-and has become a popular northern Arizona rock climbing area accessible only via rappelling-except for one detrital fan 0.1-mile downstream from the dam, the result of a pipeline crossing excavation.

Although spurning the lower 45 miles of the Verde, Chuck didn't want to miss the initial 0.1-mile of inaccessible river. "Bad form," he quietly averred. So he finagled an assistant into belay duty to help him lower his fully loaded kayak-with two ropes-into the maelstrom below the dam while, at the same time, rappelling down next to the boat, guiding it, and, finally, maneuvering his entry into the cockpit-an impossible feat.

But Chuck was a visionary. He scoped out a tiny cleft on the north bank that, at much lower water levels, would have held an eddy. But under these extreme conditions, it instead impounded an upwelling pillow of recirculating water, surging unpredictably, sometimes up to 3 feet, but at least moving neither upstream nor downstream. Though still 0.05-of-a-mile short of the dam, it was his best bet. As I scrambled down the pipeline easement on the opposite bank I stopped to watch Chuck's dramatic entry. "Make sure you get a picture of this!" he shouted, posing in mid-air, paddle in one hand, rap line in the other, with a big grin on his face, looking like Slim Pickens headed for perdition in Dr. Strangelove,.

By the time I was ready to launch, Chuck had sealed himself to his kayak, cut the tethering ropes with the knife he always kept in a hand-sewn pocket on the side of his Mae West life jacket, and ferried over to me to coordinate our strategy.

For the first 1.8 miles, the river drops an astounding 66 feet per mile. We'd heard that not far below the dam lay a major rapid, nicknamed "Little Lava", which drops at the rate of 100 feet per mile. But that name had been given at high-normal water levels of perhaps 5,000-10,000 CFS (measured farther downstream). It was anyone's guess what "Little Lava" might look like at anything over 50,000 CFS (again, measured downstream).

Before launching we'd walked the canyon's rim for a short distance hoping to glimpse the territory ahead, but didn't spot anything of note. With the water running this fast, shoreline eddies were rare as a rugula in Arkansas. Once launched on the current, it might be nearly impossible to land. Worse, major rapids tended toward steepness, and dropped so fast that kayak-level scouting meant running blind.

Bob Williams, author of A Floater's Guide to the Verde River, describes the Verde's first mile-and-a-half in the following way:

"…it was inconceivable to me that the Verde's origin canyon could ever be floated at anytime in anyway above mile 1.3-inconceivable period…! Huge boils; meat grinder holes; angular and sharp boulders unshaven by such waters; squirrelly, confused and horrific currents; trees; nearly impossible scouting and portaging footing; difficult rescue and the 100-feet-per-one-mile drop all made this maelstrom very hazardous territory."

We were in for a special treat. Chuck would lead. I would follow 50 feet behind. We set off.