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Articles Published on Charly Heavenrich

The following articles appeared in the Denver Post, in August, 2002:
One Man's Joy Ride; and Natural Beauty, Stars Initiate The Celebration, which follows immediately below it.

One man's joy ride At 60, Grand Canyon river guide finds rafters as rewarding as rapids By Jack Cox Denver Post Staff Writer

Monday, August 19, 2002 - FLAGSTAFF, Ariz. - White-water guide Charly Heavenrich was 10 days into a two-week float trip through the Grand Canyon when he broke a rib.

It happened deep in the Inner Gorge, when his raft skewed sideways going into the notorious rapid known as Lava Falls. Heavenrich and his passengers plowed into a torrent of ice-cold Colorado River water and - bam! - the veteran boatman got whacked so hard in the chest it felt as if he'd taken a blow from a Louisville Slugger.

"I think I hit an oarlock," he says now. "But I didn't have much time to think about it, because I still had 50 miles to go."

Besides, Heavenrich wasn't about to let himself be benched, even by an injury that turned every deep breath into an agonized gasp. He was too intent on celebrating two important milestones: his 60th birthday and his 60th trip through the world-famous canyon. He gutted it out.

"The bone was not displaced," he explained matter-of-factly during a recent layover in Flagstaff, while preparing to head out on yet another trip. "It was limiting and somewhat painful, but not a big deal."

Physical stress, it seems, is all in a day's work for Heavenrich, a Boulder resident who is still active in the back-breaking business of river running at a point in life when most boatmen have long since shipped their oars.

"He embraces the idea that age is a matter of mind. If you don't mind, it doesn't matter," said his friend Greg Cortopassi, a corporate trainer and occasional boatman himself. "Charly is 60 going on 40."

Yet it's not just the visceral thrill of running rapids and pushing limits that prompts Heavenrich to head for the canyon every spring. Far more than most guides, he's drawn by the emotional sustenance that comes from helping people get the most out of their journeys through the 225-mile corridor.

"As hard as it is for most people to appreciate, every trip is unique, and from my perspective, they just keep getting better," he said. "That's because while the basic white-water experience is the same, each trip offers a new set of people."

Above And Beyond
It's normal for river guides to have good people skills; they're basically working in an arm of the hospitality business. But Heavenrich, who mixes youthful exuberance with low-keyed sensitivity, is known by his peers as a man who's especially adept at helping folks "go places they haven't been before, both physically and spiritually," as he likes to put it.

"The canyon is a spiritual place, that's why we love it," said Cameron Staveley, operations manager for Canyon Explorations/Expeditions, which has employed Heavenrich as a seasonal guide since the mid-1980s. "But I'd say Charly openly focuses more on the spiritual aspect than others. He uses it as a metaphor for life and all its hardships and rewards."

Just as a geologist might help visitors to the canyon better understand the nature of the rocks they behold, Heavenrich helps them get down to psychic bedrock, serving as counselor or coach as the situation demands.

"I try to provide support, not advice. I don't want to tell people what to do with their life, but I can help them look at their own personal experience and see things in a new light," he said. "In the canyon, people come into a deeper relationship with themselves, with the natural rhythms of the Earth, with others and with the spirit. They tap into deep reservoirs of courage and ability they often don't know they have, and realize they can do things they never imagined. It becomes an anchoring point for their whole life, and this is particularly true of middle-aged women, who may not have had much physical experience in sports."

At 5-foot-6, the gray-haired boatman stands half as tall as the 11-foot oars he commands. But he looms large in the eyes of his charges, whether he's scrambling up a side canyon in one of his trademark Hawaiian shirts, playing his Native American flute around an evening campfire, or tending to someone's spiritual needs at the back of a boat.

When he started guiding trips professionally, he recalled, most people who floated the canyon were wilderness-savvy, Sierra Club types who knew what lay in store for them. "But in the mid-'80s things began to change. We started seeing people who have never slept under the stars, never seen the Milky Way, never seen a shooting star or a satellite. Not only are they inexperienced in camping, but in some cases they may not even be able to swim," he said.

"It's really fun to see their tension dissolve on the first day. You can see it in their body language and the softening in their faces. People drop their pretenses, because they're not in charge anymore, and in fact they can't do much except sit by and watch. The canyon is a place where all of a sudden you're off the treadmill, and there's a lot of time to think about things. For some, there's very little change. Others decide that pursuing the traditional American dream is not what they want to do anymore."

Midwest jack-of-all-trades
Heavenrich, who calls himself a "recovering MBA," had lots of experience on the treadmill before the pull of the river became too powerful to resist. In his 30s and 40s, he held a series of "responsible" positions, mostly in and around his longtime home in Michigan. He was a pension adviser, insurance agent, financial consultant and owner of four businesses in fields ranging from inspirational speaking to construction.

By the time he moved to Colorado in 1992, he was a celebrity of sorts in Detroit, where for six years he hosted an exercise program broadcast live three times a day on the local ABC affiliate. "He was on the cutting edge of what now is known as aerobics," said his friend Cortopassi.

A lifelong bachelor, Heavenrich was introduced to river-running by a friend who took him and his younger brother Sandy on a trip through Utah's Cataract Canyon in the mid-1970s. Charly took to it immediately, and after completing a few voyages as an unpaid baggage handler, he made his first trip as a commercial boatman in 1978, when he was 36, an age at which many such professionals are considering retirement.

As Staveley put it, "Being a guide is a lot of work. It's a tremendous physical effort, loading, unloading, rigging, de-rigging, and the stuff is not light. (Even a five-gallon water jug weighs 50 pounds.) It's hard on your back, your shoulders, your elbows and wrists. And the lifestyle - it's a seasonal thing - isn't for everybody."

In the canyon, where temperatures in midsummer can reach 120 degrees, Heavenrich takes care of his aging body by watching what he eats (he neither smokes nor drinks, not even coffee) and using his knowledge of biometrics to minimize the physical stresses he must endure, both on the river and off.

He refuses to wear a back brace while rowing or rigging, contending that it would actually weaken his muscles. But to ease the strain of all the pushing and pulling (and to keep from aggravating an old wrist injury stemming from his baseball-playing days at the University of Michigan), he duct-tapes a hunk of lead to the handle of each oar as a counterweight.

A stickler about nutrition, he also tries not to eat anything with chemical additives, even balking at the standard practice of putting a drop or two of iodine into each gallon of river water that goes through the portable filter each party must carry.

As Cortopassi noted, "He views his commitment to health as directly related to how long he can stay in the canyon."

Promotes the canyon
Off the river, Heavenrich displays the same sense of purpose and passion. He supports himself through the winter as an author, photographer and lecturer, presenting slide shows in which he shares his love for the canyon and testifies personally to its power to transform people's lives. He also has written a book on the same theme, titled "Dancing on the Edge," now in its second printing.

In Boulder, he lives frugally, renting space in a friend's home in the foothills "six minutes west of Broadway," a location he chose in part so he can get out for a hike or trail run every day. To get to and from the state he calls "Arid Zona," he drives an old Honda Accord sedan that sports 183,000 miles on its odometer and a coat-hanger for a radio antenna.

"I believe one of the reasons he's so propelled to facilitate change within people is because that's what happened to him," said Cortopassi, who has been on four river trips with Heavenrich. "His excitement comes from his ability to relive his own life. It's not just theoretical. He lives this passion, and he's there for others. Charly really comes from the idea of service as a way of life."

Another friend, Cindy Ford, who grew up in the same town as Heavenrich (Birmingham, Mich.) but didn't meet him until they'd both moved to Colorado, described him as "a seeker and an explorer" with an extraordinary ability to wrest joy and meaning from commonplace sights and situations. "A lot of us have magical experiences, but we're busy with our lives and we move right through them. Charly takes them in and has an awareness of them that's very special," she said. "He's just got this wonderful attitude about aging. His expectation is that he's heading for his 75th trip on his 75th birthday, or his 85th on his 85th, and there's nothing to indicate it won't happen."

Yet another friend, Drew Stewart, an interior decorator who threw a surprise 60th birthday party for Heavenrich in April, extolled his willingness to confront life head-on and see even negative experiences as opportunities for personal growth.

"He's very responsible and very nonjudgmental, and very much a relationships man," she said. "Oh my gosh, he has hundreds of friends. People he's gotten to know on river trips stay in touch with him and let him know what's going on in their lives; a lot of people quit their jobs because of his influence and what they learn on the river. He could go anywhere in the world and have a place to stay, because of all the connections and friends he's made."

Denver Post - Monday, August 19, 2002 - These are excerpts from Charly Heavenrich's journal of his 60th river trip, which featured performances by a string quartet that traveled with the group:

"I'm at the warehouse the day before the trip begins. We're loading out, taking all our equipment, gear, food and crew to Lees Ferry to prepare for the passengers tomorrow. Steve Bryant, the head of the string quartet, just arrived.
... I tell Steve this is my 60th trip, and I just turned 60, and I intend to celebrate the repetitive synchronicity during the trip. He's delighted. I don't know how I will celebrate - quietly to myself, out loud to others, in combination with others. But I will know when I do.

"We spend a night sleeping on our rafts at Lees Ferry. The rotating canopy of stars overhead move to the rhythm of the music played out downstream to the beat of a small rapid carried upstream on a soft, Solstice breeze. I lay on my raft and think back over 24 years, feeling the privilege of being a river guide in this incredible natural wonder. My celebration has begun.

"The passengers arrive with weary eyes and a hint of relief at finally getting here. They are all shapes and sizes, all ages, from 12 to 82. Each trip is different, influenced by the personalities of the crew, the passengers, the river, and the weather. You would think a string-quartet trip would bring out classical music lovers. A few, maybe. The rest? Well, it just fits their vacation calendar.

"Our first concert. The name of the hall, Whale's Armpit, is totally misleading. Whale was a good-ole-boy boatman now passed on, and his armpit is a scoured out mini-cavern at river level that affords shade and the quiet the quartet desires to share their love of Mozart, Shickele, Schnitke, Glass and other composers. We are carried on the wings of stringed instruments to a new place as we revel in the unparalleled beauty of this natural concert hall. How better to celebrate?

"I have a conversation with one of my passengers. She trusts me enough to share some of her challenges. I ask a question. Tears follow, and healing begins. This is my work. This is the place I do it best. We all have a deeper reservoir of courage and ability than we realize. This place helps us access that. I provide a bit of support and a few timely placed questions. This is why I keep coming back here. This is why I am inspired to stay healthy and active so I can.

"Camp at mile 75.
... Unbeknownst to all of us, the canyon is facilitating another healing. He's a Vietnam vet who has carried guilt in his aging body for over 30 years. He was in the Navy, never saw combat, but watched many Marines leave and some not return. After one mission 175 men failed to come back. He doesn't feel he gave them the respect they deserved, as they blindly and patriotically followed politically tainted orders. Now he is in the Grand Canyon waiting, for what he knows not. All of a sudden they're all there in front of him. All 175 Marines who are now, finally, returning. He doesn't understand, but he knows they are forgiving him and now he can forgive himself. He is in tears. But he is grateful....

"Then there's the kid. He's 12 years old. Came with his father, step-mother and cousin. He's a nice enough kid, but something is missing. I watch as he fails to respond to the acknowledgement of members of the crew. No response. None. What's that about? Turns out he doesn't know how to take a compliment because he apparently grew up devoid of them. He fails to pass the self-rescue test required to paddle the inflatable kayak. He's disappointed, but his dad points out the rules: no pass, no paddle. One of the guides takes him aside in the Little Colorado and works with him until he succeeds.

... Surprise! He's a superstar. Like he was born in a ducky, he paddles effortlessly, stays in the kayak. We're all amazed. And his body relaxes a bit. Later, I and other guides help him learn to row our big boats.

"It's the last night. We're doing a No Talent Talent Show. The kid is doing magic tricks taught him by a caring passenger who is a teacher. He's at ease. He's smiling, having a blast. So are we. Later I give a star talk. The kid shows up. But he can't see without his glasses, which were left home lest they get lost. Another passenger offers her glasses. "Wow!!!" he exclaims, "look at all the stars!' Now, that's a celebration."