Jabberwocky

Twas Brillig, By Jove!

I first heard the Lewis Carroll poem, Jabberwocky, on a beach below Lava Falls rapid at the bottom of the Grand Canyon. The context is important because, if you have not been on a Grand Canyon river trip with me, you wouldn’t know that my party attitude - looking back upstream at the most menacing millrace of whitewater I volunteer every so often to navigate, Lava Falls - ratchets up several notches.

At home, my alcohol of preference is a middling Cabernet Sauvignon and, occasionally, I run wild with a Sidecar - Paula’s Texas Orange, Cognac and the juice of Meyer’s lemons - all shaken vigorously with ice per my dear sister’s instructions. On the river, following a stunt that, in my mind, is the equivalent of Evel Knievel attempting to leap some chasm on his motorcycle, I will gladly consume whatever hard alcohol is offered.

There is ‘usual party animal’ James and then there is ‘Oh-my-god-I-can’t-believe-I-survived-Lava-Falls-again!’ party animal James. No matter what time of day we reach Lava Falls, typically, my plan is to be ‘useless’ a couple of hours after I exit the tail waves of the rapid, whether it’s right side up, or not.

The trip where I learned of this mesmerizing poem, Jabberwocky, was my very first Grand Canyon trip. My first encounter with Lava Falls was not a successful one. Not for me and my loyal crew or several other rafts, including our 24 foot modified Idaho sweep boat with 30 inch tubes, a fixed floor (or non-self-bailing floor) and a beefy, metal frame that ran from the bow to the stern. The oarsman for that set up was forced to bail water by using a bilge pump. The frame included diamond hatch steel floors and had no access to the water which accumulated below.

Needless to say, it was a beast.

(*For my readers who may not be familiar with what I am talking about, and may not be able to visualize the size, these days I’ll row a 16 foot raft with a self bailing floor and 22 inch tubes - and be ‘comfortable’ facing a rapid like Lava Falls. A raft of that description would be - at minimum - a thousand pounds more nimble.)

Typical Canyon trips, where no boat flips in Lava Falls, the after party takes place at Tequila Beach which is within earshot of the rapid. In 1982, we had to chase down the 24 foot inflatable whale of a raft and, consequently, wound up a few miles downstream from Lava at a camp we promptly named Recovery Beach. It was an enormous beach. The perfect place for two full groups - or about 32 people - to lick their wounds, consume a copious amount of alcohol, attend a considerable number of ‘safety talks’ and re-enact scenes from the movie Quest for Fire. (I loved that movie!)

Besides the party factor, the second group joined us because we required their assistance to flip upright our mammoth sweep boat.

So, what in the name of Sam Hill does any of this have to do with Jabberwocky you may be wondering?

Someone recited the poem by memory in the midst of our glorious, inebriated revelry and I was entranced. It sounded like another language while masquerading as baroque English.

“‘Twas brillig and the slithy toves did gyre and gimble in the wabe,

All mimsy were the borogoves, and the mome rath outgrabe.”

I listened intently. Do you know how hard it would have been to get anyone to listen under the circumstances? We were surrounded by music, sand and general aberrant commotion.

“Beware the jabberwock, my son, the jaws that bite, the claws that catch,

beware the JubJub bird and shun the frumious Bandersnatch.”

I may have had him repeat it when he finished. I couldn’t conceive of how he could remember it. I knew - immediately - I would dedicate this nonsensical poem to memory.

Even now, I am writing this from memory. Only checking references to make sure my spelling is correct. The reciter on that vast expanse of beach, amidst a phalanx of soused river guides, may as well have been a hypnotist. The Pied Piper of Recovery Beach.

I wanted that same ability.

“So, he took his vorpal sword in hand, long time the manxome foe he sought,

so rested he, by the Tumtum tree, and stood awhile in thought.

And, as in uffish thought he stood, the Jabberwock with eyes of flame

came whiffling through the tulgey wood, and burbled as it came.”

Lewis Carroll wrote this silliness as part of the sequel to Alice in Wonderland - Through the Looking-Glass. It’s a poem Alice reads reflected in a mirror as she’s traveling through a topsy-turvy world - after falling down the proverbial, oft spoken of lately, ‘rabbit hole’.

“One, two! One, two! And through and through, his vorpal blade went snicker-snack

He left it dead and with its head, he went galumphing back.

And, hast thou slain the Jabberwock? Come to my arms my beamish boy!

Oh, frabjous day! Callooh! Callay! He chortled in his joy.

‘Twas brillig and the slithy toves did gyre and gimble in the wabe,

All mimsy were the borogoves and the mome raths outgrabe.”

On that sandy, expansive beach in 1982, I was astounded, in a way you can only be astounded while under the influence, that I had never heard this poem before. And that someone could recite it amidst so much chaos.

Now, it’s a staple of Canyon trips and my go-to performance should the inevitable ‘talent show’ come around. Caveat emptor.

Buyer beware.