If it had been a high water year, all you could see would be white foam and the flashing spray of thundering rapids. If it had been a high water year, the rock I had stood on to take this picture would have been under the strength and fury of the river’s torrent. If it had been a high water year, the rocks I’d hopped between to get out to the middle would have been washed further downstream. If it had been a high water year, the road that hugs the precious space between the towering canyon walls and the cutting edge of the river would be visible.
But, the road was out of sight, the rocks remained and there were actually some small pools of relative calm among the larger storm of water, because it was a low water year.