It’s April. If you’re dreaming of white water rapids, vermillion cliffs, and death taunting summer fun, I’ve got a book for you: Clyde Eddy’s A Mad, Crazy River.
Mr. Eddy was no seasoned river man. He was a New York office worker. But he’d spent his honeymoon at the Grand Canyon, and there he found his river. It was a river with a reputation. Scores of boaters had died trying to navigate it. John Wesley Powell beat it in 1869.
