Relentless desert sun and stinging mega-raindrops. Stalwart rock walls and delicate cryptobiotic soil. The lilt of laughter punctuating endless desert silence. Lazy flatwater and heart-pumping rapids. Sand in everything.

Last week I spent four days on the Colorado River as it winds its way through Canyonlands National Park. I’ve traveled this route before, but it was not at all the same trip. Sure, the cliffs, mesas and hoodoos have been here all along. Both times the river was rust-colored with silt. Our talented and spirited Western River Expeditions girl guides followed a familiar framework for scheduling, meals and safety. But the canyon’s own surprises; the stubborn indolence of technology; and the small, diverse group of powerful women who populated this particular adventure made the trip an unpredictable, soul-satisfying experience.

It was a trip of firsts. First among these was the weather, which refused to cooperate with our trip leader Kristina’s insistence that in the unlikely event of overnight rain, it would be a quick 20-minute blow-over. She assured us we could likely wait out a squall by wrapping up burrito-style in our tarps. No tent necessary. Our first night’s rain careened from a gentle patter to a percussive deluge—and it lasted all night long. Even our guides reluctantly erected a tent after a few hours. For one of them this was a first in her three-year history with the company. For the other two, it was only their second tent stay on the river.

Further, it rained each day of the trip. In most cases, a rain-filled vacation is considered ruinous. But river trips are all about water. If you prefer staying dry, it’s best you skip the trip. (This also goes for folks who don’t like to get dirty.) The river cools on hot days and provides silty-water baths that nonetheless make you feel pretty darn fresh after a day of slathering on sticky sunscreen mixed with sand and sweat. And when you’re going through Class III to Class V rapids, it’s impossible to stay dry. While the rain—and the slippery, muddy slopes that go with it—created some inconvenience (have you ever tried to put up a tent with quarter-teaspoon-sized raindrops pelting you?), it also obliterated the predicted 105- to 107-degree temperatures. The rain also produced another first:  a dramatic temporary waterfall caused by a flash flood in a side canyon. Our guides, who had camped dozens of times in this place, had never seen a waterfall here. Ahhhh, rain.

Another first:  multiple technology failures. Even the most stalwart, anti-motor river companies use a motor to travel the last 25 miles of the Cataract trip. These last miles are on Lake Powell, where there is no current, and there’s often a headwind that makes rowing futile. Both our motors struck out on the last day. After changing out motors and fuel lines, our guides determined that while our spare motor was likely okay, neither of our two fuel lines was functioning. Motoring became a two-woman job. One guided the raft (a flotilla of all three of our 18-foot rafts lashed together) while the other fed fuel into the motor manually. It was not long before we ran out of gas, another first. With no satellite-phone service, we snailed along to the rhythm of the oars until a party of guys enjoying the canyon with Adrift Adventures motored by and lent us a functioning fuel line and a fresh can of gas. We emerged from the canyon an hour-and-a-half after our predicted time. In our normal, schedule-bound lives, this would be unacceptable. But after four days on river time, we all enjoyed the chance to continue in each other’s company and in the presence of the spectacular Glen Canyon cliffs. Temperamental technology brought another unexpected gift:  Because we returned late to the takeout, I elected not to drive back to Salt Lake City that night. Instead, I met my river cohorts for a satisfying Mexican dinner in Moab.

For me there was yet another first:  All the guests and guides practiced yoga. I was hired by Western River Expeditions back in 2002 to teach yoga on their women’s trips. I’m happy to say I’ve been able to do this on all but three of their trips since then—four in Desolation Canyon and two in Cataract Canyon. Small but mighty, the 2010 women’s group was the most cohesive I’ve experienced. Everyone enjoyed getting to know everyone else. The spirit of cooperation and friendship was overwhelming, as women ranging in age from early-20s to late 50s, guides and passengers, came together as a community to enjoy conversation and laughter. And we practiced yoga as a community as well.

The yoga experience-level varied. Some had practiced for many years, and at least one woman, a guide, was practicing for the first time. With no props but Western River-supplied mats and tarps, and the soft earth and expansive sky, we relaxed muscles taut from fire lines and sleeping on cots. We breathed the rain-washed air. We settled into the welcoming sand.

But the formal yoga sessions were not the only yoga of the trip. The poses themselves were only a small part. I observed all the passengers and guides, each in her own way, express equanimity and humor in the face of our often uncomfortable circumstances. Patanjali’s describe asana practice in these three verses:  Sutras 2.46-48. They say—and I’m paraphrasing:  When we have come to stability and comfort in our asana, we can let go of effort. When we let go of effort, our minds can relax into the Infinite. (This is the yogic definition of mastery of asana, not performing “perfect” or “advanced” poses.) When this happens, we are no longer upset by the play of opposites in our lives. An extraordinary and inspiring claim for a body-oriented practice.

A common river cliche espouses the philosophy of “going with the flow.” In a way, going with the flow, no matter what obstacles present themselves, is the place we come to in practice. While we can’t control things like rain, technology failures, mosquitoes and dangerous rocks on the river; or disappointments, tragedies or triumphs in our lives, we can moderate our response to them. This is what yoga asana is designed to do. It helps us tread the middle way among the many ups and downs we will inevitably experience in our lives. This is its gift in pursuit of yoga’s highest intention:  the settling of the mind into silence.

I am grateful to the yogic women of the 2010 Cataract Canyon—yoga-experienced and not—for their steadiness, comfort and levity throughout the river trip of firsts. And I’m grateful for the gift of these firsts, that they remind me of the unknown jewels that reveal themselves whenever we choose to venture into uncomfortable territory.

Charlotte Bell has practiced yoga since 1982 and meditation since 1986. She writes a monthly column for Catalyst Magazine and is the author of the book Mindful Yoga, Mindful Life published by Rodmell Press. A lifelong musician, she plays oboe and English horn in the Salt Lake Symphony, Red Rock Rondo and blue haiku. She lives in Salt Lake City, Utah, where she enjoys the mountains and desert wilderness.

Feeling dog tired? Hankering for a little shuteye in the shade? You’re likely just feeling the sultry, energy-sapping swelter of the dog days of summer.

Ancient Greeks and Romans first identified the dog days. According to the Old Farmer’s Almanac, they run from July 3^rd to August 11^th, although other sources say they begin as early as June 23^rd and end in September. During the dog days, Sirius the Dog Star—named for its distinction as the brightest star in the constellation, Canis Major—rose and set with the sun.

The midsummer prominence of Sirius—also the brightest star in the sky—was thought to cause the season’s withering heat. In his Clavis Calendarium, John Henry Brady called it a time “when the seas boiled, wine turned sour, dogs grew mad, and all creatures became languid, causing to man burning fevers, hysterics, and phrensies.” Whether you’re bordering on hysterics or just feeling fried, a little yogic hair of the dog may restore your vitality.

Adho Mukha Svanasana, commonly known as Downward Facing Dog Pose or simply Dog Pose, is arguably the most ubiquitous of poses. Yoga teacher Donna Farhi calls it the “‘garlic’ of yoga poses—a panacea for whatever ails you.” Dog Pose is simultaneously an inversion, an arm balance, a forward bend and a restorative pose. It opens your shoulders, strengthens your arms, lengthens your spine, stretches your legs, inverts your internal organs and nourishes your brain. It invigorates and calms. For dogs and cats, Dog Pose is the equivalent of a morning cuppa, a remedy that clears sleep-induced physical and mental cobwebs.

Dog Pose is most beneficial when we align our bodies so that the lines of force from the hands to the sit bones, and from the heels to the sit bones are continuous and unbroken. In either Dog or Wall Dog (see photos), our own bodies give reliable alignment feedback. When you are aligned, pressing your hands into the floor or wall will cause your sit bones to rise upward (or backward). The same will happen when you press your feet into the floor.

Begin on hands and knees. Root the palms of your hands evenly into the floor, and spread and stretch your fingers. As a short warm-up, bow your spine upward, drawing your navel toward your spine, rounding your back, and letting your head hang (Cat Pose). Then draw your spine into your back, letting your back sway, and look straight ahead (Cow Pose). Repeat this alternation several times, coordinating your movements with your breathing. Return to neutral.

On an exhalation, round your spine upward into Cat Pose. As your navel and abdominal organs draw into your back, let that movement propel your body upward as you straighten your arms and reach your pelvis up toward the sky. With your knees generously bent, now straighten your spine, lengthening out through your arms as you root your hands and fingers so that your sit bones become the apex of your pose. Widen your shoulder blades outward and lengthen the back of your neck. Gradually begin to straighten your legs, maintaining the continuous line of extension you’ve formed in your upper body.

Note that in the photo, my heels are on a wedge rather than on the ground. My overdeveloped calves won’t allow my heels to reach the ground without compromising my spinal integrity. I compromise by letting my heels lift—with or without a wedge.

Take care not to overextend your spine and collapse your rib cage toward the floor. Instead, draw your abdominal organs back into your back, giving frontal support to your spine, so that the line from your hands to your pelvis is continuous and your front, back and internal bodies are stretching equally. Avoid collapsing into your shoulders, bringing your head close to or onto the floor. When you collapse, your upper body’s continuity breaks at the shoulders, inhibiting the flow of force from your hands to your hips. This weakens your arms and causes your weight to fall into your hands and wrists. Lifting your shoulders will restore integrity to your pose.

Your first Dog Pose of the day is a great opportunity to play. Pump your legs, alternately bending one and stretching the other. Twist and turn. When you do settle into your pose, let all your joints be malleable and mobile, and breathe deeply, letting your body dance around the wavelike motion of your breath. Stay five to ten breaths before returning to all fours.

Ubiquitous as it is, Dog Pose is not for everyone. If you have carpal tunnel syndrome, glaucoma, detached retina, uncontrolled high blood pressure or disc problems, practice Wall Dog instead. Wall Dog feels great for anyone, flexible or inflexible. I practice it with my hands on the countertop while I boil my morning tea water. It’s a great pick-me-up in the middle of a long day at the computer or at rest areas on road trips.

When I watch my cats do Dog Pose, their pleasure is palpable. Their whole bodies vibrate with life. When we humans do it, it often looks and feels as if we are forcing and struggling. Relax. There is no “final” position to attain. Let your pose move and vibrate. Let your revitalizing breath flow through.

Charlotte Bell has taught yoga and meditation along the Wasatch Front and beyond since 1986. She plays oboe and English horn in the Salt Lake Symphony, Red Rock Rondo and blue haiku. She is the author of the book, Mindful Yoga, Mindful Life. See more at www.charlottebellyoga.com.