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.

In March, blooming crocuses foretell the celebration. By early April, daffodils have their day. Then come the yellow tulips, quickly followed by a succession of reds, oranges, whites, pinks and purples. All the while, the tightly wound tree buds are unfurling into full-blown leaves. By mid-month windows, too, begin to open so that the April’s breezes, so full of life, can reinvigorate the winter-weary indoor air.

April’s name comes from the Latin word “aperire,” meaning “to open.” Named for nature’s annual “opening” of blooms and buds, April is the perfect time to let our own bodies blossom as well, not only through the irresistible urge to be outdoors, but also in our yoga practice. Hasta Panghustasana (Extended Hand to Big Toe Pose) is the perfect pose to express April’s joyous opening.

Hasta Padanghustasana is one of a category of poses my students have named “flying poses.” Flying poses are poses that express expansion. In flying poses, the root of the pose (whatever’s on the ground) extends deep into the ground, while the rest of the body expands outward and upward, away from the earth. The opening comes from stability.

To practice Hasta Padanghustasana, begin standing on a thin yoga mat or directly on the floor. (A mat isn’t necessary for this pose.) Place your feet hips-width apart. Close your eyes and become aware of your feet. Feel how the feet constantly make micro-adjustments in order to keep you upright. This is the nature of balance—constant, dynamic adaptation. So balance is not about reaching some “perfect” position and holding onto it; it’s about trusting your body’s own proprioceptive awareness to make the adjustments needed to keep you dynamically upright.

This is true not only in yogic balance poses, but in the rest of life as well. Balance, then, is about being mindful—and open—to the constant changes inherent in our bodies and in our lives, and responding to these changes with creative ease.

Let your weight rest in your feet. Then shift your body to the right, letting the weight settle into your right foot. Bend your left knee and pick your foot off the floor. Find equilibrium here. When you feel balanced, bend your left knee further until you can take hold of your left foot with your left hand. You may either hold the outside of the foot or curl your index and middle fingers around the inside of your big toe. Place your right hand on your hip and again, find stability, feeling how your right foot is constantly shifting to keep your body in balance. (If balance eludes you, you may do this pose standing with your back to a wall and let your buttocks rest against the wall for additional stability.)

Now, simultaneously, begin to unfurl the right arm and left leg out to their respective sides so that they open gradually like a blossoming flower, until they reach full extension. Extend the arm and leg with equal intention, so that they balance each other. Continue to feed your body’s weight into your standing leg.

If your hamstrings and inner thigh muscles are tight enough that holding your left foot and straightening your leg is currently impossible, place a strap or belt around your left foot and hold the belt with your left hand. As you unfurl your right arm and left leg, let your hand slide on the strap so that you can fully straighten your leg, while holding your foot with the strap.

In all balance poses, our minds tend to find the body parts that are moving to be most compelling. (In the above case, these would be the right arm and left leg.) The stable, standing leg is arguably more important, so as you extend the right arm and left leg, keep at least half your awareness in the standing leg. This will help you maintain stability.

When you feel stable in the pose, continue to ground your standing leg and begin to explore expansion through all the limbs, including both arms and legs, the head and the tailbone. Continue expanding as you breathe. Take five to ten slow, deep breaths, directing the breath as if you can extend it out into all your limbs, including your head and tailbone. Then release your hold on the left leg, letting your left foot return to the floor. Return to standing equally on both feet and let your arms rest at your sides. Close your eyes and feel what happened in the pose. How has your body/mind changed? Then repeat the pose on the other side.

Remember that expansion comes from stability. Every blossoming tree and flower expands from its roots. So do our bodies. Hasta padanghustasana teaches us about the dynamic relationship between stability and openness. Explore this relationship in your yoga practice, and watch how it expands into the rest of your life.

March heralds the return of spring, the season of new beginnings. In the early Roman calendar, March was the first month of the year. And for a civilization with empire ambitions, the start of a new year seemed like an opportune time to start a military campaign. So the Romans named March for Mars, the god of war.

March’s boisterous beginning weeks earn the month its name. But by the end of the month, the warrior calms. March’s balance of bluster and peace make it the perfect metaphor for yoga asana, the physical practice described in the yoga sutras as being “steady and comfortable,“ or “firm and soft.” The foundation of the Eight Limbs of Yoga is ahimsa (non-violence), or as Alistair Shearer translates it, “dynamic peacefulness.” So in yoga the warrior is peaceful—dynamic, resolute and steady, but with a core of calm.

So too, is this month’s pose, Warrior I, a perfect balance of dynamic grounding and buoyant ease. In Warrior I (also known as Virabhadrasana I in Sanskrit), the lower body roots strongly into the ground, while the upper body rises up to the sky. This dynamic combination grounds and stabilizes as it generates an uprising energy that nourishes the spine and clears what I call mental “cobwebs.”

Begin by standing with your feet hip-width apart at one end of a nonskid mat with most of the mat extending back behind you. Feel how your feet connect with the floor. Do you feel even weight across the feet—from right to left, from inside to outside, from the balls of the feet to the heels? Assess your energy: What are you bringing to the pose? Do you feel heavy or light in the body? Do you feel an upward or downward flow of energy? Is your energy agitated or calm?

Step your right leg straight back about a leg length (three feet or so). Make sure your right foot is facing mostly forward, so that your toes are only slightly angled to the right. It’s okay if your right heel doesn’t reach the floor—let it lift, but keep the right knee straight and extend strongly back through the leg. Now let your kidneys soften back into the low back so that the bottom ribs move back and your low back expands. As your lumbar area releases back, extend your right heel down a bit more.

With your hands on your hips, press down into your hipbones, encouraging the legs to feed into the feet, and the feet to ground into the floor. Root strongly through the legs as you reach your arms up toward the sky, taking care not to jut your lower ribs forward as you raise your arms. Bend your left knee into a square, keeping the knee aligned over the lower leg so that it doesn’t roll either in or out. Keep bending your knee until it is directly over your heel.

Make your lower body—from your pelvis to your feet—very heavy and grounded, and from that grounding, let the upper body—from the waist up to the fingertips—rise up and reach for the sky. Take five to ten deep, relaxed breaths. Then press the feet into the floor to straighten the left knee. Step your right leg forward and return to standing with your feet hip-width apart. As you stand, note what has changed in your body as a result of practicing the pose. Then repeat the process on the other side.

With its combination or grounded strength and lightness, Warrior I is the perfect pose to help you ease into change—the blustery, unpredictable days of March, or the inevitable, constant change that marks all our lives. Practice Warrior I when you feel tired, sluggish or nervous. And don’t forget to breathe slowly and deeply in the pose, so that the warrior you become in the pose is a peaceful one.