Tuesday, Aug. 30, 2016
"Today is about managing our heat," Dillon said as we stood in a circle, packs cinched tight around tummies full of oatmeal, fresh fruit, and dark chocolate leftover from dinner last night. It was 7:15 am and the six of us had been up since 5:30 stowing our gear, stretching, enjoying breakfast without rushing. Before rolling out of camp, I looked over my shoulder to the cliffs across the creek to bid farewell to the gentleman who'd been watching over us since the evening before, but who none of us noticed until the light of the early morning.
It's another 7-mile day, but our guide assured us the descent to the base of the canyon wouldn't be as steep as Day One. We'd parallel Bright Angel Creek and have several places in which to dangle our feet or dunk our heads in the chilled water. However, temperatures increase the deeper we go and the trail is more frequently in direct sunlight. Also, he warned, there aren't any toilets until we get to Phantom Ranch, the famed lodge built in the 1930s and accessible only by foot, raft, or mule. "But they are flushing toilets!" Dillon exclaimed.
That's seven miles and a good nine hours away, I thought. Oh boy, I'll get to pee in the bushes today! What's a backpacking trip without a little roughin' it?
About an hour into hiking we stopped just before a rickety footbridge and Dillon spoke with reverence about the waterfall tucked behind the limestone walls across the bridge. This is the most sacred place in all the land for the tribe we now call the Zunis. It is the birthplace of humans. When I asked if any members of the tribe, who now largely live in New Mexico, come back to this site, Dillon said once a year a group treks through the canyon and will put up a small sign asking that hikers give them a few hours alone at their site. When we had ducked under low-hanging branches and scrambled up some rocks, Ribbon Falls came into sight and stopped us in our tracks.
What I had originally thought would be a short stop off to cool down turned into a couple of hours of gazing and playing. When Dillon removed a small container of fuel and a pot from his pack, then asked if anyone wanted tea, it seemed the most natural thing in the world to take the time to sip warm brew with the spirit of the Zunis.
The hiking felt different after our time at the falls. Here's what I wrote in my journal while resting mid-day in the shade:
The heat began in earnest as we entered The Box, a long, narrow canyon along the creek. Powerful. Humbling. Peaceful. These are the things I feel deeply today.
Lunch about 12:30. Tabouleh salad with salmon to add if we'd like. In the shade at a deep curve in the wall face with a large, natural table where Dillon spread our red checkered cloth and set to prepping.
"Sedimentary rock stacked like cairns," Cameron observed while stretched out on his back gazing skyward. Squared, flattened at the face, and on top. Stacked, indeed.
Our camp tonight is next door to Phantom Ranch and bordering the Colorado River. We trudged into the ranch area with 5 minutes to spare before the cantina closed in order to serve dinner to the lodge's guests. Just enough time for Emily, Daniel, Molly and I to buy chilled lemonade and iced tea! Dillon kept going to camp to scope out a site for us and Cameron had powered ahead about 30 minutes earlier and was off exploring. We four let our packs drop to the ground and sat on a wooden bench for a good half hour talking about immigration issues.
Later, when the cantina reopened for the evening, we returned with Cameron to write and send postcards (that would be carried out by pack mules), drink some beer, and refill our lemonade cups for $1. More awesome conversation about differences between the US and UK ensued, including about housing prices. I felt a cross between amazement that Molly and I got matched with such compatible, intelligent, fun trekking mates, and a profound sense that this is exactly where I am supposed to be. As if it wasn't random or luck in the least, but carefully planned by someone who's been watching out for me for a very long time and made sure I made it to this moment.
We are tucked in our tents for the night, but only after a momentary panic. Daniel and Emily's tent is closest to the poles where our packs are hung to keep them away from critters, and thus were the first to notice the rustling in Molly's pack. Emily sat up and nearly shouted, "Oh my gosh, there's something in the rucksacks!"
Daniel flashed his headlamp at the pole and two ringtails - wily critters that are a cross between a raccoon and possum - had used a tree branch to reach the pack. "Did you forget to take out your snacks!?" I asked.
Molly's response: "Cameron! Are you there!?" Clearly our friend from Alaska had proven to us he was a man to be trusted to rescue us from creatures.
"What's a rucksack?" Cameron responded.
Oh man, this just keeps getting better!
"Today is about managing our heat," Dillon said as we stood in a circle, packs cinched tight around tummies full of oatmeal, fresh fruit, and dark chocolate leftover from dinner last night. It was 7:15 am and the six of us had been up since 5:30 stowing our gear, stretching, enjoying breakfast without rushing. Before rolling out of camp, I looked over my shoulder to the cliffs across the creek to bid farewell to the gentleman who'd been watching over us since the evening before, but who none of us noticed until the light of the early morning.It's another 7-mile day, but our guide assured us the descent to the base of the canyon wouldn't be as steep as Day One. We'd parallel Bright Angel Creek and have several places in which to dangle our feet or dunk our heads in the chilled water. However, temperatures increase the deeper we go and the trail is more frequently in direct sunlight. Also, he warned, there aren't any toilets until we get to Phantom Ranch, the famed lodge built in the 1930s and accessible only by foot, raft, or mule. "But they are flushing toilets!" Dillon exclaimed.
That's seven miles and a good nine hours away, I thought. Oh boy, I'll get to pee in the bushes today! What's a backpacking trip without a little roughin' it?
About an hour into hiking we stopped just before a rickety footbridge and Dillon spoke with reverence about the waterfall tucked behind the limestone walls across the bridge. This is the most sacred place in all the land for the tribe we now call the Zunis. It is the birthplace of humans. When I asked if any members of the tribe, who now largely live in New Mexico, come back to this site, Dillon said once a year a group treks through the canyon and will put up a small sign asking that hikers give them a few hours alone at their site. When we had ducked under low-hanging branches and scrambled up some rocks, Ribbon Falls came into sight and stopped us in our tracks.
What I had originally thought would be a short stop off to cool down turned into a couple of hours of gazing and playing. When Dillon removed a small container of fuel and a pot from his pack, then asked if anyone wanted tea, it seemed the most natural thing in the world to take the time to sip warm brew with the spirit of the Zunis.The hiking felt different after our time at the falls. Here's what I wrote in my journal while resting mid-day in the shade:
The heat began in earnest as we entered The Box, a long, narrow canyon along the creek. Powerful. Humbling. Peaceful. These are the things I feel deeply today.
Lunch about 12:30. Tabouleh salad with salmon to add if we'd like. In the shade at a deep curve in the wall face with a large, natural table where Dillon spread our red checkered cloth and set to prepping.
"Sedimentary rock stacked like cairns," Cameron observed while stretched out on his back gazing skyward. Squared, flattened at the face, and on top. Stacked, indeed.
Our camp tonight is next door to Phantom Ranch and bordering the Colorado River. We trudged into the ranch area with 5 minutes to spare before the cantina closed in order to serve dinner to the lodge's guests. Just enough time for Emily, Daniel, Molly and I to buy chilled lemonade and iced tea! Dillon kept going to camp to scope out a site for us and Cameron had powered ahead about 30 minutes earlier and was off exploring. We four let our packs drop to the ground and sat on a wooden bench for a good half hour talking about immigration issues.
Later, when the cantina reopened for the evening, we returned with Cameron to write and send postcards (that would be carried out by pack mules), drink some beer, and refill our lemonade cups for $1. More awesome conversation about differences between the US and UK ensued, including about housing prices. I felt a cross between amazement that Molly and I got matched with such compatible, intelligent, fun trekking mates, and a profound sense that this is exactly where I am supposed to be. As if it wasn't random or luck in the least, but carefully planned by someone who's been watching out for me for a very long time and made sure I made it to this moment.
We are tucked in our tents for the night, but only after a momentary panic. Daniel and Emily's tent is closest to the poles where our packs are hung to keep them away from critters, and thus were the first to notice the rustling in Molly's pack. Emily sat up and nearly shouted, "Oh my gosh, there's something in the rucksacks!"Daniel flashed his headlamp at the pole and two ringtails - wily critters that are a cross between a raccoon and possum - had used a tree branch to reach the pack. "Did you forget to take out your snacks!?" I asked.
Molly's response: "Cameron! Are you there!?" Clearly our friend from Alaska had proven to us he was a man to be trusted to rescue us from creatures.
"What's a rucksack?" Cameron responded.
Oh man, this just keeps getting better!
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