Author's Note: The mind of a writer is the most confounding thing I have ever encountered. Every day for three months this writer has heard the voices of her mates wondering when the next installment about our Rim to Rim trip was going to appear. In that time, election results in the U.S. have made life seem more uncertain than any other point in my 47 years, including the vibrant, ancient life of natural places like the Grand Canyon. I suppose a part of me has held this long onto our story because I'm afraid that if I let it go out into the world, I will lose the deep certainty that those four days were as near perfect as anything I've ever felt.
See what I mean by confounding? Most writers tell stories precisely because sharing them sets them in place and keeps them alive, not makes them disappear. And so, for Emily, Daniel, Cameron, Molly, and Dillon I will kick fear over the edge of the canyon and say, Let's chip! (That's British for, Let's go!)
Wednesday, Aug. 31, 2016
"Wild posh," Emily declared about the way I pronounce pecan (pa-cahn). Another pre-dawn rising found us gathered around the picnic table eating banana nut pancakes made fresh by Dillon. It was our first day of climbing and our guide aimed to load us up with plenty of carbs. Four and half miles of uphill trekking, it turns out, takes just about as long as 7 miles downhill, which is to say, hours. Slow, sweaty hours.
"Before we get immersed in the uphill, I want you to know I'm really glad we did this," Molly said quietly. Cameron and Dillon were stoked for another day of adventure, the other four of us harbored some trepidation about how our bodies would hold out with 35 pounds slung on our backs and a total of 4,500 feet to gain in two days.
A narrow metal suspension bridge with a mesh walking platform spans the Colorado River and carried us out of our campground onto Bright Angel Trail. We would start to see more people today as this trail is the most heavily traveled route to the base of the canyon. Many hikers start at Grand Canyon Village on the South Rim in the morning, descend to the river, and turnaround to make it back up by nightfall. Our destination was only halfway up, plenty far when carrying our food, clothing, and shelter on our backs.
In his history-geology-anthropology lessons the past two days, Dillon frequently mentioned that the canyon is an ancient seabed. Any trouble getting my mind around that idea was erased when stepping off the far side of the bridge into soft, ultra fine sand. The trail wasn't so much a defined path as a walk along a shore, only we were headed up and away from, not along the side of the river.
The Devil's Corkscrew occupied the bulk of our hours today, zig zagging us up what seemed from the base like a sheer wall of canyon. I trailed Emily much of the day and used song to get us through the particularly brutal mid-section of the corkscrew. She was gracious as all get-out as I have a truly horrendous singing voice, but something about arduous physical endeavor inspires me to sing out loud. I don't even do that in the privacy of my own shower! The first tune that came to mind was, The Wheels on the Bus. Turns out our friends across the Atlantic also learn that song as kids and so Emily picked up with a verse when I needed to catch my breath. It didn't take long to start improvising words more fitting to hiking than riding in a motorized vehicle. The mules on the trail go poop, poop, poop. Poop, poop, poop.
We were indeed back in mule train territory and had to step aside to wait out a group of Japanese tourists on the backs of about 15 mules. They were headed downhill and these are not short animals employed by the National Park Service. Sitting that tall on a mule who seemed to prefer walking the edge of the trail nearest the drop off looked absolutely terrifying. The gratitude I suddenly felt for the sturdiness of my own legs and trekking poles was no small thing.
I have a confession to make - I've slept like crap. In fact, I haven't slept much at all. The fresh air, getting on a good sweat, the sweetness of being unplugged from work, the news, chores has done nothing to drop me into a grateful, sound sleep. And still, each day I have felt stronger than the last, mentally alert, and just damn alive. Climbing today and feeling that sturdiness in my legs, and back and shoulders, filled me with quiet joy.
A few hours into the morning we came to one of Dillon's beloved spots in the creek where cooling off is as easy as stepping from the trail into the water. It was also an excellent site for viewing the red granite marbled with black schist, the result of volcanic activity, that is the primary rock covering the lower portion of the canyon. While the others removed their boots and socks and climbed in, I squatted in a shallow section of the creek and searched for smooth, colorful rocks. When I found a gorgeous piece of granite I resisted all urges to pocket it, and instead placed it back in the water. In his gentle way, Dillon has been instilling in us the importance of leaving life in the canyon as near to the way we find it as possible.
Later, after a lunch stop to eat and cool off in another gentle waterfall, I sensed that Dillon was curious, perhaps slightly concerned, about why I didn't ever get in the water. It was freakin' hot, after all. I described to him how deeply good I've felt for three days to be warm all the way to the inside of my bones. I am frequently cold, I explained, especially in the summer when air-conditioned buildings feel to me like I am trapped in a meat locker.
Renewed by the curry couscous that was lunch, the final hours to camp seemed to pass quickly. We made it to our destination earlier than any other day, dropped our packs, and gathered around the picnic table. It wasn't really planned, we just did it. Dillon busted out the tea and coffee, we all pulled out our snack bags and there we sat for at least an hour. Despite being unplugged from our digital lives, talk soon turned to YouTube videos and I learned this afternoon about how "honey badger don't give a shit." Dillon and Cameron both described the video with such vivid and hilarious detail that, I admit, I'll be looking that up as soon as we return to the hotel in Flagstaff!
Eventually we set up our tents and Dillon asked if we were up for the side trip he'd been describing for two days. It'd be a 3-mile roundtrip to Plateau Point to see the sunset and eat dinner. We could leave our packs, he'd carry everything needed to make us green chile stew. Not a one of us hesitated.
When I play in the snow back home on a winter day, my muscles loosen and my mind feels giggly, I shiver with delight. That's how I felt this evening on our walk.
Once we arrived, Dillon went off to a section sheltered from the wind to cook, Cameron scrambled up and down the rocks layered like pancakes, Emily, Daniel, Molly, and I just chilled. The view defined the word stunning. Though the sun was setting in the west, the best view was to the east, where the shadows were the slowest to fall.
Other hikers had made the side trip, but most had drifted away by the time we sat down to eat. Daniel grabbed a corn chip to munch on and declared, "These are hot!"
Holy crap! Dillon just served us homemade chips on Plateau Point with a dozen corn tortillas he'd been carrying for nearly three days. And, we had our red checkered tablecloth to boot.
See what I mean by confounding? Most writers tell stories precisely because sharing them sets them in place and keeps them alive, not makes them disappear. And so, for Emily, Daniel, Cameron, Molly, and Dillon I will kick fear over the edge of the canyon and say, Let's chip! (That's British for, Let's go!)
Wednesday, Aug. 31, 2016
"Wild posh," Emily declared about the way I pronounce pecan (pa-cahn). Another pre-dawn rising found us gathered around the picnic table eating banana nut pancakes made fresh by Dillon. It was our first day of climbing and our guide aimed to load us up with plenty of carbs. Four and half miles of uphill trekking, it turns out, takes just about as long as 7 miles downhill, which is to say, hours. Slow, sweaty hours.
"Before we get immersed in the uphill, I want you to know I'm really glad we did this," Molly said quietly. Cameron and Dillon were stoked for another day of adventure, the other four of us harbored some trepidation about how our bodies would hold out with 35 pounds slung on our backs and a total of 4,500 feet to gain in two days.
A narrow metal suspension bridge with a mesh walking platform spans the Colorado River and carried us out of our campground onto Bright Angel Trail. We would start to see more people today as this trail is the most heavily traveled route to the base of the canyon. Many hikers start at Grand Canyon Village on the South Rim in the morning, descend to the river, and turnaround to make it back up by nightfall. Our destination was only halfway up, plenty far when carrying our food, clothing, and shelter on our backs.
In his history-geology-anthropology lessons the past two days, Dillon frequently mentioned that the canyon is an ancient seabed. Any trouble getting my mind around that idea was erased when stepping off the far side of the bridge into soft, ultra fine sand. The trail wasn't so much a defined path as a walk along a shore, only we were headed up and away from, not along the side of the river.
The Devil's Corkscrew occupied the bulk of our hours today, zig zagging us up what seemed from the base like a sheer wall of canyon. I trailed Emily much of the day and used song to get us through the particularly brutal mid-section of the corkscrew. She was gracious as all get-out as I have a truly horrendous singing voice, but something about arduous physical endeavor inspires me to sing out loud. I don't even do that in the privacy of my own shower! The first tune that came to mind was, The Wheels on the Bus. Turns out our friends across the Atlantic also learn that song as kids and so Emily picked up with a verse when I needed to catch my breath. It didn't take long to start improvising words more fitting to hiking than riding in a motorized vehicle. The mules on the trail go poop, poop, poop. Poop, poop, poop. We were indeed back in mule train territory and had to step aside to wait out a group of Japanese tourists on the backs of about 15 mules. They were headed downhill and these are not short animals employed by the National Park Service. Sitting that tall on a mule who seemed to prefer walking the edge of the trail nearest the drop off looked absolutely terrifying. The gratitude I suddenly felt for the sturdiness of my own legs and trekking poles was no small thing.
I have a confession to make - I've slept like crap. In fact, I haven't slept much at all. The fresh air, getting on a good sweat, the sweetness of being unplugged from work, the news, chores has done nothing to drop me into a grateful, sound sleep. And still, each day I have felt stronger than the last, mentally alert, and just damn alive. Climbing today and feeling that sturdiness in my legs, and back and shoulders, filled me with quiet joy.
A few hours into the morning we came to one of Dillon's beloved spots in the creek where cooling off is as easy as stepping from the trail into the water. It was also an excellent site for viewing the red granite marbled with black schist, the result of volcanic activity, that is the primary rock covering the lower portion of the canyon. While the others removed their boots and socks and climbed in, I squatted in a shallow section of the creek and searched for smooth, colorful rocks. When I found a gorgeous piece of granite I resisted all urges to pocket it, and instead placed it back in the water. In his gentle way, Dillon has been instilling in us the importance of leaving life in the canyon as near to the way we find it as possible.
Later, after a lunch stop to eat and cool off in another gentle waterfall, I sensed that Dillon was curious, perhaps slightly concerned, about why I didn't ever get in the water. It was freakin' hot, after all. I described to him how deeply good I've felt for three days to be warm all the way to the inside of my bones. I am frequently cold, I explained, especially in the summer when air-conditioned buildings feel to me like I am trapped in a meat locker.
Renewed by the curry couscous that was lunch, the final hours to camp seemed to pass quickly. We made it to our destination earlier than any other day, dropped our packs, and gathered around the picnic table. It wasn't really planned, we just did it. Dillon busted out the tea and coffee, we all pulled out our snack bags and there we sat for at least an hour. Despite being unplugged from our digital lives, talk soon turned to YouTube videos and I learned this afternoon about how "honey badger don't give a shit." Dillon and Cameron both described the video with such vivid and hilarious detail that, I admit, I'll be looking that up as soon as we return to the hotel in Flagstaff!
Eventually we set up our tents and Dillon asked if we were up for the side trip he'd been describing for two days. It'd be a 3-mile roundtrip to Plateau Point to see the sunset and eat dinner. We could leave our packs, he'd carry everything needed to make us green chile stew. Not a one of us hesitated.When I play in the snow back home on a winter day, my muscles loosen and my mind feels giggly, I shiver with delight. That's how I felt this evening on our walk.
Once we arrived, Dillon went off to a section sheltered from the wind to cook, Cameron scrambled up and down the rocks layered like pancakes, Emily, Daniel, Molly, and I just chilled. The view defined the word stunning. Though the sun was setting in the west, the best view was to the east, where the shadows were the slowest to fall.Other hikers had made the side trip, but most had drifted away by the time we sat down to eat. Daniel grabbed a corn chip to munch on and declared, "These are hot!"
Holy crap! Dillon just served us homemade chips on Plateau Point with a dozen corn tortillas he'd been carrying for nearly three days. And, we had our red checkered tablecloth to boot.
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