May 25 – 29, 2015
by Rob Leachman
The view was simply stunning, the last hues of the sun glistening through wispy clouds as it receded below the faraway horizon, a distant mesa in the western part of the canyon. That we were here was surreal, witnessing this magnificent sight that relatively few had ever seen.
It was our fourth and final night in the Grand Canyon, and the guides had invited our group to hike the three miles from our campground to Plateau Point, an outcropping nearly two thousand feet above the Colorado River but a location that provided some of the most majestic vistas in the park. Early that morning, we had crossed the river for the final time, and like on our descent into the chasm three days earlier, the mighty Colorado remained hidden from us as it snaked its way through the Grand Canyon. But as we sat on this rocky plateau, and especially when we dared to look over the edge of the rocks at the wide canyon below, we sensed the power and beauty of this iconic waterway. From this unique vantage point, it was as if we could visualize the rushing water as it carved out this enormous canyon over the countless eons it had been flowing. And perhaps like no other time during our four days traversing the canyon, we could sense the scope and beauty of this natural wonder.
We were admittedly nervous about the coming day when we would lug our backpacks over four-and-a-half miles as we climbed a very steep 3,000 feet to the end of our journey on the South Rim. But for now, as we watched the last rays of the sun as it disappeared behind the distant landscape, we were awed by the moment and the unforgettable images it presented us. This was one of the most amazing settings we had ever experienced.
My fascination with the Grand Canyon had long predated the first time I set foot in this national park. As a young father with a thirst for adventure that far exceeded his available time and resources, I devoured videos of huge rafts as they navigated through roaring and potentially dangerous rapids of the Colorado River. My one time rafting the Colorado occurred years earlier when my wife and I and our two pre-teen children floated down the calm headwaters of the river in a commercial raft, the small riffles providing just a taste of what the Colorado held in store hundreds of miles downstream.
I was enthralled by the lore of the Grand Canyon, the at times brutal climatic conditions, the changing scenery as one ascended or descended the canyon walls, the relatively primitive nature of conditions within the canyon, and the inherent challenges associated with getting to the Colorado River, and then getting back out.
I collected and read books about journeys across or through the Grand Canyon. Most notable included The Man Who Walked Through Time and Running Wild, books about individuals overcoming obstacles to walk or run the length of the canyon, and the ways the adventure changed each of the authors. Or The Emerald Mile, the story of the fastest trip down the Colorado in a small wooden dory, a trip completed during severe flooding conditions and one that presented grave danger to everyone in the boat. Or Down the Great Unknown, the classic story of John Wesley Powell, the one-armed Union army major who led a survey party down the river, the first US government-sponsored trip through the Grand Canyon.
Some adventurers dream of reaching the summit of Mount Everest, or trekking to the North Pole, or completing a hike of the Appalachian Trail, exciting fantasies they know they will probably never actually experience in real life. As a young man, that was largely my relationship with the Grand Canyon, an amazing locale I might never encounter in an up-close-and-personal manner.
That changed, sort of, in the early 1990s. In our positions as a speech pathologist and school administrator respectively, my wife and I viewed the first two to three weeks of July as our family vacation time. And we utilized it with gusto every year, traveling to South Dakota, Yellowstone and Grand Teton National Parks, California, Chicago, and multiple trips to Florida and Colorado. In an age before cell phones and the internet, it was our opportunity to truly get away with our children and detach from the pressures of our careers.
In 1992, we traveled to Utah and Arizona, where for the first time we witnessed the geological wonders of the southwest United States. We toured Arches National Park, hiking around delicate archways that had been created over eons of time from the Utah red rock landscape. We drove through Canyonlands National Park and began to sense the incredible power of the Green and Colorado Rivers as they carved huge chasms in the desert landscape. And we hiked through Bryce Canyon National Park, walking around the countless “hoodoos,” or beautiful red spires that had been created from millions of years of erosion.
But our real destination on this trip was the Grand Canyon, with dad, in particular, hoping to quench at least a bit of his growing fascination with this geological marvel. Traveling to and around the actual Canyon is typically measured in hours, and after a lengthy drive, we arrived at the North Rim. After driving around this relatively undeveloped section of the park, we hiked down a trail seeking a view of the canyon we had envisioned. We were underwhelmed, with no views of anything looking like the barren landscape or deep gorges we had anticipated. As we would learn, the Grand Canyon offers virtually every climate found in North America, all largely generated by elevation. With its lush forestry, the North Rim, at a higher elevation, resembled what northern Canada might be like in the middle of summer. In fact, most years this section of the park didn’t open until May due to the remaining remnants of heavy winter snow, unexpected in the desert-like terrain of Arizona. It was beautiful, and impressive in its own way, but not what we had imagined.
A direct route from the North Rim to the city of Flagstaff, where we were staying that night, would require around an hour and a half of driving time. Unfortunately, no direct route exists, and as a result, we followed a circuitous road to the first bridge that crossed the Colorado River and then headed toward Flagstaff, a trip lasting over five hours.
The next day we visited the South Rim and experienced the Grand Canyon we had anticipated. This was almost thirty years ago, and many of the traffic restrictions that are now in place to reduce congestion in Grand Canyon Village, the hub of the South Rim, were not yet in place. So, without really knowing where to go or what to do, except that we wanted to “see the Grand Canyon,” we found a parking spot and started exploring. From the top of the canyon, the views of this miraculous work of nature were spectacular and awe-inspiring.
But while the views from the top were truly majestic, I yearned to experience the topography of the park from inside the canyon. So, after eating lunch in one of the many snack bars available on the South Rim, and as my wife and kids toured the numerous souvenir shops that seemed to predominate the Village, I excused myself to “take a little hike.” Realizing that our children’s attention span (and my wife, Bev’s, patience) had finite limits, I hurried along what is now known as the “Rim Trail” looking for a marked path down into the canyon. I soon came to the trailhead of the Bright Angel Trail and began descending the steep switchbacks that made the almost vertical cliffside navigable. I hiked only a brief distance, less than a half mile, before I decided I needed to get back to the family. But that half mile was so powerful and incredibly memorable, etching into my brain scenes that would influence an adventure many years in the future, a real journey into and out of the canyon. I was struck by the barren nature of the landscape, wondering how plants and animals could survive in such an environment; few of either could. I was surprised by the smoothness of this largely man-made trail that had been carved out of the side of the canyon. I was impressed by the changing scenery, with just a few steps causing the topography to change in color and appearance simply because of the varying angle of the sun’s rays. And I felt the effect of that early afternoon sun, creating a dry and scorching heat that was no doubt well above 100 degrees.
But perhaps most memorable were the hikers with backpacks working their way up the trail. Given the time of day, I surmised that these hikers were coming from the Colorado River, likely completing a crossing of the entire canyon, a rim-to-rim hike. Carrying the weight of their packs, dealing with the mid-day heat, and hiking their way up steep trails and switchbacks, these travelers were working hard to complete their journeys. But I could only imagine the sense of accomplishment each would feel when, just a few hundred yards later, they popped over the edge of the canyon, their challenge completed.
Though my time inside the canyon was so much shorter than that of these seasoned hikers, I, too, was soon back in Grand Canyon Village with my family and countless other tourists milling about looking at t-shirts and key chains and coffee mugs that would validate their trip to one of the “Seven Wonders of the World.” I had experienced an oh-so-brief glimpse of the real Grand Canyon and was grateful to have had even a brief sojourn below the canyon walls. But deep inside I knew I wanted, and perhaps needed, to experience more of what this amazing natural wonder had to offer.
Almost twenty-five years later, my wife and I would hike up that same Bright Angel Trail as we completed our own rim-to-rim hike.
As our very busy careers allowed, Bev and I had been fitness-conscious, regularly running, hiking, biking, and working out at fitness centers to which we belonged. We found great satisfaction in training for and then completing events that pushed us, such as half-marathons and a marathon. Then as our careers began to wind down, we found we had more time to train for longer, more challenging adventures. In 2013, we completed a bicycle ride along the entire Katy Trail, a rails-to-trails conversion trail that crosses most of the state of Missouri. We trained diligently to prepare for this trip that would take us 260 miles over five days. And what a wonderful five days those were. We carried everything with us as we averaged over 50 miles of biking each day riding from one restored historic hotel or bed-and-breakfast inn to the next. Bev and I worked well together and found we were in much better shape than we had anticipated. Our training for a defined purpose had worked well, but now we needed a new goal.
And what better challenge than to complete a rim-to-rim hike of the Grand Canyon?
Many hikers complete their treks across the Grand Canyon on their own, but for a variety of reasons, we decided we wanted and needed to travel with a group. We were each 57 years old, and in good physical condition for our age, but at a point in life when unexpected medical issues can arise. The inner canyon is one of the more inhospitable environments in the world, and we simply didn’t want to be isolated by ourselves should the very unanticipated occur.
Of greater significance, rim-to-rim hikes require some very complex logistical planning. For starters, to even begin the hike requires a five-hour drive from Flagstaff around the park to get to the North Rim. Some vendors can provide that service, but that is yet another logistical concern. The National Park Service (NPS) requires that most hikers who will be in the canyon overnight obtain a backcountry permit, and only a limited number of those are made available. Travel companies that work with the NPS can secure those permits for hikers they are guiding across the canyon.
Even more challenging is finding a place to sleep within the canyon. Procuring one of the cabins or beds in one of the bunkhouses at Phantom Ranch, the iconic lodge at the base of the canyon, is nearly impossible for a small group of hikers who are not with a group (or especially not on a mule trip into the canyon). As a result, individual hikers must find a camping space, and those are also relatively rare and challenging to reserve. Travel companies know the ins and outs of the reservation system and are adept at securing group camping spaces in the canyon.
Finally, we wanted to experience the Grand Canyon with other people, including guides and naturalists who are intimately familiar with all aspects of the canyon. For these reasons and others, we never seriously considered trying to complete a rim-to-rim hike by ourselves.
Once we had decided to hike with a group, with a preferred time frame of late spring or early fall of the coming year (2015), we started researching tour companies that led group hikes across the Grand Canyon.
Formerly called Elderhostel International, Road Scholar is a travel company that caters to older travelers. While many of the trips it sponsors are low-activity tours, it does offer various trips that could be classified as “adventure travel.” As I searched the Road Scholar database of offerings, I noted that the most strenuous tour they offered was a rim-to-rim hike of the Grand Canyon. And there was a trip available starting on the coming Memorial Day in late May. And though only nine could participate in this hike, there were still slots available.
I mentioned this to Bev, who by now was fully on board, and within the next couple of hours, she had registered us for the trip and had made a nonrefundable down payment on the tour cost. Just that quickly, we had made a firm commitment to complete a challenge we, and especially I, had dreamed about for a long time. We were very excited, but we quickly realized that we had a great deal of preparation to complete in the coming months.
Those preparations fit within two categories, one that would make the trip possible and the other that would make it doable. First, we had a myriad of decisions to make regarding travel arrangements and selecting the equipment we would utilize on the hike. Without wise choices in these decisions, particularly with the selection of equipment, we would at best make the trek across the canyon much more challenging and possibly make us miserable. But with the second, we needed to properly train to become physically prepared to hike into and out of the mile-deep chasm. This was the area we relished, having a challenging physical goal and then putting in a concerted effort to reach it. From the time we registered for the trip, we had around seven months to prepare for what we knew would be the greatest physical challenge we had yet faced.
We had hiked extensively in recent years, nothing particularly lengthy, but trips of up to two to three hours in length. We had even joined a hiking group through our local YMCA that met at local parks and nature sanctuaries, enjoying the surprising abundance of “wilderness” that was available in the Kansas City area. But we had never extended ourselves beyond those relatively short outings. And as a result, in terms of equipment needed for a multi-day trek from one rim of the Grand Canyon to the other, we were virtually starting from scratch.
Our research suggested that, at a minimum, we would need:
- Good hiking boots that could withstand the wear and tear from nearly fifteen miles of steep downhill movement, typically the most destructive form of walking/hiking for any footwear;
- Hiking poles to take the strain off our legs on the downhill sections and assist us in getting up the steep ascents;
- A lightweight tent large enough for Bev and me to sleep in and store much of our equipment;
- Sleeping bags that would keep us sufficiently warm on the first night below the North Rim but not bulky enough to add unnecessary weight to our packs;
- Sleeping pads with enough cushion or air to allow us to sleep in relative comfort on what would likely be rough terrain; and
- A pack in which we would carry all this equipment, various sundries, extra clothes, our share of the group’s food, and sufficient water. At the beginning of the trip, my pack weighed almost 35 pounds.
Bev and I had camped out when we were first married, and then we had done so countless times on family vacations with our children. We had a large Coleman tent that probably weighed thirty pounds by itself and would have filled one of our packs, and we had purchased bulky sleeping bags from Sears that provided a little cushioning and warmth when needed. These items met our needs at the time, which was good because they were what we could afford.
But this was a serious hiking adventure, descending nearly a mile down into the canyon and then nearly the same amount of elevation gain on the way out. A serious adventure called for serious equipment, and we had none.
What we lacked in equipment we nearly matched in our lack of knowledge about the equipment we would need. We became good customers of our area REI store; very good customers. We became such regulars at the store that a young lady associate kind of latched onto us (or we latched on to her) and became somewhat our very own camping equipment consultant.
Based on excellent reviews, a reasonable price, and for me, the availability of wide widths, Bev and I both purchased mid-height Merrill Moab hiking boots. While Bev still has these boots now many years later, mine didn’t make it out of the canyon unscathed, with the upper beginning to split from the sole. Those long downhill stretches were as tough on these boots as they were on our knees. When we returned them to REI, they were gladly exchanged for a pair of different boots.
When we inquired about backpacking packs, we were asked a long series of questions and then shown a seemingly endless series of packs. Though some were more attractive than others, we otherwise were no closer to determining what we needed. Our “consultant” then gave us a few choices based on what she believed would work best for us. Bev and I then each picked a couple to try on. With each pack filled with weights to simulate the load we might experience on the hike, we spent five- or ten-minutes hiking around the outer aisles of the store, even walking up a little “hill” in the shoe department. Trekking around the store with a loaded pack, I felt a little self-conscious. But no one gave us a second look; we were far from the first to purchase a backpacking pack at REI. Ultimately Bev selected a Gregory pack and me an Osprey pack, each with an internal reservoir for water.
We had never used hiking poles, but on a trip with over seven miles of descent followed by a similar distance of climbing, we found them to be invaluable. We each purchased a relatively economical pair of REI brand poles. Other than the rubber tips at the end of each pole, which on my pair kept coming off, they served us well.
With the other equipment, we needed functional gear that would meet our needs but with as little weight as practicable. We quickly found, however, that reduced weight came at a cost, sometimes a considerable one, and we were on a budget. With tents, sleeping bags, and sleeping pads, a few ounces of reduced weight might cost an additional $100 or more. Based again on our research and recommendations from our REI salesperson, we narrowed our selection of tents to two, an REI-brand three-person tent and another brand that weighed just under a pound less but cost over $300 more. Unsure of how often we would use this equipment after this trip had concluded, we chose the former. Similarly, we purchased REI-brand sleeping pads and Big Agnes sleeping bags that were on sale.
With these purchases, we were largely equipped for this upcoming trek. Now we simply needed to become proficient in packing our packs and putting up our tent, each essential and neither as simple as it sounded.
We also needed to make sure we were physically capable of lugging all that gear up the steep cliffs of the canyon.
Bev and I had been relatively fitness-minded for most of our adult lives, but this challenge was unique, different than anything we had ever attempted for at least three reasons. First, we would each be carrying packs that would likely weigh between twenty-five and thirty-five pounds. This was something we had not previously experienced, and carrying such additional weight would put added strain on our legs and cardiovascular system. Second, we would descend over a mile into the canyon and then climb a similar distance as we came out. Each action, descending and ascending, placed significant but very different stresses on the legs, and in our “hilly” part of the Midwest, it would be impossible to simulate walking up or down long and steep stretches of terrain. Finally, we would be hiking in some of the most inhospitable climatic conditions on the planet. Even in late spring, when our trip was scheduled, we needed to be prepared for sunny skies with temperatures approaching 110 with virtually no humidity. These conditions would be as difficult to prepare for as they would be to survive.
But try we did. We placed the elliptical machines at the gym on their heaviest resistance and steepest incline and found that hour-long workouts put great strain on our legs, just what we wanted. We set our treadmill at the steepest incline, 12%, and did long sessions that simulated hiking up a long, steep hill. We did leg presses with a weight load that allowed 25 to 30 repetitions, working to build both strength and muscular endurance. With these exercises designed to simulate some of the movements we would experience hiking out of the canyon, we sensed we were slowly building up the leg strength we would need on the over nine-mile climb to the South Rim.
But to truly prepare to climb long hills with a heavy pack, we needed to climb long hills with a heavy pack. This was a challenge because in Missouri there were steep hills, some fairly long hills, but relatively few long, steep hills.
We spent a great amount of time hiking in a state park not far from our home. The main trail in the park had few flat stretches and some very steep inclines, and one long rise of over a mile in length. As our departure for Arizona approached, we were regularly hiking a couple of loops of this three-mile trail, with loaded packs, and then concluded our workout with multiple repetitions up and down the mile-long hill. We would reach the top of the hill, drink some water, and then turn around and head back to the bottom. People looked at us with curiosity as we hiked this paved trail carrying our packs, but we really didn’t care.
A few weeks before we were scheduled to leave for Flagstaff, we received a phone call from Michael, one of the guides for Road Scholar. We quickly realized that the main purpose of the call was to make sure we fully understood what we were getting into, and just how challenging this hike would be. Evidently, on this the most strenuous tour Road Scholar offered for primarily an older clientele, some signed up not understanding just how brutally difficult this rim-to-rim hike could be. We had a nice conversation with Michael, and as we explained the training regimen we had been completing, he soon realized we were taking our preparation very seriously. He made a comment that seemed counterintuitive but would prove to be accurate. We had assumed that the toughest day of hiking would be the last day when we climbed 3,000 feet over 4½ miles of trail. In fact, we had geared most of our training toward this last strenuous long climb. Michael suggested that the first day, when we would descend over 4,200 feet over seven miles of hiking, would be the most difficult. So much steep downhill hiking would place extra strain on our legs and feet. And the constant pushing of our feet into the front of our boots could wreak havoc on the ends of our toes. We were still a little skeptical, but Michael had completed this hike many times; that first day’s hike would prove to be a lot more challenging than we might have anticipated.
We believed we could hike out of the canyon but wanted to do so while enjoying the experience and without undue suffering. As we completed our last workout just a few days before our departure date, we believed we were as physically prepared as possible.
The actual Road Scholar tour was scheduled to begin with an orientation meeting at 4:00 p.m. on Sunday, May 24. We decided to drive to Flagstaff, Arizona, the starting and finishing point of the tour, and not wanting to overextend ourselves as we traveled, we opted to divide the trip over four days. We left early on the Thursday morning before the tour, with a reservation that first night in Oklahoma City. We arrived in the city in the early afternoon and drove by the Oklahoma City National Memorial, the site of the bombing of the Alfred P. Murrah Federal Building. We had visited this memorial before, but just being near this sacred ground brought forth some quiet emotions as we recalled that tragic event in 1995.
In the decade leading up to this brief visit to Oklahoma City, Bev and I had become enthusiasts of blown art glass. And when we thought of art glass, we thought of Dale Chihuly, likely the most famous and commercially successful artist in the medium. We had on past trips visited some amazing Chihuly exhibitions and installations, and as we traveled to the Grand Canyon, a Chihuly exhibition was on display at the Oklahoma City Museum of Art. Though the work on display was similar to what we had seen numerous times before, we marveled at the huge, colorful, and beautiful installations as we moved from one room to the next. It was fortuitous that this exhibition was on display on our route to Arizona, and it was a highlight of our drive west.
The rest of the trip was far less spectacular, simply putting miles behind us with stops in Amarillo, Texas, and Albuquerque, New Mexico. We rolled into Flagstaff and our hotel for the evening, a La Quinta Inn, around 3:00 p.m. We checked into our room and then explored the hotel, which didn’t require a great deal of time, looking at other guests and wondering if they were a part of our hiking group.
The orientation meeting was conducted in a large meeting room at the hotel, and it was good to meet Michael, the trip guide who had called us to stress the importance of proper training for the hike. Michael worked for a local university and was very proud of his Native American heritage; he would prove to be a great asset as we made our way across the canyon. He had completed most of the logistical arrangements for the trip, would carry most of the cooking utensils needed to prepare meals, and would prepare most of those meals. Arriving at the meeting later was Stewart, the other guide, who was trained as a naturalist and brought to the group extensive knowledge about the flora and fauna of the Grand Canyon. As we worked our way from the North to the South Rim, Stewart provided numerous impromptu lectures about some obscure flower, or a rare indigenous symbol, or an odd climatic condition.
Organized backcountry hiking excursions conducted by travel companies like Road Scholar are highly regulated by the National Park Service, and groups with two guides are limited to nine participants. After learning about the two guides, we were especially interested in learning about the other nine hikers with whom we would be spending the next five days. And it was a very eclectic group. There was a couple from Connecticut, perhaps a little younger than Bev and me, and the lady was the only other female in the group. There was a talk radio programmer from San Francisco. The other four individuals, however, brought some serious hiking game to the group. There were two retired engineers from Minnesota, both of whom were competitive cross-country skiers and who had hiked all over the United States. There was a software engineer from the Bay area who had trekked all over the world, including in India, South America, to the top of Mount Kilimanjaro, and throughout the southwest United States. His next major planned trip was to an advanced base camp at an elevation of 20,000 feet on a mountain in Nepal. But the most fascinating individual in the group, and likely our favorite, was an 84-year-old grandmother from Hawaii. She had trekked all over the world, including to Mount Everest base camp, on the Camino de Santiago de Compostela in Spain, to Machu Picchu in Peru, on the Swiss Alps, and countless other locations. To hear her reflecting on these many hiking trips was captivating, as she recounted with no pretension or arrogance the fascinating locales she had visited. Like the others in the group, she indicated that the rim-to-rim crossing of the Grand Canyon was on her “list,” and that she “wanted to get it done while (she) could.” It was on our list as well, but Bev and I brought little worldly hiking experience to this excursion. Still, we were excited and a little nervous about what the next five days might have in store for us.
Most of the orientation meeting was devoted to introductions followed by a detailed discussion of how the trip would be structured. Except for a few perishable items that would be carted in by mule, we would carry in all of the food we would consume, with those various items divided to be carried by the participants.
We learned, much to our surprise, that except for the limited food and drink items that could be purchased at the Phantom Ranch canteen, there were no trash cans anywhere within the canyon walls. In other words, anything we carried in, we had to carry out, including trash. It brought focus to the spartan existence we would experience the next five days. While we knew there would be no showers for us and working toilets only around Phantom Ranch, the lack of trash cans was a surprise; in the end, it was a virtual non-issue.
At the end of the orientation meeting, we walked to a nearby Sizzler Steakhouse for dinner. It was our last traditionally prepared meal for several days, and it was an opportunity to get to know some of our fellow hikers. For the most part, it seemed at first glance that we were part of a good group.
After dinner, we returned to the hotel to divide up the food each would carry into the canyon (I carried several cans of clams) and gather all the snacks and electrolyte powder Bev and I thought we would need for our trip across the canyon. This was a crap shoot, so to speak, and being one prone to over-preparation, I no doubt took far more than we could reasonably consume in five days. Water would be plentiful and available at each of the three campgrounds at which we would stay, and Bev and I each had a hydration bladder in which we could haul a few liters of water. But with temperatures expected to approach 100 degrees, even with late spring conditions, and with humidity very low, we anticipated we would sweat profusely, losing not only water but also necessary minerals that could easily become depleted under such conditions. We would be hiking for six to eight hours a day carrying 30- to 35-pound packs under such severe conditions, and would no doubt need all the “fuel” we could handle. As a result, we left the meeting with countless granola bars and ample amounts (i.e. too much) of Gatorade powder that we would mix in one of our water bottles each day. Fully stocked and still a little nervous about the coming day, we headed back to our room to recheck our gear (for the umpteenth time), repack our packs, and try to get some sleep. We quickly accomplished the first two tasks, but getting to sleep proved to be very challenging.
Day 1 – North Rim to Cottonwood Campground – 7 miles and minus 4,240 feet in elevation
After a fitful night of sleep, I woke up at around 4:00 a.m. fully awake and ready to go, but with some lingering trepidation about what we were about to experience. Realizing I wouldn’t have another opportunity to take a shower for five days, and though I had showered the previous evening and probably didn’t need another, I took a shower. I made a cup of coffee in the little coffee maker in the hotel room and then waited for Bev to wake up. With our bus leaving for the North Rim at 5:30 a.m., I didn’t have long to wait. At around 5:15, we took our non-hiking luggage to our car and then grabbed our packs and headed to the lobby to wait to depart. Our early departure was by design, as it would take over five hours to get from our hotel to the North Rim, where we would begin our descent into the canyon. Many in the group had a zombie-like look, either not being “morning people” or, in the case of those from the West Coast, feeling particularly jolted by the early morning hour. Just a little before 5:30, a small bus from the university drove into the parking lot pulling a small trailer into which would be placed everybody’s packs and gear. The nine hikers and two guides all climbed in and at around 5:40 a.m. we left the hotel for the North Rim of the Grand Canyon. It was a surreal feeling, but as we drove down the still quiet streets of Flagstaff as the sun was beginning to rise on this Memorial Day, reality began to set in. This trip we had dreamed about for so long was actually going to happen.
The group was largely quiet for the first hour or so, with some seemingly getting a little more needed sleep. We soon pulled into the parking lot of a little “trading post,” where we got out and stretched our legs, went to the bathroom, and then enjoyed a breakfast the guides provided. There were bagels, pastries, fruit, juices, and coffee, all of which tasted quite good in the cool morning air as we contemplated beginning our hike in just a few hours.
We were soon back on our way, and the next four hours or so passed slowly as we sped through terrain that soon took on a repetitious quality. This part of Arizona, just south of the canyon and Colorado River, was stark and largely undeveloped. We passed through the Navajo Nation, just as Bev and I and our children had nearly 25 years earlier. We have passed through numerous Native American reservations, and we have commonly sensed conflicting sensations. On the one hand, there is justifiably great pride among these peoples regarding their heritage and history. But we have often also sensed an almost palpable gloom, a sense of hopelessness in some areas that one can almost feel. While that sense was not nearly as strong as we drove among the Navajo, it was difficult not to think about the injustices the United States had inflicted upon these proud indigenous people.
In time as we got closer to the north entrance to Grand Canyon National Park, we noticed a change in terrain, as our surroundings got significantly greener with dense evergreen forests. Just as we had experienced when we first visited this area over two decades earlier, we were surprised by the topography of this section of the park. We would not experience the dry, barren terrain for which the canyon is widely known until the next day as we worked our way toward the base of the canyon.
We soon entered the park, with this section having only been opened for the season the previous week due to lingering snow accumulation. In fact, the area had received some snow just a few days earlier. The driver pulled into a parking lot near the trailhead, and we soon were all filing out of the bus and gathering our packs, and preparing to begin our descent into the canyon. My initial sensation was one of being surprisingly cold. Bev and I had both worn long sleeve shirts and pants that could be converted to shorts, largely to protect us from anticipated harsh sunshine. But it was chilly, and though our bodies would warm up quickly as we started our hike, it would remain cool until the following mid-morning.
As we reached the trailhead for the North Kaibab Trail, which we would follow to the Colorado River at the base of the canyon, we were anxious to see the landscape and scenery into which we would be trekking. What we saw instead was fog, a dense haze that allowed us to see perhaps 100 feet in any direction. It made for an inauspicious, and a little disappointing, start to what would be a monumental experience for the nine hikers.
Most of the hikers and both guides had a set of hiking poles, including Bev and me. Before beginning our training for this trip, we had never owned or used these expandable rods with cork handles and rubber tips on the ends. We assumed, incorrectly, that these would be most beneficial in providing assistance as we worked our way out of the canyon on the last two days of the trip. But as we were getting ready to start down the trail, Stewart, the naturalist guide, offered an impromptu lesson on how to use hiking poles while descending, and we were so glad he did. We were still a little befuddled by Michael’s comment when he had called us a few weeks earlier about the first day being the most difficult. Showing my lack of experience in this environment, this still made no sense to me; the greatest challenge would surely occur during the last two days as we climbed nearly a mile of elevation, encountering particularly steep inclines as we approached the South Rim. But Michael would be proven to be so correct. On this first long day in the canyon, heading down steep trails, we would descend over 4,200 vertical feet during our seven-mile hike. And the strain on our legs, particularly the quads on the front of our thighs, would be far more taxing than we had anticipated. Stewart’s lesson in using hiking poles to reduce the strain on our legs would prove to be much more beneficial than we had imagined at the time.
Then we began, a straight line of nine hikers led by one guide in front and with the other guide in the back to make sure no one was left behind. The trail was very rough, muddy in spots from the melted snow from the previous week, and fairly narrow in most places, only three to four feet wide. Hikers who entered the canyon assumed their own risk. This was not Disneyland, and there were few guard rails or park employees to keep you from getting into difficulty. We walked along narrow and rocky trails with vertical cliff walls on one side and a shear drop-off on the other, with the bottom of the canyon hundreds of feet below. Though with good focus there was seldom a sense of danger, there was the constant realization that in many sections of the North Kaibab Trail, if you stumbled or slipped on loose rock and fell over the edge, you would have little chance to survive. This was a harsh environment meant for serious individuals; it was our job to prove we were worthy of this opportunity.
There were some particularly impressive sections of the trail that were like a half-tunnel that had been blasted out of the cliffside, with a rock overhang above, a rocky surface below, and a sheer drop-off to the canyon below. A little more than a mile-and-a-half from the trailhead, we reached a formation called the Supai Tunnel, an impressive natural bridge over the trail, and the guides had the group stop for water and to take a brief rest break. They made a point to ask each of us how we were doing and if we were finding the hiking to be particularly difficult. What we didn’t know was that this rather obscure location on the trail was like the point of no return, the spot where it was determined whether anyone in the group was not sufficiently prepared to go on. We all were, but there was an older, rather overweight gentleman in another group who when we arrived was engaged in a rather intense conversation with one of the guides of his group. From what we could surmise from their animated discussion, this hiker had been struggling since leaving the North Rim, and the guide believed it inadvisable for him to continue into the canyon. Even if he made it to Phantom Ranch, he then had an uphill nine miles and over 4,500 feet of climbing to get to the South Rim. We felt for the guy, but looking at him, his prospects of making it into and out of the canyon seemed rather suspect. We soon moved on with our group intact, and don’t know how the issue with the other hiker was resolved. But clearly, someone trying to hike across the Grand Canyon without being properly prepared potentially placed his or her entire group at risk. At this early point of our journey, though we felt we had worked hard preparing for this hike, we still had a few lingering doubts about whether we could make it all the way to the South Rim.
It had been foggy as we had commenced our trek down the North Kaibab Trail, not dense enough to impede our progress but sufficiently thick to prevent a clear view of the terrain into which we were descending. As we acclimated ourselves to the roughness of this fairly narrow trail, and as we focused on not slipping in a manner that might propel us over the side of the trail and down to parts we could not see, I was paying little attention to anything more than a few strides in front of me. But when we stopped for a water break, I just happened to notice that the fog had lifted and that we were on the edge of a huge canyon. At a higher elevation, there was still dense forest with lush green vegetation. But otherwise, for the first time, the reality of where we were hiking, down into the Grand Canyon, struck me. It was not the barren, rocky landscape we would begin seeing the next day and for the remainder of the trip. But the views from the edge of this canyon were magnificent. And as I had been so focused on putting one step in front of the other, I had almost missed it. Not really, but I consciously made a note to make sure that during the remainder of our trek, I saw the “forest” rather than just focusing on the “trees.” In retrospect, I would give myself a grade of “C” for meeting this criterion.
We soon made our way to Cottonwood Campground, our home for the night and our group camping site. I didn’t yet know whether Michael’s admonition that this would be the most challenging day was correct, but we were bone tired. We had hiked almost seven miles and descended over 4,200 vertical feet, and the long hike with thirty-pound packs had taken a toll on our legs. We were ready to get as cleaned up as we could, have dinner, and then get to bed.
We had been assigned a fairly large area of the campground with a couple of picnic tables and an open area on which tents could be pitched. We put up our tent, not the first time we had constructed this tent but the first time we would actually sleep in it. We have owned many tents in our traveling lifetime, and they have been known to provide me with some personal challenges in their set-up. But this one went up easily, and we were soon pumping up our sleeping pads and unfurling our sleeping bags in the twilight made darker by the steep canyon walls.
Once set up, Bev and I went exploring the campground, which quite frankly didn’t take very long. We found the potable water source (a spigot) and the “vault toilets,” primitive structures that were well-maintained and surprisingly clean. A welcome feature was Bright Angel Creek, a surprisingly swift little stream that we would largely follow to the Colorado River. These were primitive sites, but we didn’t come to the Grand Canyon for amenities or luxury. We needed to eat and sleep, and this would provide an idyllic setting in which to do both.
It was still light enough to view our surroundings, and though we had not yet transitioned to the barren canyon terrain we had anticipated, the view was spectacular. As we looked in any direction from our campsite, we could see steep cliff walls, including those from which we had just hiked. We could sense how far we had descended (over ¾ of a mile), and the view put our tough, downward hike in perspective.
By the time we made it back to our campsite, the guides had nearly completed preparing dinner. We all gathered around one of the tables and consumed large helpings of a pasta dish that, particularly given the conditions in which it had been prepared, was outstanding. Eating a primitively prepared pasta dinner on the lightweight plastic plates we had brought with us, looking around as darkness descended on the Grand Canyon, it was one of many surreal moments on this trip.
After dinner, we washed off as best we could and then prepared for bed. Bev and I were in our sleeping bags by a little after 8:30 p.m. There was no evening in the canyon when we went to bed later than 9:00 p.m., a couple of hours before my typical bedtime when back home. This was in part because we were typically exhausted and ready for bed by that time. But even more practically, after darkness descended, there was absolutely no light source (other than our headlamps which for several reasons we seldom used) and as such there was not much else to do. It took me a little while to get to sleep, but otherwise, we both slept surprisingly well given the circumstances.
Day 2 – Cottonwood Campground to Bright Angel Campground – 7.6 miles and minus 1,600 feet in elevation
Because Arizona does not recognize daylight savings time, it started to get light in the canyon around 4:30 a.m. With a hot day ahead of us, we were up at 5:00 am. ready to get our day started. With an anticipated arrival at the bottom of the canyon in the early to mid-afternoon, the goal of the group was to get started as early as possible to avoid some of the blistering sun and accompanying heat. The guides cooked a large pot of oatmeal, which we ate with peanut butter and some raisins. Sitting on the edge of a picnic table among the sheer rock cliffs that seemed to surround us, it was yet another filling meal in a very memorable setting.
We soon broke camp, repacked our packs, and as a group headed back down the North Kaibab Trail toward the Bright Angel Campground, our home for the next two nights. With side hikes, our trek for the day would be over eight miles, a mile or so longer than the previous day. But as we worked our way further into the canyon, the trail began to level out. With only 1,600 feet of elevation decline, just over a third of what we had experienced the day before, it was a much less strenuous day of hiking.
While we had started our hike the previous day on the North Rim needing long sleeves and long pants, and though it was cool when we woke up that morning at the Cottonwood Campground, by mid-morning we were beginning to experience the expected climate of the inner Grand Canyon. It was sunny, and increasingly hot. Though the heat only became noticeably intense a few times during our five days in the canyon, each day the temperature exceeded 90 degrees. But as the guides stressed to us, the reported temperature is always the “ambient temperature,” which is measured in the shade three feet above the ground. They suggested the actual temperature out of the shade was generally at least twenty degrees hotter. As we got further into the canyon, we believed them. As there were almost no shade trees as we worked our way toward the Colorado River, the heat was at times intense.
We had left the campground that morning fully stocked with water and Gatorade. Bev and I each had in our packs a three-liter water bladder that allowed us to easily grab a drink any time we needed one. We tried to stay ahead of our thirst, drinking water before we became thirsty. Those three liters of water weighed over six pounds, but we gladly carried that extra weight as we easily stayed hydrated in these severe conditions.
Just before lunch, we took a side trail to see one of the highlights of the entire trip. The hike to Ribbon Falls from the North Kaibab Trail took around fifteen minutes, highlighted by a little bridge crossing Bright Angel Creek. But as we passed through a small side canyon with surprisingly lush vegetation, we were soon greeted by a sight that seemed out of place in the barren landscape we had been passing through. Shaded from the intense sunlight by the sheer rock cliffs, pouring out of the top of the canyon was a 100-foot waterfall, a steady but not gushing stream that created subtle rainbows as it neared a moss-covered mound before coursing into a small pool that over time had been etched out of the rock by the falling water. It was stunningly beautiful.
It is evidently a common practice to get under the waterfall, allowing the water to cool off bodies heated by the severe climatic conditions. But the guides informed us that Ribbon Falls is considered a sacred site by one of the Native American tribes indigenous to the area. For that and other reasons, we simply stood and appreciated this amazing work of nature.
We were soon back on the trail headed to our campground near Phantom Ranch. Lunch was prepared by the guides and placed in a little shady area along the edge of the trail. The simple fare of summer sausage, cheese, pita bread, and crackers was welcomed, and the saltiness of some of the items was particularly enjoyable given the hot and sunny conditions. It was a communal spread, with everyone grabbing what they wanted to eat. There was no place to wash hands, and the lack of hygiene likely bothered others more than it did Bev and me. But the guides, for whom this was not their first time guiding a group across the Grand Canyon, had brought a container of hand sanitizer that they asked each of us to utilize before helping ourselves to the food being offered. In our regular lives a simple lunch like this would have fostered few thoughts other than possibly, “Is this all we’re having?” But in this picturesque setting, it was a spread we will not soon forget.
The trail soon leveled out to a barely perceptible decline as we trekked the last few miles to our campground just past Phantom Ranch. Since leaving the North Rim the previous morning, we had hiked as a group, with one guide leading and the other bringing up the rear. Because the North Kaibab Trail was so clearly defined at this point (making it difficult for even backcountry neophytes like us to get lost), the guides allowed us to proceed to the Bright Angel Campground at our own pace. Because there was evidently a prime group camping site that was available on a first-come, first-served basis, Michael had gone ahead to claim that location while Stewart stayed with the last hiker in our group.
For a variety of reasons, some justified and others less so, I have long had a fascination with Phantom Ranch. Situated just a half-mile from the confluence of Bright Angel Creek and the Colorado River, this iconic lodge offered the only permanent lodging option within the canyon, lodging that was available only by lottery and that, as such, was very difficult to obtain. Opened in the early 1920s by the Fred Harvey Company, which ran concessions in the new national park, Phantom Ranch originally consisted of a dining hall and a few cabins. It was later expanded to include dormitories and a few other buildings as well as a swimming pool. In time the pool was decommissioned, but most of the other buildings are still in use. For years, this rustic and isolated lodge was utilized almost exclusively by tourists riding into the canyon on mules. Though the popularity of hiking into and out of the canyon has increased exponentially in the past few decades, Phantom Ranch still caters to tourists on mule trips.
To this day, virtually everything consumed or utilized at Phantom Ranch is carried down to the base of the canyon on mules. The same mode of transport was used when the lodge was being built, meaning these buildings were constructed of rough-hewn timbers and, to reduce the amount of materials that had to be carried down the trail, round rocks that were gathered from the surrounding countryside. With its distinctive mixture of dark brown wood and rock corners, the appearance of Phantom Ranch has changed little in the century since it was originally constructed
As we continued to walk on the trail that afternoon, we started to pass some small buildings, then a couple of larger buildings, then the Canteen, or dining hall, and by then we had passed Phantom Ranch. It is iconic because of its history, and especially its isolated location, but it didn’t quite meet the expectations I had built up in my mind.
Though the man-made structures were less impressive than I might have anticipated, the setting was nothing short of spectacular. We were at the base of one of the largest and most famous canyons in the world, less than a mile from one of the most famous rivers in the world, with sheer rock cliffs enveloping us in virtually any direction, and with an arid temperature well into the 90s. To get here, we had walked almost fifteen miles, mostly downhill. The quickest way out was to hike in the other direction, almost nine-and-a-half miles, virtually all of it uphill. There was no public internet access, limited electricity, no showers (at least for us), only a few flush toilets, and on and on. The area at the base of the canyon operates like its own little community, and in many respects, we were largely cut off from the rest of the world. While we would not want to maintain that type of existence for any length of time, our two nights there were for Bev and me an idyllic experience.
Though Phantom Ranch wasn’t what I had envisioned (though it was very impressive in its unique way), there was one feature that had been serving as a magnet for us since lunch. Earlier that morning, one of the guides had suggested that the Canteen at the Ranch was open to the public from 8:00 a.m. to 4:00 p.m. and then from 8:00 to 10:00 p.m. The facility also served as the dining room for those with dinner reservations, mainly those who had ridden into the canyon on mules. As a result, the Canteen was closed each day from 4:00 to 8:00 p.m. to allow the staff to prepare for, serve, and then clean up after dinner
Since leaving the North Rim the previous morning, we had access to as much water and Gatorade as we needed. But it was hot, and deceptively dry, and the guides had informed us that the Canteen sold “ice cold beer,” as they put it, but only when it was open to the public. After lunch, when we had been allowed to hike at our own pace and weren’t sure how long it would take to get to our campground, the allure of an “ice cold beer” had added a little spark to the pace of our hiking. Located around a half mile past Phantom Ranch, we made it to Bright Angel Campground around 2:00 p.m., which gave us plenty of time to set up our tent and make it back to the Canteen before it closed for dinner.
Located alongside Bright Angel Creek and a short distance from the Colorado River, Bright Angel Campground would be our picturesque home for the next two nights. As promised, Michael had hiked ahead to lay claim to the best of the large group camping sites, and it was a spectacular setting. Bordered by the creek in front of us and sheer rock cliffs behind, the large site included a large open-faced structure with three sections, old and constructed in the Phantom Ranch style. We claimed our spot in the shade of one of the few trees that were available and then made a quick trip to the restrooms, which for the first time in two days offered running water and flushing toilets. We made it back to the campsite, still a little awed by our surroundings, when Michael reminded us that it was 3:20 p.m., the Canteen closed in forty minutes, and that if we wanted to get there before it closed, we needed to hurry. After using an “ice cold beer” as a sort of carrot to help propel us down the trail much of the afternoon, we were suddenly in jeopardy of missing out on this pleasure that in our regular lives, we largely took for granted. While we didn’t run the half mile back to Phantom Ranch, particularly considering that we had already hiked almost eight miles and the sun was strikingly hot, we wasted no time in getting there.
We walked into the Canteen and were struck by the simplicity of the entire operation, basically a dining room with a little snack bar tucked into the corner. But as we were finding on this trip, and as would be reinforced on later ones, simplicity has a way of helping us to appreciate the common things in life. And that cold can of Bud Light tasted awfully good, appreciated even more because it had been carried into the canyon on the back of a mule. Bev and I ended up drinking our beers fairly quickly (I basically inhaled mine), and because one beer was our limit in such hot conditions, we followed that with a large cup of lemonade (with actual ice, no less). We took a little more time with that beverage, taking in the rustic ambiance of the Phantom Ranch Canteen and talking with some of our fellow hikers. We were only there for a half hour, but it was a memorable time after a couple of long hikes into the canyon.
As the Canteen prepared to close, we took our lemonades outside and sat on a bench in the shade and watched the comings and goings of Phantom Ranch. We gained a greater appreciation for the entire complex, realizing that while it was not necessarily a large operation, it was unique and very complex, nonetheless. We were struck by how virtually everyone looked rather healthy. Though a few had arrived on the backs of mules, most had hiked to the base of the canyon and would have to walk back out. It was kind of like at the start of a long running race, such as a marathon or half-marathon, where there was always an aura of healthiness that seemed to permeate the crowd. As we tossed our empty lemonade cups in a rare trash can back inside the Canteen, we realized that just as the new cup had been carried down into the canyon on a mule, the used one would also have to be similarly carried back out. And we realized that the young lady who served us our beer and lemonade had walked from the South Rim into the canyon, and when her “shift” (days or weeks) was over, she would have to walk back out. “As the crow flies,” as they say, we were less than five miles from the cars, trucks, and buses running along the South Rim. But because of the ruggedness of the terrain, it was as if we were in another world.
When we got back to camp, the guides were preparing dinner, and a short time later, all eleven of us were sitting around two picnic tables enjoying burritos with chicken and rice served with salsa. It was common fare, really, but enjoyed in the most uncommon of settings. Dining with other hikers who had trekked to this spot together, sitting in the shade provided by the nearly vertical red rock cliffs behind us, with gentle breezes providing further respite from the late afternoon heat, was a surreal moment. It was one of those rarest of times that cause you to stop and give thanks for such a unique experience.
After dinner, we walked the half-mile back to Phantom Ranch where we sat on a bench in a rustic amphitheater and listened to a “ranger talk” on the contributions of the Civilian Conservation Corps to the creation of the Grand Canyon. This presentation about a key program of FDR’s New Deal was interesting, but I struggled to maintain my focus as my thoughts kept moving to the past two days and what was still ahead of us. After the ranger concluded his remarks, some of the other hikers returned to the Canteen for another beverage or a late-night snack. Bev and I, tired and still just a bit awed by our surroundings, decided to head back to our campsite. It was dark by now, and as there was virtually no ambient light available, we donned our headlamps to follow the trail back to the Bright Angel Campground. As we crossed a small bridge that spanned Bright Angel Creek, we stopped and listened to our eerily quiet surroundings. With no motorized vehicles below the canyon rim, and among a community of hikers that demonstrated more appreciation for the natural sounds of nature, we stood on that bridge and took in the silence, with only the light wind swaying nearby scrub brush, the gurgling of the creek, and an occasional chirping of insects interrupting the vacuum of noise. It made for a strange, and slightly spooky, atmosphere, but a fascinating one, nonetheless.
We soon made it back to our campsite, and as others in our group did the same, we spread out our sleeping pads and bags and prepared to go to bed. It was still rather warm, though certainly not hot, and as a result, our sleeping bags were not needed. We were tucked away by 9:00 p.m., and surprisingly, both of us were soon asleep.
Day 3 – “Rest Day” at Bright Angel Campground
When we had first studied the itinerary for this five-day trip, I originally noted with a little disappointment that a layover day had been scheduled for the Wednesday of that week, a rest day of sorts leading to two days devoted to hiking out of the canyon. With more than my share of Type A personality traits, a part of me wanted simply to get across the Grand Canyon as expeditiously as possible. At the end of that rest day, however, we were very glad to have had a day to explore the area at the base of the Grand Canyon. Plus, after hiking downhill the past two days, on a trail that was sometimes especially steep, we were a little beat up. Additionally, one of our goals on this trip was to really experience the inner canyon rather than simply get from one side of it to the other. Though it didn’t end up being a true rest day (it was more of a “layover day”), it ended up being a blessing and another highlight of the trip.
After a surprisingly good night’s sleep, we woke up at around 5:30 a.m., and lounged around the campsite, thankful we didn’t have to break camp that day. We each had a couple of cups of instant coffee, which weren’t necessarily very good but did the trick of getting us awake and ready for a good day. Soon, the guides began cooking an impressive, under the circumstances, breakfast of scrambled eggs with cheese and salsa, bacon, and English muffins. With little else to occupy our time, the group stood around the picnic tables watching Michael as he fried bacon and began to scramble a large batch of eggs over a small portable stove.
What we were all wondering, but nobody asked, was how all those eggs got to the bottom of the Grand Canyon. The two guides had hiked with us every step of the trail the past two days, a rough and steep descent in very hot and dry conditions. There was no way those eggs made it down the trail unbroken, much less unspoiled. Michael sensed our consternation and offered an explanation. He suggested that, for a fee, the mule concessionaire will carry parcels of supplies from the South Rim to Phantom Ranch, and that the eggs, bacon, and cheese had been carried into the canyon on a mule. Of the three dozen eggs included in the parcel, 31 made it to the campsite unbroken. As I suggested to Michael, in that setting with the walls of the canyon surrounding us and the sound of Bright Angel Creek in the background, and considering how those eggs, bacon, and cheese had gotten to our campsite, such a breakfast was awesome.
That morning, we took a short hike on what Stewart, the naturalist guide, called the “bridge-to-bridge trail.” There are actually two bridges across the Colorado River at the base of the canyon, one on the Bright Angel Trail, which we would follow the next two days, and the other on the South Kaibab Trail. It was an easy and enjoyable hike at a relaxed pace, without heavy packs and with nowhere we needed to get to except back to our campsite. It was warm and dry, but not oppressively hot, as we walked the short distance to what is called by some the “Silver Bridge” on the Bright Angel Trail. Every hundred yards or so Stewart would stop the group to point out some unique geological feature or unique plant. Some of those flowering plants were beautiful, particularly given the arid climate in which they were growing.
As we approached the Colorado River, we got our first glimpse of the Silver Bridge, the Bright Angel Trail passage across the river. As we approached, we quickly sensed the magnificence of this simple structure. Constructed in the late 1960s and with a span of just over 500 feet, this metal bridge glistened in the morning sunlight. The structure was too narrow for mules to cross, restricting the span to pedestrian use. And as the guides suggested, the see-through floor and sides of the bridge caused the mules to “freak out” and refuse to cross. As we edged our way across the mighty Colorado and watched the rushing water below us, I could share a little kinship with those mules. With the river just fifty feet or so below us, as we stopped in the middle to take some photos, we were again struck by the surrealness of the moment.
We soon reached the end of the Silver Bridge and turned left on the River Trail as we headed toward the Black Bridge on the South Kaibab Trail. It was a nice and easy hike as we walked along the trail overlooking the Colorado River below. In time, we passed through a short tunnel carved through the cliffside and came to what is known as the “Black Bridge” on the South Kaibab Trail, an imposing structure less than a half-mile from the newer Silver Bridge. In many respects, particularly given the era in which it was built, this older structure was even more impressive.
Before the Black Bridge was completed, except for the few years in which a privately-operated cableway was available, the only means of crossing the treacherous Colorado was on a boat, a dangerous venture that resulted in occasional loss of life. That changed in 1928 with the completion of this impressive suspension bridge. But more impressive than the bridge itself was the fact that it was constructed when the trails were far rougher and less developed than they are today and before helicopters could assist in the transport of the heaviest and most cumbersome materials into the canyon. As an example, the bridge is 440 feet long but the cables used to span the river are much longer, over 550 feet, weigh over a ton each, and had to be transported to the river from the South Rim intact. In a feat of impressive strength and endurance, a group of 42 men from the Havasupai tribe walking in single file down a crude trail, carried the cables from the rim to the river over nine miles with 4,000 feet of descent. Looking at the Black Bridge through 21st-century eyes, it doesn’t seem nearly as impressive as it does when unheard-of construction barriers are considered.
With a width of five feet, the Black Bridge is wide enough to accommodate packs of mules, and the wood floor of the bridge helps to prevent mules from viewing the river below and refusing to move forward. We crossed the bridge and then headed back to Bright Angel Campground. On the way, the guides pointed out the ruins of a small village of an unknown Native American tribe from around 1,000 years ago. While relatively little had been preserved, it was easy to try to visualize just how challenging it had to have been to try to survive in the harsh climate at the base of the canyon.
As we continued toward our campsite, we watched as a group of rafters pulled their rafts onto a small beach on the banks of the Colorado. We walked down to the water, and when I put my hand into the river, I quickly noted the frigid temperature (around 40 degrees) of the water. I have long dreamed of rafting through the Grand Canyon, but that adventure will have to wait. Staying dry in that environment, moving through churning water and over and through Class IV and V rapids, would be a constant challenge. But the coldness of the water would no doubt provide an added incentive to stay in the raft.
We were able to complete this short hike before the intense heat began to build at the base of the canyon. After a light lunch, about half of our group accompanied one of the guides on another short hike that explored some of the areas above Phantom Ranch. The other half of the group (including Bev and me) stayed in camp. The early afternoon heat was beginning to get oppressive, and we wanted to reorganize our packs, wash out some clothes, and explore some more of Phantom Ranch. Though there were no showers for those staying at the campground, there were sinks with running water. Bev took some clothes we had previously worn and would need to wear again and rinsed them out in one of the sinks. We hung those shirts, shorts, and undergarments on a clothesline that had been strung across the structure at the back of our campsite. Given the arid conditions, they were dry in just a few hours.
That task completed, we took a very leisurely stroll in the hot afternoon sun to explore Phantom Ranch. We made a stop at the ranger station where a lending library had been established. It was in a small space and the holdings weren’t extensive, mainly dealing with the Grand Canyon and related topics, but a unique checkout system had been put in place. Basically, there was no checkout system at all, and visitors could take whatever book(s) they wanted. The little library wasn’t even staffed all the time it was open, so visitors, primarily hikers, could come and go as they pleased. We asked the ranger who was on duty if there was any concern about books being taken and not returned. She replied, “Not really.” As she continued, “We figure that anyone who wants to keep a book has to carry it out of the canyon.” In essence, hikers found that few books were worth the additional pounds that would be added to their packs as they climbed the steep trail leading to either the North or South Rim. Compared to libraries in much of the country, where extensive security systems have often been installed, this was a unique, and refreshing, approach. We thanked the nice ranger and went on our way.
We ultimately made our way to the Canteen, and with a couple of hours before it closed for dinner, we had time for a more relaxing afternoon. We each had another beer, this time a “Grand Canyon Ale” from a brewery in Williams, Arizona. Though the beer was perhaps a little heavy for the heat we were experiencing, it was cold and refreshing. We sat around and talked with a couple of the other hikers and Michael, one of the guides. It was the first time we had been able to sit and talk in any depth with any of the other hikers or guides, and it was great to get to know them in such a relaxing atmosphere.
In time, we left the Canteen and sat down on a bench in a rare shady area at the base of the canyon. As we sat there watching the occasional hikers walk by, we spotted the guide and the hikers from our group who had hiked on the cliffs above Phantom Ranch. One of the hikers, the only female in our group other than Bev, looked like she was on the verge of heat stroke. She made a beeline into the Canteen, and as she seemed okay by the time dinner rolled around, a “Grand Canyon Ale” had evidently revived her. Seeing these sweat-stained hikers from our group reinforced the wisdom of our decision to stay in camp that afternoon.
It was now around 3:00 p.m., the afternoon heat was beginning to build, and in one of the hottest environments in the United States, we had not bathed or showered for three days. Just across the trail from our campsite was Bright Angel Creek, a small but at times rushing stream that was clear and cool. Bev and I walked to the creek and dangled our feet in the water. After a time, I took off my shirt and fully submerged myself in the creek, allowing the cool, refreshing water to rush over me. Though the use of soap in such a pristine setting would have been unconscionable (and likely a violation of some law or regulation), this was as close to a bath or shower as I would get all week.
Dinner that night was a huge pot of potato soup with summer sausage, which was excellent, as usual. The guides had done such a good job of thoroughly, and efficiently, planning out all the meals for the week. After dinner, Bev and I walked back to Phantom Ranch for another ranger talk. The topic of this presentation was the fascinating story of Glen and Bessie Hyde, newlyweds who in 1928 set off in a small boat attempting to establish a speed record for running the Colorado River through the Grand Canyon, and for Bessie to become the first woman to do complete such a trip. They were never seen again, though their boat and supplies were recovered in the canyon, including an intact camera with film that, when developed, represented the last photo taken of them. Or did it? Theories about what happened to the Hydes became the stuff of legends, making it into pop culture and an episode of NBC’s Unsolved Mysteries. And it made for a very interesting ranger talk.
We walked back to the campground by the light of our headlamps, reflecting on our pleasant stay at the base of the canyon but already thinking about beginning our ascent to the South Rim. Not sure what to expect the next two days, we realized that, in many respects, our journey was just beginning.
Day 4 – Bright Angel Campground to Indian Gardens Campground – 4.7 miles and 1,400 feet in elevation gain
Waking up a little after 5:00 a.m., and as Bev and, I assumed, most of the other hikers in our group continued to sleep, I lay in my sleeping bag and listened to the quiet as campers around us began to stir. In time, we both got out of our tent, had a cup of instant coffee, and headed to the restroom facility, the last time we would enjoy running water and flushing toilets for a couple of days. After a hearty breakfast of oatmeal, we broke down our tents, repacked our packs, and left the campground, and sadly the Phantom Ranch area, by around 8:00 a.m.
Our route that day to Indian Gardens Campground would be a challenging one, though not nearly as difficult as what we would face the next day. On this day, we would travel 4.7 miles, around half the distance to the South Rim, but climb only 1,400 feet, roughly only a third of the total climb from the river to the rim.
We crossed the Silver Bridge for the second and last time and then headed out on the Bright Angel Trail. While we were undoubtedly climbing, the elevation gain was at times almost imperceptible. Later after lunch, we looked down below us where we could see the trail we had walked on just a couple of hours earlier. It had not been steep, or particularly strenuous, but we were making steady progress in climbing out of the canyon. Just before lunch, we toured an archeological site of the ancient homes of some native peoples indigenous to the area. Located adjacent to the trail, the cliff-dwelling homes were still largely intact, and it was possible to ascertain how the small community was organized and how it likely operated. It was fascinating in many respects, and it caused us to again ponder just what it might have been like to live in such harsh climatic conditions.
This was by far the hottest day we had experienced in the canyon, so the shade provided by a little rock outcropping over the trail was welcome. So, too, were the lunch items spread out under another rock overhang. Though our shirts were fairly dry in the arid conditions, we had been sweating profusely as we carried our packs up the subtle incline. As such, a lunch of summer sausage, crackers, cheese, and other salty items was both needed and welcome.
As the early afternoon heat continued to build, and with virtually no shade on the trail, after lunch, we simply wanted to get to the campground. We arrived at Indian Gardens Campground at around 3:00 p.m. and began setting up our tents under a large shade tree at a group camping site adjacent to the trail. The canopy provided by the large tree was welcome, but even in the shade, it was still terribly hot and incredibly dry.
Though the vegetation was still rather limited, the Indian Gardens Campground was like an oasis in the barren landscape we had been traversing. But after the bustle, such as it was, of the previous two nights at Phantom Ranch and the relatively crowded Bright Angel Campground, our home for the evening seemed very isolated and rather desolate. One of the hikers in our group had the previous three nights slept “under the stars” in or on his sleeping bag and without a tent. As he staked out his spot on the edge of the campsite, next to the trail, one of the guides informed him that a rattlesnake had reportedly been seen near that spot just a few days earlier. I think he was being serious; as a very snake-averse person, he had my attention. The hiker was undeterred and apparently slept soundly in that “rattlesnake-infested” spot. As for me, I couldn’t get that snake out of my mind as I rested in the confines of our zipped-up tent.
The guides had done a great job of planning and cooking some amazing meals throughout our time in the canyon, and our last dinner was no different. I had been carrying several cans of clams, and hadn’t given them much thought. As Michael dished out the linguini with clam sauce, any effort to carry those cans of clams to this spot was energy well-expended. Sitting around the two picnic tables in one of the more isolated spots we had ever experienced, we enjoyed arguably the best meal of the week.
Around 6:30, after cleaning up the dinner dishes, the guides invited us to hike to what they suggested was a spot with one of the most panoramic views in the canyon. We were tired from the day’s hike, and a little concerned about the steep climb we were facing the next day. But one of the “most panoramic views” in a canyon filled with stunning vistas was an experience we couldn’t pass up.
Located a mile-and-a-half from Indian Gardens Campground, Plateau Point is a very isolated outcropping providing some of the best aerial views of the Colorado River. We had spent four days inside a canyon that had been carved by this iconic river, and other than our brief time hiking around Phantom Ranch, we had not seen this famous waterway. But from this perch, we could see long stretches of the river over a thousand feet below us. There were sheer drop-offs around us, or at least that’s what we were told as we steered clear of the edge of the outcropping. As we snuck a peak over the edge, we saw a couple of young hikers sitting with their feet dangling over the side of the ledge. Oh, the boldness, or silliness, of youth. It made me nervous just seeing these two twenty-somethings so close to the cliff edge.
Our real purpose, though, was yet to be revealed. As we sat safely in the middle of the plateau, we watched as the sun slowly receded below a distant horizon in the eastern part of the canyon. The changing colors as the setting sun fell below some faraway butte or canyon wall were fascinating to observe and stunningly beautiful. We have watched sunsets over the Gulf of Mexico near Key West, over the Pacific Ocean off the coast of Maui, and behind the Rocky Mountains in Colorado, to name just a few, but this was as memorable as any we had seen.
Things got dark, quickly, and we had a mile-and-a-half to traverse to get back to our campsite. Different groups returned to the campground separately, and Bev and I started hiking back together. With no ambient light, and little moonlight, the darkness was eerily intense, and while we thought we were on the trail, we were not completely sure. Our concern was two-fold: a) getting lost in the dark, and b) stepping on a rattlesnake (maybe even the one that had supposedly been spotted near our campsite). As we walked on the trail, with the available light continuing to diminish, we were struck by the sounds that surrounded us. The wind rustling through the scrub brush, unknown insects making odd sounds unfamiliar to us, even occasional animal sounds we didn’t recognize. In time, it became too dark to continue so we turned on our headlamps and were immediately inundated with swarming bugs. As I was in front, I turned on my light long enough to discern the trail for several yards in front of us and then turned it off before the insects returned. It was an eerie trek but a very memorable one as the incredible views and a beautiful sunset made it very worthwhile.
In our previous three nights in the canyon, as the evening progressed, the air seemed to cool and the light breezes seemed to flow, making for passable sleeping conditions. On our last night, however, it was still hot, and the air was seemingly still. A little nervous about the next morning when we would climb over 3,000 feet during our 4.6-mile hike, it quickly became apparent that on this night, sleep would pose a challenge.
In part because there was nothing else to do in the darkness, we were in our tents by 8:30 and in (actually on) our sleeping bags by 9:00. As I lay on my sleeping bag and pad, wearing nothing but a pair of underwear, sweat started to dot my forehead. It would be a long night, indeed.
But we had not placed the rain fly on our tent, and with only a thin screen mesh top serving as the barrier between us and the heavens, we were treated to an incredible spectacle. With virtually no light in this part of the canyon, the sky was a vivid panorama of stars and other celestial bodies. It was one of the most impressive nighttime skies I had ever seen. Sleep was fleeting, and there was nothing to do but lay in our tent. But we were entertained by this incredible view of the sky.
All week long, all eleven of us had slept in lightweight tents spaced apart in a group camping site no more than 40 feet by 40 feet. In such relatively close confines, we had noticed few sounds from the other hikers. This evening, as we struggled to find needed sleep, we were serenaded with a symphony of talking, snoring, burping, and passing gas. It was very noticeable, and under the circumstances, very loud.
When you’re down in the Grand Canyon, like we were, and you have no way to tell time other than the phone you have powered down to save the battery for photos, time becomes relative, almost non-existent. I don’t know how long Bev and I lay in our tent listening to the cacophony of noises coming from the other tents. At some point in the night, I looked over at Bev and saw that she had put some article of clothing on her head to try to block out some of the noise. I asked her, “What do you have on your head?” (I was “shushed.”) As her headgear resembled a hastily assembled hijab, I asked her if in the night she had somehow converted to Islam. Suffice it to say, she was less than amused.
Day 5 – Indian Garden Campground to the South Rim – 4.6 miles and 3,060 feet in elevation gain
We did get some sleep, fortunately, as we faced the most challenging part of the trip. We woke very early, around 4:30 a.m., and the guides were already heating water to be used for instant coffee and oatmeal. The first hint of daylight was beginning to peak over a distant cliff as we walked to the latrine and then to the one water spigot to wash up and prepare for the day. We anticipated a tough and hot day ahead of us, and we all wanted to get an early start to avoid as much of the mid-day sun and heat as possible.
After a quick breakfast of instant oatmeal and energy bars, we broke down our tent, repacked our packs, and prepared to leave Indian Gardens Campground. Because the Bright Angel Trail to the South Rim was so clearly defined (i.e. meaning even we couldn’t get lost on it), the guides suggested we could leave when we wanted and hike at our own pace. Bev and I were the first to depart, leaving the campground at 6:20 a.m. with the sun already above the eastern horizon.
We were barely out of camp when we started to have issues. Each of us had in our pack a hydration bladder, a flexible pouch with a tube that allowed us to drink while walking and without having to take off our packs, similar to sucking on a straw. Bev immediately noticed that she couldn’t access the water in her hydration bladder. We never got it operational that day, though we later determined that some part of the mechanism was clogged. As I had plenty of water we could access, and because there were a couple of locations on the trail where we could get more, we didn’t worry about the issue.
Then, a short distance later, I noticed one of my expandable hiking poles was collapsing. Particularly in the last couple of miles as we approached the South Rim and the trail steepened, those hiking poles would be essential. I had a multi-tool in my pack that I needed to tighten the clamp that held the extended pole in place. So I took off my pack, dug a little to find the multi-tool, tightened the clamp, and then prepared to resume our hike. I was a little frustrated given our anxiety about the hike and because we were burning the short-lived relative coolness of the morning as we dealt with these minor issues. We were soon back on the trail and within the next few hours, these minor episodes would be largely forgotten.
The trail to the South Rim was just over 4½ miles, and as water and toilet facilities were available every mile-and-a-half, this last hike was roughly broken into thirds. The first section featured a steady but not imposing climb, not dissimilar to what we had experienced the previous day on our hike from the Colorado River. The second section was noticeably steeper, and as the elevation increased and the air got a little thinner, the climb became even more challenging.
As expected, the last segment, as we worked our way up switchbacks carved into the side of the cliff, was especially tough. The trail was particularly steep, with steps created from soil and rocks and kept in place by wood frames. The elevation gains, the sun and increasing heat, and the weight of our packs combined to make this the most challenging hike we had ever undertaken. On this day we hiked for short periods with almost every other hiker in our group. But for the last mile-and-a-half, it was just Bev and me climbing together. We hiked a few hundred feet then stopped to catch our breath and drink some fluid, and then we continued. I was in front, and when I looked back at Bev, I was struck by the look of determination on her face. We were working hard and were focused strictly on getting to the top of the canyon.
Perhaps too focused. As I reflect on this last section of the climb, I have so many recollections about our effort, the trail we were constantly looking down at, and how I was feeling, both physically and emotionally. But what I apparently didn’t focus on, because I have few related memories, was our surroundings. When I had briefly hiked into the canyon on this same stretch of trail decades earlier, I had been struck by the changing scenery as I walked down from and then back up to the South Rim. On this day, as we were working so hard and were so focused on bringing this trek to a conclusion, we seldom stopped to look behind us at where we had been, at a unique perspective of the vastness of the Grand Canyon, and we took few photos that better memorialized our experience. At this point, we just wanted to get to the top.
We were unsure of how much farther until we reached the end of the trail. Then, a little after 10:00 a.m., or just 3½ hours after leaving the campground, we popped over the edge of the canyon and were suddenly on the South Rim. While the climb had certainly been challenging, we had handled it better than we might have anticipated. We were glad to have reached the top, and we both felt a great sense of satisfaction to have attained this long-time goal and deep gratitude to have had the opportunity to experience this amazing journey. One hiker (the oldest in the group) had preceded us to the top and all but one of our group reached the South Rim within fifteen minutes of our doing so. We lingered for a while taking individual and group photos in front of the “Bright Angel Trail” sign at the trailhead, sadly realizing that after this day, we would undoubtedly never see these good people again.
When we had reached the end of the trail out of the canyon and began wandering on the “Rim Trail,” the change in environment was stark. For five days, we had experienced little electricity, few flushing toilets, no showers, and in general a lack of the modern comforts we largely took for granted. Suddenly, we were just a few strides from luxury hotels, fine restaurants and fast-food snack bars, souvenir shops, and automobiles that could take us virtually anywhere. Compared to what we had just experienced, it was a loud and boisterous environment that catered to virtually every age and physical condition. While we would miss the quiet and simplicity of the inner canyon, it didn’t take us long to get used to being “back home.”
I saw what I thought was a familiar face lingering near the trailhead and went over to confirm that he was the van driver. He was, and we all followed him to store our packs in the trailer so we could explore the South Rim unencumbered.
What I wanted was some ice cream, so, with a couple of other hikers, we started our search along the Rim Trail. We soon found an ice cream shop, a Baskin/Robbins or Kilwins or some other national chain that I don’t recall. They were open, but at this early hour (still before 11:00 a.m.), the workers were still lugging those big five-gallon containers of different flavors to the shop from an outside freezer. While I don’t recall the flavor that Bev selected, from the limited flavors available as the ice cream was being transported, I chose chocolate. It was among the best milkshakes I have ever enjoyed, or at least it seemed that way under the circumstances. It was cooler on the South Rim than it had been inside the canyon, and we sat on a bench overlooking the magnificence of the Grand Canyon and savored the cold creaminess of a treat we had earned. It was a bit surreal, and very tasty, a treat I vividly recall to this day.
Our transition back to the luxuries of the modern world complete, we walked back to the trailhead to wait for the last hiker and the two guides to arrive. After less than a week on the trail working toward a common goal, we had become a cohesive team, and we wanted to celebrate with our last teammate. (The guides had completed this hike countless times.) After just a few minutes, we saw that last hiker pop over the top of the rim, his trek completed. With the two guides closely following him, all eleven of us had made it from the North to the South Rim, something that was never in much doubt but a noteworthy accomplishment, nonetheless. After several more photos, we made our way to the van to begin the ninety-minute ride back to Flagstaff.
The van driver had brought sack lunches with him, and we stopped at a spot along the Rim Road where we piled out of the van and sat on a ledge, eating our deli sandwiches, chips, apples, and cookies. It was good and appreciated, but somehow not on par with a pasta dinner cooked over a little portable stove or a spread of summer sausage and cheese along the trail.
Our drive back to the La Quinta Inn in Flagstaff was uneventful, and most of the hikers were quiet as we passed through the desert terrain. We were tired, sure, but also in need of time to process what had just occurred and what we had just accomplished. Thousands complete this hike every year, and though very challenging, with the training we had completed, our hike out of the canyon was easier than we might have anticipated. But at 57, Bev and I (and everyone else in our group) had accomplished something few people of any age are able to even attempt. While we felt a sense of pride, we had an even greater feeling of gratitude.
After a restroom and snack break on the way, in time we made it back to Flagstaff. After checking back into the hotel and getting the rest of our luggage out of our vehicle, we had one overriding need—a shower. As the week in the canyon had progressed, I had noticed several of our fellow hikers becoming more and more odiferous. Speaking only for myself, though I had tried to wash with a rag each evening, and though I had completed a soapless plunge into Bright Angel Creek, and though I used deodorant each morning, I don’t doubt that I, too, emitted offensive smells, particularly to those in the hotel who had not spent the past five days hiking across the Grand Canyon.
So, after letting Bev shower first (no comment about any odors she might have been emitting), I had one of the longest, hottest, most satisfying, and most needed showers of my life. Though still tired, the hot water had a restorative effect on each of us and we were both ready for our last evening together with the other seven hikers and the two guides, a group of folks we were soon going to miss.
Showered and blessedly in clean clothes and sitting in an air-conditioned hotel room, each a mundane amenity we would try to take a little less for granted in the future, I became a little reflective as we waited to leave for dinner. I was very proud of Bev for how she had handled the entire week but in particular this toughest of climbs. Now several years since we completed this amazing journey, I can still see in my mind the look on her face as we made our way up the last and steepest switchbacks. I would see that look again a couple of years later as we traversed the southern United States on a cross-country bicycle ride.
As for me, simply starting this rim-to-rim hike had been an unexpected bonus. Over a year before, I had ruptured my right Achilles tendon, a major tear that had to be surgically repaired. Though I faithfully completed rehab activities, after ten weeks of placing no weight on that leg, my right leg had atrophied to the point that a significant imbalance between the two legs resulted. Before that injury, I had been an avid runner and I longed to return to my preferred form of exercise. When I tried, though, aching pain shot up and down both legs; that imbalance was impacting my entire stride. I continued to work on it, and by the following spring, I was running short distances, albeit with continued aching pain.
In late February before our scheduled Grand Canyon trip, Bev and I took an extended trip to Florida and then up the Eastern Seaboard. I was able to get in some runs along the beach in Daytona and then occasionally as we drove toward Virginia, our destination before returning home. With plans to visit Monticello the next day, we stopped in Roanoke, Virginia for the night and went in search of a running trail.
The trail we found had been constructed along a river, which we quickly realized had recently experienced some severe flooding. There were trees and other debris along the trail that we had to run around, and we should have realized we needed to “live to run another day.” But we, or at least I, didn’t.
I had jogged less than a half-mile at a slow pace with the familiar nagging pain when I zig-zagged to avoid a log on the trail. As inevitable (and dumb) as it was, you can likely imagine what happened next. A few strides past the log I had dodged, I felt a sharp pain in my left hamstring, feeling as if someone had attached a large pair of vice grips to the back of my leg. The pain was excruciating as I lay on my stomach trying to understand what had just occurred. Soon, I realized I had likely torn my hamstring. Bev quickly got to me and tried to help me stand up (I couldn’t), and then took charge and helped to get me to our vehicle. She ran back to our car and drove to a spot near where I was laying, luckily near the street. As I lay on the side of the trail waiting for her to return, several good people stopped to ask if I was okay. (I think I lied and tersely told each of them I would be.) When Bev got back with the car, she tried to get me up off the ground. At the time, I outweighed her by at least 75 pounds, so if I was going to get to the car, I would largely have to do it myself. I crawled up the little hill from the trail to the street, and then with Bev’s assistance, literally got to and into the car on all fours. I was pitiful, largely immobile, in a great deal of pain, and increasingly depressed.
For after I realized what had likely occurred (a torn hamstring), I then grasped that our rim-to-rim hike, at that point scheduled for two-and-a-half-months later, was likely not going to occur, at least for me. In so many ways, even shortly after it occurred, this injury seemed devastating.
The next day, despite applying ice much of the previous evening, I woke up to crude dark shades of black, blue, and brown up and down the back of my left leg, from my hip to my calf. It was painful to put weight on it, and I struggled to find a comfortable position in the car as we began our long drive home. As we drove, I made an appointment with a sports medicine specialist back home with whom I had worked in the past. I still believed a) my running days were over (they were), and b) my Grand Canyon hike was still likely not going to happen.
I had always trusted this doctor, and when a few days later he looked at my discolored leg, which had only gotten darker, he called it “impressive.” (“Impressive” can be a desirable comment to hear from a doctor, though not necessarily when it’s related to an injury.) When I explained that I had a hike across the Grand Canyon scheduled for less than ten weeks later, he was skeptical and very noncommittal. He was willing, however, to try whatever might promote a needed quick recovery.
The next week, I started a three-day-a-week schedule of physical therapy sessions, and I began to bounce back much more quickly than anticipated. I started to fitness walk again on smooth, flat surfaces, then on flat trails, then up hills, and soon I was largely back to the training regimen I had followed before the injury. Three weeks before we were scheduled to leave for Arizona, I had my last appointment with the doctor. I point-blank asked him if he believed I could complete what we both knew would be an arduous and challenging hike under the best of circumstances. As physicians are prone to do, he was noncommittal and offered no guarantees. But I sensed he was rather amazed at the speed of my recovery, and though he didn’t give me an explicit go-ahead, his demeanor and body language suggested he thought I should proceed. It was all the validation I needed.
So, as I topped over the edge of the Grand Canyon at the end of the Bright Angel Trail, our rim-to-rim trek completed, I was struck by a profound sense of gratitude. I shouldn’t have even been here, but I was, and I was so thankful.
The group now clean and smelling much fresher, we rode in the van to a Mediterranean restaurant called Taverna for what the agenda called “a celebratory dinner and farewells.” As we sat down, the oldest in our group, a very wonderful lady from Hawaii, announced that because we had all “helped to get (her) to the top,” the beer that evening was on her. With an incredible hiking resume, I don’t believe she really needed our help at all, but we appreciated the gesture. In this cooler, more modern atmosphere, I enjoyed a couple of pints of the “Grand Canyon Ale” I had enjoyed just two days earlier at the Phantom Ranch Canteen. Though the setting was far less memorable, the beer was still very good. Michael, a Flagstaff resident who evidently often frequented this restaurant, suggested a sampler platter of some of the top items the restaurant offered. The food was good, but we most enjoyed the company of these nine other individuals who, in just five days, had become very important to us. In this much more relaxed setting with the week’s greatest challenge behind us, we learned more about the background of our teammates, people we realized we would miss far more than we would have ever anticipated at the beginning of the week. We had all come to the Grand Canyon with a distinct goal, and working together, each of us had reached it.
As we arrived back at the La Quinta Inn and dispersed for the night, the two guides returning to their homes and the hikers to their hotel rooms, we sadly realized we would likely never see these good people again. Our elation at completing our rim-to-rim hike was tinged with a touch of sadness.
In a real bed with a mattress and linens and in the coolness of an air-conditioned hotel room, we slept very well that night, waking more refreshed than we had in over a week. The other hikers were flying home that day, either from the Flagstaff airport or after shuttling to Phoenix, and only Bev and I were driving home. We met a couple of hikers from our group in the lobby, said our goodbyes again, and then walked across the street to a little restaurant where we had breakfast. By the time we returned to the hotel, most of the group had left to return home. We went to our room, finished packing, checked out, and left Flagstaff for Sedona, where we would spend the next two nights before returning to Missouri.
Just like that, our Grand Canyon adventure, at the time the most challenging physical feat we had completed, had come to an end.
But an experience like this one stays with you long after it is completed, from the memories you keep to the lessons you learned. This had been a significant challenge, at least for Bev and me, and we left Flagstaff subtly different than when we had arrived.
What had we learned from this amazing journey?
We learned that we enjoyed and benefited from pursuing a tough goal as part of a like-minded group. Years earlier, as we trained for and completed multiple half-marathons, a full marathon, an MS 150 bike ride, and other events, we did so as a pair, just Bev and me. Sure, we interacted with all kinds of folks along the way, but such encounters were fleeting and largely haphazard. Even when we biked across the state of Missouri on the Katy Trail just two years earlier, we had done so largely in isolation. But during the five days we worked our way across the Grand Canyon, a more challenging adventure than we had previously undertaken, we found that we enjoyed working with others to reach a common goal. Bev and I are both introverted to varying degrees, but we enjoyed getting to know the two guides and the other seven hikers, and those interactions added much to our experience.
We learned that when completing a challenging journey, we shouldn’t forget to stop and enjoy the scenery. We were hiking through some of the most amazing terrain in the world, and we certainly enjoyed our surroundings while we were at the base of the canyon near the Colorado River. But as we descended into the canyon from the North Rim and especially as we climbed back out toward the South Rim, I know I was too focused on getting to our destination to fully enjoy the offerings of the path we were following. I would remain cognizant of this lesson as we completed future journeys.
We learned that the body is incredibly resilient, and as a result, we shouldn’t prematurely cave to our doubts and give up too soon. When I tore my hamstring just a few months before we were scheduled to leave for Arizona, and when my ego-driven brain told me my chances of making it across the Grand Canyon seemed doomed, I could have easily given up. Had I done so, there is a good chance that neither Bev nor I would ever again get the opportunity to complete this trip. By simply waiting to see how my body would respond to treatment and then putting in the work needed to give me the best chance to be successful, we were both able to complete one of the greatest journeys of our lives.
We learned, again, that proper training makes a tough journey much more enjoyable. Bev and I trained hard in the months and weeks before we stepped onto the North Kaibab Trail, both before and after tearing my hamstring. So much of our focus in this training had been preparing for the last day on the trail, with over 3,000 feet of elevation gain over a very steep 4.6 miles. And it was certainly a tough climb, but not nearly as challenging as I had anticipated it would be. In fact, when we made it to Grand Canyon Village more quickly than expected, my thoughts included relief that we were finished mixed with a notion suggesting “that wasn’t that bad at all.” Without the training we had devoted to this climb, we might have found ourselves in miserable pain, struggling to get to the top, and as a result, unable to get much enjoyment from our accomplishment.
And perhaps most profoundly, we learned that we thrived on and needed this type of challenge. Walking, hiking, biking, working on an elliptical or stair climber, lifting weights, etc. for the sake of “staying healthy” is a worthy endeavor, but one that tends to lack focus and provides only limited motivation, at least for me. Doing any or all these activities as a means of reaching a goal of completing some sort of challenge provides great focus to those workouts as well as almost limitless motivation. Completing a tough workout with an “end in mind” provides a psychological and physiological lift, providing the impetus to do more and more. And when all those workouts culminate in reaching the lofty goal to which you have long aspired, the feeling of satisfaction is indescribable. This was no “one and done” type of journey; we wanted and needed more. As Bev and I processed the completion of our rim-to-rim trek, one of the questions we asked ourselves was, “what’s next?”
A little over two years later, after over a year of focused training, we departed San Diego at the start of a cross-country bicycle ride.
