Down And Up Again: A Grand Canyon Holiday - Postscript

Thanks for coming along on my trip into the Grand Canyon. I have enjoyed sharing it with you and hope you have enjoyed seeing a part of it that a great many people never have the opportunity to view.

When we perform an Iai training with our Soke (the head of our sword school), we must submit a report of the experience with what we have learned during the training. This seems a worthy endeavor for an experience which changes one’s life; I therefore present my Rule Of Five for Down and Up Again (Rule of Five of course, because I have five fingers on my hand. It makes it easy to remember):

1) We can do more than we think: Prior to this hike, I had never hiked anything like the distance we went, nor had I done anything like descended a canyon or climbing up a rock slide or the 50 other things I did that was completely new to me on this trip. Had you asked me before the hike, I would that, not knowing better, I just went and did them.

2) The reasons we do not live our dreams is us more than our circumstances: On this tour, I met guides who have made a life out of what the love. But in reality, I also made an experience where none had previously existed. I could have come up with any number of reasons not to make this commitment: money, time, commitment to training, physical ability. But I managed those in such a way that I accomplished this trip and its goals, which were simple ones: 1) Do not die; 2) Get out of the canyon. How many other things are dependent far less on my circumstances and far more on what I am willing to do?

3) To get anywhere worth going requires effort: The views I have been able to share with you happened because I went down into the Canyon. If I did not go down, the pictures I would give you are the ones of the Canyon Rim, the same that many others share as their total view of the Grand Canyon. There is nothing wrong with those pictures of course; but the better ones are only found by going to where the rocks and river are, not standing on the edge with a telephoto lens.

4) Guides in unfamiliar territory make all the difference in the world: One of the questions that came up in our descent was “How many people have died here?” There are numbers of course, and one can look them up, but one of our guides – Storyteller – said that no-one has died that has been on a guided tour or hike. That makes sense: a guide knows the trail, knows the needs, knows the dangers. At some point perhaps we can make our own way, but to do so in the beginning without a guide carries a much higher degree of risk.

5) Adventure really is (still) out there, but we do have to go and get it: If I were to liken myself to a literary character on this hike, I would compare myself to Bilbo Baggins (he of The Hobbit): a middle-aged man with his books and his home and his comfortable life, reading about adventure all the time but never really thinking he could or would go on one. The reality is that one can still go on adventures, but one has to take a very important first step: one simply has to say “yes” to going on them at all. Once that happens, a world of possibilities becomes available.

This experience has been encouraging to me in a way that I had not expected. Yes, I have signed up for another one next year – not to the Grand Canyon, but to somewhere different. Training started last week and I have 9 months to get ready.

But that is okay. Because now, I know I can do it.

Down And Up Again: A Grand Canyon Holiday – Up

I wake up early – 0300 – far earlier than I need to. I am not really sure why, whether it is others getting ready or my own anticipation of reaching the top of the Canyon, something I both long for and loathe at this point.

We leave in two waves: the first leave somewhere around 0415; the rest of us – after a “leisurely” breakfast and packing, leaving at 0515 in the morning pre-darkness. Only the stars mark our passing as we move out. We have 9 miles and 4650 feet in elevation gain to cover today.

We hike for the first 90 minutes or so with headlamps, something I have never done before. It does not seem to slow us down much, although one does not have a real sense of what the landscape is like around us. We know, of course – we have seen it for the past three days and know that canyon walls are dropping on either side of us as we continue on – but this is only hinted at in the pre-sunrise.

By the time we can pull the headlamps off, we have made considerable progress up the Tanner Trail. The wind blows coldly when we stop for breaks, but we press on without putting on more clothing – 2 minutes into the climb leaves everyone heated and with sweat.

We stop for an early lunch of leftovers: beef jerky, almonds, craisins, Fritos, carrots, and anything else that we need to consume. Craisins and Fritos, it turns out, make for an excellent combination of salty and sweetness something to bear in mind.

The Desert Tower has continued to draw closer as we have continued to make progress up the Canyon. We begin to execute a flanking move as we turn to the right and continue to traverse in a roughly eastern direction. We are headed for and cross over the saddle (between two canyons) of the 75 Mile Canyon we visited two days before.

Which brings us to the Red Wall ascent.

We descended the Red Wall 3 days ago. Now, we have to go up. Our guides have prepared us for this verbally: it is a two mile climb out of the Canyon. It has switchbacks, but is more or less up and up and up. The time of traversing has ended.

There are two light piles of rock that sit at the top of the Red Wall ascent. These are essentially the Canyon Rim, the target we are shooting for.

We start up.

We fairly quickly break into smaller groups, those that can go faster do so, while the slower ones (of which I am one) fall into a second group. It can be discouraging to look up and see how much higher and farther others are ahead of you; when they all finally disappear I am strangely relieved.

The hike becomes an endurance course: switchback, switchback. Stop to look at the scenery, which turns into to a rest break. Switchback, climb, stop. As I continue up, the breaks get closer and closer together.

Finally, I begin to hit the trees. This means topsoil, which means the Rim must be fairly close – although not too close, as I cannot see it.

Switchback, rest, switchback, climb.

Then, suddenly, the path largely levels out and there is no more “up” to be had, just a path leading out to the trail head. My time, as I find out later, was 7.5 hours from the Colorado to the trail head. That number surprises me.

As we come out and cheer each other, we go back to the van which one of the earlier members out had gone and procured. We celebrate with a cold beer (cold just by the outside weather) and additional snacks. I figure I have burned a million calories or some other ridiculous number, and have more snacks.

We stop and rest and flip our phones on to notify folks that we have arrived and the edge of the parking lot. I observe several cars of people pull up to park, get out, look at the sign or maybe over the edge, then get back in and drive away. There is no conversation, no apparent drinking in of the Canyon’s beauty. It is a tick mark to check on the “I have seen” list.

Do not judge too deeply, my brother in law suggests. When I came here in February, I did exactly the same thing.

Two groups were at the same lookout. One group saw the Grand Canyon; the other group experienced the Grand Canyon. The gulf between the two is immeasurable.

Down And Up Again: A Grand Canyon Holiday - Across II

I cannot remember the last time I woke up to a river or stream or really any body of water. It is an overwhelming sense of both peace and activity, quite different from the usual wake up call I experience.

Today is another day undulating back and forth between the River bank and the Canyon Walls. We go up and down, rising and descending the different color rock strata

Two days of doing this has begun to equip me with the ability to see the trail on the canyon walls – not instinctively of course, like an actual guide, but at least in the contours of what is coming up. This is a hopeful improvement.

We hit a high point and overlook Unkar Delta, which looks much more like a sand spit. Humans dwelt here 1,000 years ago, planting corn and beans. It is somewhat hard for me to believe that people lived in the Grand Canyon most of the time. What a different existence that must have been.

We descend from that overlook to Unkar Beach, which is a much smaller version of Escalante Beach. We take a lunch break here; some people soak their feet. I watch the River.

After lunch, we head up again out onto the Canyon walls. The walking is more straight and level now and the air has heated up (the hottest it will be during our hike). The rocks here are red, a deep red that seems to support very little at all. I am reminded of Sam and Frodo as the trudge through the rubble in front of Mt Doom.

It is quiet today – as it has been every day of this hike. There are only occasional grasshoppers and scarcely a bird to be seen or heard, let alone any wildlife which is larger. The Canyon runs with a deep silence, where the River does not run.

Our hike ends tonight at Tanner Beach, both the terminus of the Escalante Trail which we have been following as well as the terminus of the Tanner Trail, which we will take tomorrow to get out of the Canyon. Far in the distance I can see the Desert Tower, a 1930’s building that was in the parking lot where we last used the restroom. That will become our North Star for the first part of the hike tomorrow.

Tanner Beach is more like the river beaches I have known, rocks mixed in with sand. There is wind and the potential of rain, so we all put our rain flys up on the off chance of a little moisture. I set mine in a small grove surrounded by trees.

That night after dinner (jambalaya) and our roses and thorns accounts (and there are no thorns tonight), we are each given a trail name by The Commissioner. They are all strangely applicable to us and we laugh as they are given – The Commissioner has an astute eye for personal characteristics and mannerism.

Of me, he notes that I did not have any idea what I was getting into (I did not) and he appreciated my comment every night, including this one, that “I did not die”. My trail name hereafter when I hike with his company will be “Survivor”.

Survivor. I like it.

The wind is not nearly as strong as the previous nights and no rain comes – although as it turns out the trees I am surround by is the home to some kind of insect or small animals, which chirp and crick through the night. The night is cloudy so there would be no stars, but the rain fly keeps the nature of my besiegers a mystery.

Which is, perhaps, as well. We all still need a little mystery in our lives.

Down And Up Again: A Grand Canyon Holiday - Across I

We rise (mostly) with the lightening of the sky; there is little point in getting up before then as due to the changing season, the sunrise will not start until after 0600, there is no point in rising earlier, and inherent thoughtfulness for one’s neighbors prevent one from stirring for no reason.

The sunrise though, does not disappoint.

While we have the first cup of coffee (Via by Starbucks in the single serving; works remarkably well) we tear down our camp. It takes maybe ten minutes, but is quickly done – amazing how having little makes you quicker. After a round of breakfast sandwiches and topping off our water bottles, we continue down the Red Canyon.

We are in a wash now, which gently slopes downward, the steep inclines and narrow trails of the day before a recent memory. As we continue on, a sound begins to break out, followed by a sighting. The Hance Rapids of the Colorado River are before us.

The River is wide and green colored, flowing swiftly but not so cold as the snow-fed rivers of my youth. It contrasts brilliantly against the backdrop of the Canyon walls.

We see some kayakers that pull up ahead of us and pull off, then troop down to look at the Rapids. We have a short conversation with them. They are kind and polite, asking how long we have been down and where we are going. This sort of conversation becomes the norm for the few people we see on the entire trip – two yesterday, the kayakers plus six more today and two tomorrow: there is a sort of shared communion among those in the Canyon that is different than that of the outer world.

After watching the kayakers take a crack at the Rapids – one succeeds, one fails and is overturned – we begin our hike up the River, weaving along its banks until we begin to pull away on what is now The Escalante Trail. The River will be the center of our universe for the next two days as we weave back and forth to its banks, the Escalante Trail our guide.

As we pull away, we continue to move inland until we reach the Papago Slide: a 200 foot or so rock slide from the Canyon wall, in which we come up halfway. We are to go up the Slide – a collection of rocks, scree, and dirt – and then cross over to the other side, where we will crawl down the Papago Wall.

We have to go in two groups; I stay behind with the second group as it is the slower group and I have decided to bring up the rear. We wait patiently for the first group to climb up; when we get the signal, it is our turn.

There are two theories in going up the Slide: go close together (to minimize the gathered speed of falling items) or to go far apart (to allow the dodging of falling items). We elect for the former and begin the climb.

Among my many fears, I have two: heights and unstable surfaces. The Papago Slide offers both in spades. Fortunately, I am spared the horror of constantly looking down: my face is directly looking at the slide before me and the feet and hands of the climber before me. I am forcing myself to lean forward into the slide, trying to counterweight the backpack which I imagine to be much heavier than I think, ever sensitive to the potential of the surface below me shifting. Slowly, we crawl from rock to rock and move up the Slide – until 100 yards later and perhaps 10 minutes (it certainly seemed longer) we emerge on the top and slowly make our way across the wall to the Papago Wall.

The Papago Wall, by contrast, holds little fear at this point: with the careful placement of hands and feet, it is relatively easy to conquer. A challenge which in my mind would have insurmountable before is a moderately tame inconvenience.

We continue on a bit in the hike until we reach 75 Mile Canyon, so named as it is at the 75^th mile on the River.

The Canyon is a slot canyon, a narrow version of the water action that we see writ large before us overhead. In it, one can directly see the smaller application of the larger geologic forces around us.

We make our way back in it, slowly wending and winding our way up until we arrive at the end of the Canyon, where we have to go up and out. We work our way back along the top of the Canyon we just walked through – even with this, we are 30 or more feet above the floor.

After another gentle descent, we end at Escalante Beach.

Escalante Beach is not like other river beaches I can recall, small spits of rock or coarse sand: this is a white sandy beach with green water and waves rolling up to its shore, the equal of any good ocean beach I have seen. This will be our stop for the night.

After setting up their tents, some members of our party hop into the River for a swim or at least a rinse – although almost everyone immediately hops back out as well; the River is a bit cool. I have failed to bring shorts or a swim suit (but should do so next time); I content myself with dangling my feet in the River.

Dinner tonight is fajitas, which taste delicious – as does everything on this trip; hunger, as the Irish say, makes a fine sauce. We again go around in a circle to call out our wins and losses; almost everyone is excited that they conquered the Papago Slide. I am as well, although I start out by again mentioning the fact that I, once again, did not die.

Again tonight, we have a clear sky of bright stars, but it is combined with a river provides background noise not in the form of waves on the shore, as I am used to on the ocean, but rather a constant steady motion and roar in the background.

Rain, if you will, except on a grander scale.