Grand Canyon trip, November 2004

In September 2001, I had taken a long-awaited trip to Niagara Falls. It was an exciting, unforgettable vacation. In the same way, I simply had to visit the Grand Canyon, regarded by some people as numero uno among the seven wonders of the world. Instead of further waiting for the ideal time, I went ahead and made reservations for November 3-8, 2004.

I woke up early on the morning of November 3 and got the news on the radio: George W. Bush was the winner of the presidential election. (Although I voted for John Kerry, it was interesting to see the lefties wailing and gnashing their teeth yet again.) Economizing as always, I left my car at a place away from the airport and rode a bus in. My vacation got off to an inauspicious beginning when the security mechanism beeped repeatedly as I walked through, so I was asked nicely to step aside. The man, who can thank Osama bin Laden for his job, ran his wand over and around me and even patted me down, as I looked at him with a “you-have-got-to-be-kidding” expression. Finally I went on my way.

I arrived in Phoenix in time to witness Kerry’s concession speech on an overhead TV but had to leave for Flagstaff—on a turboprop airplane—before our commander in chief came on. In Flagstaff, I took a taxi downtown to the bus/train station where an outfit called Open Road Tours would escort me and a few others to the Grand Canyon, 80 miles farther north. Things seemed to be proceeding smoothly so far. Our driver was talkative but helpful and generous with advice. By late afternoon, I had checked into the Bright Angel Lodge on the South Rim. My lodgings were modest ($49 per night) but all I needed; the bathroom was down the hall. Actually, even before unloading my bags, I stepped to the Bright Angel transportation desk to inquire about the possibility of picking up a cancelation for Phantom Ranch, down by the Colorado River. Since reservations are required almost two years in advance, I was not too hopeful. Much to my delight, however, the lady told me that there was a place open for the next evening. Although I was still a bit dazed from all that traveling, I jumped on it. I would spend one night at the Bright Angel Lodge, store my belongings with the bellman for Thursday night and check in again on Friday when I would—presumably—be back up from two days of hiking in the canyon.

Oh yes, the canyon! As expected, it was bigger and better than I had expected, and I expected a lot. Beautiful, breathtaking, awesome, staggering…all those superlatives apply. I had seen the pyramids of Egypt and Chichen-Itza, so I thought I had experienced antiquity, but geologic processes began in the area almost 2 billion years ago, and what we call the Colorado River had been creating an ever-deeper and wider canyon for 5.6 million years. This was why I had come. I bought some things in the Bright Angel gift shop (one of many on the South Rim) and took my first trip on the shuttle bus, about a mile east to the Shrine of the Ages auditorium to hear a cowboy storyteller.

On Thursday morning, I had a hearty breakfast before taking the bus to Market Plaza (post office, grocery store, restaurant and, of course, gift shop) where I loaded up on bottled water, beef jerky, bananas and trail mix. I also purchased a walking stick and floppy hat to protect myself from what might become a fearsome sun down in the desert-like conditions below the rim. I read countless warnings about the dangers of hiking in the canyon—the people who had died or the 250 per year who must be rescued. Heat exhaustion, sunstroke, dehydration, injury or getting lost were some of the things to consider before entering the canyon, but I was going. I got onto the Bright Angel Trail by 9:15 a.m. and started my 4,500-foot descent. Snow and ice still clung to the ground near the top, so that was a bit hazardous. My walking stick soon proved very helpful, both for balance and for propulsion, since the winding trail was in most places anything but smooth. Given that it had been in almost continual use for a thousand years and had been “improved” greatly in the last century or so, it was still pretty bumpy and rocky (I later learned that other trails in the Grand Canyon were considerably worse).

As advised, I stopped frequently to rest, drink and eat. Nearly every person I met on their way up gave and received in return a sincere “good morning” greeting because we seemed to have something in common, being among the 1%—that’s correct, one percent—of Grand Canyon visitors who venture below the rim. I also noted that several of them were in pain, which made me wonder how I would do on my ascent the next day! I made my way along the various switchbacks, such as Jacob’s Ladder and the Devil’s Corkscrew. I was often looking down to ensure good footing, but I did not hesitate to gaze in every direction at my surroundings, including landmarks like the Battleship, Cheops Pyramid and Isis Temple and others whose names I did not know. In fact, I had a musical accompaniment in my head, the old gospel song about God’s creation, “How Great Thou Art.”

I stopped at the 1 ½-Mile and 3-Mile Resthouses and at Indian Garden, 4.5 miles down the trail. This was the one place between the rim and Phantom Ranch that had water, not to mention cottonwood trees and abundant shade. Really, though, heat was not a problem since the temperature never rose above 60 degrees or so. It was cool and clear the whole way down, but I was getting tired. On and on I went, eventually reaching the muddy Colorado River, where I took a right turn and followed that trail to the suspension bridge over the river. I still had to cross Bright Angel Creek two or three times and go beyond a Ranger station, a campground and some other buildings before I reached my destination: the famous Phantom Ranch, where Teddy Roosevelt had gamboled 90 years ago. At that point, I did not care about history or much else besides relief. The girl inside the canteen/office was waiting for me and directed me to dorm #12, where I selected a lower bunk bed (I would have nine male roommates that night) and savored a long shower that could only be called “therapeutic.” Due to the high canyon walls on every side, direct sunlight was gone by about 5 p.m. At 6:30, I partook of a stew dinner with 40 other people. Later in the evening, a rather hyperactive Ranger named Lori did a question-and-answer session at the amphitheater. With no city lights to hide them from our view, the stars were bright and abundant, sharing the sky with a half-moon. I went to bed early, but there was very little sleeping that night, not with one snorer who sounded like a foghorn and another who was more like a moose. I would not let such things bother me, not during this adventure.

At 5 a.m., there was a knock on the door and a female voice gently waking us and reminding us that breakfast would be served in 30 minutes. It was tasty but also expensive (as was the previous night’s dinner) since everything had to be packed in by mules or brought from far upriver. It was just 6:15 and still somewhat dark when I said goodbye to Mike, Jack and Scott and began retracing my steps from Thursday. Everything I had heard indicated that going up took twice as long as going down. If that were true, I would be getting to the rim very late on Friday. I was determined to beat those predictions, so I hiked efficiently while still taking breaks and enjoying the sublime beauty around me. After all, when, if ever, might I be back?

I knew I was making good time, but was fairly surprised to reach Indian Garden by 9 a.m. Again, the weather could not have been better, and I was in an effervescent mood, thrilled to be where I was and making that trek. I took pleasure in every step. At the 3-Mile Resthouse, I talked to a couple of guys from San Diego, one of whom told me all I was doing wrong, although things seemed to be going just fine. Onward and upward I went, seemingly happier the closer I got to the top. I had read stories of weary people dragging themselves up to the rim, but that certainly was not the case with me. It was almost as if I were gathering speed (not that speed was my goal by then). Oh, what a feeling! I will never forget stepping off the trail and onto the South Rim at 11:00 that morning. Somehow, I had made it up in 4 hours, 45 minutes—faster than I had gone down on Thursday.

Unfortunately, I had to wait almost that long to get back into my room at the Bright Angel Lodge. The room had to be cleaned and checked, so I sat next to the big fireplace in the lobby, reading USA Today and the Arizona newspapers. I also noted the invasion of dozens upon dozens of Japanese tourists, many of whom were evidently quite fond of cigarettes. I wandered into the gift shop a time or two and then back to the rim where I gazed out at whence I had just come. Bright Angel Trail, the two resthouses and Indian Garden were all visible, although the river and Phantom Ranch were not. Finally, I moved into my room and took a long, langorous shower. I would be sore, tired and somewhat stiff in the remainder of my vacation, but in a pleasant sort of way. The rest of that day consisted of seeing a lovely sunset at the South Rim (damn, I really hiked into and out of the Grand Canyon!), hanging around the mule barn and learning more about the history of the place at the Lookout Studio and Kolb Studio, both of which had gift shops—of course. I was asleep by 8 p.m.

On Saturday morning, I moseyed over to the lobby of El Tovar Hotel to partake of some free coffee, reportedly strong enough to remove the enamel from one’s teeth. The El Tovar was the oldest and most expensive of the various lodging choices in Grand Canyon Village, and I must say there was quite a bit of snob appeal affixed thereto. Rooms at the El Tovar in the off-season ran as much as $285 per night, and the menu of its restaurant listed some prices that were frightening. Hey, I am used to brown-bagging it. As an example, I went to Market Plaza and bought some whole-grain bread, peanut butter and bananas, which sustained me quite well. I mailed a fistful of postcards and then took the shuttle bus east to Yavapai Point. Then it was back to the village for a bit and on west, to Maricopa Point, Powell Point, Hopi Point, the Abyss, Pima Point and Hermit’s Rest. All offered spectacular views of the Grand Canyon, but I confess they began to look the same after a while. I did, however, enjoy my time at Hermit’s Rest with its huge fireplace (and yes, another gift shop).

Back “home,” I realized I was growing a bit bored, goofing off and visiting the same places, and I had one more day of this. No TV, no radio, no computer. This was my time to decompress from life back in Austin. I even forgot about the UT-Oklahoma State football game until many hours after it had been played. To fill some time more than to satisfy my curiosity, I attended a presentation called “Because It’s There” by Ranger John at the Shrine of the Ages.

On Sunday, the last full day of my vacation, it was overcast and drizzly, and I was quite thankful it had not been like that during my two days in the canyon! I had a leisurely breakfast at Maswik Lodge, ¼ mile away from the rim. Although it was not old and historic with the big wooden beams and fireplaces like El Tovar and Bright Angel Lodge, it had a cafeteria and even a sports bar where I could have conceivably watched my Longhorns the day before. I had pancakes and coffee before taking the shuttle out east to Yaki Point. In the village, I went back over to the funky mule barn and watched these very amusing animals eating hay and frolicking among themselves. Not until then did I tour Hopi House, a century-old stone-and-adobe building designed by Mary Colter (who also did El Tovar, Bright Angel Lodge, Phantom Ranch, Lookout Studio and Hermit’s Rest) and erected by indigenous people, a.k.a. “Indians.” There they had lived, done artwork and occasionally performed music and dances until not long ago; today it is—you guessed it—a gift shop. I bought a thing or two to bring back to family and friends in Texas and embarked on one more swing west, out to Hermit’s Rest and the spots in between. I took photographs and sought to encode this magnificent beauty on my brain. My last night there, I attended another presentation at the Shrine of the Ages, where Ranger Pat spoke about the program to save the California Condor.

It was cold and rainy on Monday, and the canyon was completely fogged in. Even more than Sunday, I was grateful that the weather had not been like this during my visit to Phantom Ranch. I checked out of the Bright Angel Lodge and went on over to Maswik Lodge where the Open Road Tours boy would be picking us up at 11:45 a.m. That left me lots of time to kill (does this sound familiar?). Coffee, pancakes and the newspaper again, but something happened to liven it up. I met one of the cafeteria workers, a Hopi woman named Letha, whose ancestors had dwelled in that area for 10,000 years. When she saw I was willing to listen, she chattered nonstop, telling stories about her life, how the current generation of Hopi kids don’t know their language or culture, and something about a person who had wronged her and she had a dream, which she interpreted as him seeking forgiveness. Oh, she also asked if I was single and did I want to get married? I was not sure if it was a joke or a come-on or some combination of the two.

When the bus finally arrived, I was ready to go. The driver played a tape of Grateful Dead music as we motored south to Flagstaff. I had lots of time before my flight to Phoenix, so I lugged my things across rainy Route 66 to the Grand Canyon Café and consumed a big plate of Chinese food. I took a taxi to the airport and conversed with the driver about the fortunes of the Arizona Cardinals, Arizona Diamondbacks and even the football team of the local school, Northern Arizona University. At the airport, I met an older man named David who had helped build some of the trails in the Grand Canyon as a member of the Civilian Conservation Corps in the mid-1930s and also was in the Navy when Pearl Harbor was attacked in 1941. The flights to Phoenix and Austin were uneventful. I just barely had enough money left to pay the lady at the offsite parking complex, and was tired from all the travel (as well as from those two days into and out of the fabled canyon). I love to travel, but it’s always nice to get home where I have more control over my life, diet and sleeping patterns. I knew I needed some time, and to write this account, to gain a better understanding of the trip. By no means am I disappointed, and in some ways, it was even better than I could have hoped for. Yes, there were long stretches of wasted time and dare I say boredom. No matter. For years and years, I had had a deep yearning to visit the Grand Canyon. And although I had traversed and seen but a fraction of this almost 2,000-square mile park, I had finally made the journey. All the expense and inevitable hassles notwithstanding, there was no doubt that the trip would enrich my life, simple though it may be.