I had thought that for Lent I would try to be more reflective and post at least once or twice a week. But that didn't last long. I've been distracted by many things over the past month, but one of the best things was this past weekend. Three friends and I hiked to the bottom of the Grand Canyon and back. The trip provided the opportunity for reflection and conversation that a vacation always stimulates, and reminded me of the restorative power of spending a few days in nature disconnected from the to do list.
Our family has camped a lot, but I have never been backpacking. When the friend who organized the trip first asked if I wanted to go, my first thought was that I wouldn't be able to get away. But my husband knows I have always wanted to backpack and camp and walk all day, and here was an opportunity for me to go without everyone else in the family having to go along with my vision of a good time. One of the friends, another mom of six, almost didn't go because she has a nursing toddler at home, but she, too, has a supportive family. All of us are blessed with husbands who don't fit the stereotype of the bumbling dad. We've finally reached a point in life when we can go away for a weekend, and everyone at home is fine. The three-year-old has been especially clingy since I returned, but she was fine while I was gone.
This trip was a good first backpacking trip. We only covered 16 miles altogether - 7.5 down the South Kaibab trail, and 9.5 miles back up the Bright Angel trail. (At least 2 miles were relatively flat along the Colorado River.) And we only camped one night, so we didn't need to carry much food. We left San Diego on Friday and drove to the National Park, where we spent Friday night at Maswik Lodge, the low-end hotel on the property, before getting up early Saturday for our hike.
We did get scared when we arrived because first we were given a new weather report that called for rain and snow, and then we found out that the National Park was experiencing a water shortage because a pipe had burst. Suddenly we thought we would have to carry water for 2 days instead of being able to refill at the bottom of the canyon at the campground by Phantom Ranch. My friend had a water purifier, but we did run to the camp store at the visitor center to buy a pair of ice cleats and an extra tarp. And I stuffed my extra polar fleece into my backpack instead of leaving it behind in the car. Our backpacks were heavier than they needed to be. I don't think any of us slept well Friday night in anticipation.
But Saturday dawned bright and beautiful. It was chilly in the morning, but we quickly warmed up once we began walking. We were quiet on the shuttle ride to the trailhead, but once we began hiking, worries melted away under the bright blue skies and in the awe of the canyon. This was a beautiful time of year to hike - not too hot and not too cold and not too crowded, although definitely not isolated. Travelers from around the world were hiking along with us. I was initially worried about bathrooms because I remembered from our previous visits that there aren't many hiding places along the trail, but there are actually pit toilets at strategically placed locations.
Sometimes I worry about group events because you never know if you are going to have a complainer or a straggler, but we were a well matched group. We weren't in any rush, so we stopped often to admire the view or to sit and eat a snack. It took us about five hours to reach the bottom (while it took a couple runners who passed us going down and again heading back up just an hour and fifteen minutes to run the seven miles). That gave us plenty of time to visit the ranch at the bottom of the canyon (where hikers can stay if they reserve a year in advance) and get a cold glass of lemonade and write postcards to be mailed by mule.
The campground is nestled in a cottonwood grove planted by prospectors at the turn of the twentieth century along Bright Angel Creek. (Mentioned in Marguerite O'Henry's Brighty of the Grand Canyon, which I reread in prep for this trip, which I was glad I did. Sites have more significance when linked to a story. Here was the suspension bridge that Brighty led President Teddy Roosevelt over!) Soaking our feet in the creek felt incredible. The camp didn't have running water, but the ranch did have a station to refill our water bottles. There we met a couple young men who had run from the south to the north rim and were now running back - a total of 46 miles with an elevation change of at least 5-6000 feet each round. That puts our little trek in perspective. (While I am not interested in a lot of extreme sports, or even downhill skiing or skydiving, I could be tempted, if I were 35 and had the time, to want to do something of that magnitude. Running all day through a beautiful location appeals to me more than sitting on a beach with a cocktail.)
Hungry after our hike, and with nothing else to do, we ate dinner early. A park employee - the facilities manager who was overseeing the pipe repairs - sat and chatted with us while we ate. He lives for eight days in the canyon, then hikes out and spends eight days with his family before returning. When his kids were younger, they sometimes stayed with him and went to the school in the park, but now they were grown. He has lived that life for 20 years. An interesting career. He shared some funny stories about hikers who exhausted themselves or came unprepared and about people being heliported out. We obviously were not going to be one of those statistics, but it made us realize why the park issues so many dire warnings about hiking the canyon in a day.
Happily, it was warm enough to sit and chat for while at the table, enjoying some hot cocoa with an ounce of Bailey's in honor of St. Patrick. We all marveled over the quick heating Jetboil my husband sent with me and over the relative tastiness of the dehydrated dinners we packed in. Dried pineapple and mango were our tasty dessert. But once darkness fell, all of us were ready to turn in for the night. I don't think I've ever stayed at a quieter campground, even though most of the sites were full.
But before we fell asleep, the wind and rain started. The wind between in the canyon walls sounded like a jet plane, and I began to imagine the fly being whipped off the tent, and me having to jump out of the tent and get cold and wet trying to tie it down. But I had secured it well enough, apparently. And the rain wasn't torrential. The extra tarp came in handy; we didn't get soaked. Only the ends of our sleeping bags were damp.
At five a.m., it was still raining lightly, but we needed to get an early start to hike out in time to drive back to San Diego Sunday night. We did take a minute to heat some water for coffee, but ate nutition bars on the go instead of eating instant oats in the rain. Within an hour, the rain abated, and the haze began to burn off.
Our packs were heavy, but I never felt so uncomfortable that I wanted the hike to end. In fact, I had several moments when I slowed down because I wasn't in any hurry to reach the end. Every turn in the trail revealed another beautiful vista. The friend who had set the trip up had worked at the park after she finished her geology degree, so she had interesting information to share. And we ran into some older gentlemen who showed us some pictographs we wouldn't have noticed. The only annoying people on the trail were a couple of young guys, one shirtless, the other playing "Girl on Fire" loudly on his idevice. Shirtless guy was throwing snowballs at his friend, who looked exhausted and annoyed. At first we waited for them to pass us, but then we caught up to them again, and decided to pick up our pace to get away from their music. We never did see them again, although other hikers seemed to keep our pace.
Even though I wasn't any hurry to finish, I have to admit, reaching the summit was a relief. Our feet and shoulders ached, and we were all ready for real food. We took the requisite happy photos at the finish, before schlepping our bags a little farther to the car park. One of my friends was feeling light headed and nauseated on the drive home - probably a combination of altitude change and not eating and drinking enough. After a hamburger, she felt a lot better.
The drive home, all eight hours, flew by with company and conversation. We reached our driveway a little after 1:30 in the morning on Monday - so we weren't gone more than 72 hours - but it seemed like we had been somewhere foreign. Even with sore calves and quads, I'm looking forward to planning another trip.
1 comment:
All that in 72 hours? Amazing!! Your description of the trail and scenery, the events -- great travelogue! Thank you for sharing. Several members of my family have hiked down to the bottom, and my sister and her husband did a river rafting camping trip for a week, but I have never done more than gaze over the edge of the canyon. I love the vicarious fun and beauty.
Post a Comment