The Days Just Keep Going.

5:00am Omar, Robby and I awoke and got ready as quietly as possible so as not to wake the others in our cabin that got to sleep in another 2 hours because they were riding the mules back to the top. We packed all our gear and headed out to the Cantina. Even though I wasn’t particularly hungry at 5:15 in the morning, I felt since I was paying for the breakfast, I should at least make an effort to eat it. But then hiking on a full stomach didn’t seem too appealing either. I ended up munching on a pancake and then wrapping some in a napkin and sticking it in my bag for later in the morning. We had at least a 5-hour hike in front of us - 9.6 miles.

As I began the trek that would take me to the top of the Grand Canyon Ridge, I briefly asked myself “what the hell I was thinking”, but that quickly passed as I didn’t really have a choice of getting back to the top of the canyon without my own two legs. Well, of course there was always the helicopter method of escape, but that’s a hefty 3000$ and a lot of disappointed looks. Why would I do that, except that I’ve always wanted to ride in a helicopter, but still, that’s no excuse. Nope, my very sore calves and the 20-pound backpack pushing on my shoulders were going to have to make their way to the top with out aid of anyone else. I stood up straight, emitting various cracking sounds as I did so, and focused my mind. It’s only 9.6 miles, I’d done worse.

Surprisingly the hike started off very mild. The 20 or so people that had been at breakfast with us seemed to disperse into the morning light leaving the trail clear. Trailing after Omar, who realized that Robby and I were slow-pokes and trudged on ahead at a normal walking speed as if nothing was sore with his muscles, I enjoyed the view while walking the slight slope in the hillside that paralleled the Colorado run off river. Yesterday, Deputy “Hyper” had said that people hiking the Bright Angel Trail would want to stop by the riverbed about 1.5 miles into their hike to cool off before continuing the journey to the top.


View after walking a mile on the Bright Angel Trail.

As I walked up a few yards and then back down, Robby chirped that we were not going to meet back up with the river and that the Deputy was wrong, but I was fairly confident she was wrong and proved it when the trail split 2 miles away from Phantom Ranch: right .2 miles was the water, left 7.6 miles was the top of South Rim. Robby and I thought for a split second about turning left, but as it was still a tolerable 85 degrees and roughly 6:30 am, we didn’t really feel much like taking a dip. We turned left and walked into the gorge between the hills.

Vastly different from the South Kaibab Trail, The Bright Angel Trail is lush with trees and small running streams. Instead of the different rock shades of browns and reds the Kaibab trail offered, we got to see a different, livelier side of the Canyon. It’s amazing that from the top of the Canyon, looking down, I thought that there wasn’t much to this place. It’s vast and amazing because of how it was made, but it still looked like just an illusion. Multiple layers of mountains blending into one another and getting ghostlier in complexion the farther in the distance they stretch. I couldn’t touch the peaks or smell them, so their essence was strictly factious for me. A brief glimpse of a dream before one is woken.


The greeness of the Valley

By being in the Canyon, streaking my fingers along the bushes and rock’s sides , I was cementing this place in my mind. It was real, it was alive, and it was beautiful. Such wonders hidden inside, different at every step. I was glad I got a chance to hike both trails; both so different, showing the vast variety of life in the Canyon and allowing the hiker to appreciate Mother Nature that much more. My camera made an appearance frequently.


Little waterfall leading into a steam that flows along the bottom 3 miles of the Bright Angel Trail.

About 3.5 miles into the hike I realized that the incline of our little hike was now at about 10 or so degrees, the sun had risen and was starting to heat the rocks which would essentially turn me into a lobster regardless of my sunblock, and I’d just reach the Devil’s Corkscrew. There’s nothing I hate worse on a hike then switchbacks. I know they’re there to lessen the pressure on leg joints in a hiker, but they really and truly suck. Every time I come across a switchback I want to go off trail and just start climbing the cliff face because I’m fairly certain it would be more enjoyable and quicker, but probably much less safe. But then I never was very fond of “safe”.

Instead of going with my gut and bouldering my way to the top of the Canyon, I sucked it up (whatever it was that made me hate switchbacks) and walked back and forth, slowly gaining altitude. I passed a family taking a breather in a mini cave and pondered for a brief second over stopping, but I’d had momentum now and I didn’t think I had that much further to trek before hitting Indian Garden Rest Stop. I’d ditched Robby about 20 minutes beforehand. She was talking and walking slowly with an elderly lady we’d caught up to and I didn’t feel like killing my speed to walk behind them. There was only one way up, so Robby couldn’t really get lost.

20 mins after seeing the family, I started to wish I’d stopped. The Rest Stop didn’t seem to be getting closer and I was getting tired. I was pretty sure a blister was developing on my big toe, but I didn’t want to take my shoe off and check just yet. A few more minutes would surely lead me to my destination. 15 more minutes passed and I finally asked a lady coming down, “about how far is Indian Gardens?” “Oh, you’re almost there. About another 40 mins,” She smiled and was gone, down the way I’d come. 40 mins?!!!! What the hell? I had thought I’d hiked at least 4 miles at that point, but apparently I hadn’t. It had been about 2.5 hours, I was slow.

My goal for the day was to 1.) complete this 9.6 mile hike and 2.) beat the people riding the Mules. Since the Bright Angel Trail was also the trail that the mules walked up and down, I sure as hell didn’t want to be huffing and puffing so close from the top, yet so far when everyone else from our group passed by on their four-legged saviors, chuckling at my old lady hobble up the mountainside. No, I had to reach the top before the Mules. I had at least a 2 hours head start on the Mules and I was almost (I hoped) 4 miles ahead of them. That left 5.6 miles to complete by about 11 in the morning. I pushed my weariness to the back of my mind and troughed on. I was rewarded with wooden park benches and Omar 45 mins later.

A nice breather and a sip of Gatorade later, I was feeling better. Robby appeared about 10 minutes after me. She was still walking with the older woman, but ditched her for me to continue the rest of the journey. We knew that the next rest stop was only 2 miles up ahead and so we didn’t need to carry as much water as we had on the way down because there would be a water fountain. This made our backpacks slightly lighter. But at this point, I don’t think I could have felt the difference. I definitely wanted a massage or a hot tub at the top, at least a cold beer if nothing else.


View from 3 Mile Rest Stop.

At 3 Mile Rest Stop I fitted nicely into a wedge between two rocks and decided that this could very well be one of the best “rock” chairs I’d ever sat in. So comfortable I didn’t really want to get up, but I still had a deadline to motivate me into action. About 2 hours and counting before the Mules arrived at the top. Robby and I stopped long enough to eat some salty turkey jerky and the pancakes that I’d stolen from breakfast. At 5:30 in the morning the pancakes didn’t really taste like anything special, but at that moment in time, they were the best damn pancakes I’d ever had, and I don’t even like pancakes. More trekking, huffing, coughing as pack mules passed leaving choking dry dust in their wake, and sweating, we were at 1.5 Mile Rest House (yes, the Grand Canyon really abandoned all creative genius and named their rest stops the obvious. Lame. Just lame).

I think this was about the time that the heat started to get to me and I didn’t really want to move. I saw another couple of Mules packing out supplies and the thought of grabbing onto the end Mule’s tail to pull me up the rest of the mountain passed through my thoughts. I even considered trying to bribe the cowboy leading the Mules to give me a lift, but somehow I resisted the urge. I really did want to complete this journey on my own, unaided. I just didn’t want to at that particular moment in time. I guess somewhere deep down, I knew not to voice my exit options to the Mule guy because I knew I could do this on my own and I was going to prove myself right, no matter how tired I was or how painfully my calves were currently pulsing.

Robby, and her excessive whining (encouraging), helped a bit as well – “come on, just a little bit further. You can do it. Keep moving…” I looked up, taking my eyes off my rapidly turning salmon colored dusty hiking boots, and briefly wondered how she managed to get so far ahead of me and more briefly, how I ended up the slow one on this hike, but none-the-less I edged forward.

I don’t know why this hike seemed to drain my energy more then any other hike I’ve been on in the last few years, but it really sucked towards the end. It’s like the people who made the switchbacks in the trail got as bored as I got walking them as making then and decided to steepen the slope to make the trail shorter. This would have been fine by me had I not been utterly exhausted and the slope of the trail now heading upwards of a 40 degree angle. I think I had to stop and catch my breath every 100 yards for the last mile. It really sucked, but eventually Robby and I made it to the top of South Rim with most of our pride intact and no worse for wear besides a “few” sore muscles.


Robby and I looking deceivingly fresh after completing the 9.6 miles to the top of the South Rim.

The storm clouds that we’d watched for the last few hours slowly creeping over the canyon and gratefully hiding the sun from us, now decided to give us a lovely trail completion gift of rain. It was blissfully cool at the top of the canyon and now raining. We’d beat the mules by about 25 minutes and we’d hiked the Bright Angel Trail in a little less then 6 hours. It seems like a long time, but not too bad considering we hiked 7000 feet over 9.6 miles and with temperatures ranging from 80 degrees to 100 degrees. I’d say we did excellent.

Once everyone was together again, we all agreed that showers and food were a top priority. Robin, Robby, Leah and I ended up having a miss-moshed picnic in our room with all the random food that we’d all brought for this adventure. It turned out to be quite refreshing, especially when accompanied by a hot shower. It’s a little scary to glance down at your t-shirt and see crusty white stuff dried into the fabric and to then realize that that white stuff is not a deodorant accident, but salt…salt that your body produces and lives off of, but that you’ve managed to excrete through high exertion of activity. I downed a bottle of Gatorade and took a nap.

Later, when Robin, Robby and I woke up after our refreshing nap, we decided to go listen to the talk on Condors that one of the rangers was putting together. It took a little effort to walk up and down the steps to the Condor perch, mostly effort to maintain some perception of being in my twenties as apposed to my 70’s but I think I managed it. My legs were beyond stiff and my calves felt like giant grapefruits were embedded in them. This would have been cool if the grapefruits were defined muscle, but no, they were constricting muscle spasming from overexertion.

While listening to the talk, I learned that the Grand Canyon is not only a world renowned hiking joint, but a place for rehabilitating and extending the breed of Condors. Condors are becoming extinct, so the Canyon and its rangers found a way to help stop the downhill spiral. They realized that when condors find a mate, they stick with that bird for the rest of their lives. The condors will lay one egg and care for the baby, teaching it how to fly and eat, for a year before setting them on their own. They lay about three eggs in their lifetimes. Rangers also observed that when said egg mysterious vanishes from the condor’s nest, they’ll cry and then they’ll lay another egg. When the next egg vanishes, they’ll lay a third and final egg. The condors will raise their third child, while the rangers raise the first two, helping to repopulation the species. It’s a vicious and cruel cycle, but effective.

Since the rangers don’t want the baby condors to associate humans as their mothers, they feed them with a fake and kind of realistic looking condor puppet head. They also try and care the newborns of any affections they might be developing towards humans, so that when they’re released back into the wild, they’ll be animals with a healthy dose of fear for the biggest predator of all…us. That was about all I learned from the lecture as the bugs started to eat me and I turned my attention to their extinction.

We ventured to the General Store after the condor talk to see what goodies were there, to buy souvenirs, and to find some food before going to see the sunset with the rest of the group. We drove out to Lipton Point and watched the reds and oranges weave their colors through the incoming storm clouds and disappear behind the darkening grey mountains. Jumping photos were a must as well as a comedic act when we convinced four 50-somethings women to do a jumping pose of their own. See, the magic of a jumping photo is not totally lost on the young.

We stayed at the lookout point long enough to realize there’s no green spark right before the sun disappears over the crest of a mountain and then we hopped (slowly eased) back into the cars and headed to the El Tovar pub. It was our last night to all be together and we wanted to enjoy it with a nice draft or cocktail. Robby and I would be heading to Page, AZ in the morning; Tomaya, who had the misfortune to be needed at work in two days, would be driving back to California on her own; and everyone else would be driving to the North Rim of the Canyon to spend a few more days hiking and relaxing before they resumed their normal lives.

Since the majority of our traveling companions thought that Robby and I looked like invalids, they dropped our asses off in front of the Bar while the rest of them went to park the cars back at our hotel and walk the half mile to come meet us. Apparently we were doing a fantastically horrible job of walking normal and had now fallen into the pitied gimp category. While we waited, we secured two tables, a bunch of chairs and ordered drinks. Once everyone showed up we shared pictures and stories of our adventures down and up the canyon. Most of the Mule riders wanted to come back another time and actually put their legs to good use. Robby said she wanted to try hiking from the North Rim (14 miles to Phantom Ranch) to the South Rim (23.6 miles total). I think I just wanted to be able to sit and stand without using arm rails or the offered bicep.

Most everybody, besides Robby and I, decided they were going to go on the ranger lead tour in the morning that consisted of hiking down to the mysterious bathroom on the South Kaibab trail and then back up. It sounded like pure hell to me, especially since I knew what the stairs looked like to get them all back to the top of the canyon. Robby and I said we would wait for them to come back and then we’d head out to the Tusayan Ruins together because they were on the way out of the park and towards the North Rim and Page, AZ. The ruins would be the start of Robby and my’s archeology leg of our trip and a parting of ways from the group leg of the journey.

The drinking continued for a bit more before we all bid each other goodnight and headed to our rooms. All and all, it turned out to be a lovely end to a lovely day, despite the giant hike up a hill and the effort it took to get me to complete said walk. Who knows, I could still be sitting in the shade about 1.3 miles from the top of the Canyon munching on my remaining pancake and watching the rain slowly wash away the sandstone if it hadn’t been for a little encouraging from Robby and a ridiculous goal I set for myself.

Getting our feet wet in the Grand Canyon

Robin decided that it was a great idea to get up at 5 am to watch the sunrise. Robby and I decided it was a great idea to bury our heads in the covers and sleep through the yellow and reds of the morning light. We’d be starting our hiking journey down the canyon the next day at 5:30am, so we’d see the sunrise then. We ended up getting out of bed at 8ish and refreshed and really for our Rim hike. I think we were suppose to meet everyone around 9:30am to eat something and the start the hike, but with 9 people, things never go as planned.

We spent some of the morning walking around our hotel to get the feel of it and then looking over the Rim down onto the red and brown rocks below. The Canyon is basically a giant wind and rain-eroded gully of Sandstone that’s grown to be 277 miles long with a difference of 5,700 feet from bottom to top as the Colorado river whines through its many curves. There is the North Rim and the South Rim that most tourists visit. We were hiking the South Rim, which is drier, but more populated with tourist and tourist facilities (hotels, shopping, restaurants) than the North Rim. The North Rim is only about 10 miles across from the South Rim if you could walk on air or a 4 hour drive around the canyon or a 24-mile hike down, across, and up the other side. The North Rim is said to be lusher in trees and wilderness then the side we were on.

Another important fact is that every year stupid tourist die hiking the Canyon because they think they know all about the weather and the outdoors and therefore do not bring the proper amount of water, food, and gear. During the spring and summer months the top of the Canyon is a lovely 80-90 degrees. As you descend into the belly of the Canyon the temperature steadily rises due to the fact that with the lack of trees to shade the rocks, heat gets trapped in the walls and then it emanates outwards, not upwards. Temperatures can reach 120 degrees at the bottom of the canyon.

Most of the hiking trails throughout the canyon don’t have water fountains and since it is so humid and hot in Arizona during the summer, hikers are suppose to drink water every 15-mins and eat twice as much as they’d normally eat to make up for their lost calories while walking. Most people forget about the food aspect and just drink tons of water that can potentially lead to water poisoning – basically you drink so much water that you essentially drown yourself from the inside out. Without food there’s nothing to offset the your water intake.

During the winter the temperatures in the Canyon can reach freezing levels and many people don’t bring adequate gear to keep themselves warm during the day and at night. Most people don’t recognize the beginning signs of hypothermia (numbness in the extremities, feeling dizzy, feeling cold), passing them off as the effects of strenuous activities and the weather, therefore they keep on trekking as their body slowly starts to shut down its organs in an effort to protect the heart and keep blood pumping to it. This in turn causes a person to get a little light headed and eventually go loopy as their mind can no longer control what the rest of the body does. Eventually their body will shut down and they fall into a nice, long, and final sleep. The park rangers find the bodies thawing a few days later as they make their rounds through the park.

For more lovely stores on Darwin Award worthy deaths in the Grand Canyon, you should check out the book, “Deaths in the Grand Canyon”. Sounds like a disturbingly awesome read, doesn’t it? Luckily Robby and I wouldn’t be characters in the next edition as we’d packed 3 liters of water, Powerade (to replace lost electrolytes) and tons of food. We were all set, if not a little over prepared with all the necessities for the hike.

Back to looking down at the Canyon from the top. It was pretty impressive, but in some ways it was also disappointing. Maybe because it looked so fake, like a badly painted picture with washed out orange, reds, and browns or the fact that I couldn’t see much green amongst all the stubby cactus’s and dusty pebbles. I knew driving out to the Canyon that it was a desert and therefore I shouldn’t have expected to see greens and blues, but I was somehow still searching for them as I looked over the edge.

After eating a $3 stale pretzels from the Bright Angel Lodge store and having waited until noon to for the rest of the group to join us, we started our first hike of the day and the trip. It took us a little bit to actually find the right trail as one sign pointed left and then rounded the Mules corral before coming back to where we’d originally started. Eventually I figured we should walk down, the only way we hadn’t gone and “Vola”, the trailhead. Of course the trail started with an uphill jaunt that had Robby and I breathing a bit harder then we’d have liked. A little worrisome to us considering we were going to have to walk 9 miles of this in two days. But never fear, the uphill evened off to a relatively flat path circling the rim.

There were about 6 viewpoints jetted out from the Trail giving hikers a grand view of the canyon below from various angles. The first two stopping points gave us lovely opportunities to take group photos and to see where we’d be headed in the morning. The Bright Angel Trail, the trail the mules take down and up in the canyon and the trail that Omar, Robby and I would be hiking out of the Canyon, was a light brown zig-zagged line cutting through the red slope of the hill and disappearing over a cliff in the painted wash of the distance mountains.


Us jumping for joy, not off the mountain. Left to RIght: Cody, Nicci, Leah, Me, Robin


The Bright Angel Trail

We continued on. At lookout three Cody sat on the ground and processed to take out 2-inch tall Star Wars soldiers and place them on the cliff’s edge. His oddity started to attract numerous tourists’ attention and eventually their camera’s film. Cody was most obviously to this activity while he spent several minutes setting up the toys in the perfect position for the best picture. So instead of a traveling gnome, Cody has his traveling army of bad-asses.


Cody's Star Wars toys making their picture debut

At 4 miles into the trek my feet started to hurt and the fact that we’d started at noon, didn’t help me feel very cool as the overhead sun beat down on my steadily reddening shoulders. I decided that I didn’t need to prove anything to myself or anyone else with completing this mini hike and hopped on the Canyon tram to the end of the trail to wait for the others. The end was a Viewpoint called “Hermit’s Rest”, that also had a gift shop house designed by some artist to look like a Hermit’s house with a stone-arched foyer, candled-light fixtures, wooden benches and an old wood fireplace. This all surrounded by shiny silver trinkets of over-priced jewelry, brightly colored t-shirts exclaiming you’ve “Survived the Grand Canyon”, and various books detailing the history of the Canyon. We opted for showers instead of souvenirs.


Hermit's Rest

Later that evening we all went into town for pizza and beer before heading back to the lodge to get a full nights sleep before our big hike the following morning. Most of the Mule rider’s stayed up to have a last drink before turning in. Omar, Robby and I decided we were going to take the South Kaibab Trail down to Phantom Ranch in the morning and hike back out via the Bright Angel Trail. The South Kaibab Trail was said to be 6.5 miles down, which sounded great to me, but the downside was that there were no bathroom stops or water fountains along the majority non-shaded step path. The Bright Angel Trail was 9.5 miles, but said to be a lot less steep then the Kiabab trail and with numerous water and bathroom facilities. It is also the trail that the Mules ride up and down and the most populated by tourists because of the amenities along the way and the trees shading parts of the minimally steep path. Both ways sounded daunting, but at least we got to see a different view of the canyon going up and down.

Our alarm went off at 4:30am the next morning. Groggily we got ready for our first day hiking and met Omar at the bus stop, where we hopped on the tram to the start of the South Kaibab Trail. About 15 other people got off the bus with us at start of the trail, but after a brief pause in our adventure to apply sunscreen and use the port-o-potty, they had all vanished. It was a brisk 70-degree morning with the sun just barely rising above the mountain peaks by the time we descending into the gorge.

The path started off relatively flat with a slow, but steady decline. The red and brown layers of rock we’d seen the other day from the Rim were now inches from us and very much real. Up close the colors deepened and added a beauty to the canyon I couldn’t grasp the day before. As the trail got steeper, the levels in the rock wall changed from sandstone to Limestone to other rich minerals. The path descended down uneven rock and wooden stairs, but opened into a valley of whites, greens, reds and browns very much vibrant in color.


Omar hiking down to the ranch along South Kaibab Trail

It was also incredibly peaceful on the trail. We passed maybe eight people by the time we made it to the bottom of the canyon. It was just me and my thoughts and a few sparse conversations with Robby, Omar and two people we met of the trail. One of the people we met was a middle aged, semi-overweight and definitely out of shape gentleman at the head of the trail that turned to me before starting his journey and asked, “why am I doing this?” I told him it was an adventure and that he would be very satisfied when he accomplished the journey. Periodically along our trek we would turn back to search for the man and see if he was still on the trail and not in need of assistances. He’d usually spot us and wave while we breathed a sigh of relief and continued our journey.

The rangers at the top of the Canyon lied to us. As we rounded a corner on the trail a brown wooden shack sat next to the trail in the distance. As we neared the structure I got the distinct feeling it was a bathroom. Just in time too, as I’d drank too much water. Also a relief because we had been hiking for about 1.5 hours and the fact that I needed to pee meant I wasn’t dehydrated. But luck was semi-not on my side. It figured that the random restroom along the trail that isn’t supposed to have restrooms was currently being serviced when we arrive at it. After drinking some more water and enjoying a bit of trail mix, the restroom was still unavailable. Of course Robby and Omar were getting impatient in standing around, so a bush was looking like my only option. Go figure that it was kind of sparse pickings at that particular location and after I managed to find a small skeletal bush and do my business, the ranger comes out of the bathroom and says, “it’s open now.” Funny how that always seems to happen to me. The bush was probably cleaner anyways.


The "non-exsistant" bathroom along South Kiabab Trail.

Just as we made it to the bottom of the canyon, the heat started to get oppressive and I think heat stroke was edging its way into my brain. We had seen a small cluster of cabins from above and thought it was Phantom Ranch. Nope, when we reached the bottom, we discovered it was the camping bathrooms for people who didn’t get a cabin at the Ranch. A little wooden “Phantom Ranch” sign pointed to a trail leading into a mini crop of trees. I would have enjoyed the path more if I didn’t feel kind of shitty. My feet were doing fine for the most part, but I was sleepy and starting to get a headache. The trail didn’t do much to ease my pains as we passed three more buildings giving us false hope of having reached the Ranch before finally arriving at our destination.

Now I have a question for you readers: when you think of a place called “Phantom Ranch” and only know that this is the only place (besides camping) to stay at the bottom of the Grand Canyon, they serve food by reservation only, it takes up to a year or more to get reservations to stay at the Ranch, and that only about 40 people at a time can stay at the place at any one time, what imagine would this allusive ranch would look like to you? Now take your time and forge the image of your version of the ranch in your mind….. You have that image?

Well, my image was something like the El Tovar; elegant, yet woodsy Lodge with a dimly lit bar where one could grab a nice cold beer after a morning hike; cozy, queen-bed rooms with linen sheets; a lounge with a fireplace and plush leather chairs to relax in while soothing Jazz drifts through the room. Is this anything like what you pictured? Well, if so, you’d have been initially disappointed as well.

Phantom Ranch, with its ominous name and singularity at the base of the Grand Canyon is a small cluster of brown-cabined dorms housing 2-8 bunk beds with a small toilet and thankfully, AC. There is a cabin solely housing community showers and toilets and another cabin for the Canteen/Ranch Office. All of this is sheltered from the blazing sun by planted trees giving off the effects of a small sleep-away summer camp.


Cabins at Phantom Ranch

Robby, Omar, and I checked in, but since we were too early for our cabin, so we took over part of a table in the back of the Canteen and waited the two hours for the Mule riders to reach the bottom of the canyon. Robby put her head down on the table and enjoyed a nice snooze, while Omar opted to spread himself out on the floor and cover his face with his Mexican cherry picking hat while taking a siesta. I read.

By the time the others made it to the Ranch, we’d moved into our cabin and were actually quite impressed with it. The beds were very comfortable and the AC was refreshing cool. After relaxing for a bit half the people went to explore the surrounding area, take showers or naps, or just chill. Robby, Robin, and I ended up finding Leah sitting in the middle the river running alongside the campgrounds on some rocks making up a circle. Robby named it “campfire in the water”. Trees shaded the whole area.


Water campfire

It was a little rocky and slimy getting out to the rocks, but well worth it. The water was a refreshingly cool and apparently we’d come at just the right hour as the ranger informed us later that evening, it was the hottest part of the day at 105 degrees. We also spotted the man I had talked to at the beginning of the trail. He was a little worn out, but seemed to be doing ok besides numerous blisters he’s managed to acquire. Omar nicknamed him “Blisters”.

At 5:30pm most of the group went off to a Steak Dinner. The Ranch served three different meals. Steak at 5:30pm and Beef Stew or Veggie Chili at 6:30pm. It kind of sucked that Robby and I had to wait to eat as we’d started earlier then everyone else and we were starving, but it was worth the wait. The food was delicious. It also gave us time to take a nice long, hot shower with out worry that anyone would be waiting. The only problem was that I had to share my shower with two spiders and I found one crawling out of the toilet – kind of like living a real version of the X-Files. Good ting I spotted it before I sat down. Ewwww…

We ended up having dinner with a group of 50-somethings who’d hiked the 14 miles in from North Rim and were hiking the 9.5 miles out with us the following day. The men of the group said they were going to hike back to the North Rim while the lady’s took the bus. Robby and I just sat there with jaws open thinking we were losers because we were tired and sore from our small 6 mile hike and here were these people twice our age just gallivanting around the Canyon for a week and enjoying themselves, not fretting about blisters or the heat or the miles. When did we get so picky and whimpy?

At 7:30pm there was a Ranger talk about the geology of the Canyon by the Ranger we’d seen earlier answering people questions about the canyon in a giddy, jumpy manner that we started to wonder what drugs he was on to make him so happy, but we figured it must be all the fresh air and the fact that he probably loved his job a little too much. At least he was entertaining and we learn that the canyon was formed by the Colorado River and wind, but mainly by years and years of rain washing away the sandstone.

After the talk Robby, Omar, and I opted to say good night and turn in so we could be refreshed for our longer hike in the morning. The others stayed up for a bit longer, but I don’t know what they did as I was out in about 5 minutes. Hiking takes a lot of you.

Day One: Oatman and arriving at the Grand Canyon

So Robby and I set out on another adventure, only this time it was not set in some far off, exotic international country that very few Americans visit for tourism… No, it was to a place that about 500,000 Americans visit each year, Arizona…or more noteworthy - the Grand Canyon. This journey was inspired by Robby’s friend’s from Santa Barbara, Nicci and Cody. They had asked us a year ago if we were interested in taking a mule ride down to the bottom of the canyon and staying over night at the allusive, Phantom Ranch. Since neither Robby or myself had ever been to the Grand Canyon, or ridden a Mule, we decided that we were in.

Over the months leading up to our hiking trip and mule rides, the planning of the trip was starting to become more concrete and more of Nicci and Cody’s friend’s were joining the adventure. We also came to two conclusions: 1.) riding a mule for 9.5 miles to the bottom of the canyon might not be such a great idea for our wallets or for our behinds. I was kind of thinking that the Mule might just be like riding a flater-backed Camel. I didn’t really want to relive that particular experience and I knew that I could handle a 19.5 mile hike from the rim to bottom and back (well, I started to freak out that I was out of shape and lazy as the trip neared, but it wasn’t going to detour me much).

Finally, after waiting the year since agreeing to go on this trip (we had to wait because it takes at least a year in advance to reserve a mule and a room at Phantom Ranch – that many people are vying for a spot and an animal) we set off from Santa Barbara in Robby’s Vibe on May 14th, 2009. The open road and a healthy dose of excitement and uncertainty awaited us.

Robby and I opted to leave early in the morning so we could visit the towns along Route 66 before turning into the Canyon, while Nicci and her crew of 5 others left later and saved some time and gas by carpooling across the desolate and boring Highway 40.

After Robby and I made it to Victorville, the starting point of Route 66, we stopped off at the Route 66 museum and asked the very sweet woman behind the counter, “what are the best cities to see between here and the Grand Canyon?” The lady responded that all the towns have a historical Route 66 background and that there is something to see everywhere along the route. We informed her that we only had the day and we had to be at the Grand Canyon that evening. I’m not sure what she was thinking as her smile dropped, a little of the twinkle in her eyes died, and her shoulders sagged, but I’m pretty sure she was disappointed that we weren’t going to spend numerous days photo documenting all the little hidden gems along the now basically tourist trap road.

First stop was Oatman. We ditched Highway 40-25 miles south of Oatman and continued on Route 66 to the town of roaming wild burros and old fashion gun fights. Route 66 turned out to be quite different than what I had thought it would be like. I was expecting numerous cars and motorcycles to be cursing a nicely paved road as they past quaint, but small towns. Instead we got a half paved/half dirt road that was meant for two cars, but only big enough for one and half as it lazily winded through desert hills. I think the top limit we could drive in most places was about 20 mph, so we got a very clear picture of the desert sights as we crawled passed. We saw maybe two other cars pass us and no one in front of us until 25 miles later, after we’d hit the town. But the little green cactus’ and the threatening storm clouds made the trip quite beautiful.


Oatman and the burros

Oatman turned out to be rather charming in a scary, if-I-was-extremely-old-and-bored-I-might-live-in-this-town, kind of way. Yes, there were burros walking around and even trying to push customers out of the stores as the ambled in to eat carrot sticks from little kid’s hands. The main part of town was two rows of old fashion western front stores, complete with horse tie-ups and dusty looking geezers sitting on the porch people watching, divided by Route 66 in the middle. Up on the hillside overlooking the town, I could have sworn was the twin of Norman Bates’ Motel, just sitting and mocking the visitors: “Come and visit. Maybe even stay for dinner with me and mother”. I took pictures.


You can almost hear Norman being yelled at by his mother.

We walked into a couple of the shops to discover cheap tourism trinkets and a lot of beautiful Indian jewelry and artifacts. I wanted to buy numerous Kochina dolls, but figured I hadn’t even been on vacation for more than five hours and add to the fact that I was still in California, so maybe I should save some money and possibly buy the small Indian statues from a reservation later on in the my journey. We took pictures of the dust covered shelves, burros asking for food, a coffin standing against a wall darning people to try it out, and many other oddities that the towns people scattered among the shops: a well with just legs sticking out, a money covered café door that people wrote where they were from, a billboard with a tacked up “Reward for an Outlaw” sign, etc.

As we were walking into a fudge shop, the sheriff starts telling people to block the road so that he and some vagabond can have a little gun dispute without the fear of getting hit by RVs and drowsy drivers passing through Oatman. We stood in a line with other curious tourist and watched as a raggedy old man with a very dirty white beard stepped into the middle of the street and accused the sheriff of some crime I didn’t catch as his raspy voice barely made it above a whisper. The sheriff responded in kind and then pulled out a small long barrelled gun and started to shoot pot shots at the vagabond (all blanks, but loud as hell). The vagabond was doing a bullet avoiding jig and yelling something else back at the Sheriff when we decided to sneak out of the roadblock and avoid tipping the “actors” for their performance. We walked back to our car and left the small town of Oatman after 20 mins. We came, we saw, we were vaguely intrigued for 20 mins.

Next stop was Hackberry. The Victorville museum lady said there was something cool in that town, but all we managed to see a gas station/diner along the road before traversing more desert at a snails pace. Somehow we’d got stuck behind a giant white truck doing 5 mph on a curvy road. Eventually he turned off at a random turnout and stopped. Looking in the rear-view mirror we realize it was the start of an ATV course. I guess the only thing for teenagers to do for fun if they live along Route 66 is to be apart of the tourist antics the towns put on or driving an ATV up and down mini sand dunes.


Driving along the Route 66

The third town we passed through, and the one we were most interested in seeing was Peach Springs. We were shown a picture of this town by the museum lady where there was Route 66 paraphernalia covering a whole block of buildings. A little gaudy, but definitely in the spirit of what we were looking for when we started this drive. What we found was a slightly larger town of modern looking buildings mixed in with shanty huts. No colorful Route 66 signs anywhere (unless you count the one stating the road we were on), no tourist buses, not many people walking around, just a boring small town you might find in the Mid West. Disappointment! We were also told there was a diner called “Roadkill” that was suppose to be really good despite the name. It didn’t exist. We kept driving.

At Seligman we decided we still had about 200 miles to travel to get to the Grand Canyon and that the fastest way would be to hop back on the 40 and then take the 64 up through Williams. We did however spot Roadkill Café at Seligman and walked in and then right back out. Mostly dead meat was on the menu – not from the road, but most likely killed on a farm.

We finally pulled into the parking lot of the Bright Angel Lodge at about 8pm. We walked into the log building with small rustic log cabins surrounding it to check in. Apparently Nicci and her crew had arrived 2 minutes before us. We got our room key and head off to drop off our bags and find the rest of our posse. Since Robby and I wanted to save money on this trip we decided that we would split a room with another girl, coincidentally named Robin, for the duration of the trip in the Grand Canyon. As we rounded the corner to our lodge room we saw a woman with long straight black hair exiting out the back door. She stopped halfway out the door when she heard us coming down the hall. Robby and I both starred at her, and her at us, a bit too long, while thinking “is this Robin? If not we’re being incredibly rude just staring at her.” The lady finally broke eye contact and headed into the night. We headed into our room and put all our bags down.

The room was interesting. Not too bad, but void of much life. The walls were white painted wooden planks standing vertical with a window opening to the walking path behind the cabins. No pictures hung on the walls, not even a mirror. Robby was even disappointed there wasn’t a TV in the room, but I figured we’d be hiking too much to even turn it on if there’d been one. Why taking in the room’s sights, the door handle jiggled and in walked the girl we’d seen in the hallway. Yep, she’s been Robin all along and apparently she’d wondered if we were her roommates for the trip when she saw us in the hallway too, but since no one said anything at the time she thought she was being rude and continued on her original mission.

Robby and I lucked out because Robin turned out to be the ideal roommate. She was very sweet, but with a sarcastic side that fitted nicely with our humor. She brought along tons of food that she offered up without complaint and worked for REI, therefore making Robby drool and ask what free stuff she could finagle. We unpacked some of our stuff and freshened up a bit before leaving to say “Hi” to the rest of the people we’d be hiking with.

Nicci and Cody were sharing a small cabin that overlooked the Rim of the Canyon (which you could only see during the day). Melanie and her husband, Omar, were staying in the cabin next to Nicci and Cody and Leah and Tamaya were staying a few doors down from them. We all said “Hi” (well, Tamaya and Leah weren’t at the Canyon yet, they were still driving in) and proceeded to walk the .5 mile path to the El Tovar hotel for dinner. The El Tovar is the kind of hotel you expect to see at a place like the Grand Canyon. It’s elegant wooden front with A-framed entry ways; dimmed, yet fitting lights leading the way to the gift shop, bar and restaurant; and the pleasant hotel staff that ask you if you’d like anything are extremely complementary to my idea of a nice “Lodge”.

We sat at a white linened table and started the night off with a couple bottles of wine. While deciding if we should order food since we were all starving or just wait for Tamaya and Leah to show, up they rounded the corner. We spent the rest of the evening getting to know each other and enjoying a wonderful meal. We all planned to go on the 5.5 mile Rim Trail that walks a portion of the Rim of the Grand Canyon for the next days adventure. Everyone thought it was a brilliant idea, especially since everyone, but Omar, Robby and myself were Mule riding to the bottom of the canyon. They wanted a hike before being lazy. I was interested in the hike as well, but still really nervous about the two days to come where I was suppose to be walking 19.5 miles down and up the canyon with a backpack carrying lots of heavy water and food.

Oh well, you only live once, right. Day one complete and I’m sure you’re all like “shit that was only day one. How many days was she gone?” Don’t worry, I’ll try to make the other days shorter, but no guarantees.

update for Grand Canyon Blog

Hi Everyone,

I know you'll all wondering "where the hell is this new blog Em promised us?" Well, apparently in the United States it is really expensive to jump on a computer at an internet cafe or to actually find an internet cafe, so we've, Robby and I, resorted to typing our blogs on my PDA for later update to the web when we get back home. I know this is disappointing to some of you, well, actually all of you who check this website expecting an update and for that I am truly sorry. I would have loved to have already shared my Grand Canyon adventure with you, but sadly, I will not be able to post my blog on this adventure for at least another week. But it is only one more week. You can wait that long, right? And when I post it, it will be nice and long, almost two pee breaks long, so that will give you something to do for an hour or two to waste time. It's something to look forward to. And there's a bunch of crazy stuff that happens to Robby and I; like a bear attack, our tent getting flooded and lost down a river, running out of food... well, ok, I exaggerated a bit on some of the previous, but some pretty cool stuff happened to us, so tune in to find out.

Always,

Em

Crazy Guy at the Farmer's Market

As Stas-my cameraman, Matt-my Producer, and I are eating lunch at the Farmer' Market on 3rd Street, I look up to see an elderly gentleman slowly walking by our table, starring intently at the two video cameras occupying one half of our table. I smile at him and resume eating. Out of the corner of my eye I see him wander away. Not 5 minutes later he is back to lurking in the walkway. I have a sneaking suspicion he is wanting to ask what we are filming and when I make eye contact again, it is his invitation to amble over and say, "Do you like art?" while slapping down a used LACMA ticket on the table in front of me. Not expecting the question, I sputter, "Sure." Matt and Stas just stare off in any direction not pointing to the man. "Well that ticket's good for the rest of the day if you want to go see some good art," he informs me. I briefly glance down to discover the ticket has been expired for an hour and a half and tell the guy, " I love art, but I'm just on a lunch break so I don't have time to go today."

The old guy's not detoured, "You guys from the news station?" he looks to all of us. "Um, no. We're filming a Mayonnaise Commercial," I say. A bunch of people in college told me that if someone ever asked you what you were filming, you should mess with their heads and say you're shooting a mayonnaise commercial. I think the intent is to see what people will believe. I decided now was the perfect opportunity. "Really? What brand?" the old man asks. "Mayo," I blurt at the same time Matt says, "Best Foods." The guy looks from me to Matt questionably, but is not put off from asking us more questions. "So you do commercials? That is great. My son is an artist and is always looking for people to take pictures of his work." He then produces a business card with a painting of the Eiffel Tower and a couple people standing in front of it. Me, being the nice person that I am, inquires, "is that your son's painting?" "Yes. He went to Paris a few years back and painted this. You see the man in front of the Tower?" he points to a blurred blob with a top hat, "that's the Mayor of Paris. And that woman talking to the Mayor," he touches a whirl of blue and gold, "is my son's wife. And right there," a long boney finger glades over a brown blur walking a white fuzz circle with four legs, "that's me and my dog Fifi." He smiles proudly. "Here, you can have this," he presses the card in my hand.

“Do you have a business card?" "I'm not sure. one sec." I pull my backpack on to my lap and start riffling through the numerous overstuff pockets of batteries, pens, lip-gloss, a dead calculator, and many more useless and unhelpful things that don't resemble a business card. Matt and Stas are looking at me like I've lost my mind. I doubt they would have even looked for a business card. They probably would have just said, "sorry, all out," and went back to pretending the suspicious red spot on the table was truly fascinating. I peer back up at the man and politely tell him I've left my cards in my other bag. "Well how are you suppose to get business if you don't carry your business cards on you?" he asks. “Good point. I'll remember to carry them in the future," I respond. “Well if your ever looking for someone to photograph, let me know. Have a nice afternoon." "You too," we all mutter. He smiles and is gone.

“Well that went on far longer then I thought it would,” Matt exclaims. “I know. Weird guy,” Stas comments. “Yah, that’s typical for me. I usually end up talking to all the weirdos. It’s like they’re attracted to me for some reason,” I tell the guys. “Yea, sure” they both say. We all go back to finishing our lunches and eating an ice cream cone before getting up to leave. As we’re walking out of the marketplace the old man pops up in front of Stas thrusting a piece of paper. “I just wanted you to have this,” he waves the new business card in front of Stas’ face, “It’s my dog Fifi’s License.” “What,” Stas stammers. “See,” a finger points at the picture of a white Shih Tzu-ish looking dog, “That’s Fifi and this is her name here,” points to the name on the license, “Isn’t she adorable? Here,” pushes the license into Stas’ hands, “Have it.” “Um, thanks,” Stas cocks his head. “Ok, have a nice day,” and the old man is gone.

“Quick, lets make a circle around the food court and see what else the man will give us,” Matt jokes. “Um, I opt we leave while we can,” I say. We headed out with an expired LACMA ticket, an artist’s business card, and a Dogs license card, but no more interruptions. I have to say it was an interesting lunch.