Grand Canyon Adventure Day 4: The Ascent

Amazed. In many ways, our last day in the canyon seemed like the longest day, but also the shortest. We had several miles still to go when we woke up in Cremation Canyon and tore down camp, so we started as quickly as we could. We were both eager to get out of the canyon and sit down for a while without the prospect of more walking ahead of us, but I knew I was going to miss the trail; the lack of people and noise and distractions was incredibly appealing. Alisha and I still had a couple miles of rough trail to cross before we hit the South Kaibab Trail and our way up and out, and the two arms of Cremation Canyon we still had to scramble did not treat us kindly. The path was steep and loose, and we were tired. Everything ached and protested with each movement, and we didn't make as good of time as we had hoped.

That is, until we hit the more maintained South Kaibab Trail. We could see the trail rising up and out of the canyon from a ways off, and kept our eyes on it until we finally felt a smoother path beneath our feet. We stopped at the trail junction and rested, staring back across the landscape where we had come from and looking up at where we still had to go. There were several hikers already as low as we were, two miles and a thousand feet or more above the river, and they stopped for a chat before descending the rest of the way to Phantom Ranch along the banks of the Colorado River. They described a rough, steep trail above us, and some even advised hiking further to the other way out of the canyon, the Bright Angel Trail. Neither Alisha nor I wanted to hike more miles than necessary and we figured that we had already seen the worst of the trail, so we maintained our plan to hike up the South Kaibab. How bad could it be, really?

Compared to Grandview Trail and the remote, rugged Tonto Trail, the South Kaibab trail was a wide and paved highway. There were a lot of people on it, more than I thought there would be, and the crowds only got thicker the higher we climbed, but the trail was plenty wide enough to accommodate everyone. The South Kaibab is also the trail that runs mules up and down it between the rim and Phantom Ranch, and we got passed by at least three mule trains on our way up, two of them carrying supplies and one carrying visitors. We followed trail etiquette and stepped to the side, pausing as the mules passed us and exchanging polite hellos with the riders as they moved by.

Many people who stopped to chat said something about our backpacks, which almost always prompted a conversation about where we had hiked and how long we'd been out. When we told them what we had accomplished, that we had hike nearly 40 miles in four days across the barren desert, we could see their eyes grow round as they looked us up and down again. A lot of the women we talked to made exclaimation about how proud they were of us, total strangers, and how they wished they could do what we did. We got a lot of "you go girls!" and "wonder women!" from them all. The thing is though, nearly anybody could do what we did. Sure, there are some physical limits, but with the right gear and some experience there is nothing stopping anybody from achieving a hike like this. That being said, when Lisha and rounded the last few switchbacks on "The Chimney" and took our first steps over the rim of the Grand Canyon and were met by cheers and applause from the other hikers gathered there, some of whom we had told our story to on the trail below, I became overwhelmed. We had done something that we had been planning for months, something that we weren't sure we were up for, something that had felt impossible on several occasions both before we even got to the canyon, and once we were inside it. I couldn't help but cry, from relief, from happiness, from exhaustion, and from a hundred other emotions that I still don't have a name for. We had done it. We could do anything.

Want to read the whole Grand Canyon Adventure from start to finish? Day 1 Part 1 here, Day 1 Part 2 here, Day 2 here, and Day 3 here.

A Snapshot and The Scoop: My Worst Fear

We had just stopped at an overlook when it happened: We parked, got out, walked up the stairs to the overlook perched high up above the desert basin we had just driven across, snapped a few pictures, and returned to the car. Five minutes, tops. We got back in the car and I turned my key to start it. Nothing. It didn't even turn over. I tried again. Nothing. I stared at my sister while taking deep, steadying breaths. I tried a third time. Nothing. My mind raced into overdrive, knowing full well that neither of us had cell service to call for help, but we did have enough food and water to stay with the car until help arrived. My concern was the heat, the hot dry desert heat that I loved but could also kill the stranded motorist. Alisha and I got out of the car at the same time, popping the hood and looking over the engine to try to spot a problem. We had just come to the conclusion that neither of us could see anything wrong when a volunteer national park firefighter happened to drive by the parking lot and we waved our arms madly to get his attention. He gave us a jump and told us to drive right back the way we came, downhill, and go straight to the mechanic shop in town, twenty five miles away. We pulled in to their parking lot and I left my sister in the car with it running while I went in to talk to the owner, but I had barely begun to explain what had happened when Alisha came in, saying the car had stopped on its own. The mechanic ran his tests and it turned out it was either the alternator or the battery, and we could change the battery and hope it fixed the problem, but if it was the alternator we'd be looking at costly repairs and at least two days stuck in a town we didn't know. I opted to try replacing the battery, and what do ya know, it worked! We were on our way, set back by only a few hours, and on our way to the Grand Canyon. The adventure continued.

Leave me a comment below and tell me what your worst fear while travelling is. Is it being stranded without a vehicle, like mine?

Grand Canyon Adventure Day 3: The Trudge

Grand. The third day of our adventure dawned bright and clear, the amount of water flowing in the stream the only indication that we had gotten rain the night before. We ate breakfast as we tore down camp and stopped at the stream to top off our water bottles before heading out; there was no guarantee of water for the rest of our hike. We struck out at a good pace over fairly level terrain, looping around the back two arms of Grapevine canyon before making our way down toward the inner gorge and the Colorado River. A half day's rest, even with the storm, had done wonders for our bodies and minds, and we were ready to take on anything else The Canyon could throw at us.

One of the bad things about hiking along the Grand Canyon is the number of  tributary canyons. Sure, these canyons are what provide water in the parched oven-like inner canyon, and yes, humans have used those canyons for thousands of years as a place of shelter, food, water, and rest (like we did) but having to constantly loop in and around those deep tributary canyons proved taxing, especially when you could see the trail on the other side of the abyss below your feet. We had learned the day before that talking helps the time pass quickly, so we cast around for any topic of conversation that occurred to us and ran with it. We also set ourselves goals, hiking two miles then taking a ten minute break, which made the thirteen miles we had to cover that day more managable. Instead of sloping mesas and steep cliffs we mostly hiked on rolling terrain that, while fairly featurless, allowed thousands of cacti and thorny desert shrubs to take root. We had to navigate prickly pear cactus fields carefully, or risk coming out of one with blood running down our legs.

Around nine miles in our pace began to slow and we started to lose time. Our conversations became more forced, with longer pauses between topics as we drifted off into our own heads before one of us snapped back with the realization that we needed to keep talking or risk becoming miserable. We passed into a small side canyon called Boulder, where we came across what turned out to be the last water source on our hike. Luckily we topped off while we rested next to the cool stream, discussing camping there some day whenever we healed from this trip years in the future. Eventually we moved on, slowly, our ankles swollen and throbbing. My blisters weren't too bad, and I was glad I had tended to them the night before in Grapevine. My main concern were my knees and ankles. My sister, however, was having trouble with her feet. For her own reasons she chose to hike forty miles within the walls of the Grand Canyon in Chacos. Chacos. Like, the open toed sandals that are fine around camp, but for hiking? Yes, they are marketed as hiking sandals, but I don't think the company really intended them to be used to hike forty miles in rough desert terrain while carrying a forty pound pack on your back. Her feet might have been worse off in her actual hiking boots, but her feet were in rough enough shape in the Chacos to make her miserable. I was so irritated with her when I realized they were the only shoes she had, but to her credit we maintained the same pace together for the entire hike, and I'm pretty sure my ankles and knees hurt just as much as her feet, so we were reasonably well matched. 

The last two miles felt like twenty. There were plenty of times I just wanted to call it, sit down, take my pack off, and stay wherever we were for the night. We didn't give in though, and made one last push into the ominously named Cremation Canyon, the site of our last camp for the trip. We made an effort to find a somewhat sheltered spot next to a boulder, though we weren't high enough above the wide, dry creek bed for my liking. We set up our gear, still damp from the night before, and stretched our legs and feet as we heated water for dinner. We ate quickly, retiring to the now-dried tent when the wind picked up and rain threatened, though thankfully we only got sprinkles. I woke up in the middle of the night to perfect calm with a light bright enough to see dim silhouettes of my sister and our gear diffusing into our tent through the outter rainfly. I opened the small window vent to peer out and was greeted by the brightest stars I've ever seen, shot through with a swirling cloud that could only have been the Milky Way. Our final night in the canyon couldn't have been better. 

Did you miss Day 1 and Day 2? Read about them here, here, and here.

A Snapshot and The Scoop: Pipe Spring

My sister and I found this little national monument on our way from Zion National Park to Grand Canyon National Park and couldn't resist stopping. The monument is named for the little spring that pumps life-giving water into the parched desert around it. Multiple cultures have used the spring, from ancient indians to early explorers and military outposts and the park is rich with Kaibab Paiute history, while a cultural museum on site provides visitors with a glimpse into the way of life in the desert. Outside the visitor's center a short nature trail takes you into the shadow of Winsor Castle where Pipe Spring itself gushes from among the rocks at its base to fill two pools with clear, cold water. Alisha and I didn't spend much time here, but next time we're in the area we will be sure to plan for a few hours of exploring this little oasis.

Leave me a comment below and tell me if you've ever heard of Pipe Spring National Monument. Do you know where it is?

National Backpackers Day

Commemorative. You know, my hobby sure has a lot of days to celebrate. There's National Trails Day, National Parks Week, The National Park System Birthday, National Public Lands Day, and National Backpacker's Day. Am I missing any? Probably. Why should we celebrate days that are dedicated to the outdoors? If you're reading this blog you already know my answer, but to refresh your memory we should celebrate the outdoors because being outside is healthy; it is good for our mental and physical wellbeing; the outdoors provide so many opportunites for recreation including hiking, biking, boating, paddling, hunting, and fishing; and the outdoors brings everybody together in ways that an office party can't, nevermind the cultural and historical significance preserved in the outdoors and the fact that we need resources from outside to survive. Today we are celebrating something a little more exclusive, something relatively few people compared to the general population have ever wet their toes in. Today, we celebrate backpacking, and the kickass people who do it.

Why would anybody want to strap their entire life to their back and walk a bunch of miles? Every single person has a different reason for backpacking, and I can't speak for them, but I can tell you my reasons for backpacking with the hope that maybe you'll find a reason to backpack at least once and try it out yourself. I backpack because the world isn't contained along the sides of a highway, and to really see I need to get out on a trail and explore. I backpack to find solitude or companionship, depending on if I take someone with me or fly solo. I backpack to test myself, to push past my limits that end up being mostly mental though I have found a few physical limits as well. I backpack to relax and get away from life and stress and my problems that shrink to nothing when I'm on the trail and the only thing I need to do is focus on packing well, putting one foot in front of the other, and make sure I'm at a good campsite before the storm hits. Trail life is simple, but presents challenges in ways that make you grow as a person. You learn to double check your packing list before you leave home, because if you forget your fuel canister you either eat cold food or go hungry. You learn to pitch your tent on a slight incline to keep water from pooling under you when it rains. You learn the value of something when you have to decide if you want to carry it with you, if it is really worth the weight. You learn that the best heat source on a cold night is a dog crammed into your sleeping bag with you, because damn they are warm. So many lessons on the trail that you would never learn if you stay at home.

To celebrate National Backpackers Day I've made a list of my favorite backcountry campsites, all requiring you to strap on what you need to stay in the wilderness for a night or more and hoof it into the middle of nowhere. No cell service, no electricity, no cars, and very few other people, if any. In no particular order, enjoy!

Copper Breaks State Park, Texas

If you're looking for solitude this tiny state park near the Texas/Oklahoma state line delivers like a ton of bricks. They only have a handfull of established campsites and offer just a couple of backpacking permits per night, ensuring you will pretty much have the park to yourself. The trail to the backcountry area isn't long, only about a mile and a half, but you feel like you've walk twenty miles into the middle of nowhere with the lack of noise around you. Fall asleep on a ledge above a small gully listening to the coyotes yip around you as the stars bloom in the deep sky above. Bonus points: you can bring your dog.

Little Medano Campsite, Great Sand Dunes National Park and Presesrve, Colorado

The hike to this backcountry site is not easy, requiring five miles of walking on loose sand, even if you walk on the somewhat packed-down primitive road, but the hike plus how the national park spaces out their backcountry sites all but guarantees you'll have a prime site for watching the sun set over the sand ramp and a good shot at seeing wildlife. There are numerous bears in the preserve portion of the park, so using a hang bag or a bear canister is required. We didn't see one while we were out there, but it wasn't for a lack of trying.

South Llano River State Park, Texas

This pretty little backcountry area has five "established" sites to choose from, once you make the two mile hike to get here. One of the few backcountry sites to provide picnic tables, it is a beautiful place to lounge around under the shade of cottonwood trees while the evening settles in around you. Make sure to get there early and you might see hummingbirds flitting around in the afternoon light while armadillos wake up for a night of foraging. Bonus points: Dogs allowed!

Grapevine Canyon, Grand Canyon National Park, Arizona

There is no easy way to get to this backcountry site, which requires at least ten miles of walking before you can call it a night. Usually done as the second night of a four day trek along the Grand Canyon, Grapevine retains its water flow through May and sometimes into mid-June. Water is life in the desert, so don't be surprised if you share your site with another hiker or two (though we had the whole canyon to ourselves when we went), and maybe some mule deer or coyotes. The stream is full of tadpoles during spring, though they grow up fast before their home dries up. A word of caution: never camp at the bottom of a canyon, wash, or gully in the desert unless you are certain it won't rain anywhere within 40 miles of your location. Flash floods come up fast and without warning even if it isn't raining where you are. 

Sea Rim State Park, Texas

Who doesn't love the sound of waves crashing in a rhythmic beat against the shore? If you can brave the mosquitoes (with the help of lots and lots of bug spray) a stay along the beach at this state park is well worth the effort to get here. While you can drive along the beach to a point, and those with four wheel drive capabilities can drive even further, you can also load up your backpack and walk to any site on the five miles of beach that suites your fancy. You aren't allowed to camp on the grass-covered dunes, but you wouldn't want to anyway; alligators and wild hogs call them and the salty wetlands the dunes protect home. Sunrises and sunsets above the gulf are like nothing else on earth.

Dune field, Great Sand Dunes National Park and Preserve, Colorado

Everybody wants to play in a giant sand box, and when you can camp in it? Even better. The play of light and shadow among the thirty square mile dune field makes staying the night even more dramatic, just be sure to stay up long enough to catch the sunset over the dunes and wake up early enough to watch the sand begin to glow with the morning light. The hike into the dune field is strenuous, and adding a pack doesn't help. Most people don't cross the first ridge of dunes and that is considered the day use area, so you are required to hike well beyond that before you can call it a night. Give yourself plenty of time to reach your site, but if you do hike in the dark a headlamp is a must. Just be sure to get off the dunes fast if there is an approaching thunderstorm, you truly are the tallest thing out there.

Cottonwood Canyon, Grand Canyon National Park, Arizona

As one of the few permanent water sources within the canyon walls Cottonwood Canyon is a popular backpacking destination, and is easy enough to reach for a single overnight. That doesn't mean you should pass over it though. In the desert, with water comes beauty, and Cottonwood is well named for its abundant cottonwood trees, as well as junipers and other desert flora. The hike into the canyon is not easy, however, and there are signs and rangers everywhere reminding people that going down into the canyon is optional but coming back up is mandatory. 

What do you think? Can you handle staying in a place like one of those mentioned above? Backpacking really doesn't take a special kind of person, it just takes someone willing to try something new with the possibliltiy of learning a few lessons along the way. There are bad things about backpacking, sure, like the bugs and the heat (or cold), the distance from help if you get into trouble, or the possibility of running in to angry wildlife, but the benefits of backpacking far outweigh the risks. I taught myself how to backpack, devouring every book, magazine, article, and blog I could get my hands on before I felt ready enough to try it on my own, and even now I am tweaking my technique every time I load up for a new trip. Lucky for you, I've got most of the hard part figured out and am more than happy to bring newcomers along for a night or two under the stars. I've somehow managed to talk a couple of my friends and my sister into accompanying me on backpacking adventures, and they keep coming back for more so I can't be scaring them off too badly. Congratulations ladies, this day if for you as well! Want to join our ranks and give backpacking a shot? Let me know! In the meantime, Happy National Backpackers Day!

Grand Canyon Adventure Day 2: The Storm

Tense. My sister and I woke up refreshed. We had gone to bed near the bottom of the Grand Canyon before the light had faded from the sky and woke up with dawn ready for a new day. We weren't in a rush to get going, hiking just under six miles to our next camp, but we also didn't linger. First up on the chore list was filtering water out of the little stream next to where we camped, which was a learning experience for both of us. Neither of us have filtered water before, though I had been carrying a filter with me ever since I began to travel and hike; I've practiced in the kitchen sink, of course, but it is a bit different when you're getting water from a wild stream. We were slow and clumsy but we left Cottonwood Creek with full water bottles and higher spirits, though we knew we were leaving our only guaranteed water source in the next three days. The hike along Cottonwood Canyon was pleasant as we followed the stream on its way to meet the Colorado River, though we found ourselves on a bench well above the bottom of the tributary canyon before we knew it. We soon passed into the main corridor of the Big Ditch, and then we felt the wind.

The force of the gusts almost knocked us over, and our big forty pound packs sailed like ships. We struggled to stay upright and keep our feet under us as the wind seemed to come at us from the side no matter which way we turned. We took more breaks than either of us would have liked as we were still sore from the day before and we were trying to protect ourselves from the gusts that threatened to knock us off the trail. It didn't help that Day 2 showed us our most exposed portions of the entire trail, sometimes taking us so close to the edge that we could glance to our right shoe and see hundreds of feet below. The trail led us to slivers of soft sandstone covered in loose gravel, barely more than two feet wide, with an overhanging cliff on one side and a drop into nothing on the other that had us crouching against the cliff in a desperate hope of finding a handhold. In the midst of our anxiety about falling we finally saw the river! We had seen the Colorado River from the rim when we arrived at The Canyon, but hadn't seen it since we started on our big hike. Now, still more than a thousand feet above it, we could see the deep green river as it carved its path among the sandstone layers of the inner gorge. It was this inner gorge that we would follow for the next two days, though with many meanderings as we looped around deep side canyons until they were shallow enough to cross.

The hike to Grapevine Canyon and our stop for the night seemed to drag by, even though it was our shortest day of hiking by far and we knew an entire afternoon of rest awaited us if we could just get there, but we were exhausted and every gust of wind seemed to suck more strength out of us. After rounding the millionth steep slope of the canyon mesas we looked down onto a welcome sight: a patch of bright green still some distance below but unmistakably some sort of tree or shrub. Grapevine was near! As we got closer we could see the flash of sun reflected from the bottom of the small canyon, telling us we were going to be able to refill our water bottles again that night. We didn't have the energy to run the rest of the trail down into the canyon but we still put as much spring into our limps as we could while negotiating the steep trail. We took some time deciding on a camp site for the night, exploring a bit along the canyon bottom before deciding on a place to call home. Part of me wanted to find the perfect spot, secluded and away from any potential neighbors yet high enough above the water to keep us safe from any flash flooding that might occur if it rained up-canyon, and the other part of me wanted to do it right. We hadn't looked for a good spot the night before but had dropped our packs at the first place we found, and we had passed up other sites that were prettier. If we were going to spend the rest of the afternoon in Grapevine Canyon I wanted it to be perfect. 

Grapevine, as it turned out, was smaller than Cottonwood and our options were a bit limited, but I picked the spot that best suited us and called it good. We set up camp slowly, not in any hurry, and took time to stretched our sore muscles. The stream wasn't far off and we brought our lunch with us as we found a shallow pool to soak our aching feet and ankles in, sighing in relief as the cool water washed away the day's dirt. We found ourselves sharing the stream with a million tadpoles and entertained ourselves watching them wiggle around the little pools and eddies while we ate. After a while we left the stream to stretch out next to our tent, trying to loosen our bodies up and stay off our feet as much as possible. I also needed to sort out my feet; two days of walking had wrecked havoc on my heels and toes and I had massive blisters that I had left alone the night before, but had decided on the hike to Grapevine that I needed to do something about them. I could hardly walk the way they were. Thankfully I carry a first aid kit and set to work on my feet, hoping I wasn't doing more damage than good. They still needed to get me twenty more miles up and out of The Canyon. While absorbed in my work I failed to notice the sky was darkening and the clouds were getting thicker; I brushed of the first few drops of water thinking it was sweat. Alisha and I sat up at the same time, however, and instantly became aware that we were in for a storm. We rushed around camp, picking up our scatter belongings and tossing them haphazardly into the tent as the sprinkles became a little harder and a little more persistent. We ducked into the tent just in time for the skies to open up above us, scrambling to zip the rainfly doors shut behind us. The first shower didn't last long, and that was a good thing: in our rush to get into the tent we had thrown everything in to it before us and were sitting on top of it all. During a break in the rain Alisha went to filter water, knowing we might not get a chance in the morning, and I stayed inside to arrange our living space. It looked like we would be spending our time at Grapevine trying to stay dry.

Alisha hadn't been back inside the tent long before the storm hit. We had heard thunder echoing off the cliffs around us but it had been a distant threat, something to think about and hope that it wasn't coming for us. Now, however, the storm blew up around us and we were exposed; there was nothing like a shelter anywhere within running distance, and we were painfully aware that we had picked a site way too close to the stream. Thunder rolled around us as flashes of lightning threw the contents of the tent into sharp relief. Wind and buckets of rain buffeted the tent and I found myself hoping that the tent would stay staked in the ground, that the poles wouldn't snap above us, that we wouldn't get hit by a random bolt of lightning. We both sat upright in the tent, hugging our knees to our chest and staring straight ahead into nothing without talking; we were both listening intently for the telltale roar of a flash flood, though how we hoped to hear it over the peals of thunder and the drum of rain I had no idea. Eventually, gradually, the storm blew itself out of our small canyon and continued across the inner gorge to bother people on the other rim. We listened to the echoing booms of thunder as it rolled away from us, giving way to a soft tattoo of rain. Just as slowly as the storm moved away we became less afraid of flash flooding, though we knew by the sound of the creek that it had risen quite a bit. We didn't bother getting wet to find out how high it was though, but drifted off to sleep listening to the stream running over little waterfalls and the patter of gentle rain on the tent canvas.

Did you miss Day 1 of the Grand Canyon Adventure? Ready Part 1 here and Part 2 here.

A Snapshot and The Scoop: The Contract

I'm not sure whether it is a good thing or a bad thing that my sister and I created a contract (signed by both of us) that pretty much says whatever happens on our week-long trip to Utah and Arizona stays on said week-long trip. Take it as you will. We know each other and ourselves well enough to know that if either one of us get hungry, hot, tired, injured, or otherwise are miserable, we're liable to take it out on the other one. Couple this with the fact that we're sisters and you have a recipe for words spoken that otherwise would not have smeared the air. Of course, a week in each other's company and the minor detail that we were likely to be hot, hungry, tired, and sore on our four day trek across the Grand Canyon pretty much forced us to come up with a way ahead of time to acknowledge that things might get rough but we still love each other and have each other's best interests at heart, even if we might want to shove each other off a cliff at one point or another. Some of the items listed in our contract have a humorous inflection, but every point listed is serious. Sometimes, you just want to leave your hiking partner or group and wait for them to catch up at a later point, but when you're relying on the other person for safety and motivation leaving them isn't a very smart move. Happily for us, we only "argued" once on the entire adventure, and it was on our way up out of the canyon. The contract worked!

Leave me a comment below and let me know if you would add anything else to this list. I'm open to suggestions!

Grand Canyon Adventure Day 1 Part 2: The Descent

Discouraged. We were finally on our way! After a brief rest on the rim at Grandview Point my sister and I were finally ready to take our first steps into the Grand Canyon, after (only) 9 miles of walking on the road to get to our starting point. The wind on the rim was bitterly cold and we were eager to find some relief down lower, where temperatures could be as much as 20 degrees warmer than at the rim. We chatted with other hikers who were on their way out of the canyon, some with backpacks similar to my sister's and mine, others with little day packs, and they told us of a steep trail down to Horseshoe Mesa, the first official stop on the trail and a popular dayhike destination.

The trail was just as steep as the reports had promised. Alisha and I slipped down switchback after switchback, sometimes crunching on sand and dirt, sometimes stepping down and over larger rocks. To get in to a place like the Grand Canyon you really only have one choice, but knowing that didn't make the trek down any easier; in fact, both of us at one point or another questioned the wisdom of undertaking a hike like the one we were attempting. The absolute worst were the cobblestone "stairs" that looped out in front of us as far as we could see down the canyon wall. They weren't true stairs, but were set at odd enough intervals, with bigger and smaller stones, to make navigating them miserable. My knees and ankles began to protest less than halfway down the upper canyon wall, and there was nothing I could do about it. A group of hikers who passed us on their way up stopped to chat and kindly shared their supply of asprin with me, which took the edge off the throbbing pain in my knees but did nothing for the swelling and stiffness that was setting in.

We began to rest more and more frequently, stopping for water breaks where before we had drank and walked, stretching our snack breaks out even longer, trying to delay setting out again. At some point shortly after we had stopped for lunch we came to one of the few shady spots on the trail and stopped again, leaning our packs against the tree trunk and trying to talk about anything other than our hike. With the combination of the heat and the pain, the long hours of walking and our increasing isolation from other human beings my sister's and my conversations became more and more funny, until we got to the point of hysterical laughing over the stupidest things, then continued laughing because we were laughing at something so simple. The action came to a halt with a slam when I got one of my infamous bloody noses, and we had to scramble to find tissues burried somewhere in our packs before I bled all over everything. Leave it to me to use up more than my fair share of tissues and toilet paper when we were sure to run out of both of them on our way through the canyon.

It took us a while to settle down again, and even longer to get the nerve to continue the hike to our first campsite of the night, still miles away.  A "flat" trail to Horseshoe Mesa waited for us, and by flat I mean a less steep trail that still angled to lower elevations, but to us it was a welcome respite. We made up a little time and distance, though by that time both of us were in considerable amounts of pain and every step took us farther away from ice packs and a soothing shower. Horseshoe Mesa arrived before I had expected it to, which was nice, but the last mile of trail to our campsite was not. We were greeted by horrible loose egg-sized rocks that slid out from under our feet, causing us to slip and slide down a narrow ravine that dropped hundreds of feet to the inner canyon plateaus. We weren't talking much at that point, keeping our eyes on our feet and concentrating on not toppling over with fourty pound packs on our backs. When we finally got off the mesa slopes we had less than half a mile to Cottonwood Creek, the first camp area of the hike, and we camped at the very first place we came to. We didn't even bother to look around and explore our options. As much as both of us wanted to pitch the tent and stop moving for the night we forced ourselves to make dinner and take some time to stretch our sore bodies, knowing we would be thankful we did in the morning. It wasn't long after we ate, and well before the light had faded from the sky, that we crawled into our sleeping bags and dropped off to sleep for our first night in the Grand Canyon.

Did you miss the first part of our adventure, The Road? Read about how I made a big mistake and caused us to walk even further than we needed to here.

A Snapshot and The Scoop: The Narrows - A Life Goal

The trail at the end of the road in Zion National Park has a lot of pull: it is easily accessible to anybody, it takes you right along the Virgin River between towering sandstone cliffs, and, of course, the river itself. This path is the jumping point for anybody wishing to walk up-river to any distance; most people go a mile or less against the current before turning around, though a fair few travel several miles upstream to get to The Narrows. The Narrows is where the walls of Zion Canyon close in around you and the river stretches from wall to wall. It is definitely not a place to be when a storm threatens. They can be done during a long day trip, but also by a multi-day backpacking trip, and it is the multi-day adventure that is on my short list for epic trips. I'm itching to get my feet wet (literally) and hike with the current of the Virgin River in some of the most pristine canyon country in the West. As of right now I don't have plans for this adventure yet, but I hope to within the next few years!

Leave me a comment below and tell me if you'd be interested in doing this with me! I'm looking for an adventure buddy!!

Grand Canyon Adventure Day 1 Part 1: The Road

Irritated. I usually put a lot of thought and planning in to my adventures to help things go smoothly, but every once in a while I mess up. I messed up big time on my sister's and my adventure in Grand Canyon National Park this last May when I didn't route plan correctly and ended up making us walk about nine miles more than necessary on our four day trek along the Grand Canyon. I was just so eager to hike in the canyon that I didn't put much thought into our beginning and ending points, I just knew what we would be hiking once we dipped below the rim, including our camping areas and available water.

As a result, I only realized after we had our permits in hand that our point-to-point trail began at one trail overlook and ended at another - nine miles apart. This little lapse in planning would force us to take the park's shuttle as far as it would go up the road, where we then had to shoulder our forty pound packs and walk the rest of the way to our starting point along the park highway. The morning of the beginning of our hike we got up way too early and parked at the backcountry parking lot along with dozens of other cars, caught the earliest shuttle we could, and began a four day adventure that would test everything about our mental and physical tolerance. (I wish that were an exaggeration...)

Alisha said she wasn't mad at me, but I was beyond angry with myself. We had discussed the problem and decided it was best to walk the extra miles at the beginning of our adventure instead of at the end when we were sure to be exhausted and sore, but that didn't make the miles any easier. Our packs were at the heaviest they would be for the entire trip, full of food and water and our entire lives for the next four days. We talked at first in the cool grey mists of dawn, where herds of elk kept us company along the sides of the road. We were both excited to begin our journey, talking about the challenges and beauty of what we were likely to encounter. We got quieter and quieter as the morning wore on, eventually only dully calling out "car" when one was coming up behind us.

 We took short rests whenever there was an overlook or a rock or anything that would make a comfy seat to someone who was carrying a quarter of their weight on their backs, but struggled on shortly after stopping. We knew that we had to keep going because we hadn't even entered the canyon yet, and had a further five miles to hike down to our first campsite of the night once we got to the rim and the true beginning of the trail. My pack was rubbing raw spots into my hips and my feet and ankles already hurt, though I kept telling myself it was because of the road and that things would get better once we were inside the canyon. I almost believed my own lies. We finally reached Grandview Point, the overlook and trailhead we were to take down into the Grand Canyon, and it was freezing. The wind was bitter and we only stopped long enough to snack a bit and use the pit toilet, the last true toilet we would see for four days, before shouldering our packs again and preparing to take our first steps into the canyon. I thought I knew what to expect of the coming adventure, but I was very wrong. Our journey was beyond imagining.

What I'm listening to: Big Love Adagio by Bond