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.
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