The Grand Canyon - Rim to Rim to Rim (R3) Part V

To see Part I please click here.
To see Part II please click here.
To see Part III please click here.
To see Part IV please click here.

While we were napping, the first hikers from a church group reached the rim. We’d passed them earlier in the day, and while we napped they had sat waiting for the rest of their group to straggle to the top. They were hiking all the way from the South Rim to the North Rim in one day. When we started packing up, they clearly assumed we were going to be walking across the parking lot to our car, but when they saw us filling up our hydration bladders, the inevitable questions began.

“Where ya guys going?”

Followed by a nonchalant, “Back across.”

A drawn out, “Nooo - way.”

“Well, actually...”

“You guys are sick-insane-crazy-should be committed-deluded, etc!” They got down on their knees and began bowing down to us, proclaiming us studs and the gods of hiking--bestowing blessings and gifting us with their leftover food and anything else of theirs that we wanted.

About ten ‘worshipers’ followed us for 50 yards down the trail, continuing to prostrate themselves in obeisance and it was the finest send off we could have asked for. Our batteries were recharged from the nap and the food, and now we were pumped and excited again from the encouragement of the North Rim crowd.

(Looking south from the North Rim. The mountains in the background are 65 miles away and 12,600 feet tall)

Grand Canyon travel is challenging for two reasons—the heat and the elevation gains and losses. The elevation changes can’t be manipulated, but most hikers work hard to beat the heat. Probably 75% of all travel takes place in the early morning when it is light enough to move around, but still cool enough to avoid the potentially deadly heat associated illnesses. The remaining hikers travel from around 6:00pm until dark. The only people moving in-between are the desperate ones. Trying to cover 50 miles in 24 hours qualified us as desperate.

Twenty minutes after leaving the North Rim we were questioning our sanity. Three or four people had independently approached us offering rides from the North Rim back around to the South Rim. Some knew of our quest and others didn’t. It would have been so easy. Pitch in a little for gas and we could have been back around to the other side in four hours, riding in the comfort of an air-conditioned car with our feet up and our shoes off.

What possessed us? That was the question we faced before the hike, during the hike, and even now, a few years later it is posed to me nearly every time I tell the story. Why bother to do something that nobody really cares about? Why not just run a marathon or some other recognizable accomplishment? Why suffer on the fringe?

For the last 6 hours as we’d worked our way up to the North Rim from the Colorado River, I’d been persevering at times merely for the opportunity to enjoy the descent. Every step uphill was work. Going downhill, gravity does the vast majority of the work and “all” you’ve got to do is keep putting one foot in front of the other. Now we had 13 miles of downhill snaking before us.

My reveling was cut short when the pounding of the descent began to affect Chase’s right knee. Even without using a force multiplier from high school physics, it’s easy to understand that the weight of your body is multiplied by gravity as you descend each step. So Chase’s knee was fatiguing, inflaming, and ultimately giving him tremendous pain.

I was planning on jogging for at least 6 or 7 miles of the descent, but we were slowed to a hobble. We weren’t in as bad of shape as one lady we passed though.

At the North Rim, we had overheard the church group debating how long it would take Brittany to make it up. Apparently she was out of shape and the most worrisome link in their team. As we descended we passed other members of the church group who asked that we pass on some snippet of encouragement to Brittany who was far behind and had been struggling since their lunchtime at Phantom Ranch.

We found Brittany around 6:30. She was 35 pounds overweight and struggling up the trail with great big tears rolling down her cheeks. Her knee was wrapped in a T-shirt with blood slowly seeping through it. The group leader, with a now sunburned back, had given up his shirt as a bandage and was quietly exhorting her to press on. We told them of their groups concerns, passed on the messages we could remember, and then left, each pair to ascend and descend.

Shortly after leaving them, things became more interesting. Chase and I took a spur trail to Ribbon Falls, one of the most recognizable and beautiful waterfalls in the Canyon. The 250 yards of extra trail and 5 extra minutes of walking were rewarded with a private showing of one of the most popular backcountry sites in the Canyon.

Ribbon Falls

By the time we returned to the trail, the sun had slipped beneath the horizon and we jogging in a pink haze. We entered into a very narrow section of trail in a humid wash bottom where we were hemmed in by desert grass that grew up over our heads due to the subterranean waterway. Our headlamps were on and we were on edge because we were very close to where we’d passed the rattlesnake eight hours before.

In the back of our minds, we knew that rattlesnakes tend to hunt in darkness, and that was very nearly attained. The tall grass was brushing our shoulders on either side and our headlamps were on again, illuminating the 14-inch wide path. We were appropriately tired, our minds were wandering, we were worried about snakes, and the noise was getting to us.

As the sun goes down, the animals come out, and since we were the only people for miles they really came out. The occasional coyote howl, screeching birds, the rustling of bushes, bright yellow eyes reflecting the light of our headlamps, and the haunting scream of a dying rabbit contributed to our edginess. I was in front.

Abruptly, a good-sized frog jumped right into the middle of the narrow path. I jumped a mile. The timing was flawless. Suddenly the whole area was echoing with the croaking of countless frogs. The path was instantly covered with frogs as if Moses had plagued the canyon. It caught us both so off guard that we took off running, eyes wildly careening from side to side of the path, trying as best as we could to avoid crushing more frogs than necessary. We came out of the far end of the grass corridor gasping for air and more on edge than ever.

What came next is one of the most unique outdoor experiences of my life.

Part VI is now available here.


eazakes@juno.com