The Grand Canyon - Rim to Rim to Rim (R3) Part VI
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.
To see Part V please click here.
After we survived the plague of frogs, we settled down and caught our breath, sipped some water, and slurped another gel pack before continuing on. Chase took the lead, hobbling along on his knee that was getting consistently more painful.
Without any warning, he yelled and dropped to the ground. Since it was dark and I was 35 feet behind him, I assumed the worst. His knee was done.
I got beside him and knelt down. “What happened?”
“A bird almost hit me.”
“What?”
Chase‘s exasperated response, “You heard me, I said, a bird was trying to hit me.”
I thought, “Okay, well at least we’ll make it out of here since his leg's fine, but he’s flipped—totally lost it.”
Around 10:00pm we stumbled into Phantom Ranch for our second visit of the day. The security lighting washed us in its yellow glow and we sat down across from the water spigot to rest. The guests at the ranch were trickling out of the dining hall after a late $50-per-plate dinner and walking slowly to their bunkhouses for a good nights sleep. Of the few guests that even noticed us sitting there, one guy stopped to talk.
He was a very friendly Latino guy and was amazed at our story. At first he thought that we were camping at the nearby campground, but then he realized that we had headlamps and hydration packs and running shoes and our skin was coated in salt and dust except where sweat had run rivers through it.
Then he started talking loudly, calling his cabin mates over and introducing us, making us shake hands with everyone, wishing us luck and stuff. We were tired, we were overwhelmed and emotional, and we were still only 75% done.
After a few minutes all the guests but the original one lost interest, but he continued to ply us with questions and encouragement. He boosted our morale at a critical time just like the people “bowing” down to us on the North Rim.
Then we left the ranch.
Part VII is now available here.
To see Part II please click here.
To see Part III please click here.
To see Part IV please click here.
To see Part V please click here.
After we survived the plague of frogs, we settled down and caught our breath, sipped some water, and slurped another gel pack before continuing on. Chase took the lead, hobbling along on his knee that was getting consistently more painful.
Without any warning, he yelled and dropped to the ground. Since it was dark and I was 35 feet behind him, I assumed the worst. His knee was done.
I got beside him and knelt down. “What happened?”
“A bird almost hit me.”
“What?”
Chase‘s exasperated response, “You heard me, I said, a bird was trying to hit me.”
I thought, “Okay, well at least we’ll make it out of here since his leg's fine, but he’s flipped—totally lost it.”
It was probably 9:30 at night and we’d essentially been on the move for 18 hours straight. I knew we weren’t as mentally sharp as normal, but...come on, we shouldn’t be this bad.
So I told him to get up and keep going. I wanted to keep Chase in front of me so I could keep my eyes on him and his knee (and now on his mind too). I didn’t want him to straggle and get too far behind.
This time I stayed only 10 feet behind him, giving me just enough space to see where I was going. Less than a minute later, he flopped to the ground a second time. We repeated the same process. I hurried up to him and asked what was the matter.
“It was a bird again.”
“Sure--whatever.”
Chase’s merited response, “Fine then—you go in front.”
So I did, and less than a minute later I likewise was yelling and diving to the ground. Chase’s knee was fine and his mind was sound. What was not fine were the birds that were dive bombing us. If you had been a third party observer a few hundred yards away and been able to only see our motions and hear our voices (not the birds or the frogs), you would have thought we were two deranged desert dwellers. First we had freaked out and run crashing wildly through a corridor of grass, and now we were screaming and diving to the ground every 100 yards.
Small birds, about the size of sparrows, were trying to feed on the insects congregating by our headlamps. Though their battery life was waning, they still punched out a beam of light capable of running by, and you could probably read a book 30 feet away from the lamp.
The birds could see the insects and would swoop in, generally head-on, to pick them off. If they missed, they would come back again from behind, brushing our hair with their wings, then dropping down inches from our faces, screeching as they snagged bug after bug. They’d circle around, flitting in and out of the beam, finally popping up less than a foot from our faces, mouth gaping, looking for a delicious little snack.
For a half-hour we ducked and whirled trying to avoid contact. Then we got used to it. And then if you were that same outside observer you’d think that we’d really lost it. Here were birds flying 35 miles an hour straight at our faces and we wouldn’t flinch. At the last second they’d wheel off and we’d just keep walking along.
So I told him to get up and keep going. I wanted to keep Chase in front of me so I could keep my eyes on him and his knee (and now on his mind too). I didn’t want him to straggle and get too far behind.
This time I stayed only 10 feet behind him, giving me just enough space to see where I was going. Less than a minute later, he flopped to the ground a second time. We repeated the same process. I hurried up to him and asked what was the matter.
“It was a bird again.”
“Sure--whatever.”
Chase’s merited response, “Fine then—you go in front.”
So I did, and less than a minute later I likewise was yelling and diving to the ground. Chase’s knee was fine and his mind was sound. What was not fine were the birds that were dive bombing us. If you had been a third party observer a few hundred yards away and been able to only see our motions and hear our voices (not the birds or the frogs), you would have thought we were two deranged desert dwellers. First we had freaked out and run crashing wildly through a corridor of grass, and now we were screaming and diving to the ground every 100 yards.
Small birds, about the size of sparrows, were trying to feed on the insects congregating by our headlamps. Though their battery life was waning, they still punched out a beam of light capable of running by, and you could probably read a book 30 feet away from the lamp.
The birds could see the insects and would swoop in, generally head-on, to pick them off. If they missed, they would come back again from behind, brushing our hair with their wings, then dropping down inches from our faces, screeching as they snagged bug after bug. They’d circle around, flitting in and out of the beam, finally popping up less than a foot from our faces, mouth gaping, looking for a delicious little snack.
For a half-hour we ducked and whirled trying to avoid contact. Then we got used to it. And then if you were that same outside observer you’d think that we’d really lost it. Here were birds flying 35 miles an hour straight at our faces and we wouldn’t flinch. At the last second they’d wheel off and we’d just keep walking along.
Around 10:00pm we stumbled into Phantom Ranch for our second visit of the day. The security lighting washed us in its yellow glow and we sat down across from the water spigot to rest. The guests at the ranch were trickling out of the dining hall after a late $50-per-plate dinner and walking slowly to their bunkhouses for a good nights sleep. Of the few guests that even noticed us sitting there, one guy stopped to talk.
He was a very friendly Latino guy and was amazed at our story. At first he thought that we were camping at the nearby campground, but then he realized that we had headlamps and hydration packs and running shoes and our skin was coated in salt and dust except where sweat had run rivers through it.
Then he started talking loudly, calling his cabin mates over and introducing us, making us shake hands with everyone, wishing us luck and stuff. We were tired, we were overwhelmed and emotional, and we were still only 75% done.
After a few minutes all the guests but the original one lost interest, but he continued to ply us with questions and encouragement. He boosted our morale at a critical time just like the people “bowing” down to us on the North Rim.
Then we left the ranch.
Part VII is now available here.
eazakes@juno.com
posted by Eddy Zakes at 7:43 PM
1 comments
