The prospect.
My own theme is
This is not the philosophy of one Hurryin' Hugh, who we first met somewhere above Indian Garden on the Bright Angel Trail. He was proceeding insanely fast on that rock-strewn path. I asked him in passing how long he figured it would take him to arrive at the river.
About two hours, he grinned, through relatively straight teeth. Then he hurried on, actually trotting to the curves.
Cut to Indian Garden, at 4.6 miles and nearly 3,000 feet from the ridge. Here is Hugh again, with his right foot stretched out and bandaged. "It snapped," he said, then explained how a boulder had attacked him on the trail. "I'm surprised you didn't see it," he amazed, anticipating that we hadn't. Another couple nearby asked, "You fell again?" So it was at least his second fall. He showed how his front teeth were impacted by the rocky faceplant.
A muddled park ranger was attempting to answer a question about where the chopper would land in a declarative sentence, but having no luck. His nose was running without notice. (My son Will, who has been in roles of authority since single digit ages, sprang to mind as someone who would give great confidence to everybody in such an emergency. We talk about that.)
We figured Hugh was trying to shift blame from his own idiocy to an act of nature, perhaps avoiding the med-evac fee (variously reported in hearsay as $3-5K) in the effort, or perhaps supporting a possible tort claim against the park. If there was ever anyone who should pay for his stupidity, here he was.
There is below the Garden a ridge overlooking your most comprehensive view of the down trail, at the foot of which you cross six streams. There was a gent standing on the downward spiral of red dust, waiting. Down at the last crossing was his wife, who was suffering. She crossed the stream and stood breathing heavily. She had been just over three miles, with twice that to go, and the climbing had not yet begun. There is an excellent view from the rim which should suffice for many folks (indeed, we were told seven years ago that fewer than 15% of Grand Canyon visitors ventured below the rim, and current estimates are much smaller than that).
At six miles you come to the river.
Amble along the upper shoreline for three miles and you're past Bright Angel Campground and to Phantom Ranch, our destination. But first the bridge happens.
Notice how the sections seem to rattle as you step from one to the next. This is, you're thinking, because the minimum wage trail builders were left to finish the job after the engineers had left. What's it made of, this bridge? Heavy metal. Or aluminum? Tin foil?
You begin to bless engineers, like our son Casey. So much of our blind faith is invested in them. You ride elevators and roads and bridges because you trust the experts. You think of that now, as you reach for the railing. Did it just crinkle in your grasp?
Way below the large-knit fishnet webbing underfoot rages the Colorado. Don't look down.
Now, nobody in this forsaken land would choose bridge-builders based upon which it would be most comfortable to have a beer with. However, a growing dry-rot in this nation would forbid the evil "government" from interfering in holy enterprise with such nonsense as safety for humans at the expense of corporate gods. Someday rivets might be calculated as not worth the expnense, especially as the corporations need not walk these bridges. (The Palin Parrots for Plutocrats will, but they're much too dumb to realize that.)
There is an expression in French called pensées d'escalier, or something else. It refers to the thoughts you have about a recent conversation in which you would've triumphed had you utilized the arguments only occurring on the stairs as you leave the ball. Grim contemplation of the future based upon just such recent memory might be referred to as pensées d'pont.
Somehow, the end of this thousand meter crossing nears.
Phantom Ranch is a series of cabins and diner on the Bright Angel Creek just north of the Colorado. We stay two nights, and have breakfast and dinner there. There's veggie chile and cornbread in the evening, scrambled eggs and flapjacks in the morning. They go for volume, not variety.
The company comprises other hikers and some mule riders, so it's more social than many diners. There are often groups there, and they might be a mite insular, but you meet someone on the paths around the cabins and they most likely speak. After all, we're all in this together, although many are thinking of getting out. Not that they're not having a good time, but there are either 7 or 10 miles nearabouts to travel some morning with nearly a mile elevation gain, so it's something to think about if you haven't done it before.
Our first day after coming into the country we hiked up the slot canyon carved by Bright Angel Creek. We are particularly fond of this section of the North Kaibab. It is the essence of the marvel engineered by time and the elements and the river on sandstone and even granite. This is the sort of engineering that will be here when the last human signposts are no more, and the main reason for its being is the river at 2,480 feet wants to be at sea level.
So we rose after dawn on the third day and set out just after 7 AM. Kaibab is a more concentrated climb, which is why most select Bright Angel as the gentler slope if longer route. The rim at South Kaibab is at 7,260 feet, whereas Bright Angel summits at 6,785. We have seen ice at the higher elevations of the Chimney, the switchbacks just below the summit, but along Bright Angel there have been snowbanks only in the shady cover between 1 and 3 miles from the rim. The area saw two feet of snow two weeks before our arrival, we're told.
This was our third trip to the Canyon, and our favorite as far as our conditioning and the weather. We just stepped up the trail in just under five hours, with only some soreness the next two days for the strain. The signposts were familiar by now; the Tipoff at the Tonto Trail crossing, with the restrooms; Skekleton Point to Cedar Ridge, the heart of the climb; and then from that wide open view, the main stop for day trippers, there is the Chimney, 1.5 miles of switchbacks to the trailhead.
Almost all photos and video furnished by our amazing iPhone. Film at 11, just below.
The Slot Canyon at the beginning of North Kaibab
The Tipoff.
The Halfway Point
Lady Kale dances at Cedar Ridge
And the Lady reaches the trailhead.
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