There’s this place in Arizona that most people don’t visit because it’s tucked away and off the beaten path. It’s called the Grand Canyon, and even though it doesn’t get very much press, it’s a really cool place and I highly recommend visiting it if you’re looking for something new and unusual to do in the South West.
The two of us spent a couple of nights camping out at the bottom of the Canyon, about a mile down from the rim. The hike down took us only a few hours, and despite a bit of soreness in our leg joints it was a relatively painless descent into the bowels of the earth. The Colorado river (which looks like a trickle in photos but is really a massive body of water) was a pleasant and refreshing reward at the bottom of the canyon – it was a toasty 80 degrees down there – and there was even a little beach where we lounged and watched the sunset.
For two nights we camped out under the stars, spending the day in between on a long but flat hike and hanging out at a waterfall. And we saw a rattlesnake, which was awesome and scary. So it was generally a good time in the Grand Canyon.
And then we had to climb back out.
When you go hiking at the Grand Canyon, you can’t avoid the plethora of signs warning you to be careful. “Drink lots of water,” they warn. “Eat cookies and other snacks to keep up your energy.” “Don’t fall off cliffs.” It’s all pretty simple stuff that the parks service drills into the heads of visitors as part of its initiative to reduce the annual death toll. I took these signs seriously and ate plenty of cookies, but unfortunately they weren’t magic cookies, and I still nearly died of exhaustion trying to climb out.
I’m not a bad hiker, and I’ve always been a fairly athletic and energetic person (provided I have gotten my requisite 12 hours of sleep). But the Grand Canyon kicked my ass. And to make it worse, Chris practically trotted his way up the 10 mile climb with a big stupid grin on his face. By the last mile, at which point we had climbed about 5,000 vertical feet and entered into the cool, thin air of the canyon’s rim, I was so tired that I shuffled along like a 100-year-old Parkinson’s victim and had to take a break every 100 feet or so. It was humiliating , and it didn’t make me feel “grand” at all.
But, alas, I did make it to the top, and after swallowing down a cheeseburger, fries, a slice of pudding pie and a large coke, I was energized enough to sit down in the passenger’s seat and nap while Christopher drove us north into Utah.
Looking back, I think that the whole experience has made me stronger, and I would definitely go down into the Grand Canyon again. On a mule.
Filed under: National Parks, arizona
