Seventeen years ago, when I was 51, Joe and I donned 35-pound backpacks and hiked down the South Kaibab trail click to the bottom of the Grand Canyon. There we camped for two days, eating huge delicious meals at Phantom Ranch, and then hiked out on the Bright Angel trail. click  We started out early in the morning, and I was so exhilarated by the beautiful dawn light and the glory of the Canyon that after we crossed the bridge and began climbing, I started to sing. ‘Yay for me, yay for me, I’m as happy as a bunny in a tree, Yay for me, yay for us, if it came along you know I’d take a bus.’ This proved conclusively that exercise is intoxicating, and annoyed the hell out of four exhausted hikers in spandex bike suits who were sprawled by the side of the trail.

When we emerged from the Canyon, I was both giddy and exhausted. A mother with two young girls stopped us. “Excuse me, did you just hike up from the bottom?” Proudly I said yes. “Would you mind if I ask how old you are?” Proudly I told her. “You see, girls.” she said, “You can do ANYTHING.”

Back when we were young

 

Planning for our Thanksgiving 2015 trip to the Grand Canyon began a year in advance. Joe reserved two cabins for two nights at Phantom Ranch. Originally, there were going to be ten of us. But two women got pregnant and one man developed knee issues, so they and their partners had to drop out. Other preparations included Amanda saying she wouldn’t go, and me telling the trainer at the gym that I had to train for the hike.

And train I did, until I was rowing at a furious pace, proudly dead-lifting 80 pounds, and doing all kinds of lunges and burpees and other horrors, which became less horrible as I grew stronger. I climbed down and up the 230 stairs at the Devil’s Millhopper, working up to six repetitions, defeated only by boredom. My pulse stayed pretty low through the climbing and rowing, but I quickly grew short of breath. Still, after an echocardiogram and pulmonary tests, my doctor cleared me to go.

 

image:epicweird

I knew I was fitter than I had ever been. I had strengthened my legs so that as I walked I felt a new sense, or perhaps a youthful sense, of certainty, confident that if I stumbled on loose rock or uneven ground, my legs would not let me fall. I knew I would be slower than the others, but that would give me precious solitude. I looked forward to coming out of the Canyon with the same sense of triumph and pride I had felt seventeen years before.

As Thanksgiving approached, Joe’s emails to the rapidly shrinking group increased. So did Amanda’s resistance. I began to worry that we would have to drag her on to the plane. Since she is 120 pounds of solid muscle, this would not have gone well. Then someone suggested we invite her best friend to come along. To my surprise, Ella’s family agreed she could go. Amanda was very pleased: “At least Ella and I can suffer together.”

Our trip started in Las Vegas, a city at the top of the hole-in-my-bucket-list of places I had vowed never to visit. I was surprised and pleased to find that everything about it made me laugh. And the girls loved it. Our 20-year-old Australian cousin Johanna joined us after a grueling trip from Sidney, and the five of us shared a hotel room surprisingly amicably. Joe’s brother Matt and his wife Amber (one of the pregnant non-hikers) were in town for a conference, and we all went together to Valley of Fire State Park, where we walked a trail of rocks and cliffs entirely covered with ancient Native American graffiti. Petroglyphs are among my very favorite things. That night Amber had a birthday party for Matt, complete with an astounding magician, who delighted everyone, but especially the girls. All in all, I couldn’t have asked for a happier beginning to our adventure. My throat was sore and scratchy, but I attributed it to the zero humidity.

 

Petroglyphs at Valley of Fire  image:inzumi.com

 

We made the five and a half hour drive to the Canyon with no mishaps, checked into our motel, and walked to the rim to see the views. Amanda took a zillion pictures with her new selfie stick. We were up late getting our packs ready, and up very early to eat breakfast and catch the 7am shuttle bus to the Kaibab trailhead. It was freezing cold, clear, and beautiful. I was so excited.

 

At the trailhead

The girls start down the trail

The other four soon were far ahead of me, and I enjoyed the solitude. The early morning light just adds to the magic of the Canyon. Down and down and down, awed by the constantly-changing views, getting used to the hiking poles, opening my jacket, removing my hat and scarf as I got warmer. I passed people, and people passed me, and we all exchanged cheerful greetings. Younger hikers expressed admiration in that sweet but condescending way that young people talk to old people. I kept drinking plenty of water, and I tried to eat some snacks, but I found I had no appetite. The trail became tricky – lots of ruts and loose rock.

 

 

At Cedar Ridge, (1.5 miles down), my gang had waited for me. There were pit toilets, and beautiful views. At Skeleton Point (3 miles down) a lot of people had stopped to rest and have lunch, and I found my gang again. I ate what I could – some cheese and sausage, some bread – but I didn’t feel hungry. Mostly I feasted on the view. After eating a lot, the girls were restless, and we sent them on ahead. They leaped and pranced down the steep switchbacks.

After Skeleton Point, nausea set in. I tried to nibble on trail mix, but I couldn’t keep it down, and didn’t dare put anything else in my queasy stomach. The others were far ahead, and I wondered whether I should turn back, send a message down to Joe with passing hikers. I was afraid he would be angry. I didn’t want to give up my dream of the trip. I wanted to do this, goddamn it. So I continued to Tonto Platform (4.5 miles down), where they had been waiting half an hour. I ate bread and jam, lay down for a bit, and trudged on.

Passing hikers now expressed concern instead of admiration. A woman hiking alone said, “You look like you’re worn out,” and I said yes, annoyed. “You’re kind of grouchy.” “I’m just trying to keep going, I don’t want to talk.” “Let me have your pack.” And then I saw the patch on her jacket – she was a ranger. She took my pack, commented that it was heavy (I always take too much water) and strapped it over her chest, so now she had one in back and one in front. It was a lot easier walking without it, and even easier because she chattered away, distracting me from the hard slog. I asked her if there was any way out besides hiking – maybe there was an extra mule? – and she said no. But she assured me that our route out on the Bright Angel was much easier – the Kaibab trail was a mess, she said, and passed some remarks about Congress and funding. She stayed with me to the foot bridge over the Colorado River (6.3 miles down) and then turned around to hike back up to the ranger station, leaving me with a mile and a half of easy level walking to Phantom Ranch. I had been hiking nine hours, though the trail usually takes about six.

 

Footbridge over the river

 

My family was already settled in. Amanda and Ella shared one cabin, which they never left except for showers and meals. Joe, Johanna and I shared the other. The cabins were built in the 1920’s; each had four bunk beds, a nightstand, chair, sink and toilet, and very little remaining floor space. We used the extra bunks for our gear. I had time for a shower in the bathhouse before dinner.

Dinner is served family-style at the Ranch – steak or hikers’ stew, salad, cornbread, chocolate cake. After an all-day hike it is the best meal you ever ate, though the stew, loaded with beef and vegetables, is oddly seasoned with cloves. But I was still nauseated, and could only nibble a bit. I went to bed immediately after dinner, and knew nothing until morning.

Phantom Ranch cabins  image:tinyhousedesign.com

 

In the morning my hunger was as huge as the breakfast – eggs,sausage, bacon, pancakes, potatoes, juice and canned fruit. The day was sunny and warm, and like my appetite, my happiness had returned. Johanna went off by herself, and Joe and I walked the trail along Bright Angel Creek for a couple of hours. In the afternoon we wrote postcards in the dining room, and at dinner I did justice to the meal.

 

The Creek Trail (little white line at the bottom)

Happy on the Creek Trail

Cactuses on the Creek Trail  (Honi soit qui mal y pense)

 

We didn’t settle down to sleep till 11. About 1am my cold came on full force. With my nose completely blocked I slept little, and lay awake dreading the day ahead. We got up at 5:30. We had agreed I would start before the others, and when they caught up, Joe would hang back with me, and Johanna, Amanda and Ella could go on as fast as they liked. He gave them our credit card so they could check into the motel when they reached the rim. Still hungry, I ate a big breakfast, and started off alone under the stars.

I crossed the bridge. I was happy, proud, grateful to Joe for planning the trip and watching out for me. The vastness, the solitude, the sky brightening and the river gold with dawn, my legs strong, and my head clear now that I was no longer lying down. The colors of the Canyon gradually emerged with the light. We had five miles of beauty and steady walking up hill. Approaching Indian Gardens, the half-way point, where there is a campground and ranger station, the trail is lined with tall feathery cottonwood trees, and the view is green all around you. We were ready for a long lunch break. We took off our packs, sat on the benches, and pulled out the food.

 

Indian Gardens  image:cedarmesa.com

Still happy at Indian Gardens

The mules came and the riders creaked down from the saddles, staggered around on their unaccustomed legs. I was so glad not to be on the mules. At narrow sections of the trail the dizzying views threaten to suck you over the edge; I can’t imagine being elevated above mule-height, with no control over the four legs beneath me.

 

image: grandcanyonhistory.clas.asu.edu

 

I ate a big lunch, feeling content, and we started off again. The next stop would be in a mile and a half, at the rest house three miles from the rim. But as we got closer, I had less and less breath. My sinuses were clear, but the cold had reached my chest. I could catch my breath after a brief rest, but only two or three steps left me breathless again, and I was really cold. Though I hated my weakness, we quickly realized I couldn’t keep going.

Joe settled me on a bench in the rest house, a small open stone shelter. He wrapped me in an emergency blanket and called the rangers on the emergency phone. The dispatcher asked many questions as he reported on my condition, and said they’d send a paramedic ranger down to help. I felt guilty and ashamed, but mostly I felt enormous relief at the thought of being rescued. I was still cold, but getting warmer under the blanket.

 

Three-mile resthouse  image:visionbib.com

 

The ranger, a young woman, arrived in about half an hour. She unlocked the emergency stores box, wrapped me in a sleeping bag, and began heating water for ramen on the little stove. She questioned me at length, and then explained our options. She could hike back down with us to Indian Gardens and we could spend the night at the ranger station there, then hike out. Or we could all slowly continue the hike out, and evaluate my condition when we reached the next shelter, a mile and a half from the rim. If necessary, we could spend the night there. She said it might be one in the morning before we made it out, but she could definitely get us to the rim. The helicopter I had been dreaming of was not an option. I learned later that at $20,000 a trip, the helicopter is reserved for cases which have to get to the hospital fast. Even a broken leg only gets you carried out on a stretcher.

Neither Joe nor I was willing to give up the elevation we had gained after Indian Gardens and hike that mile and a half over again. So we decided to hike out with the ranger. I was miserable, but also relieved to have the ranger take charge of my pack and our pace. Joe was relieved too; it was hard to be the one responsible in what had become a dangerous situations. After more ramen soup, we started out, first the ranger, then me, then Joe. We walked at a pace so slow that I didn’t lose my breath, and we stopped to rest, sitting on rocks, about every hundred yards. The ranger kept us entertained with stories. We walked that way for hours. By the time the stars had come out I was falling asleep every time I sat down.

We reached the next shelter about 10:30. The last mile and a half of the trail is a brutal series of steep switchbacks; the ranger said I couldn’t possibly tackle them without some sleep. We would have to spend the night in the shelter. That was bad news, but I knew she was right. The really bad news was yet to come. She only had an hour left in her shift. They’re not allowed to work overtime, and so she couldn’t stay with us. It was Thanksgiving night, and though she checked with the dispatcher, there was nobody else to send down. She would set us up with emergency supplies, but we’d be on our own. Joe was furious, but he controlled his temper. I was just stunned, and horrified. I had felt so safe with the ranger there. And I was still trying to get my mind around the thought that we were going to have to spend the night outside, in temperatures below freezing.

 

Shelter for the night  image:gjhikes

She heated up more soup, and spread sleeping bags on the floor. She covered us with emergency blankets, and spread a tent over us for more warmth. She promised to get a message to Johanna that we would hike out in the morning. And then she left.

I slept hard. I woke several times to take the long walk up to the toilets. The full moon lit the looming cliffs and deep drops of the Canyon.

image: gubbyblog.blogspot.com

 

We set out again before sunrise. Five hours of sleep had restored me. We had a mile and a half of steep climbing ahead of us, but I had learned how slowly I needed to go, and had no doubt that I could do it. Joe went ahead to tell the girls we were okay. I found my way back to the motel, we packed up, and drove the five hours to the airport. I slept all the way. I don’t remember anything about the flight home.

For ten weeks I battled repeated respiratory and ear infections, with three courses of antibiotics. I learned that you don’t treat a cold with a ten mile climb and freezing weather. Joe remains convinced that I didn’t train sufficiently. This makes me angry, but I know I can’t change his mind. I also know he’s wrong – the only part of me that didn’t fail was my muscles. I was only a tiny bit stiff after both hikes. Nevertheless I was ashamed of my failure. I couldn’t talk about it, couldn’t write about it, couldn’t think about it much. I couldn’t look at the pictures; they brought back my fear and desperation.

It was a long time before I realized that I hadn’t failed. I had hiked seven miles down to the bottom of the Grand Canyon, and hiked back up ten miles. I had survived the freezing temperatures and high altitude, and persisted through nausea and a respiratory infection. It was anything but an elegant hike; it was a slog and a struggle. It’s still hard for me to focus on the details. But bit by bit I am remembering the glorious times as well as the horror. Slowly I am coming to feel proud of what I willy nilly accomplished.

Some people find comfort in their faith in a benevolent and loving God. I find comfort in the indifference of the universe. All the joys and troubles of my life don’t matter a bit in the large perspective, and I am no more significant than a dust mote in space. I felt that comfort as I looked out into the Canyon under the full moon. I was awed by its power. I know I was fortunate to be forced to spend the night in this place.

As for Amanda, our reluctant and resentful hiker? She hasn’t thanked us for the trip. But she never complained during the hike. And in the last month she has said no fewer than three times, “I still don’t like walking. But sometimes I like it if we have to walk a mile or so. I tell my friends, ‘This is nothing. I hiked ten miles out of the Grand Canyon.’ ”

 

Unless otherwise credited, photos are by Joe, taken with his cellphone.