I awake the next morning, Father’s Day, to Ben zipping up his coat and leaving the RV for an early morning walk. He loves the canyon, and I think he wants to take in as much of it as he can. I stay in bed for a little while longer, and then I shower, make breakfast for the boys, and get ready to see the canyon in full sunlight.
We take the bus to the El Torvah Hotel, which is vintage and classic and adorned with elk and deer heads and antler chandeliers. The hotel sits nearly on the rim of the canyon, so the upstairs balcony porch has the most amazing view in the United States of America. Can you imagine? We decide to walk along the rim for a while and each of us stares out and down, constantly. The enormity of the canyon is overwhelming and it is a different place every minute of every day of every year because of light and cloud coverage.
From the southern rim where we stand, I look across to the northern rim which is 10-30 miles across depending on where one stands, and the length of the canyon is 277 miles! One cannot help but be humbled in the ancient presence when one considers that the canyon existed before dinosaurs. 250 million years of erosion have caused the south rim to be lower than the north by 1000 feet. The gargantuan gorge is green, red, yellow, orange, gray, brown, tan, puce, pink, and so many other shades. We look over to see if we can see Phantom Ranch, which sits at the bottom, the suspension bridge which spans the Colorado River and Bright Angel Creek. They are WAY down there, believe me. I keep a close eye on the boys because there are MANY places where we can simply fall off into the canyon and the thought is nightmarish. Ben wants to hike in; I don’t. I go anyway. Bright Angel Trail is on average 4 feet wide and in some places, not even that much.
We make our way into the canyon and I keep thinking, I have to come back up this thing!
Those who are emerging are sweaty and out of breath and relieved they are at the top. Oh no…that is going to be me!
Friends, going down is the easy part! As we descend, we look over the side and at times, chills go up and down my spine. The trail is almost sandy in consistency, and in places, the smell of mule manure is horrible. In fact, there is so much of it and it is so common that as it bakes in the sun and gets stampeded by tourists, it turns back into grass that the mules have eaten and so sometimes we walk through grass piles! We stop often for drinks of water we have brought, and I notice that a herd of mules is on its way to the top. The signs warn us that we must listen to the mule wrangler for directions on what we are to do when they pass us, and we find a cool, shaded overhang to sit under and wait for the tired, sweaty mules to pass us. I have to tell you that every fiber of my being is against what they do to those beasts of burden. What an existence! Walking up a steep canyon with tourists on your back. I find it repulsive and revolting. The mules walk dangerously close to the edge, and, at times, friends, they only have three feet on the trail! The head wrangler also turns them sideways on the trail for a brief rest, and they continue on their weary, repetitive way. What a Sisyphusian existence. It angers me. We continue, and I tell the boys to call their pop from the Grand Canyon to wish him a Happy Father’s Day. They are excited to tell him where they are calling from, and I giggle thinking about the fact that we have cell phone service in the Canyon. Suddenly, we hear the thrump, thrump, thrump of a helicopter.
“Where is it?” Ben asks. “It must be a rescue of sorts because the Grand Canyon is a no fly zone.”
We look and look and suddenly we see the helicopter below us, and it might as well be a mosquito hovering in the air. It has landed at least a half mile below us and away from us and we need binoculars to see it. Rangers run down the trail past us, carrying water in both hands, and all the tourists are rubbernecking to see what is occurring. The boys are fighting over the binoculars, and I cannot believe we are seeing a canyon rescue. We found out later from a ranger that a man fell, bumped his head, seemed disoriented, and needed to be lifted to Flagstaff Hospital. The helicopter was required to land in a very narrow part of the canyon, and she explained that 6-10 people die in the canyon every year. We are amazed by this, but we could definitely see how it happens.
We descend further and in some areas, the trail is very steep and the powdery sand causes us to slip at times, lose footing, and have adrenaline shoot through our systems. I am really starting to complain at this point because I am worried about Ethan climbing back out and I can already hear him asking to be carried, which none of us will be able to do. Hikers who are on their way out ask us how far until the top and I tell them, one hour or so. They moan and I am dreading the return trip. The canyon, though, is just lovely and primitive and unforgiving. The boys complain that we have gone far enough and Ben decides that we should turn around and head for the top.
Oh my God! What a hike. Strenuous does not even begin to describe the walk out of the canyon. I am out of breath and sweating, and my legs are beginning to burn. I am definitely getting one of those t-shirts that brags that I have walked in the canyon. On the way out, the boys whine and people ask us if they should go further. The boys tell them no and Ben advises some girls to turn around. They are in flipflops with a half a bottle of water! What?????? No wonder people die.
Finally we are at the rim, and after we get drinks and rest, we head to a 4 o’clock program for kids about the Raven, which is one of the popular bird breeds that live at the park. The ranger, Juliet, is very nice and sets up a huge memory board game on the ground. Every single clue which has a match is about the Raven, and Bennie and Ethan are first to play. Eventually, more and more kids gather, and everyone joins in. Eventually this boy joins and he is every teachers worst nightmare in the classroom setting. He constantly interrupts, he ruins each of the Ranger’s set ups, and he chimes in to tell an “off topic” story. He continually does so, and some of the mother’s start raising their eyebrows and looking at each other. Somewhere in America there is a happy teacher who doesn’t have to deal with this kid for a few months. I am positive they talk about him in the faculty room. Every time the kid interrupts, Bennie looks disgusted (like I would have as a child and I think that he is probably going to be a teacher like me) and looks over at me a few times. Eventually, they play an interactive game about Ravens and one little girl gets to dress up as a Raven as well. What a pleasant, benign, educational way to spend an hour in the park.
We make our way back to the camper to relax for a while, and unwind before our sunset view of the canyon. We are determined not to miss it tonight.
Later, we begin our trek to the bus station to see the canyon as the sun sets on it. Sunset will be at 7:46, 10:46 your time at home, and we are afraid, again, that we may miss it. As we wait for the bus, two little Australian girls, Bennie and Ethan’s age, try to describe S’mores to their mother who has never heard of them.
Now, imagine your best Australian accent: “They are like a chocolate biscuit, mum, smothered in creamy marshmallow but absolutely smashed between two biscuits.”
Aussy Mom says, “S’mores?”
So I ask her if she knows what a Graham cracker is and she says, “Sure.” Then I describe
S’mores and why we call them that.
“Clever, ay?” she says and we begin a nice conversation.
Turns out we are all going to the same point for sunset, so we pal around together. Her husband, Tony, is a dentist, and she is a “primary” teacher. We talk education and the price of college in the US vs. Aus. and they cannot believe how much it costs since their higher ed is funded by their gov’t. We talk politics, Obama, Australia, Education, elementary school and, wait until you hear this, the fact that all Australians are paid overtime when they are on vacation. They call it “loading.”
As we make our way to the point, I am struck by the intensity of the colors of the rocks as the sun seems parallel to them. Striking, life-changing, gorgeous beauty that exists only here. What an adventure we have all been on. What an absolute privilege to be standing on the edge of one of the wonders of the world. The reds, oranges, and pinks are so deep and so intense that I am transfixed on them and as the sun lowers, the sky turns light blue, pink, orange with a purplish glow.
It is at this very moment that Ben remembers the “Legend of the Sky” and tells it to me, the kids, and the Aussies. The legend goes that during the evening, as the sunsets, the colors LEAVE the canyon with the sun and go to all directions of the sky, and decide to return in the morning again. What a beautiful story to end a beautiful day because as he tells this to us, the canyon seems to fall into a slumber of gray, brown, and black while, above us, the pinks, oranges, reds, and purples rise into the heavens.
I smile.
We chatter happily all the way back to the campsite with our new friends, part in the darkness, and retreat to our RV’s for a late dinner.
Some days are perfect and they are few and rare. This is such a day.
We take the bus to the El Torvah Hotel, which is vintage and classic and adorned with elk and deer heads and antler chandeliers. The hotel sits nearly on the rim of the canyon, so the upstairs balcony porch has the most amazing view in the United States of America. Can you imagine? We decide to walk along the rim for a while and each of us stares out and down, constantly. The enormity of the canyon is overwhelming and it is a different place every minute of every day of every year because of light and cloud coverage.
From the southern rim where we stand, I look across to the northern rim which is 10-30 miles across depending on where one stands, and the length of the canyon is 277 miles! One cannot help but be humbled in the ancient presence when one considers that the canyon existed before dinosaurs. 250 million years of erosion have caused the south rim to be lower than the north by 1000 feet. The gargantuan gorge is green, red, yellow, orange, gray, brown, tan, puce, pink, and so many other shades. We look over to see if we can see Phantom Ranch, which sits at the bottom, the suspension bridge which spans the Colorado River and Bright Angel Creek. They are WAY down there, believe me. I keep a close eye on the boys because there are MANY places where we can simply fall off into the canyon and the thought is nightmarish. Ben wants to hike in; I don’t. I go anyway. Bright Angel Trail is on average 4 feet wide and in some places, not even that much.
We make our way into the canyon and I keep thinking, I have to come back up this thing!
Those who are emerging are sweaty and out of breath and relieved they are at the top. Oh no…that is going to be me!
Friends, going down is the easy part! As we descend, we look over the side and at times, chills go up and down my spine. The trail is almost sandy in consistency, and in places, the smell of mule manure is horrible. In fact, there is so much of it and it is so common that as it bakes in the sun and gets stampeded by tourists, it turns back into grass that the mules have eaten and so sometimes we walk through grass piles! We stop often for drinks of water we have brought, and I notice that a herd of mules is on its way to the top. The signs warn us that we must listen to the mule wrangler for directions on what we are to do when they pass us, and we find a cool, shaded overhang to sit under and wait for the tired, sweaty mules to pass us. I have to tell you that every fiber of my being is against what they do to those beasts of burden. What an existence! Walking up a steep canyon with tourists on your back. I find it repulsive and revolting. The mules walk dangerously close to the edge, and, at times, friends, they only have three feet on the trail! The head wrangler also turns them sideways on the trail for a brief rest, and they continue on their weary, repetitive way. What a Sisyphusian existence. It angers me. We continue, and I tell the boys to call their pop from the Grand Canyon to wish him a Happy Father’s Day. They are excited to tell him where they are calling from, and I giggle thinking about the fact that we have cell phone service in the Canyon. Suddenly, we hear the thrump, thrump, thrump of a helicopter.
“Where is it?” Ben asks. “It must be a rescue of sorts because the Grand Canyon is a no fly zone.”
We look and look and suddenly we see the helicopter below us, and it might as well be a mosquito hovering in the air. It has landed at least a half mile below us and away from us and we need binoculars to see it. Rangers run down the trail past us, carrying water in both hands, and all the tourists are rubbernecking to see what is occurring. The boys are fighting over the binoculars, and I cannot believe we are seeing a canyon rescue. We found out later from a ranger that a man fell, bumped his head, seemed disoriented, and needed to be lifted to Flagstaff Hospital. The helicopter was required to land in a very narrow part of the canyon, and she explained that 6-10 people die in the canyon every year. We are amazed by this, but we could definitely see how it happens.
We descend further and in some areas, the trail is very steep and the powdery sand causes us to slip at times, lose footing, and have adrenaline shoot through our systems. I am really starting to complain at this point because I am worried about Ethan climbing back out and I can already hear him asking to be carried, which none of us will be able to do. Hikers who are on their way out ask us how far until the top and I tell them, one hour or so. They moan and I am dreading the return trip. The canyon, though, is just lovely and primitive and unforgiving. The boys complain that we have gone far enough and Ben decides that we should turn around and head for the top.
Oh my God! What a hike. Strenuous does not even begin to describe the walk out of the canyon. I am out of breath and sweating, and my legs are beginning to burn. I am definitely getting one of those t-shirts that brags that I have walked in the canyon. On the way out, the boys whine and people ask us if they should go further. The boys tell them no and Ben advises some girls to turn around. They are in flipflops with a half a bottle of water! What?????? No wonder people die.
Finally we are at the rim, and after we get drinks and rest, we head to a 4 o’clock program for kids about the Raven, which is one of the popular bird breeds that live at the park. The ranger, Juliet, is very nice and sets up a huge memory board game on the ground. Every single clue which has a match is about the Raven, and Bennie and Ethan are first to play. Eventually, more and more kids gather, and everyone joins in. Eventually this boy joins and he is every teachers worst nightmare in the classroom setting. He constantly interrupts, he ruins each of the Ranger’s set ups, and he chimes in to tell an “off topic” story. He continually does so, and some of the mother’s start raising their eyebrows and looking at each other. Somewhere in America there is a happy teacher who doesn’t have to deal with this kid for a few months. I am positive they talk about him in the faculty room. Every time the kid interrupts, Bennie looks disgusted (like I would have as a child and I think that he is probably going to be a teacher like me) and looks over at me a few times. Eventually, they play an interactive game about Ravens and one little girl gets to dress up as a Raven as well. What a pleasant, benign, educational way to spend an hour in the park.
We make our way back to the camper to relax for a while, and unwind before our sunset view of the canyon. We are determined not to miss it tonight.
Later, we begin our trek to the bus station to see the canyon as the sun sets on it. Sunset will be at 7:46, 10:46 your time at home, and we are afraid, again, that we may miss it. As we wait for the bus, two little Australian girls, Bennie and Ethan’s age, try to describe S’mores to their mother who has never heard of them.
Now, imagine your best Australian accent: “They are like a chocolate biscuit, mum, smothered in creamy marshmallow but absolutely smashed between two biscuits.”
Aussy Mom says, “S’mores?”
So I ask her if she knows what a Graham cracker is and she says, “Sure.” Then I describe
S’mores and why we call them that.
“Clever, ay?” she says and we begin a nice conversation.
Turns out we are all going to the same point for sunset, so we pal around together. Her husband, Tony, is a dentist, and she is a “primary” teacher. We talk education and the price of college in the US vs. Aus. and they cannot believe how much it costs since their higher ed is funded by their gov’t. We talk politics, Obama, Australia, Education, elementary school and, wait until you hear this, the fact that all Australians are paid overtime when they are on vacation. They call it “loading.”
As we make our way to the point, I am struck by the intensity of the colors of the rocks as the sun seems parallel to them. Striking, life-changing, gorgeous beauty that exists only here. What an adventure we have all been on. What an absolute privilege to be standing on the edge of one of the wonders of the world. The reds, oranges, and pinks are so deep and so intense that I am transfixed on them and as the sun lowers, the sky turns light blue, pink, orange with a purplish glow.
It is at this very moment that Ben remembers the “Legend of the Sky” and tells it to me, the kids, and the Aussies. The legend goes that during the evening, as the sunsets, the colors LEAVE the canyon with the sun and go to all directions of the sky, and decide to return in the morning again. What a beautiful story to end a beautiful day because as he tells this to us, the canyon seems to fall into a slumber of gray, brown, and black while, above us, the pinks, oranges, reds, and purples rise into the heavens.
I smile.
We chatter happily all the way back to the campsite with our new friends, part in the darkness, and retreat to our RV’s for a late dinner.
Some days are perfect and they are few and rare. This is such a day.
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