DAYS 6-11: THE GRAND CANYON

When Brad and I first started talking about what we wanted to do with our initial few weeks of stateside travel I had suggested the Grand Canyon. I had never been and always wanted to see it. And while I would have been perfectly happy spending an afternoon taking a few photos from one of the lookouts, Brad interpreted the word “seeing” a bit more zealously.

Now, one might think because we’re pretty outdoorsy that we’re experienced backpackers.

We’re not.

We’ve gone twice together and it was never for more than two nights. Between the two of us, we can count on one hand the number of backpacking trips that we’ve been on longer than a weekend.

So when Brad suggested the rugged 6 day rim-to-canyon-and-return Tanner-Escalante-Tonto-Grandview Loop, I naively agreed with cheer…until we received the response with which the permit was issued:

”...before we accept a $90 non-refundable payment from you, we want to make sure you understand what you requested. Experience has shown that trips such as the one you requested all too often result in off-itinerary camping, injury, and occasionally even death. Please do not accept this itinerary merely because it is available. Make sure it is what you really want and well within the capability of all group members.”

Too often results in injury? Death? Yikes.

But then again, reading the back of a lift ticket renders the same spine chilling feelings…so I maintained my “how bad could it possibly be” mentality and we forged on with our plans.

Fast forward to our initial arrival to the Lipan Point parking lot on the Southern Rim of the Canyon.

OMG. The views.

Like really...I have seen the photos. Googled it a million times on-line. But nothing prepares you for how GRAND the Grand Canyon actually is. It’s so huge and magnificent and sprawling. It’s not just a canyon, but what seems to be hundreds of them, extending in every direction as far as you can see. Such a beast of a thing.

After the initial “ooooing and ahhhing” we strapped on our packs and set foot. And yeah, I felt prepared. I had my very nerdy, very boyish looking backpacking outfit on and was all set to channel my inner Cherryl Strayed.

And then it came. The long stretches of trail dug down the side of the canyon. Where, if you weren’t careful, or if the 40lb thing attached to your back knocked something unexpectedly and you god forbid lost your balance, you'd be totally screwed. So, if you’re anything like me, you kind of get into this groove of just watching your feet, cautious not to widen your perspective and realize that one wrong move would seal your fate as a pancake on the desert floor. Then you'd look up and notice the beauty around you for a few minutes before returning your gaze to the dirt in front of you. And then oh your knees…your poor little knees. About half way down, they would start screaming. But you’re just so full of excitement of the first day and the views and the “newness” of it all, you ignore them and keep walking. Until you thankfully, at dusk, reach your camp and are able to soak your aching appendages in the Colorado River.

The next day it rained. It rained and rained and rained some more. And the tent is hot, and sticky, and soggy and humid from all the rain. And your husband points out that there’s a scorpion under a rock where you cooked your dinner.

Great.

And then there’s more hiking. More Rain. Bushes with thorns. Mice that brush up against the sides of your tent trying to steal your food at night. You learn that its tarantula migration season. And the flies. SOOO many flies.

The rain finally let up on day three, but by then I was whooped. So physically and mentally drained. And these narrow, cliff hanging, crazy trails, they go up up up and then down down down. And just when you're sneaking a peak at what you thought would be your camp for the night…oh wait, just kidding…there’s 2 more miles of up up up and down down down in front of you.

And at that point Brad turned around to check on me and I couldn’t hold it in any longer. My hips hurt. My feet hurt. My head hurt. I smelled. Horribly. And I couldn’t stop thinking about the fact that we still had three more days of this torture. Warm tears started rolling down my hot, sticky face and I was toast.

But Brad, god bless him, never gets mad. Or annoyed. Or frustrated with my wussy-ness. He just stopped walking. Gave me a sweaty hug. Made me laugh. Fed me a granola bar. Assured me that we were close. And picked up my pack to carry it the rest of the way (mind you, he was already carrying like 80% of our stuff).

When we finally got to camp that night we stripped ourselves down and jumped straight into the ice cold Colorado. And holy mother of whatever-god-you-believe-in, did it feel good. We relaxed and Brad made me dinner. Smoked some cloves and snuggled in the tent. And again god bless him, he changed our route to get us home a day earlier.

The next day I was in better spirits and able to really enjoy the journey. When you’re not cursing the stars in pain or praying the soles of your boots have a decent grip on the gravel surface below you, you realize how amazing the trail system there is. You get to shimmy against the sides of stone, free climb up huge walls of shiny corrugated rock, slide on your ass down scree piled up against 50 foot drop-offs that make your heart pound and adrenaline surge. Most of is it practically vertical. Not much horizontal about it. There are switchbacks, huge views, jetting cliffs, lava gardens and miles of crazy shaped cacti. It’s really something.

And every time you pause. There you are. In some new beautiful place. Looking up or down in wonder and amazement.

We met a friendly couple who were from Traverse City and chatted (the only other people we had seen since leaving). We made camp yet again and that night, for the first night, the clouds parted and the stars showed themselves. And I went to bed smelly and gross and exhausted and feeling so happy and fulfilled.

In the morning we left and made our final 2,400 ft ascent back up to the rim, spending most of the hike fantasizing about what we were going to order at the Flagstaff McDonalds. And while my joints were relieved and my belly was rumbling, I was kind of, believe it or not, sad that this part of the journey was over.

Because I guess that’s what these horrible, terrible, amazing, wonderful experiences are for. To push you to your limits. To force you to learn about yourself. To make you appreciate a hot shower, warm bed and the one you love.

If I had never met Brad I probably would have made it to the Grand Canyon at some point in my life. I would have gotten out of the car, snapped a few photos, thrown a filter on em’, posted them on instagram and called it a day.

I would be far less smelly. I wouldn’t have bruises or blisters or scrapes. Every muscle in my body would be a heck of a lot less sore. I might have even saved a few tears.

But I also wouldn’t have learned that the rocks in the belly of the canyon come in every color of the rainbow and look like they were each hand painted by the Master himself. I would have never wandered through the bottom of the dry tributaries and wondered what it would be like to be an ancient river crashing against the walls. I wouldn’t know that some of the really hard to get to places in there are so green and lush, you would swear you’re hiking through a rainforest. And I wouldn’t have realized how strong and capable these quads and calves of mine really are.

I am so so very thankful that of all the people in the universe, I ended up with one who quite literally shows me the world from a different perspective. Who stands behind me on sketchy parts of the trail and spots me while I climb higher. Who patiently waits for me when I’m slower, who lifts my spirits when I’m at my lowest and still tells me I’m pretty even when I’m covered in 5 days of dirt.

So I guess when given the choice between seeing something comfortably from a distance or suffering through 35 miles of near death experiences in the depths of it with your other half, I’d always choose the latter.

And omg. How good did that cheeseburger taste when we were done.