A Grand Trek with Many Small Wins

There is no doubt that this experience left an imprint on my mind—forever.

But let’s skip back a bit. Not to yesterday, nor even the day before it. This trip was months in the making and took place many, many years ago. My mother was the ultimate adventurer and dreamer, making it all happen on two dimes and a nickle. No, she wasn’t cheap. And no, she wasn’t raised in poverty. You see, I am a product of the sixties and for Mom, she was experiencing divorce at a time when it was still looked down upon. A time when women didn’t get seen unless they were on the arm of a man and dressed to the hilt. Divorce was that sad little dirty word that meant failure. But this was also a time when the social forays were changing. Women were just starting to stand up for themselves. She had a choice. Stay in this marriage or freedom.

Freedom, however, came at a cost. Through the years, she attended the university, while raising two young children. She moved home, which put three states between my father and my mother. So, diving into schoolwork, rearing children and endless hours of homework became her blessing. Time ticked away. School days and support of grandparents changed as she took her first professional job and a relocation. Being on her own with a very low income and a bag filled with pride meant to struggle in ways she had never known. Oh and yes, of course every tiny child support check bounced its way to us and back again. Though we didn’t have much, we had each other and we had our faith. Somehow, my brother and I had no idea we were being raised in poverty, even though the struggle was real.

I learned to sew at a very young age, thanks to two special people: my grandmother who had a fascination with sewing tiny international dresses for a fabulous doll collection, and my god mother who had the most precious technical ability I had ever seen. She taught me to use a real sewing machine—you know, the kind that would be a valuable vintage in today’s modern times. I am so thankful, because no matter how hard I tried, my legs just kept growing longer and longer. If I couldn’t have sewn, I hate to think how my modesty would have been violated. Back then, fabric didn’t cost much and boys clothes were way harder to sew, so my brother got the new clothes, except for a rare and wonderful shopping trip from my grandmother and I got my own little sewing machine, one of the few gifts my father ever gave me as a child. I remember chasing down the Sears and Roebucks catalogue and spending hours circling all of the prettiest clothes. Maybe we couldn’t buy them, but I was certainly inspired to make my own.

It was like that all throughout my younger years. We saved everything we had to get a little vacation each year; sharing expenses and experiences with my grandparents at first, and then my god mother and her children a few years later. Camping, hiking and driving—yes, endless driving. That’s just what people did in those days. I remember taking my “Mrs. Beasley” doll with me everywhere. No one could understand why. Let’s face it, that was one weird doll. But her happy face, soft blue body and polka dots just hit my fancy. I think the last road trip with my grandparents may have been the time when my brother managed to hatchet his leg instead of the log he was aiming for. That was a serious emergency room trip. And it probably didn’t help when later, during the trip, we managed to leave Mrs. Beasley behind. Apparently, she was having a picnic at a campground. That was 50 miles of grief to get her back. Time shifted.

Flashforward to the year I was twelve. Now we began preparing for the “greatest adventure of a lifetime,” as Mom put it. "AAA" roadmaps arrived. Mom spent countless hours on the phone planning the route with my god mother. Lists were made. Everything we needed, and the food we would eat, were planned in advance. We had saved for years for a shopping trip at an outdoor shop. My brother and mother were fitted up with hiking boots. My feet were pretty small, so I just got deck shoes—anyway, a third pair would be a real budget buster. We got canteens and little foldable silverware sets and a backpacking stove with freeze-dried food packets. We all got a pack to wear. I remember feeling like I might fall over. I wasn’t used to hauling things and I was pretty small for my age. Over the course of the next few months, we practiced all of our skills. Mom had to buy more freeze-dried food because some of it was awful. Finally, school was out. We just had to get through all of the summer camp schedules. Mom was the camp director and a professional Girl Scout; so we stayed busy, night and day, getting through the many challenges that take place week-to-week at a summer camp.

It was a pretty hot summer. I lay on my cot; sides of the platform tent were rolled up to get any breeze possible. But the only breeze seemed to be my own breath. The wind just didn’t exist that summer. Week by week, the anticipation for our great adventure grew. It came with a mix of dread for the long drive from the eastern states and excitement to see the promised vistas. I just didn’t understand why we couldn’t take the donkey trails and had to hike across a desert. Mom was adamant that we needed to do the rim-to-rim experience and she couldn’t afford donkey rides. Finally, it was nearing the end of summer and school would be starting back in a month. This was the only time she could take a vacation, so off we set. Miles of endless miles with my brother picking on me. I copy-cat-ed him back until he quit. I can only imagine how annoying it was to my mom and god mother. On the bright side, no one fell asleep at the wheel. Our car overheated on the way. That made for a very unpleasant and expensive stop. Fixed back up, we made our way. Finally, oh finally, we saw the brown signs marking the way to the Grand Canyon National Park and to the campground.

That night was a rush to set up camp and get something to eat in time for the campfire and promised campfire stories by the park Ranger. Storytime did not disappoint. The funniest joke I tell to this day came from that evening. Hmmm, it starts with a magic lantern… Roaring with laughter about the genie offering three wishes, our sounds reverberated throughout the camp. I couldn’t believe that guy in the story had turned on his radio and started singing the catchy little jingle right on his third wish—you know the one: “Oh I wish I were an Oscar Meyer wiener”. And, oh no, his wish came true. Just too funny.

Morning came quicker than I liked. Everyone was hustling to pack up camp and get over to the visitor’s center. Mom handed out our gear and a frozen canteen. I went to take a sip and it was nothing but ice. We started out on the trail down from the South Kaibab Trail Head on the south rim. It was a very steep descent filled with so many switchbacks it was dizzying. I think this area of rock surrounding us was coined: “The Chimney”. My deck shoes had a bit-of-a-time putting on the brakes while I was hiking down. I was so scared I would fall off the side with my heavy load and slippery shoes. Then, I dared to look down and saw endless switchbacks. Somehow, we made it out of the switchbacks. I look back to see the limestone, sandstone and shale layers that had eroded away to form those chimney shapes. I breathed in a huge sigh of relief only to find that pretty short lived. We had a few more interesting viewing spots, but then it quickly changed. Now we were facing the endless trail across a desert—the Kaibab Plateau.

I managed to get a few sips out of my slowly defrosting canteen. It was refreshing. Everyone was ready to go, so, go we went. The sun was up and glaring at us. With each step, I could feel it getting hotter—and I mean really hotter. This made my hot summer days in the platform tent seem like nice spring days instead. The meaning of hot got a new definition in my mind, after all, it was August in Arizona. I remember wondering if this wasn’t something like Jesus experienced when the devil tried to tempt him. “Lordy” I thought. I put one foot in front of the other and just tried to persevere. It was so hard. I stopped to take a sip of water from my ice-cold canteen only to find out it was no longer icy, nor cold. It wasn’t even cool. It was like drinking bathwater. I nearly threw up it was so awful. If this wasn’t hell, I don’t know what could have been. The anticipation and excitement of the last year had vanished completely, replaced by disappointment and despair.

How would I ever make it across the plateau. Everyone forged ahead. I desperately wanted a break. Mom told me to hang in there, the weather was hotter than it was supposed to be, so we needed to break at the other end of the trail and not in the direct sun. I choked down a few more sips of the warm “bath-like” water and capped my canteen. There were six of us. My god mother and her two youngest children, older than me, and my family of three. I was the baby of the bunch and felt utterly alone most of the time. I had even outgrown Mrs. Beasley. These days, it just felt like “me, myself and I”. So I told myself to move it. And the me I grew to know got through it.

It took many hours to make the initial descent, get across the 130℉ plateau and finally, finally be able to find a shaded canyon overhang to rest. Everyone chatted away. I melted into the canyon wall. Other groups joined us. A forest ranger came up the trail and around the corner from the other direction. He offered us water. I saw his hands reaching out, cupping both sides of his container as I drank. Those hands were so kind, his voice was soft, deep and reassuring. I looked into his face and would swear I was looking into the face of Jesus. He was beautiful and had long wavy brown hair. Wow, I thought, Jesus kept his promise and really did come again. He let us all know that we were not that far from the camp, the Colorado River and to where the Bright Angel Trail connected. We just needed to follow the River Trail along the edge of the Colorado River.

As I reflect back, many, many years later, I realized that each step along the way was an accomplishment and a feat few dared to make between May and September. In fact, it isn’t even recommended for experienced hikers to hike to this day. We, like so many other hikers, had mistakenly thought that our experiences hiking in mountainous terrains, like the Appalachians, would translate well in the Grand Canyon. Many, many deaths have created the environment for change whereby the National Park has had to make adaptations, closures of certain areas, as well as, requirements for reservations to be able to stay overnight. I reflect back on the experience with deep appreciation for doing something so young, with so little “real” preparation and being able to come out the other side alive. What a win. But this story is not over.

We had descended from nearly 7500 feet to 2400 feet. The moment I could sit down and take my shoes off was the best moment. I slipped my toes into the icy cold creek waters and tingled from my toes up. I couldn’t believe anything could feel so good. We tried to eat a good meal and get some rest, but the ground had been baking all day and there was no way anyone was getting rest in our pup tents. We just laid out on the picnic tables and fell asleep under the stars. The next day, we made our camp up the Bright Angel Trail along Pike Creek. We actually camped this time. I remember settling in for the night after eating freeze-dried beanie weenies. That might not have turned out so well as the waves of heat hit me like a ton of bricks. Pike Creek got it back. Needless to say, I wasn’t cooking another dinner.

The next day I was ahead of the pack. I made my way up the trail and around a corner to a magnificent waterfall. I was so excited to see the water and then I looked down to the bottom of the falls where I heard laughter. There were two men, stark naked, taking a natural shower. I couldn’t believe my eyes. I had never seen a naked man before, much less two. It was so embarrassing I just started laughing and ran back to warn the others. By the time we got back, all we saw were two full moons. Needless to say, we didn’t linger a little longer. Instead, we headed on up the trail and started to brave the steep incline. Each level of elevation brought a new scene with it. Different colors, different textures, different elements visible. Shifts in altitude made it a bit more difficult to breathe. Just before the switch backs began, I started to feel such pain in the bottoms of my feet. I stopped long enough to take a look and realized the soles of my shoes had nearly burned off. The climbing began again, and believe me, the last mile and a half was one to remember. I may have burned off the bottoms of my shoes, suffered a terrible dinner the night before and experienced thirst and heat like I have never before known, but I also saw the most beautiful, breathtaking views; and I was equally breathless from the ascent.

Would I ever go back, you might wonder? I think that after recovering 52 years from the physical experience, I might just be ready to do this again. But this time, I would dearly love to make the nearly 18 mile trek during the later fall months, when the temperature is as lovely as the vistas. I would take my “en plein air” painting kit, a camera, a lot more water and don real hiking boots. I would also wear my little cross for Jesus. Care to join me?