Bob Dreizler's Resources: Grand Canyon Trek
Grand Canyon Trek
On a major hike you usually know where the tough climbs will be or when you are nearing a pass. Life's journey, however, doesn't come with a topographical map. You rarely know when to stop and appreciate the view from a majestic peak, when you are nearing a precipitous cliff or when you are about to ascend from a dark valley.
Our family had just emerged from one of those dark valleys when we made our reservations to hike to the bottom of the Grand Canyon the following summer. Two months earlier, my nine year old son was receiving chemotherapy treatment.
Looking back, mid-April of 1991 was one of life's unnoticed and under appreciated summits. All four of us seemed to be healthy, we were getting along with each other reasonably well and business was good. Then a lump on Ross' neck was diagnosed as Non-Hodgkin's Burkett's Lymphoma, cancer in a lymph gland.
As Ross became sick from the side effects of the powerful medications, he lost weight, energy and his hair. When the two painful months of chemotherapy ended, his pediatric oncologist told us Ross should live a normal life if the disease did not return within a year.
Our trip to Arizona became more than a vacation, more than just getting away from the routine and spending some time together as a family; our June adventure became a quest. It marked the completion of that year and the symbolic end to an agonizing era for our family.
We flew to Phoenix the day after Ross and Sonya, our twelve year old daughter, finished school. We stayed among the spectacular red rocks of Sedona and camped in nearby Oak Creek Canyon, before driving north to the Grand Canyon's South Rim.
Highway 64 is a remarkably flat and featureless road, an unpretentious prelude to one of the great natural wonders of the world. The only indications of what lay ahead were billboards advertising Flintstone Village Campground and helicopter rides through the canyon. Even the park entrance was unspectacular.
Unlike some national parks, the Grand Canyon can not be appreciated from the confines of a vehicle. As we stood by the stone wall, we were awed by that first view, just as when I saw it my first and last time, when I was eight.
Despite its grandeur, the feeling could not be sustained. Even when looking into the canyon, you are viewing it, yet not part of it. You don't feel like lingering as you sit in a meadow surrounded by stunning mountains. The Grand Canyon is a place that must be experienced, not just passively viewed. You must get below the rim to feel the Grand Canyon, not as a postcard scene, but as a spectacular natural wonder.
As a mystical place, a national symbol and a world class photo opportunity, the Grand Canyon seems to have a symbolic importance that exceeds even its natural beauty. Part of this aura comes from so often seeing its familiar scenes in movies, glossy calendars and Oldsmobile commercials.
At Grand Canyon Village, swarms of camera toting tourists, their shutter clicking and their lenses zooming, hover briefly before buzzing off to their next view. Disturbed by the atmosphere, we left to find our campsite.
We went to bed early that night, but as the self-designated worry-wart of the family, I slept poorly. I knew the hike would be very challenging. On each of the preceding six weekends we had trained well: hiking several miles to Sunday breakfast or climbing the foothills, Mount Diablo or the urban hills of San Francisco, but tomorrow would be the real thing.
We awoke at five thirty, drove to the village and parked near the top of Bright Angel Trail, where our hike would finish. We took a cab to the start of the South Kaibab Trail. This seemed like a silly thing to do, but we didn't want to waste energy and a precious hour of the cool morning. The 7 1/2 mile trail is shorter and more scenic than Bright Angel, but portions are much steeper. It's not recommended for ascending.
The first hour was slow going as we adjusted our packs, stopped to admire the views and appreciated that we were really doing this - all four of us. We each carried only a change of clothes, trail food and a one-gallon, ten pound canteen of water. Our preparatory reading plus the ominous signs warned us to take plenty of water. There is none along this trail and temperatures can reach 115 degrees in the summer.
We were in shade during the first two hours. Ahead of us the nearer canyon walls began to glow while distant ones faded into the haze. We were fortunate to have great weather--warm, sunny and clear.
The most intimidating section of the trail was a tremendous series of switchbacks that must have dropped over a thousand feet. Each of us slipped occasionally, but avoided serious injury.
By 11 we arrived at the Kaibab Bridge. Standing in the middle, high above the Colorado River, we celebrated with a family hug. After a year of talking, we had actually reached this almost mythical destination.
Half an hour later we reached Phantom Ranch, a quiet group of cottages and bunk houses a quarter of a mile from the river. We cooled ourselves in the stream that ran nearby and later skipped rocks across the mighty Colorado. Steaks or stew dinners, delivered daily by mule train, were served in the dining hall.
At dusk, Stacey and the kids attended a ranger talk. I sat alone, appreciating this special place and admired the dimming colors of the canyon rim, nearly a vertical mile above us. Suddenly I began to worry again. What had we gotten ourselves into? Logically I knew that we were in good shape and had all day to hike out, but how difficult would this be, especially for the kids?
Just then, a couple of experienced Canyon hikers walked by. They had spent the entire day descending from the higher and less crowded North Rim. He was 73 and she was 68. After a brief chat with them, my worrying stopped.
Ross and I climbed into our bunks at 9:30. We were in the men's cabin; Stacey and Sonya were next door. Our cabin mates were also intent on getting a good night's sleep. No late night parties at Phantom Ranch.
A sharp tapping awoke us at 4:20 AM; within minutes everyone was getting dressed and packing. We missed the group breakfast, but bought some bagels and cream cheese. After a short walk to Silver Bridge, we sat on some large boulders and ate while the dawn broke around us.
The Bright Angel Trail clung to the Colorado River during the first hour. I was eager to start climbing. Switchbacks with intimidating names like Devil's Corkscrew and Jacob's Ladder awaited us.
Most of the hike up to the Indian Garden campground on the Tonto Plateau was fairly manageable, almost too easy. It was only 8 AM when we had reached the unofficial halfway mark. We had hiked five miles, but were still less than a third of the elevation to the top.
Indian Gardens is the campground with toilets and a water connection from the rim. We rested there, quenched our thirst and ate from our trail lunch.
The remaining four and a half miles of hiking was the hardest physical challenge any of us had ever faced. Rather than focus on the rim that loomed far above us, our goal became the next rest stop, a mile and a half ahead.
In addition to the rising temperature and our gradually tiring bodies, we kept climbing in elevation. Surprisingly, the Colorado River is at a 2500 foot elevation, 4500 feet below the South Rim.
It exhilarated me that Ross had so much energy. At times, Stacey had to run up the trail just to keep up with him. I matched Sonya's slower pace; we lagged behind, catching up at each rest stop.
Two miles from the rim, Sonya quietly began to cry. It seemed like an impossible task, but she knew she had to keep walking. We slowed down our pace even further and picked out a shady spot a hundred yards ahead. Once there we rested, nibbled trail mix, drank water and picked out another spot farther up the trail.
At the last rest stop we were energized by recounting our day's trek to the hikers heading down. Though our pace seemed slow, we were among the first people up the trail that day. The last mile and a half was hard on all of us. Sonya hurt all over. Stacey's foot was bothering her quite a bit. I was generally sore and even Ross had slowed down. The rim never seemed to get any closer, but when we turned around, our progress was evident.
Just after noon we reached the top and celebrated with another family hug. Our quest was complete. No one was prouder than Sonya; she had struggled the most, but still managed to persevere. Just as when Ross was sick, we survived mentally by taking things one step at a time.
Exhausted, sweaty and covered with red dust (that never did wash out of our socks); we wandered through the crowded gift shop. Feeling claustrophobic, we quickly bought three souvenir tee shirts, and then drove to a nearby Best Western Hotel.
Along the trail, the vision of lounging in the hotel whirlpool kept us moving upward. Later, Sonya took a long nap while Stacey and I lay by the swimming pool rarely moving. Ross, apparently unfazed by seven hours of strenuous hiking, spent the afternoon doing cannon ball dives into the pool.
Our soreness remained for two days, but didn't interfere with the remainder of our trip. We stayed at Navajo National Monument, Canyon de Chelly and the incredible Monument Valley before heading home.
Ross led us up the Bright Angel Trail, just as his attitude had guided us from the depths of our earlier ordeal. By sharing loads and keeping up each other's spirits we completed our family's quest, a hike that will be not be forgotten when it comes time to deal with those obstacles that surely lie on the trail ahead.