Prior to our excursion into the canyon we packed int he most haphazard way ever known to us.  I speak for both of us when I say we hated how we packed.  We are both regulars to the White Mountains and despite my apparent cavalier attitude, underneath it all we both are two anxious little critters who like to have all our Ts crossed and Is dotted.  This was not the case for our canyon trip...

Briana packed rain gear out of respect to our wet and wild New England spring weather.  I, also clearly unaware of the climate norms of deserts, packed no more than a t-shirt, shorts, and a very light fleece (only packed after significant coaxing and complaining from Briana).  Alongside our clothes we packed in the exact manner in which we packed for the whites; we brought all our food for the week, our water filters, our water (more than usual, but not much), cook-set, thingamajigs, whatchamacallits, and whosamathings.   With our now ultra light (40lbs) packs secured as pillows, we set off to bed.

We car camped at the North Rim in a not so entirely but also not not-so-entirely legal fashion.  Awaking to a nice, crisp, 29°F day, I donned my t-shirt and shorts, prayed to my Viking ancestors for cold tolerance, and set out on the downhills into the canyon.

The descent in was a nice and mild walk.  As a New England native, the concept of a switchback on a trail was mind boggling.  Gone were the days of difficult root-ridden descents.  The king is dead, long live the king!  We walked along gray canyon walls while the sun peeked its little head above the rim to give a gold-yellow kiss to the white, red, and black stone walls.

The first mile and a half were fairly bland.  They were stunning as I had never seen a similar geology, but the trails were standard single track dirt paths winding downhill.  At the 1.5 mile point we ambled upon our first of many beautiful sites, Supai Tunnel.

After the Tunnel we were graced with our first amazing sun-kissed views.  We continued our descent across small suspension bridges and narrow paths alongside the canyon walls until we arrived at a beautiful little creek coming from high up.  Heeding the advice from the locals, we dunked ourselves and clothing in the creek to cool off.  The wintry snow-melt waters were a welcome, albeit surprising, breath of fresh air in what was still a crisp day.  

My northern, city-slicking, Yankee ass had never stepped foot into the desert.  I now can earnestly say, it is not the heat, it's the humidity.  The weather outside quickly ran up into the 90s and later low 100s over the next few miles.  Without a drop of sweat (the desert air was sure to sap any and all moisture away right-quick), we trudged along in high spirits; chatting and singing as we marched along.  Our packs were still feeling light, our skin pale, and our feet as flawless as the day we were born.

Here is where we began to get our greatest glimpses of the canyons, though mine were still waiting to come.  The desert was vibrantly verdant.  I have never seen such greens.  It was a forest nestled in the sand and rock with more squirrel, bighorn sheep, and little lizards than I ever expected an environment as stark and harsh could support.  Maybe that says something for how we build and live, but I'll try to remain firmly on the ground and not on a soapbox for now.  

The terrain twisted and turned as the canyon walls slowly opened up before us.  As a surprise to nobody, the Grand Canyon is quite immense.  The North Rim begins narrow and opens up as you walk south, slowly presenting her beauty to you as you get a building sense of cosmic insignificance and natural appreciation.  While the South Rim had the best views, the North told a better story.  It prepared you for the ego-death inspiration to come; held your hand the whole way in.  

Phantom ranch was our mental halfway point, though it lays a fair bit beyond half.  We treated ourselves to what may be the greatest cup of lemonade ever to grace my lips.  And then a second.   If hunger is the greatest spice, walking 14 miles in the desert is the second.  I simply cannot sing the praises of this lemonade any further.  If I were to write an actual review it would put wedding vows and eulogies to shame and paint them as failures at poetry and language.  I hold few things in such high regard as Phantom Ranch lemonade, the only which come close are world peace, revitalizing the American rail industry, and the California Condor (which turned me into a puddle of tears upon seeing).

Employing Briana's far superior social skills, we befriended a few folks from all over.  While the populous of America was by and large friendly, we did notice trends.  It pains me as a Northern Rebel-Fighting Yankee to say, but thorough testing, examination, and field assessments, Southern Folk were by far and away the friendliest bunch.  After our well needed rest, libations stronger than ambrosia, and with our new friends behind us, we set off once more along the beaten path. 

Through Bright Angel Campsite all was well.  We were cooled, dreams of swimming in the river dancing in our minds, a suspension bridge with a gorgeous view held our attention captive, life was good.  The tense of "was" is the operative word.

The desert was, much like Michael Scott in Season 3 Episode 12 of The Office, "feelin' hot hot hot".  Soon the mesmerizing greens of the Colorado River mocked us.  Our hiking became a Sisyphean task of walking on sand that gave way and undid a little bit of each step's progress.  The heat was unending, unrelenting, and unbroken.  Maybe ever mile there was an adequate shaded area to cool off.  Each breath was accompanied by the immediate drying of one's mouth by the air.

3 Miles of tough sand slogging later we arrived at our new favorite view.  While not known for it's looks in general, the waters of the Colorado by the Canyon were a welcome sight.  And, much like Arlo Guthrie at Thanksgiving, with "tears in our eyes" we played by the rough water's edges.  We swam, watched the trout swim on through, swore for not having a rod handy (you could almost touch them!), kissed, applied sunscreen begrudgingly, and otherwise made merriment.  

But then, all good things...

The last 9 or so miles of the hike were some of the most brutal but some of the most rewarding.  The views to come were absolutely stunning and some of the best along the Canyon, but those had not yet came and the tiredness in our legs set it.  Four to five miles of somewhat boring, deserted, hot terrain later we arrived at Havasupai Gardens.  Havasupai Gardens is a beautiful desert oasis teeming with life (especially squirrels all the comfortable with people).  If I were to live a few hundred years ago, here is where I would camp during the more hospitable months.   Fresh water, a few granola bars, and some pep talks by yours truly later and we were off the races once again.

Two stops remained for a total of 5 and change miles; 3 mile house and 1.5 mile house.   The most depressing part of the end of the hike was the sheer flatness for so many miles.  The first 1.5 miles of our hike from Havasupai were essentially flat, meaning our 5,000+ feet of climbing would all come in shorter and steeper miles ahead.   Luckily, the views were absolutely stunning.  The canyon walls were alive, every critter around danced along the sand and in the brush, and the place just hummed with vitality.  I’ll never forget just how verdant and awake the desert is; far from the image of wastelands painted in media.  

2 miles later and just into our climb we reached 3 mile house (duh!).  These last few miles were grueling.  We made it for sure, but it definitely hit like mile 24 of a marathon.  “Left, then right” played in our heads, little conversation was made, and I resorted to lying for motivation (“just 1.2 miles left, Bri!”).   After I don’t know how many lefts, followed by a subsequent right, we arrived at the top of Bright Angel.  While this is most definitely an abridged version of a hike (the account is mainly for my own amusement, thank you very much), I don’t think I’ve forgotten anything of note along the hike. 

On top of the canyon walls we collapsed, I went for a quick run to find ice cream (8:45 pace after 25.4 miles ain’t too bad!).  We met the most lovely Utah couple with their Southern children, ate some of the best ramen noodle + fettuccini alfredo ever, as hunger is the best spice, and became puddles of human beings. 

Later the next day I had the opportunity to explore the Canyon as a tourist.  It gave me time to reflect upon my time spent in it’s vastness.  I have been left with a more profound understanding of my own insignificance.  One that I suspect most of us would be better with.  Atop the walls I saw two California Condor, summarily sobbed over the conservation efforts, watched a beautiful sunset, and breathed in the beauty.  I am not one who wishes to depart anytime soon, but seeing such untouched Nature makes me yearn for the days in which my bag of flesh, bones, and goop decides to kick the bucket.  The Canyons reminded me that I am simply the Universe made self-aware, and in some Schopenhauer-ist way, this silly little meat sack is meant to return to the nothingness from which it came.  I love the Canyons for the reminder that we are all just dirt and (hopefully) will be forgotten in 100 years, let alone the 4 billion it takes to carve Mother Earth.  

To end with a quote, as any corny diary entry must: