Dinner at Phantom Ranch seems extravagant. A salad full of
fresh greens, turnips, beets, and other fresh vegetables is not what one might
expect to find at the bottom of the Grand Canyon. As I feasted on salad,
vegetarian chili, corn bread, and chocolate cake, I got to know the people at
my table. There was a family to my left from Arizona and another family on my
right from Colorado. The two women in front of me also had bunks next to me in
the dorm, Amy and Lois. Amy lives in Santa Fe, so we were instantly bonded as
fellow New Mexicans. They grilled me about life as a tennis pro, and asked if I
ever get tired of being around so many men. They were great company.
After the meal, I hobbled out of the dining room due to my
tight muscles (whoever designed stairs leading to the canteen is a sadist). I
stopped at the dorm to grab my journal and yoga mat and walked over to the bank
of Bright Angel Creek. The sun had set on the canyon, taking with it the
comfortable heat I had felt on my hike in. I sat on a familiar rock that I have
sat on to write every time I’ve been at Phantom. A lot of thinking has been
done on that rock, a lot of stargazing and daydreaming. When it got too dark to
write I fit in a short yoga session as my traumatized muscles protested.
When the canteen opened later that night, I drank wine with
an older couple from Prescott, Nick and Laurel. Laurel and I graduated from the
same college, though she beat me by 35 years. After a while, I hopped a table
over to see what the commotion was. The Colorado crew was in an intense game of
poker, playing with matchsticks instead of chips. They poured me a tall glass
of wine and playfully shamed me for not knowing how to play poker. One more
table over sat Christian from Ecuador and a crew from California playing Left
Right Center. I played a few rounds with them as we talked about tennis, mental
hospitals, and hiking. Next I wandered over to the table of Phantom Ranch
workers and played a few rounds of Apples to Apples with them. Each table I
socialized with heard my sad moccasin story as I pleaded them to keep an eye
out for it.
‘If you see a lone moccasin on your hike out tomorrow, let
it know I’m looking for it!’ The Coloradans kept filling my wine glass. I left
the canteen with a slight weave to my hobble. I sway-limped back to the creek
and spent the next thirty minutes lying on the bank with my face to the stars.
There was no moon visible in the perimeter of the canyon walls, leaving the sky
very dark. Since there is virtually no light pollution in the canyon, the stars
are brilliant. I saw hundreds and hundreds of bright stars in the night sky,
framed by the dark silhouette of the canyon walls. The Milky Way was faintly
visible, a faded avenue of radiance in the sky. I gave Orion a nod and headed
off to bed.
The next morning I had breakfast and said goodbye to my new
friends. Everyone started hiking out around 6, but I went back to bed. After a
short nap I shoved my sore feet into my boots and put on my hiking shirt, a worn out t-shirt with an adorable pig on it saying, 'please don't eat me, I love you'. A friend gave me the shirt in high school and I've worn it every time I've hiked out of the Grand Canyon because it has good juju. I set off toward the river where I stopped to do yoga. As I stretched my complaining muscles on the riverbank,
the first rays of sun broke into the canyon. Another beautiful sunrise was
captured on Tour de Polkahontas. After yoga I secured my pack and started toward the silver bridge,
hurrying to beat the mules, to avoid the extra obstacle of dancing around their
fresh ‘gifts’ on the trail. Crossing the suspension bridge is something I’ve
never been comfortable with. The bridge is made of metal, with open metal
grates between your feet and the chilly river water rushing 60 feet below. To
avoid looking down, I looked up in envy at the warm, sunny canyon walls. At the
end of the bridge, I had a decision to make. I could go left to the South
Kaibab trail, or right up the Bright Angel trail. I had originally planned on
going out the South Kaibab trail, as it is 3 miles shorter than Bright Angel
and would take me about an hour less. But since my moccasin was lost on the
Bright Angel Trail, I took a deep breath and a right. I had a long hike ahead
of me.
The first two hours of the hike were uneventful. I kept
expecting to turn a corner and see my moc on the trail, patiently awaiting my
arrival. But I didn’t. I started passing fellow Phantom Ranch guests who would
eagerly ask me if I’d found my shoe. No luck. One of these was Christian from
Ecuador. He and I continued on together. Halfway up at Tonto Point, we ran into
a couple from Utah I’d had breakfast with, Dave and Cheryl.
‘Did you find it?’ asked Dave.
‘Nope. Nada’ I replied.
‘Bummer. Well, I did.’ Out of his pack he pulled my dirty
clay colored moccasin. I shouted in joy and over-dramatically held the moccasin
to my chest, thanking the heavens. I thanked the couple profusely. Just up the
trail was the rest of the Phantom Ranch crew. As I approached them I
triumphantly held my prodigal moccasin in the air as they cheered and threw
their hands in the air for the full effect. It was a silly but epic moment that
made me laugh out loud. I tied my moc to my pack (double knotted) and continued
on after Christian.
Christian is a kind soul with a deep appreciation of people.
He works in finance and relocated from Ecuador to D.C. where he loves living. We
set a good pace for each other. We figured we had about two more hours of
hiking before we reached the rim. The ‘easy’ part of the hike was over, meaning
we only had steep switchbacks ahead of us. As we hiked we talked. We talked
about our families, marriage, tennis, travel, careers, money, food (I felt like
Bubba from Forrest Gump talking about green chile-‘Yeah, you can make green
chile gravy, green chile enchiladas, green chile rellanos, green chile hummus,
green chile stew…’), and people. I asked him if he’d ever met any interesting
people on the road, to which he replied, ‘Well, you now’. I smiled.
The conversation quieted as we reached higher elevation; the
air got thinner and the trail steeper. We were sweating, though the sun wasn’t
on us. The chill of the canyon shade plagued us for hours. After a while we
started passing more fresh-looking tourists with tote bags and big cameras, a
sure sign that the top was approaching. I was tired. My heart pounded, my head
throbbed, but most of all, I was HUNGRY. Cold sweat drenched my clothes under
my pack. About ¾ mile from the top I thought about stopping to sit. I didn’t
know if I could finish strong. Then we came around corner to see sunshine about
a quarter mile away. I needed to feel the sunshine on my face. Then Christian
piped up from behind me.
‘Beer is good after a hike. Let’s go for beer after this’ he
said in his thick, Ecuadorian accent. It was the best thing I’ve heard come out
of anyone’s mouth, ever. I kept moving, pounding my feet against the trail.
Left. Right. Left.
Right. Sunshine. Beer. Sunshine. Beer. Sunshine.
When we finally made it to sun I basked in it. It felt
amazing on my face and skin. But after that short window of sunshine we were
back in the shade, motivating us to finish strong. We passed the spot where I
stopped to gather myself on the way down. Getting closer. Sunshine. Beer. We
passed the spot where I had taken a picture for an elderly couple the day before. Getting close. Sunshine. Beer. Sunshine
Beer. We passed the spot where I slipped and broke my phone. Sunshine. Beer.
Beer! BEER!. We reached the trailhead, felt the sun on our faces, threw off our
packs and collapsed. After four hours, 10 miles, and 4,500 vertical feet, we
were done.
After due time spent not moving, my needs came into play. I
needed to change out of wet clothes. I needed food. I promised to meet
Christian at the bar after cleaning up and eating. I limped to my car and took off my boots. I made a sandwich,
which I ate in about three bites. As I ate I sat on the trunk of my car in the sun
overlooking the Grand Canyon. I was still hungry but I didn’t want to move. Rather,
I didn’t think I was capable of movement. Then, suddenly, a thought entered my
mind. It was the only thought in the world capable of making me move; mashed
potatoes.
I feverishly pulled my
Jetboil out of my pack and searched like a mad woman for a match, finally finding
a book in a crevice in my car. I cranked the gas to high and added the
dehydrated cheesy potatoes the second the water boiled. With vigorous stirring,
the concoction soon turned into buttery, creamy pillows of deliciousness. I
took one bite and harshly burnt my tongue. I immediately took another bite. It
was the most delicious thing I have ever eaten in my whole life. I wish I could
say that I took a break from stuffing my face to clean up and look presentable.
I wish I could say that I ate a few bites and got full….or at least that I ate
this pile of mashers daintily like a lady. I wish I could tell you that I
didn’t eat the whole thing all by myself. But I can’t. Because that wouldn’t be
a good story, now would it? In reality, I sat on my car in my sweaty clothes
and disheveled hair and shoveled heaps of the buttery, cheesy gold into my
mouth as fast as I could. Tourists walked by and looked at me like I was mad. I
might have been. When the last bite was devoured, I put on my moccasins, took a
‘Yankee shower’ (as my friend Josh would say) with deodorant and perfume, and
hobbled to the bar to meet Christian. We enjoyed our hard-earned beer and
rested. He sent me my picture that he had taken for me on the hike; the only picture
I have to commemorate this trip to the canyon. Christian and I exchanged
information and promised to call if we’re in each other’s area. With much
difficulty, I walked along the rim toward my car. There were tourists
everywhere, taking pictures and gasping at the beauty of the canyon. Out of the
5 million people who visit the canyon each year, only 1% go below the rim. I
felt bad for the visitors on the rim. They were happy snapping a picture and
saying they’d been there, but I felt like I had a secret. I’d had an affair
with the canyon. We had a story together, an intimate relationship- a story of
appreciation, pain, struggle, friendship, determination, love, disappointment,
triumph, accomplishment and beauty. They would never know the canyon like I did. I took one
last look at the majestic hole in the earth, groaned as I stretched, then painfully
climbed into my car and zoomed away. Macklemore was still playing on my radio.
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