Polkahontas in the Grand Canyon: Part 1- Mindlessness

The Grand Canyon is fucking huge. That’s not where this story begins, but I just needed to let you know…….it’s really big.

The tale actually begins in a Safeway parking lot in Flagstaff, Arizona. After Jo’s Kinaalda I drove to Flagstaff, pulling into the first parking lot I saw and passing out in the backseat of my car. I slept for hours, until the sun turned my car into a convection oven. That night I was planning to use Couchsurfers as a means of finding a place to stay. I was staying with a man named Mark, who seemed very nice on the phone. This was definitely pushing my comfort zone, but I figured it would be an adventure, a test of my people-reading skills and intuition. Though, at this point I was so tired, I probably would have slept on Jeffrey Dahmer’s couch, as long as he had wifi.

Mark and I talked about weather and watched football over dinner at the Beaver Street Brewery near downtown Flagstaff. He had kind eyes and a quiet sense of humor. Our ‘weather’ conversation wasn’t so much small talk, as Mark is a meteorologist. He works for the state to help put out wildfires. He's a real life superhero. Back at his house I played with his adorable dog and we studied maps of the Grand Canyon, swapping stories of trails we’ve hiked and plans for future backcountry adventures. As we talked, another Couchsurfer arrived. Nettie was a very sweet woman heading west for a new job. I tried to convince them to eat some of my corn cake that I received from the Kinaalda (traditionally, you’re not allowed to waste any of it-it has to be eaten or given away). We put in a movie, which I promptly fell asleep to.

I woke up two hours later than I had set my alarm for. Apparently, when it went off I didn’t even flinch. I had really needed sleep. I glanced at myself in the bathroom mirror, noticing that I looked rested for the first time in a while. I thanked Mark for the hospitality and headed toward the canyon.

As I got closer to the Grand Canyon, I started to wake up and get very excited. My heart started pumping when I entered the park and saw signs for Bright Angel Lodge. I caught my first glimpse of the canyon as I looked for a place to park, indulging in the over-stimulation as adrenaline and dopamine fired into my brain. Macklemore’s ‘Can’t Hold Us’ blasted through my radio, a song notorious for pumping me up ever since my friend Katesia and I somehow ended up backstage at his concert last fall. My mind was going a zillion miles an hour. I stood at the rim and my stomach dropped.

‘The Grand Canyon is fucking huge’ I said to no one in particular. I checked in at the lodge and started packing my backpack, mindlessly shoving things in that I thought I might need. My heart was racing, my palms were sweaty, and I needed to get in that canyon like I needed air. Zipping up my pack, I started toward the Bright Angel trailhead.

Before I started hiking I snapped a picture on my phone. As I did that I remembered that I should probably text my mom to let her know I was hiking in and I’d call her tomorrow. I texted as I walked ‘Mom, I’m hiking in. It’s beautiful. Love ya. I’ll call ya tomor-‘ SLAM! I was flat on my back and my phone had gone flying out of my hands. While looking down at my phone, I had failed to see a big patch of ice in the shade on the trail. I dusted myself off and reached for my phone, which had hit a rock, giving it an intricate spider web of cracks across the screen as a result. It still worked. Yes! Finishing my text to Cork, I reached to put my phone back on my pack and knocked my sunglasses off. They were almost lost to the canyon, but a bush narrowly saved them from a catastrophic fall. A little ways later, I almost slipped on ice again. I felt my chest pounding and my mind racing. I heard Mitch’s (the ‘you’re rushing your stroke, Sweetheart’ pro’s) voice in my head saying ‘Slow down, Darrah’, as he has so many times before while watching me run around the ranch like a crazy woman to get something done.

Slow down, Darrah.

I sat. Rather, I forced myself to sit. On a rock about half a mile down the trail, I sat to calm my body and mind. I knew I could seriously hurt myself if I didn’t calm down. After a minute of sitting, a profound thought entered my head.

Shoes.  

I realized that I had forgotten to pack shoes to wear at the bottom of the canyon. I weighed how important shoes were, and then remembered the incredible feeling of taking hiking boots off and putting comfortable shoes on at the end of a long hike. I started up the canyon back toward my car.

At my car I dropped my pack and sat in front of it. Mindfulness. I set my cracked phone for ten minutes, sat up straight and closed my eyes. I could feel the heat from my still-warm engine on my back and the sun on my face. I heard myriad languages blend together from various tourists on the rim: Chinese, English, Spanish, and German. A crow caw-ed. Mindfulness.

Konga, you crazy bitch. I need you here. I don’t have the energy to fight you AND hike this canyon. You saw how fucking huge it is. I need you on board. I’m begging you.

I started down the trail again, this time feeling much more centered and calm. As my friend Nick would say, I had my 'poop in a group'. As I descended, the canyon walls enveloped me, growing hundreds more feet above me each time I looked up. Before long, I was at halfway point, Tonto Ridge. Hiking out to the point, I caught my first glimpse of the Colorado River, which was still thousands of feet below. I rolled out my yoga mat on the ledge overlooking the river. Let me tell you, nothing encourages good form on balance poses better than the possibility of plummeting thousands of feet to your death. At this point, I really let myself take in the beauty of the canyon. If Antelope Canyon is beautiful for its contours and lighting, the Grand Canyon is beautiful for its vastness and mystery. Other hikers watched me and took pictures as I stretched my shaking muscles on the rock ledge.

About a mile from Phantom Ranch I reached for my water on my pack. I had been hiking for five hours. I noticed that my hands were swollen from a lack of circulation. I held them above my heart as I flexed and fisted my fingers to get the blood flowing. When I put my water back I felt that my pack’s zipper was down and it was partially open. Dropping my pack, I did a quick inventory check and looked up the trail behind me to see if I had dropped anything. Clear. I got out my phone to take a picture, but dropped it due to my sausage fingers. The screen completely shattered this time. RIP, little LG.

I checked in at Phantom Ranch and found my bunk in a barrack full of women relaxing in their bunk beds. I greeted them briefly and collapsed on my bed. It had taken me 5 and a half hours to hike from the top. I had hiked 13 miles with an elevation change of 4,500 feet. To say I was tired was an understatement. Just before dinner was served, I gingerly lowered my sore frame down from the top bunk and opened my pack to grab my mocs. I pulled one out and looked for the other. Dammit. Dammit. Dammit. Dammit. The moccasin I hiked an extra mile for; the moccasin I fantasized about putting my tired feet in to relieve pain and agony; the moccasin my parents gave me as a graduation present, was gone. When my pack was open it must have fallen out. I let out a few obscenities. Reluctantly, I loosened the laces of my hiking boots, shoved my aching feet back in them, and headed out to dinner.