Over the Edge

The Holiday Inn Express Tusayan was as luxuriant as one might expect a Holiday Inn Express to be, and we awoke at seven the next morning ready for our slightly epic journey down into the belly of the canyon. Final preparations were made. Water bottles were filled, snack foods stowed into packs and pockets, and layers of clothing were pulled on. It is worth noting that I may have slightly overprepared in all three of these categories. Between dad and I, we set out with just over five liters of water, despite the fact that there was a water station that we would pass twice on the round trip hike. I carried two bags of trail mix, four Clif bars, and two apples. Dad carried four more Clif bars and two apples. We had enough food and water to walk to Phoenix, and possibly San Diego. As for the weather, I had done my research and we were prepared. Despite the sweltering desert image that Arizona brings to mind, it is a bit chilly around the Grand Canyon in November, owing to the area's elevation of seven thousand feet above sea level. While the high for the day was sixty, it was about twenty-nine when we awoke, and I do not enjoy being cold. I wore a short sleeve t-shirt, two long sleevers, long pants, wool socks, and fleece gloves. Dad wore some kind of fleece pullover, but no gloves.

We hopped in the rental car and drove into the park as the sun rose. This was a deeply serene and peaceful drive, as the infesting hordes were still busy sleeping off their IMAX hangovers. It was the kind of morning where a crisp frost covers the pine bed of the forest floor, the brightening blue sky promises a perfect day to come, and a deer's ass lingers unperturbed just feet from your car:

Obviously, it was going to be a great day.

We parked the car and walked the short distance to the trailhead. I was concerned that the popularity of this hike might render the trail a bit crowded, but there weren't too many hikers about. What there were quite a few of, however, were mules. The park, in a decision that I think I can begrudgingly support, offers guided mule rides down into the canyon. The mules and humans share a path, and frequently the mules utilize this path for a restroom. It is a bit of a discouragement when, towards the end of a very long hike, you come around a switchback and are confronted with a spot where, obviously, a guide stopped his eight-mule train to speak at length about some fascinating feature of the terrain and all the waterlogged beasts took the opportunity to take a whiz. The occasional pool of mule pee is not as unpleasant as you might think, and should not deter anyone from going on this hike, but it is not exactly a welcome sight. It is a slight consolation in these situations to mutter, "stupid pool of mule pee," because this is fun to say. Also, while the mule guides get to dress up like cowboys (complete with appropriate facial hair and colloquialisms), the customers are required to wear giant yellow rain coats that say MULE RIDER on the back, as if the presence of the mule-shaped object beneath the rider's butt is insufficient warning to passersby.

We skirted the waiting mule herds and arrived at the trailhead, where we stopped to consider the view and the numbers. We were about to hike the Bright Angel Trail to Plateau Point and back, a journey of 12.2 miles. The trailhead elevation is 6785 feet, while the point stands at 3770 feet, and is still about 1700 feet above the Colorado river and the bottom of the canyon. It is physically possible to hike to the river and back in a day, but as a ranger had explained to us the previous day, "people die doing that." So we were about to embark on one of the more grueling, albeit usually non-lethal hikes the park had to offer. I was psyched. Sure, this was going to be a long walk, but Lou and I had done it seven years prior, in the height of summer, with one bottle of water and no food. Clearly, we should have died, and didn't. For his part, dad was, well, mostly psyched. I think the math (lose three thousand vertical feet and then earn it back) and the posted warning in most park literature that it takes twice as long to hike out of the canyon as into it had him a bit concerned about the return trip.

Mostly though, we were once again awed by the view and ready to get moving. The view in this case was remarkable not only because we were looking at the Grand Canyon half an hour after sunrise, but also because it is one of the few instances where you can see the end of a six mile hike while standing at its beginning. Down across the canyon, already bathed in sunlight, was a thin brown line cutting through the scrub and cactus on the Tonto Plain. At the end of that line was a tiny rocky promontory, Plateau Point.

We headed down the steep trail, into the shade of the canyon, and with herculean effort managed to stop only every twenty feet or so to take more pictures. The canyon began to swallow us, revealing its intimate dimension and life as the rim retreated gradually upward.



We were off on a good solid Adventure.