Moving on Down.

(I was going to just jump right into this continuation as though there had been no lapse in entries, but it seemed foolish, so instead: I hope that your holidays were filled with all the things that holidays should be filled with, and few of the things that they shouldn't. For my part, life was relaxing and warm-hearted, if a bit lacking in the productivity department. 2007 was, for me and quite a few of the people I know, one hell of a roller-coaster year. May 2008 be less roller-coaster and more hot-air balloon. And now, some more of the story...)

Within the first thirty minutes of our descent into the canyon, Dad and I learned a few things:

1. Walking downhill is rougher than you might think. The trail is well kept but fairly rutted, and it wears a bit on your knees and ankles as you clatter downwards. Also, gravity plus adrenaline means you move faster than you otherwise would, so we got more of a workout than expected.

2. Yes, the mid-thirties temperature were chilly, but the effort of the hike warmed us up in a hurry. I shortly removed my gloves and outer long sleeve shirt, and dad soon lost a layer as well. But hey, I'm glad I over-prepared, because having that extra warmth for twenty minutes was well worth lugging those clothes around the rest of the day. Oh, wait, no it wasn't. I am a cold weather pansy. So be it.

3. Despite gravity's best efforts, it is difficult to make time on the way down because you can't stop taking pictures. The view changes substantially every ten or twenty minutes as you follow switchbacks around point after point, ever downwards.



Also, there are about eight jillion different rock formations that demand consideration, such as this enormous cave where something interesting surely lives, possibly a bear with wicked rappelling skills. Possibly not.


We also saw Boba Fett's crashed spaceship, which I had no idea was in the Grand Canyon:


I still cannot conceive how these rocks got on this ledge. For the sake of perspective, the rocks range in size from human head to refrigerator, and the ledge is at least five hundred feet below the rim of the canyon. And yet, there they sat:


Eventually, we put away our cameras and just took in the view while making some good time. We were upon the first rest station, 1.5 miles in, in about forty-five minutes, and the next station, another 1.5 miles beyond that, came just as quickly. We stopped there for a bit to snack, partially for energy, but mostly so that we could justify bringing thirty-seven pounds of food. I will say that Dad's last-minute addition of four apples was a brilliant move on his part. Clif bars are quite good for what they are, but what they are is fundamentally dry and chewy, and a crisp, juicy apple was a welcome respite from smashed-together bars of oats, nuts, and mysterious energy goo.

I also took the opportunity to use the composting toilet, a miracle of science that will take your bodily contributions and in just three short years turn them into mulch! I'm not sure how it's done, but I suspect "science" is involved. Whatever the process may be, I would still be reluctant to have hiker-generated mulch spread upon my petunias.

It was also at the second rest stop that the first train of mules passed us. I tried my hardest not to sneer at the wimps who couldn't sack it down the trail on their own human feet, but the kind vibes of the canyon led me to a position of grace and mercy. After all, the hairy, pee-spewing equines did make this trip possible for the infirm (well, semi-firm, no wheelchair seating on a mule) and out of shape, and I suppose that is a somewhat justifiable cause. Additionally, sitting five feet off the ground on the back of a beast that can only see half of its peg-like feet must be taxing when said beast is a very short stumble from a very long fall, so there was at least some effort being put forth by the riders, if only in the continual suppression of terror. As dad surveyed the aforementioned geometry, he mused, "What if your mule has a heart attack?"

Another 1.5 miles brought us to Indian Garden Campground. Here we found some campsites for backpackers interested in multi-day hikes, something that I must do some day. We had consumed hardly a quarter of our water, but topped off nonetheless at the only potable water source on the hike. This fountain was disquietingly located immediately downhill from a composting toilet. Most surprisingly, the end of the campground was crossed by a little babbling brook. For the entire trip we hadn't seen a drop of running water (mule contributions excepted) and then apparently out of nowhere, there appeared a full-fledged stream.


Just as unexpected was the verdant foliage that this minimal water source was able to support. As you can imagine, the region around the rim of the canyon is quite arid - not pure desert in its appearance, but generally rugged, populated largely by cacti, scrubby bushes, and tough but undersized pine trees. On the hike into the canyon, the pine trees had disappeared almost immediately, and we had seen no vegetation higher than two or three feet. Here, however, for about thirty yards on either side of the stream grew tall grass and thick green undergrowth.

Even more surprising to me, the area was also bursting with full-sized leafy trees.


Yes, I know, these look like what grow in the average temperate-zone American backyard, but let me emphasize that we had seen no trees like this in terms of height or leafy-green quality since just north of Phoenix. They were wonderfully out of place, a biological anomaly down in this sheltered area of the canyon where a unique intersection of temperature, altitude, soil and water gave us a bit of early-fall foliage in late November.

We wondered at the trees for a while, then pressed on. Plateau Point was another 1.5 miles (kudos to whomever divided up this hike, OCD though they may be), most of it relatively flat. As we departed the Indian Garden area, we reached the point in the hike where the sun became a factor. Very roughly speaking, the Grand Canyon runs longways east-west. It is an average of fifteen miles from the south rim to the north rim, but both rims jut variably into and away from middle of the canyon. The Bright Angel Trail runs north-south in a fault between two of these protrusions, so for the majority of the hike we had been surrounded on two sides by high walls which provided some shade. Just after Indian Garden, the walls fell away and the trail moved out onto the unprotected Tonto Plain. This created a moment in the hike when we could see, ten feet ahead, the exact spot where the shaded ended, and better yet, walk into and back out of the sun if we wanted. I am always fascinated by these moments when the unfathomable mechanics of the universe (size and distance of the sun, rotation of the earth, age and scope of the Grand Canyon, etc.) are illustrated in tiny human degrees that my brain can relish, Homer Simpson-style (Now I'm in the sun! Now I'm in the shade! Now I'm in the sun! Now I'm in the shade!). In addition to inspiring me to walk back and forth like an idiot, the sun also encouraged the shedding of the remaining warm clothes. Low thirties at dawn, high seventies by eleven. That's some dramatic weather.

We moved along the dusty trail that wound its way through the cactus and sagebrush landscape, and the light continued to shift by the minute, bringing new color and shade to our surroundings. As the trail leveled out, the stream and accompanying trees fell away to our right, continuing the descent to the river. This mix of motion, light, and landscape turned great views into spectacular ones:



Plateau Point was within reach. Just a short walk through the sun and we'd be relaxing above the Colorado River, munching an apple and contemplating the upward climb.