ZION BRYCE GRAND CANYON DAY 7 – THE ELUSIVE IMAGE

"There will never be a photograph of the Grand Canyon that can adequately describe its depth, breadth, and true beauty."  Stefanie Payne

“But we’re damn sure gonna try”  Pasquale Onofrio

We’re out early and headed into the park.  The Grand Canyon is an “upside down” park.  At Zion, we did traditional hiking, start at the floor of the valley and climb up the mountain.  Here everything starts at the top and goes downhill from there, so strategy is different.  Today’s plan is Bright Angel Trail, a steep trek into the canyon that has been walked by Native Americans, pioneers, early miners, and many of our parents and grandparents.  We’re covering a 6 mile out-and-back, down-then-up that will drop us over 2000 feet below the rim.  The early fall forecast is saying hot-n-sunny, and as the air sinks into the lower elevations it gets compressed, releasing heat as energy, so it will be 20-30 degrees hotter at the bottom.  Hence we’re up and out at zero-dark-thirty.  First light is beautiful, haze in the valley, the moon hanging low in the cloudless blue sky. 

The trail is serious, as emphasized by the stern warning signs provided by the National Park Service.  It’s very easy overestimate your conditioning and overextend on the way in, then underestimate the weather conditions and your provisions on the way back up.  Along the way, several signs remind you that “down is optional, up is mandatory.”  The fun of being our age is that we know good advice when we hear it, so even though our goal is the 3-Mile Resthouse and back, we’re OK turning around at any point if things get too hairy. 

We’re barely through the first set of switchbacks when out of nowhere a male Bighorn Mountain Sheep – 1 of 2 just rams in the area – strolls by us, just a fellow hiker passing on the trail close enough to high five. 

It’s quiet on the way down, despite being a busy Saturday.  It’s really nice to feel like you have the place to yourself on a trail, even if just for 15 minutes.  We take pictures as the light changes, shadows forced back, giving way to deep colors.  We get through the two “tunnels”, doorways in the rock really, and to the 1.5 Mile Resthouse relatively easily, so after a quick break we decide to push on. 

Sure, gravity does most of the hard work this way, but it’s taking a toll on our knees, so we step carefully, looking for grades rather than tall steps.  We’re at the 3-Mile Resthouse, feel good and discuss pushing on to Indian Garden another mile-and-a-half away and another 2000 feet down.  Common sense (and the damned effective picture of the puking dude on that sign) kicks in and we start our way back.  500 feet up, and we’re winded already.  The sun, on the way down our photo buddy, is now a giant looming rival in our (admittedly slow) footrace back to the top before we’re caught in the punishing direct rays. 

It’s the most difficult ascent we have attempted on this trip, and we conjure some of our tried-and-true strategies.  We break our remaining journey into “units”, fifteen-minute segments that we count down.  “Seven units left.”  We pace, we breathe the thin air, break for a few sips of water and carry on.  “Six units left, we got this!”  We take stock of our weary selves.  Head ok.  Neck, arms, shoulders, check, check, check.  Back, bit tired from the pack, but not bad.  Knees, bit sore, so watch.  Ankles and feet, surprisingly OK.  “Five units left.”  And there are still some great pictures to be had.  

Around 8:45 we pass a donkey train headed down, cowgirl guide in the front, visitors in the middle, cowboy guide in the back, everyone smiling, chatty.  Maybe the Brady’s were right.  Maybe we’re doing this wrong.

At 9am we’re in full sun, the rim and nearby peaks no longer providing any hiding places.  We’re splitting our last bottle of water, and can see the goal line.  Unfortunately, it’s just past that last steep set of switchbacks. 

We make the top with a big sigh and great feeling of accomplishment.  Although this is the most popular National Park in the country, less than five percent of the six-and-a-half million annual visitors venture below the rim.  We take pride in the fact that at 55 (and Mandy’s advanced age of three days older than me!) we’re still up for some rewarding challenges.

Beeline to the room to shower the dust and salt off, then out to lunch.  Another not-a-foodie town and none of the restaurants near the hotel offer anything inspiring.  Back in the park we go to the Yavapai Tavern for the Melted Elk, a well dressed elk burger, Baja Chicken Enchilada Soup and some good local beer.  It’s as nice a menu as we have ever seen inside a National Park, and it’s a very well done upgrade from the old 1970s cafeterias. 

Despite having hiked 6 miles this morning, we have seen just a fraction of a fraction the Canyon.  One of the best features of the park is the accessibility.  There are dozens of great viewpoints just a few steps from your parked car, and that’s about all that’s left in our tank today.  Driving to the first spot, we stop to visit with a pair of young elk, a cow and a young bull that still has velvet on his antlers.  Just a mile up the road is daddy, majestic, right out of the Hartford commercial, although this has turned into more of a Mutual of Omaha Wild Kingdom episode.  We lean in, whispering and trying different angles, trying to make Marlin Perkins proud of our work.

We finally make Lipan Point, almost to the East Entrance.  It’s the best view of the canyon yet, but we’re still surprised that we see so little of the Colorado river.  The river is at the bottom of a narrow V inside of a much wider V, so seeing the fast moving water is akin to finding Waldo.  We stop at several more vantage points, each time unable to fully understand at the sheer breadth of all we are seeing, each time realizing how little of it we will ever see, each time trying for that elusive photograph that captures even what our own live experience cannot.

Jump cut to dinner.  Big E Steakhouse & Saloon, Grand Canyon, Arizona.  Middle Americana at it’s middle of the road truest.  My T-Bone sports an embossed stick to let me know it’s prepared to the perfect medium rare as ordered, the Dark Horse Central Coast Cab just the right compliment to both my beef and Mandy’s poultry.

ZION BRYCE GRAND CANYON DAY 6 – ANTELOPES AND HORSESHOES AND ELK

 

Mountains mean you can sleep in and still catch the sunrise.  Not necessarily the first one, but the one over your friendly easterly peaks. 

We’re on towards the Grand Canyon but we have a fun travel day ahead of us.  Road breakfast includes great java from the coffee shop at our hotel plus the leftover steak and pork chop leftovers from last night’s dinner.   Just as good the next day.  The huge landscape in front of us looks like it should have movie credits from a spaghetti western scrolling in front of it.  Even though we’ve seen them from every conceivable angle, the orange and white striped mountains still fill us awe as we pass them in the distance for the last time. 

Time math escapes us.  Apparently, it escapes AT&T too as our phones are constantly toggling forward and back and hour or two as we skirt along the UT/AZ border.  Turns out Utah doesn’t celebrate daylight savings time so we change time zones going due south.  We make Arizona proper and hit Lake Powell, a classic American vacation lake.  From the overlook, we can see the all the fun of the lake: rows of docked houseboats, bowriders, cruisers and jetskis drawing v-shaped wakes, and others grounded to start today’s redneck yacht club.    

A bit further down the road, we trip over Glen Canyon Dam, an impressive power plant that we knew absolutely nothing about.  Geek that I am, I am not going to pass up a chance to explore such an impressive feat of engineering. 

Next stop, Antelope Canyon, a pair of crazily shaped slot canyons on Navajo Nation lands and a sacred site of the Navajo people.  Between the deep orange colors, the sweeping, swirling formation of the rock and the angular rays of desert sunlight, this place instantly turns every visitor into the world’s greatest photography artist.  Our guide Corwin is well practiced and helps us with camera settings and points out particularly interesting shapes as we go (the Eagle and the Woman in the Wind were our favs).  Corwin explains that the canyons are formed by the waters of the flash floods, and constantly reshaped with each subsequent deluge.  Just when we thought we had taken all the pictures of rocks we would ever need…

We leave the most photographed show under earth, zip 20 minutes across Page, AZ, and pull into the town’s other Insta darling, Horseshoe Bend.  As the name implies, the bend is a horseshoe shaped turn in the Colorado river, easily viewable from the 1000-foot-high sandstone cliff above.  From our vantage point, the tour boats look like water bugs and the kayaks like colorful confetti carried by the current.   

The next hour sees your heroes driving through the barren desert of tribal lands on Route 89.  Although this is a well-traveled road from Bryce to the Grand Canyon, there is virtually no signs of commerce.  Virtually.  After about 20 miles, we see the first “Authentic Indian Jewelry” shack, a ramshackle plywood structure about the size of a typical suburban shed.  A few miles later, we see what we can only call a mall, a connected line of about 10 of these shacks, all selling minor variations of the same theme to the passing touristas.  There is some version of these shacks every few miles for the next 60.  Thank god I didn’t need a gallon of gas or a Diet Coke.  Right before the turnoff to Route 64, is Cameron’s Trading Post.  At first glance, my assumption was South of the Border, that cheesy souvenir shop in South Carolina famously advertised by “Pedro Says” billboards from Maine to Florida.  As there was absolutely nothing else in the area, we decided to give it a try for lunch, Mandy threatening my life the entire walk from the car to the front door.  To our judgmental surprise, it was very nice.  A well-stocked, well-run store leading to a very handsome, classic, tin-ceiling Midwest dining room.  The menu was much better than we hoped, a very nice selection of local Native American dishes interspersed with Mexican and American fare.  My Green Chili Stew was delish and served with Fry Bread, drizzled with honey, hardy and yummy.

The familiar brown-with-tan Kaibab National Forest sign lets us know we’re getting close to our final destination.  We hit the Grand Canyon East Entrance and our road weariness is replaced with enthusiasm.  Just past the entrance is the Desert View Watchtower, where we get our first glimpse of the Big Hole itself.  It is every bit the wow moment we had hoped for, and we’re not even at the best parts.  A few miles down the road, we stop at an unnamed overlook on the side of the road.  The view is even better here and we’re greeted by a big female elk, just hanging, taking in the view.  We take her welcome as a good omen for the next few days. 

And now, without apology, shamefully many more pictures of pretty, swirly rocks.