Running marathons never really made sense to me. I deeply understand the desire to be personally challenged and push our physical boundaries in the outdoors. However, showing up at a set time and forking over a registration fee to be validated for your effort isn’t me. When taking on a grueling endeavor it’s gotta make sense in some A to B or reaching the top logic. Why climb the mountain? Because they exist of course. Why run 26.2 miles? Because that was the distance from Windsor Castle to White City Stadium?
When visiting the Grand Canyon, most are overwhelmed by the enormity of the formation. For the majority their visit starts and culminates with a peer from the South Rim. For the committed and about 1% of visitors, a stroll down the 5000’ vertical relief to the Colorado River, Phantom Ranch and the floor of this majestic canyon is an all-out mission to survive the climb back to the rim and civilization. When I first hiked to the Colorado River during College and foolishly took the South Kaibab down and back, I vowed I would never endure the trek into the canyon again. Deep in my heart however I lusted to cross that expanse, to experience the satisfaction of looking back and seeing how far I came.
That’s why I urge you to travel Rim to Rim.
The shuttle bus of hikers is teeming with energy, some folks stuff energy gels into their mouths, others chatter about life at home, and a relatable few rub their tired eyes. Our bus is bound for the North Kaibab trail on the North Rim of the Grand Canyon. During this stretch of pleasant October weather, an intrepid bunch of boomer runners, international visitors and underprepared idiots like myself voluntarily cross the Grand Canyon.
I have no set goals really, other than to make it home. I have to work late afternoon tomorrow but even with an unanticipated emergency extra night that is a long way away. Done musing over my thoughts, the bus arrives at the trailhead. I expect the geared up runners to hit stride and leave me in their dust, but everyone just kind of putters around talking with each other adjusting their water bottles. So I start off down the trail alone in the first rays of daylight. A bit before 5:30, I hope in 12 hours(ish) time I will be somewhere near my twin mattress in employee housing.
The North Kaibab is easily one of the most impressive hikes in the Grand Canyon. With terrific scenery and far less traffic than its counterparts on the South Rim, I revel in the solitude I often find on the trail. I carry a 3 liter water bladder, a smashed ziploc of raisins, peanuts and granola, a windbreaker and a headlamp.. Starting down the North Kaibab my feet feel good. A late afternoon rain the previous day has left the trail muddy and much of the tread puddled with standing water. The miles pass as I keep my light jog, the runners who started later pass one after the next. I’m excited to detour at Ribbon Falls, which cascades with tremendous beauty in the post monsoon fall. Descending into ‘the box’ I am making great time and the Canyon is sublime in the temperate fall weather.
Any writing about the Grand Canyon will romanticize the geological process which created it, eloquently phrasing complex metaphors to illustrate the scientific names for the rock layers. I feel no need to do the same. Instead I will urge you to visit and see the striking differences as your eyes descend those staggering walls.
Crossing the Colorado is my highlight when in the Grand Canyon, it's halfway, but even better it’s an up close connection to the mighty river after a long hike. As the trail transitioned to loose sand on the South Side of the river, I could definitely feel the drain of several hours on the trail, yet my spirits were high enough to propel me to Indian Gardens. Hardly a few hundred yards past the lush trees and restrooms, I started to hit a serious wall.
Trudging up the switchbacks and constant elevation gain along the creeks climbing from the canyon floor is a hot sweaty endeavor. With my pace slowing to a crawl, the sun antagonizing my efforts to stay cool, I plotted to collapse where I next found substantial shade. As the trail turned a hard right 180 to switchback, I meandered off a few paces to a small amphitheater of rock and laid my weary body across an angled rock. I closed my eyes and enjoyed the cool embrace of the stone on my sweaty back. Not long after closing my eyes I awoke to a rustle, turning my head, coming face to face with a couple teenagers who had decided to join my impromptu bivy. Checking my time I was astounded. 20 minutes had passed during my mini nap and I was anxious to keep pushing the trail to see how fast I could finish this trek. An awkward nod to the folks who awoke me and I rejoined the trail with a small but viable second wind that propelled me up to 4.5 mile resthouse where I took a momentary pause, filled water, then continued on my sufferfest to the South Rim.
Above the 3 mile mark you can finally begin to see the South Rim staggering above your head. After reaching multiple false summits along the way, climbing through millions of years of geologic time, the 2,000 feet packed in the last 3 miles is a doozy to hike.
With a limb in my step, a salty sweat stain across my t-shirt back I again start to slow and doubt whether I can push till the end. Catching up to a couple also ascending, I overhear the woman jab her partner for his improvised t-shirt du-rag (something I like to do myself quite often). Glancing back at me just a few paces behind, the man kindly asks if I’d like to pass, I decline saying I enjoy their pace and his choice of headwear. The three of us now joke about how we are drafting for speed. My new friends are from England and they impress me with their whirlwind U.S itinerary, we chit-chat more and commiserate in the final push up the Bright Angel trail. My calves have tightened to the point every step is a painful endeavor. Passing tourist after tourist the further we ascend, the distance feels much greater than I have ever remembered on this very familiar trail. Suddenly I can spot the faint details of people at the Rim, the Kolb studio, and I dig deep to keep moving. Making the final steps to the trailhead in dying light I peer at my watch, and stagger to the closest bus stop. I catch glimpse of a mother, daughter duo who passed me hours before on the North Rim. “Good hike huh” I murmured to them, as we get on the bus in nodded agreement. I feel bad for the clean tourists who have to endure my disheveled, stinky mess, yet for once I really need the shuttle ride the pathetic ¼ mile home.