Journey Back From (what seemed like) the Center of the Earth

Grand Canyon - That sliver of green is Indian Gardens, where I stood as this blog begins

After taking some pictures and savoring the view from inside the Canyon looking out, we regrouped to begin a climb the equivalent of climbing to the top of the Empire State Building. Twice. With another 15 stories thrown in for good measure. With Nurit taking the lead and setting a brisk pace, we started back up the trail at 10:38 am. "If you need to go on, don't slow down to wait on me" I told her as we walked. "I want to take my time and enjoy the view and I know you have to be back by 3:30." Amazingly, we were back at the 3-mile rest house by in only 32 minutes. "You are in VERY good shape" said Nurit, a very surprised look on her face.

I had unzipped my jacket on the way down. At the 3-mile rest house on the way back up I removed my jacket and strapped it to my backpack. No need to use the restroom. For each ounce of water I drank I sweated an equal amount thus remaining hydrated and eliminating time standing in line at the john. The time was 11:10 am.

As we left the 3 mile mark I took the lead, followed by Terry, Nurit and Joe, who was suffering from a bad cold. The steps were beginning to come harder but the adrenalin was still fueling my climb. I reached the 1 1/2 mile mark, 4.2 miles down and 3 miles back up, at noon. Terry arrived next, then Joe. Nurit was nowhere to be found. She still had 3+ hours to reach the top before her bus left without her. After waiting a few minutes, Terry, Joe and I began the last 1.5 miles without her. She and her Blackberry were on their own.

By the last leg of our hike the thrill was gone. Each step came harder, I leaned on my walking stick harder, and I paused beside the trail to rest more frequently. I was VERY glad I was wearing hiking shorts and not Levi’s. Soon a pattern developed. I would stop and rest, Terry would catch up and sit down with me, and then Joe would appear and take a picture. As we scanned the switchbacks below, Nurit was nowhere to be seen.

Drenched in sweat and exhausted, but elated, I reached the rim at 12:50. Terry arrived at 12:55 and Joe, camera in hand, arrived at 1 pm. But no Nurit. Since hiking back down to find her was not really an option and since she still had 2 1/2 hours to hike the last mile or so, we got in the car, went back to the Holiday Inn Express, and soothed our tired muscles in the hot tub.

Still wondering if she made out ok,  a few days later I sent Nurit an email apologizing for not waiting for her.   Here is Nurit‘s response:

Hi Doug,

I am SO happy to hear from you!

It is so kind of you to have thought about me but no apologies are necessary. You were on a roll and I did not expect you to wait for me and definitely not walk down for me.

I was exhausted and the long months of no activity finally became apparent on the way up. Knowing that I had time, I decided not to over stress myself and take my time. I walked at a slow pace, took breaks, and sung out loud when no one was around me - didn't you hear me? I reached the top at 1:30 pm. - very sore (for 3 days) yet very happy I made it all the way down and up!! It is thanks to you that I made this hike and I very much enjoyed your company. Not to mention the energy boost of your peanut bar! Thank you so much for making that hike a memorable day for me.

Best Regards,

Nurit

I didn’t hear Nurit singing, probably because I was talking to myself. Instead of singing, when faced with a large task, I always remind myself that the best way to eat an elephant is one bite at a time. So as Nurit was singing, I was plodding upward repeating “CHOMP - CHOMP - CHOMP”  as I walked. It helped focus my brain and other hikers seemed to give me extra room as we passed.

If you plan to hike the Grand Canyon, October is a great month to go. I can’t imagine trying it when the temperature is in the triple digit range. Take plenty of water and snacks. I recommend Payday candy bars. Take a walking stick (even if your fellow hikers compare you to Moses). Many experienced hikers had TWO walking sticks which they used like ski poles.

One final fashion tip: it doesn’t matter WHAT color socks you wear. By the time you get back, they will be reddish-brown, the same color as dust on the Bright Angel Trail.

                  

                      
                                                

Proudly wearing my new reddish-brown t-shirt

Hiking the Grand Canyon - What Goes Down Must Come Up

 

I awoke at 5 AM - well before my alarm and 90 minutes before the motel breakfast buffet opened - the morning of my hike down the Bright Angel trail into the bowels of the Grand Canyon. I showered and debated what to wear. It was 24 degrees, but by 11 am it would be 60 degrees. Shorts or jeans? I decided on shorts. Better to be comfortable hiking OUT of the Canyon than hiking in.

I filled my Camelback with 80 ounces of water and a weeks worth of snacks. The guide to hiking the Canyon actually said junk food is a good way to replace the salt and calories expended when hiking the canyon. By 8:15 am I was at the Bright Angel trailhead with Joe and Terry, my Australian travel companions. Terry had invited a solo hiker she had met the day before to join us. We met Nurit, a Trans-Hebrew linguist from Washington, D.C., at 8:20. Nurit had skipped breakfast and was carrying only a couple of small bottles of water and a couple of energy bars. I, on the other hand, had eaten a BIG breakfast and was carrying 10 pounds of water and snacks.

Nurit, Terry & Joe at the Bright Angel Trailhead

The elevation at the Bright Angel trailhead is 6,860 feet. My minimum goal was to make it to the 1 1/2 mile rest area, 5,720 feet above sea level. That would make for a 3 mile hike, a distance I walk nearly every day minus the drastic change in elevation. The next rest area was 3 miles down into the Canyon with another 800 foot drop in elevation. That would be a 6 mile hike, the last 3 climbing nearly 2000 feet. My ultimate goal was to reach Indian Gardens, once an Indian oasis, just a small sliver of green when viewed from the Canyon rim. Indian Gardens is 4.6 miles and 3060 feet below the south rim.

Clad in hiking shorts, black Nike socks (My wife: You're wearing BLACK socks?), a short-sleeve t-shirt, a long-sleeve t-shirt and a thin, but insulated, windbreaker, we started down the trail. I alone was carrying a walking stick. It was 8:30 AM. Nurit had to be back to the rim no later than 3:30 pm to catch a bus back to Phoenix. She would, she announced, turn back at 10:30 AM regardless of where she was.

From the first step the view was stunning. I was euphoric. The combination of the beauty of God's handiwork in the Grand Canyon, my love of hiking, and the thrill of giving my 64-year-old legs, heart and respiratory system a stiff test had me walking on air (not literally) for the first few switchbacks. Though there are narrow spots on the trail, for the most part it is wide enough for those hiking down and those hiking up to easily pass. When it's not, the right-of-way goes in the following order:

1. Mules, no matter which way they are going; then

2. Hikers coming out of the canyon; then

3. Hikers going into the canyon.

One other advantage the mules have is that they don't have to "hold it" until they reach a rest area. This required some hiking multi-tasking, which I prioritized as follows:

1. Savor the beauty; but

2. Don't trip and fall over the edge; AND

3. Try to avoid dropkicking any fresh mule turds.

Before we reached the 1 1/2 mile rest area we began to pass heavily-laden campers slogging back to the rim. Their exuberance level was much lower than mine. At 9:15, a mere 45 minutes after we started, we reached the first potential turnaround point: the 1 1/2 mile rest area. We were way ahead of schedule. All four of us used the restroom. The only drinking water available was what we carried. Elated and relieved, we continued down the trail. Since restrooms are 1 1/2 miles apart, I was thankful that the previous days exotic Indian buffet was having no negative effect on my digestive tract.

Between the 1 1/2 mile rest area and the 3 mile rest area, a string of mules passed us headed to the rim. A cowboy in front, followed by six riderless mules with empty supply bags, with another cowboy bringing up the rear. We waited beside the trail as they passed. When the cowboy in the rear came even with us, I made eye contact. "You've got the best job in the world!" I said. A slight smile came to his lips. "Some days" he replied.

As we continued our descent, Nurit kept pace despite pausing to take pictures. "Do you work out?" I asked. "Not for a few months" she answered.

We arrived at the 3 mile rest house at 9:50 am, a mere 80 minutes after we began. Since the rule of thumb is to allow twice as much time to hike up as it took to hike down, we were still well within Norit's timeframe for returning to the top by 3:30. Next stop - Indian Garden. Off we went with Norit leading the way. Invigorated, in only 35 minutes we were standing in front of a sign welcoming us to Indian Gardens - 4.6 miles and 3060 feet from the rim. Norit’s Blackberry suddenly beeped that she had mail, and then beeped again. I’m not sure who her cell service was with but the fact that it tracked her down inside the Grand Canyon is a pretty good advertisement.

Taking off my backpack, I smiled, sat down on a rock, and unwrapped a king-size Payday candy bar. Payday's are a tasty mix of peanuts and caramel that deliver a whopping 440 calories and a cardiologists nightmare of salt and sugar. "Want one?" I asked Nurit. After initially looking at it like I was holding up a dead mouse, she reluctantly accepted it. "This is good!" she said with approximately the same degree of surprise my grandson had last summer when I introduced him to fried pickles. Nurit's body would use every single one of those calories getting out of the canyon.

After a 15 minute rest, we started back to the rim. The next 4.6 miles would be the equivalent of climbing to the top of the Empire State Building.

Twice.

Plus another 20 stories or so, just for good measure.

Nurit's body would burn everyone of those 440 calories (and then some) before she reached the top.

Tomorrow - Journey From (what seemed like) the Center of the Earth





       Nurit, Terry and Doug at Indian Gardens
　

It Goes On

Three weeks ago today I hiked down into the Grand Canyon.  While the fact that I am writing this blog takes away a little of the suspense about whether I made it out or not,  my intention was to write a blog about my hike.  I wrote a blog about my preparation and excitement and was ready to write a blog about the actual hike the phone call came with the news that my mom had passed away.    Writing a hiking blog suddenly tumbled way down my list of priorities, superseded by driving 1400 miles, making funeral arrangements, and the myriad tasks necessary when a life ends.  I think I delayed writing the blog even longer because of the guilt I felt about having such a good time while, known only to God,  the last few grains of sand were trickling through the hourglass of my mom's life.

When he was an old man, Robert Frost said he could sum up all he had learned about life in three words:  "It goes on."  The longer I live, the more I appreciate the wisdom in those three simple words.

And my mom would be the first to remind me of that.

So I'll move on too. 

Tomorrow.

But I'll close this blog with another astute observation by Robert Frost about a mother's love:  "You don’t have to deserve your mother’s love. You have to deserve your father’s.  He’s more particular…. The father is always a Republican towards his son, and his mother’s always a Democrat."

Right again, Mr. Frost.

Tomorrow:  What goes down must come up.

The Safest Small Town in America

I recently renewed my permit to carry a concealed weapon.  I've had it for 3 years now.  I was inspired to get it after a group of Jefferson City businessmen got mugged just east of the Capitol.  One of the would-be victims had a gun and he and the thief exchanged gunfire.  Both were wounded.  Both recovered.   The mugger is back in prison.  He had only been out of prison a few weeks when he had the bright idea to mug everyone at a BBQ.

In Bolivar, Mo., twenty-year-old Blaec Lammers was arrested Friday before he could carry out his plan to duplicate a Colorado movie shooting that killed 12 people.  Bolivar is only 30 miles from Springfield where I grew up.  It's the home of a Baptist college and was once recognized for having the least crime of any small town in America.   Springfield residents always suspected that the reason Bolivar had such a low crime rate was because Bolivar residents came to Springfield to commit their crimes but that was only a hunch. 

Despite the fact that deranged people now seem to prefer movie theaters as their first choice for mayhem, my wife and I recently attended the grand opening of the new James Bond movie, Skyfall.  We went to the early bird show on the day the movie opened.   Average age of attendees at that showing was approximately 65 (which is still younger than the original James Bond).  If Blaec, or some other unbalanced person like him, had chosen to open fire at that theater my guess is there would have been several people firing back at him.   And a few bullets flying back at someone like that might cause them to have some second thoughts - even if he/she is wearing a bullet proof vest.  While a bullet proof vest can stop the bullet from penetrating the skin, it cannot stop the force with which it arrives.  I'm told it is similar to to getting hit with a baseball bat wherever the bullet strikes.

In the three years I've had my permit I've never had the occasion to use it.  Thank God.  The only times I've fired the gun, other than practice, was to kill a copperhead I nearly stepped on in my driveway and a large snapping turtle that was making swimming in our pond a little too exciting.

The third time came Friday night.

My neighbor, Rich, picked up a bunch of people from our rural neighborhood and we went out to eat.  A major topic of discussion was the trap Rich had set on his property earlier in the day.   He suspected it was an armadillo that was making his lawn look like it had just been freshly plowed.  Based in internet wisdom, Rich baited the trap with overripe fruit.  The good news, according to the internet, is that armadillos find that tasty.  The bad news is that so do skunks.

After dinner we drove to his trap.  It was empty, bait still in place.  As Rich drove up our long driveway to drop off my wife and I,  he spotted something in our yard - an armadillo in full plow mode.   As Rich illuminated the yard with his headlights, I stepped from the car, approached the armadillo and fired.  Though armadillos can run surprisingly fast, this armadillo slowly started to amble toward the woods.  I fired again.  He kept ambling.   On the third shot, the armadillo went belly up. 

As I walked back to the car, my knees shaking, my wife hollered "He's still moving!"  Back I went.  From close range I put the armadillo (affectionately known around our house as "possum on the half shell") out of his misery. 

In the morning I went back to inspect his remains.  He reposed, peacefully, on his back.  His search for bugs in my yard eternally ended.   As I inspected his corpse, I discovered why he hadn't used his lightning speed to run away after my first shot.   There was a bullet hole about three inches from his "reproductive organ" which was dangling to one side.  I suppose that can certainly take some speed out of any species retreat.  

I now know where I'm going to aim if someone like Blaec ever opens fire at a movie I'm attending.  Guys - where is the very last place you would want to get hit with a baseball bat?  Yeah, me too.

WARNING - GRAPHIC PICTURE  Note the proximity of the bullet hole to what I will refer to as "armdillo junk".

The Best Laid Plans of Mice and Men

In 2007 I sold my business and semi-retired.  I had, I thought, considered all the worst case scenarios and tried to plan for them.  

HA!

The saying "The best way to make God laugh is to tell him your plans" now has personal significance to me.  In 1785, poet Robert Burns wrote a poem he named "To a mouse".  Paraphrased, it says:

The best laid plans of mice and men
Often go awry
And leave us naught but grief and pain
For promised joy.

True in 1785,  true in 2012, and it will still be true in 2085, assuming the the Mayan Calendar ending next month was just an oversight on their part.

Despite the fact that things don't always go according to plan,  planning is still essential.  Dwight D. Eisenhower, Supreme Commander of the Allied Forces on D-Day, recognized that.  "In preparing for battle I have always found that plans are useless, but planning is indispensable"  he said.

Mike Tyson put it another way:  "Everybody has a plan until they get hit in the face!"

Ben Franklin noted "By failing to prepare, you are preparing to fail."  While that is generally so, no one can deny that Shakespeare had a point when he observed that "Fortune brings in some boats that are not steered."  Given a choice, though, I'll take my chances with a boat that IS steered every time.

The late chef Julia Child offered this planning recommendation to would be chefs:  "Always start out with a larger pot than what you think you need."   J.R.R. Tolkien warned that "It will not do to leave a live dragon out of your plans if you live near one."  And Yogi Berra observed that "If you don't know where you are going you will end up somewhere else!"

In the song Beautiful Boy, a song written by John Lennon for his son with Yoko Ono, Sean, John included the lyrics "Life is what happens when you are busy making other plans."  That song was included in his 1980 album Double Fantasy.  In retrospect, he might have changed the lyrics to "Life and Death are what happen when you are busy making other plans."  John was murdered on December 8, 1980.  Though I'm certain it was not the way he planned it,  Double Fantasy was his last album.

Ancient philosopher Lao Tzu believed that "A good traveler has no fixed plans and is not intent on arriving."   I'd say Lao had sort of a "hang loose and enjoy your life's journey because it will end soon enough" philosophy.

And as you go on your journey, you might remember one of my favorite prayers, an old Scottish one, that asks the following Divine intervention:

From ghoulies and ghosties and long-legged beasties,
And things that go bump in the night,
Good Lord, deliver us!

(And from any nearby dragons too, please!)

A Story Worth Telling

Captain John Hance Making a Return Visit

It was Halloween, 2012. Darkness had fallen, and with it, the temperature. Through the branches of ancient pines a full moon was visible, steadily ascending over the Shrine of the Ages Chapel. The south rim of the Grand Canyon was a short hike away. Surrounding me were stones, some large, some small; some polished, some weather-worn. With me was my wife, walking carefully in the dim light of the kerosene lantern to avoid twisting one of her twin titanium knees. Our guide was Captain John Hance, a Grand Canyon pioneer, one of the very first settlers to call the Grand Canyon home. Captain Hance is known for two things:

 

1. Promoting the Grand Canyon to tourists; and

 

2. Telling tall tales.

 

Oh, yeah . . . did I mention Captain Hance died in the flu epidemic of 1919? Or that he was the very first person buried in the Grand Canyon Pioneers Cemetery where we stood, his grave marked by a tall, thin stone?

 

He did, and he was.

 

Actually, it wasn't the real Captain John Hance - just a talented impersonator.

 

So he said.

 

As the would-be spirit of Captain Hance led us slowly, silently, in the darkness, he often set his lantern down in front of a headstone and began to speak. "Each person's life is a story and needs to be retold" he said at each stop.

 

And then he would tell the story of the person whose earthly remains we stood near.

 

"These are the graves of pioneer photographers Ellsworth and Emery Kolb" he said. "Kolb Studio clings to the edge of the Grand Canyon to this day."

 

"This is the grave of William Wallace Bass. He set up a stagecoach line to bring tourists to the Grand Canyon. There were two liars in this area in his day, and he was both of them!"

 

Mixing the somber with the humorous, the spirit of Captain Hance ended our guided tour at his own grave. "I'm sure glad you visited the Grand Canyon" he said. "You may not have heard, but I dug it!" (Did I mention Captain Hance sometimes stretched the truth?)   But he wasn't joking when he said, in closing, "Our time here on earth is short. It is important to retell the stories of those who have come before us. Make sure YOUR story is worth telling!"

 

Twenty-four hours later my wife and I had just finished eating carry-out bbq in a motel room in Page, Arizona when my wife's phone rang.  It was bad news.   My mom's life story had just ended, suddenly, unexpectedly.  After spending a beautiful day with my dad and brother,  like the gentle way she lived, she gently left this life. "I think it will be exciting to see what's next" she once said.

 

And now she is.

 

Born in Detroit, Michigan on January 14, 1930, my mom married my dad on September 19, 1947 in Vinita, Oklahoma. She was 17. He was 18. Within 3 years they had two babies, both boys. In September we helped celebrate their 65th wedding anniversary. Like all lives, hers wasn't always easy, wasn't always happy.   But she was our rock.  My mom left this life on November 1, 2012 in Jefferson City, Mo.   Her story will continue to be told in the lives of her children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren.

 

It's a story worth telling.

　

　

　

　

 

 

Down is Optional. Up is Mandatory.

We reached the Grand Canyon shortly before sunset on day 3 of our westward exploration. Not sure what restaurants or food was available on the south rim of the Grand Canyon, we had stopped for an early dinner in Flagstaff. Joe and Terry, our Aussie travel companions, recommended an Indian restaurant they had visited before. The buffet line at the Delhi Palace was still open and well-stocked when we arrived mid-afternoon.

Grabbing a plate and a bowl, I first added a green salad and some mango pudding to my plate. Looking at me somewhat like a parent might look at a small child, the lady in line behind me dourly said, "the mango pudding is actually for dessert." That was news to me. An hour later I thought of a snappy comeback. “Life is short. I ALWAYS eat dessert first!”

As I surveyed the large variety of unfamiliar dishes, I was concerned about the effect on my digestive system of introducing spicy foods the likes of which my intestines had never experienced. My plan was to hike down the Bright Angel trail into the Grand Canyon early the next morning. Any trip to the restroom inside the Canyon involves a 1 1/2 mile hike on rugged terrain. Nevertheless, I filled my plate with various portions of chicken and beef with words like “curry” and “pandoori” preceding their name.

The mango chicken and mango pudding were my favorites and I returned to the buffet line a couple of times to restock my plate. The mango pudding was more like chunks of mango floating in a melted orange milkshake.

As we neared the Grand Canyon a large plume of smoke was visible in the distance. Uh oh. Would a forest fire affect our visit? Tuning to the Grand Canyon AM info station, we learned the smoke was from a controlled burn on the north side of the canyon. Later I learned the plan was to send 2300 acres up in smoke.

After reaching our motel, about 6 miles from the rim, any concern about the availability of food evaporated. Within a block of our room was a McDonald’s, a Wendy’s and a Pizza Hut.

Scrambling to reach the Canyon in time to witness the sunset, I dropped my wife and Joe and Terry off near the El Tovar Lodge to search for a parking place. After a 30 minute search, I found one a half-mile away. The bad news is that, by the time I hiked back to the El Tovar Lodge, the sun had already set. The good news is that I was just in time to witness a full moon rising above the Canyon wall.

Back at our room, I arranged my hiking gear in preparation for the next day’s trek down into the Canyon. I was as excited as a kid on Halloween. Sleep was evasive. After I finally drifted off, I awoke every couple of hours to check the alarm clock.

The question facing me was “how far down into the Canyon could I hike and still have sufficient energy and time to get back to the top before dark?” Time would tell, but the Park Rangers offered the following cautionary advice:

“Down is optional. Up is mandatory.”