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Canyon RescueBy John GrahamThe time was exactly fifty years ago but conditions have not changed a great deal although shuttle busses are the order-of-the-day now.
Canyon View Information Plaza is the park's visitor
facility. Here you will find the visitor center (Canyon View Center), a large
bookstore, and ample restrooms, all within a short walk of Mather Point. Because
this facility was designed as the terminus for a mass transit system that is not
yet operating, you cannot drive to it. Park your car and ride the free shuttle
or walk the short trail from Mather Point. Desert View Drive is open to private vehicles throughout the year. Hermit Road follows the rim for 8 miles/13 km west from Grand Canyon Village to Hermits Rest. Hermit Road is closed to private vehicles much of the year, but the park runs a free shuttle bus to provide transportation to overlooks. Fifty years ago, I had arrived at the South Rim of Arizona's Grand Canyon by car … having hitch-hiked from the Hoover Dam in the West.
The next day I planned to walk across the canyon. As a hitch-hiker making a tour of the United States I had few options; fly across at enormous expenses; rent a mule at only slightly less expense; hitch-hike around and waste days; or walk across. The choice was logical. I prepared for a long day. The ranger's lecture had told me that the temperature would be higher than this evening's frosty chill on the pine clad rim, and he had warned that one should carry water and salt tablets (this was long ago.) There were few springs. Check: I had a pint thermos flask. I also had a very large ex-British army steel-framed rucksack, which weighed far too much. Early the next morning, as soon as the light was enough to show the path, I was off - down Bright Angel Trail, heading for the river. It was a very pleasant walk. The trail was dusty, but it was steadily downwards, and as the sun rose, the air warmed from its morning chill. The air was clear and as I dropped below the rim of the canyon every turn in the trail brought new and more magnificent scenes into sight.
As the morning grew older, the sun rose higher overhead and there was no longer any shade from the walls and cliffs about the winding trail. Now the sun shone straight down on the traveler. It got a lot warmer. What was first warming to the bones was now getting close to an oven. I began to think of water. As the crow flies, it is not far to the river but the trail winds and winds and winds. After each turn there is another and another, so that progress is difficult to judge. I passed one spring halfway down and enjoyed a drink and I kept my thermos full. I knew that the river was undrinkable -- full of silt and sand -- "too thin to walk upon but too thick to drink". As I got closer it got very hot. I carried a thermometer so I was able to check the inexorable rise of the mercury. 5O° -- 60° -- 70° -- 80° -- until at last the mercury rose above the last marking 120°F! All I could think of was water! Even the views didn't inspire me as a cool stream might have done. So, I decided on one sip from my thermos flask. One sip --
and Lo! -- The flask was empty. I had no idea before how small a pint was. Now I
would have to wait until I reached the dude's ranch -- in a side canyon on the
other side of the river. It was truly a Ghost Ranch. There was no one there, so I reveled in the swimming hole, I filled my thermos and drank my fill at the spring -- alone -- alone that is except for some tadpoles in the swimming pool. When you haven't seen a soul all day, and have no expectations of meeting anyone for hours more, even tadpoles have friendly faces. I was barely halfway across the canyon, so very reluctantly I had to pick up my pack, take my walking stick and start again along the dusty trails towards North Rim. This time however, just as the morning walk had been continuously downwards, this one was inexorably upwards. I remembered the words of the warden — "-- a mile deep --." That meant a vertical mile walked down to the bottom, and, now, a vertical mile to climb out to the North Rim. That was a 5,280 feet high mountain ahead of me, and I was already tired from the morning's walk! At least when you walk in the mountains, you generally walk down at the end of the day when you're tired. I persisted along the trail -- mile by mile -- and it grew towards mid-afternoon. I remembered some other words by the warden: "-- there's plenty of scorpions in that canyon." I decided that, above all else, I did not want to sleep out in the canyon. The day wore on, and I slowly wore out. At one stream, I tried to fill my thermos (empty again) and I lost it in the rushing waters. It was torn from my hand. From then on, even though there were a few water holes, drinking was much more difficult. In these days, as a long distance runner, I would recognize extreme dehydration, but then I did not. I just recognized coming exhaustion. There were occasional emergency phones along the route and I had, all day, confidentially passed them by, as one would notice an ambulance on a highway -- with detachment -- that's for someone else. Now, they became a little more personal, until, at last, I decided to use one -- for information only, of course. There was immediate frustration and despair. "Hello, hello?" "Hello, this is Ranger Hollinghouse. How can I help you?" "My name's John Graham. I am on the trail about five miles above the Ghost Ranch, and I'm concerned that I'm not going to make it out in daylight. Is there any shelter down here that I can make for?" "Hello, hello, this is Ranger Hollinghouse. Who's calling? How can I help you? Hello? Hello?" It was a one-way phone -- outwards! I watched a small parade of ants walking across the wooden support of the phone. They looked like small scorpions. Eventually, I made it to the next emergency phone -- it was only a mile distant and yet it took half an hour and now the sun had left the canyon. It was distinctly cooler, and shaded. It would be dark soon, and I not yet reached the steepest part of the climb. This phone worked. It was beautiful. It allowed a meaningful conversation in both directions. I soon found that there was shelter close-at-hand at a small powerhouse in an off-trail draw. It wasn't long before a park ranger appeared with a couple of mules and I had the security of a hot meal, lots of water to drink, and a scorpion-free floor on which to spread my bedroll. The next morning, a mule train was leaving for North Rim so I elected (I'm now ashamed to say) to abandon the walk. Seventeen miles over, but with a last five miles of almost vertical climb still to go I'd had enough of sandy trails and loose footing. I would ride a mule despite the expense. Then came another indignity: apparently, my pack and I were too heavy for a single mule — I would need two — and it took $30 from my final reserve of $40 for the trip. It was worth every cent.
Even today the North Rim of Grand Canyon is remote country and a few Warnings from the National Park Service may be useful if you are planning a trip by car.
This tale is an excerpt from the book "Snapshots of the Mind,” by John Graham, published by PublishAmerica, Baltimore, MD., 2005, ISBN 1-4137-5590-9 available at the internet web-site: <http://www.webetc.info/writings> or from any good bookseller. Click on Amazon to buy it on the web. National Park Service for Grand Canyon at http://www.nps.gov/grca/ Southern Pacific Railroad Company at http://www.up.com/ |
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TM
An excerpt from the
Along with other tourists, I listened to the park ranger's
lecture, as he spoke of the history and the statistics of this gash in the
earth's surface, and I remembered, for later use, that it was a mile deep and 22
miles from south to north rim. However, I had
difficulty of thinking of the canyon in purely scientific terms. It was truly
magnificent. I watched it in late afternoon -- with awe -- the yellows and
browns changing to orange, to reds, and to the deepest purples, as the sun
retreated from the sky — vanquished by the beauty of the cliffs, the mountains,
and the smaller canyons below the rim.
I photographed everything — so that I could eventually
tell, show, it all to those back home. Later I was to write it down. If there is
no one present to listen to your Oohs and Aahs, no one to look when you point
out something even more beautiful, and if you do not record it, on film, in
words, in memories, then nothing has happened. The journey did not occur. I made
sure that this one did.
The final chapter to the story
came at North Rim where I needed to replenish my funds. I took a job with the
Inn, a subsidiary of the Southern Pacific Railroad Company. I spent my time
installing fence posts for mule corrals, and digging the foundation trenches for
a small electrical sub-station. Wielding my pick and shovel, in the rockiest
ground I have ever experienced, I found myself forced to dig small canyons at
the rim of the largest in the world.