Walking through the sandstones of time

"You think you could make a trip to the canyon this winter?", Steve asked sometime last fall, an intonation in his voice almost knowing the inevitable negative answer to follow. But rather than rejection for another year of trying to lure me away from the so-called real world obligations, I said yes.



A few months and some planning down the road, we started our descent into the canyon. Not just any canyon mind you, but the big one, the Grand Canyon.


We were waving goodbye to Emery and my mother-in-law Glo as we sloshed through the remnants of the previous weeks snowfall. Those fluffy steps down were also the retreat from society, obligations to others, and another calendar year.



The Tanner trail from Lipan Point is a mere 7.8miles from rim to river. But throw in the fact that the rim is a mile in elevation above that ol' Colorado River, and many of the geologic layers are sheer cliffs where exposed, and the Tanner trail no longer seems so simple to the body. That first day was difficult, I won't lie. It made every muscle in my legs twitch from time to time, and usually at times when balancing was necessary for survival. Steve, a.k.a. SuperHiker, noticed my flailing steps and felt his massive heel blisters nip at his nervous system. We stopped for dinner on a flat spot in the sun with every intention to finish our meal and hike down further to camp. However, our sedated stomaches and withered muscles were unprovoked by this idea and kept us in place, setting up the tent and enjoying the coming new year with a shot of whiskey and a failed attempt to hum/sing the traditional Auld Lang Syne.





The next few days in the canyon were plenty eventful, but rather than droning on and on about the natural wonders of such an amazing place I'll try and keep this trip log to the point. We ate well, hiked a lot, gawked at each spectacular view around every bend, worried about slipping off the occasional narrow section of trail, and felt triumphant when anxiously emerging from the snow drifts on the New Hance Trail to reach the top again just before sunset.



Another point of this post is to share the quiet and solitude felt when in the canyon. Other than a pair of hikers and a small crew of rafters, we saw no one for five days. Yet all along, cars were zipping up and down the road along the rim, visiting the many overlooks, taking a few pictures, then driving away content on having gazed at the massive hole in the ground before them.



We saw none of that while in the canyon; we focused on the details and intricacies of the trail. Studied for hours the flow of the mighty Colorado through the home it created and is now enslaved in. We followed the paths of clouds, exposing new views with every wind gust. We walked through layers of time, much as Colin Fletcher did so many years ago, but we were also removing ourselves from time's grasp until all but those last few hours climbing out.



So thank you Steve for tirelessly asking me to go on this trip, and leading me through the amazing canyon that truly exists below the rim. Thank you Emery for supporting me in all my adventures, especially ones like this that bring me closer to your beutiful world past, present, and future. And finally, thanks to Glo and Ron for lending Steve and I trekking poles for physical support, a warm bed to stay in during our travels to and from the area, and the morale boosting food along the way.