Grand Canyon Rim to Rim, Version 2017.6

I wasn’t ready for it.  Up to this point, the trail surface had been hard packed and easy to walk on.  Almost immediately after crossing the bridge, the surface became a loose, shallow layer of sand.  In addition, at least as things felt at the time, it was completely an uphill climb.  On top of that, the shade that had been our hiking partner earlier in the trek had been replaced by the punishing heat of the full sun.  We climbed high along the narrow trail, with the cliff on one side and the beautiful Colorado River in the valley below.

 

From our vantage point we could see several groups of commercial raft outfits pulled off to the river bank, the boaters taking a mid-day break and probably enjoying a shore lunch.  Another life experience I will have to pursue sometime, I thought to myself.  The scenery was spectacular, again different than the preceding trail, but still with a beauty beyond words.  

As we approached a steep drop off way out on the point where the trail was only a few feet wide, we were met by our first and only group of mules hauling people and supplies to the canyon below.  We had to get out of the way in a hurry and get really small against the canyon walls to let the beasts of burden pass.  I was more than a little uncomfortable and happy when the last mule ambled past and I felt like I could breathe again.

 

We trudged onward, our once tight group beginning to spread out a bit as the leaders had plenty of steam and moved along while some of us straggled behind, grasping for our second wind.  It would later prove to be all a perception, but it seemed that once we crossed the river the next 1.5-2 miles were completely uphill. While it was difficult, I at least felt good knowing that we were gaining some of the needed elevation and it didn’t seem too bad.  Then it felt like we started going back down hill again, closer to the river, seemingly almost all the way back to the bank.  It was a mental hit, giving up all of the elevation that we just gained.  In reality, the elevation change was only a few hundred feet up and then back down but at the time it sure felt like a lot more than that.  We breezed by the River Resthouse, stopping only for a brief moment where I soaked my shirt in the creek to help cool off a bit.  Within 15 minutes it would be completely dry again.

 

The next 3.2 miles between the River Resthouse and Indian Gardens may have been my least favorite stretch.  I took very few photos, and can recall very little of the scenery here.  Doubt had crept in, and I began to question whether this was going to be something I could finish before nightfall. We began the series of long switchbacks, gaining elevation, one step at a time, slowly yet surely.  Our pace reduced considerably, and we progressed at a much slower rate than I had anticipated or planned for.  I found myself out of breath and would have to stop at the top of each switch back and rest until ready to move on again.  Some of the group needed extended breaks to adjust to the heat and the uphill climb.  Some of us also were running low on water, and the water that we had was warm.  Even though my quads were screaming at me and my feet tiring, it was still far more mental than physical for me at this point.  What was I doing here?  What was I even thinking taking this hike on?  Am I going to be the one that wrecks this hike for everyone else?  This sign spoke the truth, and though I found it amusing, it wasn’t really all that funny at the time.

 

Our group of 9 hikers was battling.  We would meet up at some of the few spots that held shade, catch our breath, share snacks and even pass our packs on to those doing better than others.  We were brothers on the journey, all on our own and yet all of us together.  I remember this stop very well, as several of us sat here for an extended period while others moved on.  

 

We kept in touch using walk-in talkies, one in the front and one in the back, definitely an asset in our gear arsenal. When we were able to take our eyes off the trail in front of us, this is what we saw.

It seemed like forever, but we finally came to the shaded oasis known as Indian Gardens.  Those of us stragglers thought we would catch up with the two leaders at Indian Gardens, but they were nowhere to be found.  After some discussion on the radios, it appears that they unintentionally took an alternative trail and were making an unplanned side trip.  Fortunately for all of us, the radios proved to be key in keeping up together and safe.  Indian Gardens was spectacular, a chance to cool off, refill with cold water, and refuel.  I also changed socks again, this time pulling some previously worn ones from a safety pin on my pack where they had been hanging to dry.  Spirits were high, but we knew we were in a fight and at this point none of us knew whether or not we were winning.  

 

We only had 4.5 miles to go.  How hard could that be?