Conquering the Canyon

A masterpiece of nature, spread out as far as the eye can see!  It beckons all; those who want to experience its majesty; those who just want to say they were there; those who choose saddle soars; and those who are hardy enough to challenge its heat, unforgiving trails, and lack of water.

Its sheer size, hidden among the many layers of shelving, makes it difficult to comprehend the degree of punishment awaiting the hardy ones; leg cramps, blistered feet, lost toe nails, overpowering thirst; tempered by the unbelievable sense of accomplishment for those who conquer it.

The Grand Canyon is exactly that!  I hiked it in the late summer when temperatures were lower.  Four of us slept in my panel truck.  The following morning we parked at the Welcome Center, walked about one-half mile to the trail head, 15 minutes later we were starting down the South Kaibab Trail; over six miles down to the bottom and across the Colorado River.  It was rocky, twisting, and hot.  Jogging down-hill was almost unavoidable due to the trail’s steepness.  Several hikers passed us going uphill, out of water, some suffering some of the early symptoms of heat exhaustion.  We could only offer a very limited amount of water to them, as we still had the remainder of the downhill trip to go, and over a nine mile hike back out.  The four of us made it down to the bottom of the canyon, and across the bridge in two and one-half hours.

Removing my boots exposed three damaged toe nails, which would later be lost.  Laying in the ice-cold streams which emptied into the Colorado River gave only temporary relief from the heat, charlie horses, and blisters.  An hour later, we were on our way up the 9.3 mile long Bright Angel Trail.  We had chosen to hike the trails in this order as there were three water stops on the Bright Angel, and none on the South Kaibab.

My three companions were in their teenage years, I was in my mid-thirties.  Needless to say, they left me in the dust.  Three hours after they arrived at the summit, I dragged my tired butt over the last rise; the Visitor’s Center and Park Headquarters being a very welcome sight.

The drive back to Phoenix was excruciating!  Both of me legs were cramping rather severely, making it difficult and painful to push in the 75 pound clutch when shifting gears.  Once home, hot water soaks did little to help loosen up the muscles; they remained as hard as a rock for two days.  Walking up stairs was also difficult, as my legs were still very sore.  The three toe nails dropped off on the second day; blisters taking much longer to heal.

Damn that was an outstanding trip!  Even knowing what would be in store for me, and at 61 years of age, I would do it again.  You have to hike the Canyon to feel the Canyon.  As spectacular as it is, looking at it from the rim, or taking a flight over it just does not do the Canyon justice.

Watch Your Step

The Maricopa County Sheriff’s Desert Search Unit, located in Maricopa County, Arizona, conducted searches for missing people, evidence from crimes, bodies, and whatever else was required.

Very early one winter morning, we were called out to search for an elderly man who had gone horse-back riding in the Superstition Mountains the afternoon before.  His riding partner and the missing man’s horse had made it back home; he was still out there somewhere.  We had enough persons show up set up a command post, and divide the rest of us into several search groups.  The group I was in was to hike the Ballentine Trail; one of the trails that went up the western side of the mountains, looking for “sign”, any evidence that someone had crossed the trail.  We had no information about foot size, boot style, possible direction of travel, food items, or possible injuries he may have sustained.

The four of us started up the trail, in the dark, using flip-top flashlights taped to four-foot poles.  Holding the light just inches above the ground, with the beam of light parallel to the ground would make a footprint stand out by causing a shadow effect.  We were in constant radio contact with the command post, and were getting updated information we could use in our search.  The first update let us know that the man smoked Marlboro cigarettes.  We were told to hike back down the trail looking for cigarette butts, matches, or empty Marlboro packaging.  When we arrived back at the tail head, we were informed that he was fond of Snicker’s candy bars, so up the trail we went again.  Then there was another update, so down the trail we went.

As sunrise was just approaching, we were given another update, so up the trail we went for the third time.  It was not light enough to see clearly; only shapes.  Suddenly, one of the trackers yelled “snake”!  As the area was notorious for rattlesnakes, we all started hopping up on rocks, searching for its location.  Although snakes are cold-blooded and would usually hibernate in the colder weather, they would also come out to lay on rocks, dirt, or blacktop to get the last bit of residual heat from the previous day, or to warm in the early morning sun.

There it was, curled up in a tight coil, lying right in the middle of the tail.  It looked just like a cow-patty.  Four of us had hiked a total of five times over this same ground.  That’s 20 people walking over the snake!  Not one of us stepped on it.

You can bet your last dollar that I check patties closely these days!

Strange Bedfellows

In 1969, my mom, two sisters and I went on a summer trip which started in Massachusetts, through New York and up into Quebec, across Canada into Alberta, then south along the Rocky Mountains, and back home though the Mid-West.  While in the Rockies, I did quite a bit of hiking and fishing.  My fondest recollection was a night spent up in the mountains.  I had hiked several miles up to a place where there were four small lakes connected by streams; I fished them all.  Although being connected, the trout in each lake bit on different bait.  On one lake I used a black Mepp’s spinner with good success.  The next required a silver Mepps spinner with a yellow jacket. Another found me putting black flies on another Mepps spinner.  I don’t remember what the last lake required.  Anyway, with a good variety of Mepps and insects, it turned out well.

After enjoying some trout for dinner, I settled in for a night’s sleep under the stars.  It was relaxing watching shooting stars, breathing fresh air, and smelling the woods.  I faded away without realizing.  Sometime during the night, I awoke… something wasn’t right, but I didn’t know what it was.  I opened my eyes, lifted my head, and found myself looking into the eyes of animal the size of a poodle.  It was sitting on my chest, looking back at me.  By my best figuring, it was a marmot.  It went one way, I rolled over the other way, and went back to sleep.  After checking the following morning, I was pleased to find I did not need to change my shorts.

Woodsman’s and a Fine Cigar

My brother and I grew up hiking in the White Mountains of New Hampshire.  I remember when my brother was between 12 to 14, and I was 11 to 13 respectively, our parents would drive us up into the White Mountains, often along the Kancamagus Highway, which goes from Conway to Lincoln, and drop us off.  We would hike the mountain ranges, sometimes being picked up 3 or 4 days later.  We knew how to read a compass and topographical map;  and we knew fire craft and safety.  We usually would camp in a small 2-man tent… and we always brought Woodsman’s Fly Dope and cigars.

We had great fun hiking along, catching up to older hikers, squirting on a little Woodsman’s, lighting up a cigar, and blowing right passed them while puffing on those Wolf Brother’s Rum Soaked Crooks.  After we had achieved a little distance between them and us, we’d put the cigars out, and wait for the next encounter.

On one hike, we climbed Mount Washington.  There were two other alternatives to be able to enjoy the view from the highest peak in New Hampshire for those unable to make the climb… there was a road on which you could drive to the summit, as well as a cog railroad you could take.  As for my brother and I, when we arrived at the summit, we were beat, hungry, and thirsty… very thirsty.  There was a small store on the top of Mount Washington, where you could buy fast food items.  Much to our dismay, the cog had just arrived, and the store was packed, and the line for food and drinks was to the door.  What an opportunity though!  Holding true to our “tradition”, we doused ourselves with Woodsman’s, lit up cigars, opened the door, and slid in.  It should be noted that Woodsman’s Fly Dope can kill a moose at 100 yards simply by opening the container.  That stuff would make a skunk envious!  It was about 30 seconds before a very well dressed, older gentleman stopped the conversation he was having with another man, looked around, then down, saw my brother and I standing behind him, Woodsman’s and cigars doing their best to announce our presence.  The nice man, with the wrinkled nose, motioned for us to go to the head of the line… a rather long line, commenting how “these two young boys who had climbed the mountain needed food and water more than everyone else.  Much to our surprise, everyone else in line saw the wisdom in that, ushering us to the front of the line.

It wasn’t until several years later that I realized what had actually transpired.  In retrospect, I guess my brother and I should be happy we weren’t thrown off the top of the mountain, or tied to the railroad tracks like they used to do in the old-time western movies.

As a side note…I believe the United Nations has banned the use of Woodsman’s Fly Dope during International conflicts.   😀

Tuckerman’s Ravine credit:  http://www.hikethewhites.com/photos/tuckr5.jpg
Mount Washington Cog Railway credit:  http://www.flickr.com/photos/jps246/2240914462/