A Lesson From a Cheap Camera.

One fascinating thing about having friends on social websites such as Facebook is that many would share their photo albums on past travel experiences, and observers like myself can enjoy a moment of nostalgia, having fond memories of my own experiences at the same venue.

As such, a new website friend, Dave Betts, who has recently arrived as a newcomer at our church in Ascot and has raised my hopes for a "proper" face-to-face friendship, has on his photo page an album featuring his visit to the Grand Canyon with two other mates of his, a trip made within the last three years or so. One picture shows him sitting precariously on a narrow ledge above what looks like a sheer drop into the abyss below. I have to admit, such posing at such a dynamic background makes for fascinating photography - one which would qualify for any magazine publication or display at an art gallery.  

All three were definitely having a whale of a time! And as Dave himself commented, this particular trip fulfilled his life-long dream of wanting to see the Grand Canyon for himself. And so the trio hired a car, most likely using the FlyDrive scheme, where car hire is purchased together with the air ticket, thought up by the travel industry for the benefit of British and European tourists who desire an independent trip around the States.

Grand Canyon from near Kolb Studio, 1995.

Which, to me anyway, is very different from the escorted tours available. Indeed, there are many who prefer the comfort which comes with such holidays, free from any personal responsibilities. But the trouble with such ranger-led trips is that the keeping of tight schedules can cramp such experiences, such, for example, had emanated from one couple arriving at the South Rim on such a tour:

You have twenty minutes, the escort announced to all as the tourists alighted from the coach. As one couple was spending their precious moments enamoured by the displays at the Visitor's Center, suddenly one of them, the wife, I think, shouted, 

Heavens! We have only five minutes left! 

Quickly they dashed to the rim in time to take a quick look at the magnificent work of nature before compelled to return to the waiting coach and continue on with the journey. Unbelievable? Maybe so, but I actually read the account in either National Geographic or The Rough Guide to the Grand Canyon some years ago, so it must be true. It's the sort of thing that makes me feel aghast about such tours - as if time and money spent on them were more important to the company responsible than the sense of fulfilment felt by the tourist, to which such companies are obliged to meet.

However, unlike Dave Betts and his mates, I couldn't take advantage of the FlyDrive scheme which was so popular in my day, as I don't hold a driving licence. But back in 1978, once again I bought an air ticket along with the go-as-you-please Greyhound Bus Ameripass ticket, a document which allowed unlimited travel across the USA on the bus for a fixed period, which for me was four weeks. This time, I was determined to visit the Grand Canyon National Park, after having missed it on my first ever transatlantic trip a year earlier in 1977. It was also on this initial trip where on the flight from London to Toronto that something went horribly wrong.

At Indian Gardens, Tonto Plateau, 1995.

It was the moment, shortly after take-off, that I wanted to capture a fascinating scene of the Scottish landscape under a clear sky from my window seat. And that's when the camera shutter suffered permanent failure. It was my Dad's camera given to me, a type 120 which was housed in a metal casing complete with a leather jacket, and used a paper-backed spooled film which captures negative images 2.25" square. He had it for years, right from my boyhood days. What? On a transatlantic flight with no camera? Therefore, once landed in Toronto and having found a suitable hotel, the first shop I called was at a photography outlet. There I bought a cheap 110 pocket Instamatic which was housed entirely in plastic and captures images at just 13mm by 17mm in size. The resulting pics taken were generally okay, although with soft detail outlines which gives the impression of being very slightly out of focus. 

The following year, in 1978, I took the same pocket Instamatic for the second transatlantic flight specifically to visit the Grand Canyon. After landing in New York and settling down at a seedy-looking hotel in the heart of Manhatten, again with a Greyhound Bus Ameripass, I began my journey towards Flagstaff in Arizona, stopping at various cities along the way.  At my arrival at four in the morning local time at this quiet settlement, I discovered that I have just entered the Pacific Time Zone from Mountain Time Zone, therefore I felt discouraged at the extra hour I had to wait alone during the small hours at the otherwise deserted bus terminal for the special Greyhound Bus to Grand Canyon Village on the South Rim.

During that wait, I was meant to spend just a day at the Canyon, so I deposited my luggage at a left-locker located in the waiting room. By 7.30 am I boarded the bus, expecting to return by nightfall before continuing the journey overnight to Los Angeles.

Looking North into Bright Angel Canyon, 1995

Upon arrival, I was struck by the sheer size, beauty and dynamism of the Canyon! As I looked down upon the buttes consisting of sedimentary strata, mainly of sandstone and limestone, I knew straight away that these rocks were laid by water before the river cut into the plateau to form this huge gorge. A testimony to Noah's Flood? As I walked along the rim, I noticed hikers going down and coming up a trail, which head was close to Kolb Studios set at the rim's edge. Therefore through inquiry, I discovered that I could reserve a bed for myself at the desk at Bright Angel Lodge for Phantom Ranch way down below. Bright Angel Lodge is also close by to the trailhead, which shares the same name as the Lodge itself.

Wow! A cancellation at one of the Phantom Ranch dormitories allowed me to buy a reservation ticket. Suddenly, the whole plan of the day changed. I was not to return to Flagstaff that evening. Instead, I'll be spending that night at the Ranch, which is located a little way north of the Colorado River, and also where Bright Angel Creek joins the main river after flowing from a spring close to the North Rim. Because I wanted to take in the grandeur of the Canyon from the South Rim, as well as explore the village and Visitor's Center, I stayed at the Rim longer than I should have done.

And so by late afternoon, after hiring a rucksack and packing it with suitable eats as well as a gallon of drinking water bought at a nearby superstore, I started to make my way down Bright Angel Trail, just as the blue sky turned into a grey overcast. It is interesting, coming to think of it, as I hiked rapidly down the switchbacks, also known as Jacob's Ladder, I noticed the vast majority of walkers were heading the other way, out of the Canyon. In fact, I would not be exaggerating (or understating) that I was the only one going down. Everyone else was coming up. One hiker even stopped me to ask whether I had a Camper's Pass. I explained that I had a reservation for Phantom Ranch. He looked satisfied and allowed me to proceed.

By the time I arrived at Tonto Plateau - the level shelf halfway into the Canyon where Indian Gardens Campground was also located - I was entirely alone. This is because, as I learned later, that the vast majority of visitors purposely don't make it to the bottom. A large number of walkers make it to the 1.5-mile rest station and then turn back. Far fewer proceed to the 3-mile station, which is at the foot of the South Rim cliff. The majority who do then turn back up. This leaves a small percentage of hikers who continue on. Hence my isolation at Indian Gardens, just as a thunder rolled overhead.

Nearby was a notice warning of flash floods that can endanger hikers. Wow! Exactly what I wanted to read! Now for the first time, I felt a tinge of fear. But I walked on, with the magnificent splendour of Buddha Temple butte towering directly in front of me, and Cheops Pyramid butte to the left of it, backed by the wall of the North Rim. The trail divided at this point. One branched off to Plateau Point, on the edge of the Inner Gorge, from where a dramatic view of the River can be seen directly from above, as it cuts through gneiss and granite bedrock upon which the sedimentary strata sit. I stayed on the main trail, which plunges into the Inner Gorge by means of switchbacks known as the Devil's Corkscrew.

As the massive walls of the Inner Gorge towered over me, the thunder continued to roll, but there was hardly any rain. If ever there was a time I felt alone and cut off from the world this was it. By the time I got to the bottom, there was a constant hum of bugs, millions of them, such as crickets, filling the air with such a rich sound. Eventually, I came across a hut with a couple of humans milling about. What a massive relief it was to see another human!

Deep in the Devil's Corkscrew, 1995.

I called out, and seeing me approaching (as their hut was by the trail) they invited me in. They offered me some refreshment and begged me to stay the night with them. They were French hikers, and although communication was difficult, we certainly were able to make our thoughts known. However, I declined their invitation. Not only did I suspect what they were doing was possibly illegal to National Park rules, but I also felt determined to finish the hike properly. Therefore I bade them farewell.

The trail rounded a bend and I found myself right next to the River as it was getting dark. The trail continued alongside, with the towering view of Zoroaster Temple Butte, on the North side of the river, yet seen from here as directly in front.

I crossed the River at Silver Bridge, one of only two which crosses the River and I eventually made my way into Phantom Ranch reception to claim my bed at one of the single-gender dormitory huts. The other occupants consisted of a young German, whose girlfriend slept in another hut reserved for females. And there were two "locals" - hikers from Los Angeles, and two vacant beds. Considering the intense demand for these beds, with many potential hikers turned away at the booking desk at Bright Angel Lodge, it was no surprise that later that night, after we were all in bed and still awaiting the new arrivals, a discussion arose to why these beds remained unoccupied.

Therefore here is an extract from the diary I kept of the entire trip:

"They most likely turned chicken and turned back to the village", one of the Californians sneered.

I lay in bed, grateful for the darkness hiding my embarrassment. Because I too am a coward. How could I forget the fear I felt whilst alone further back (at the Devil's Corkscrew?)

As we all (at the Ranch) set off the next morning, watching the clear waters of Bright Angel Creek flow non-stop to the Colorado River, the camera shutter was constantly clicking. One picture after another. The dawn scene deep in the Canyon was indeed a fascinated sight. How the outlines of the surrounding buttes made a contrast to the clear sky above, along with the sound of the rushing River.

Zoroaster Butte dominates River, 1995.

I finally arrived at the village after nine hours of hiking to the Rim from the Ranch, with the last three hours so torturous as the rucksack weighed on my back whilst ascending the Jacob's Ladder switchbacks.

It was after I arrived back home and had the film developed when I felt intense disappointment! All the snapshots of the Inner Gorge failed to come out properly - just dark, black silhouettes breaking a velvety sky along with a poor reflection from the River.

It was a horrible disappointment. Like if a mission I set off to had failed in its accomplishment. It was a very hard lesson to learn. That is, never set off on such trips with a cheap camera. I was just asking for trouble.

All this played on my mind for the next seventeen years. During that time I was made redundant from the engineering job I had, and I started my window cleaning business, which I kept going successfully for the next 35 years. But the thought of re-visiting the Grand Canyon to complete my "original mission" was always on the front of my mind. 

1995 arrived, and with it, another backpacking trip to the USA, this time taking with me a better camera, the type 135, then the standard cartridge film throughout the nineties. Again, the same trail was used, but instead of the storm, the sky remained clear into the night, giving the most fantastic astronomical display I have ever seen. And true to form, snapshots of the Inner Gorge and River came out far better than the originals.

As the Psalm goes:

Oh Lord,

How manifold are thy works!

In wisdom hast thou made them all:

The Earth is full of thy riches.

Psalm 104:24.