Travel Biography - Week 59.

Overview: The difference between the 1978 and 1995 Trips to the Grand Canyon.

All the photos here are my own.

In the late summer of 1995, I stood on the South Rim of the Grand Canyon of the Colorado River, Arizona. This was my second time, too. Seventeen years earlier in 1978, I stood at the same spot, looking across this natural wonder towards the North Rim. But with a difference. In 1978, I was offered a bed at Phantom Ranch, located at the bottom of the Canyon, like a bolt from the blue. This was due to a last-minute cancellation. However, upon enquiry this time, I was told that all the beds down there were taken.

Arrived at Grand Canyon, Sept 1995.

For an overnighter, I had to make my way to the Visitor's Center, a short walk from the Village. Here, I was given a ticket with a number on it and was told to return at seven in the morning for the Park officials to decide whether I could go down or not by using a lottery system. If my number was called out among a crowd of other hopefuls, I was then given a Camper's Pass (even if I didn't carry a tent). Otherwise, I either had to return 24 hours later for another attempt or leave the National Park altogether.

I wasn't putting up with this! For months, I was building up for this special day, even going out for long walks in the evenings to train up my leg muscles. Was my wish denied by a bunch of bureaucrats simply because others knew how to navigate the bureaucratic maze properly? Indeed, paperwork has always been a weakness in me throughout life! As for day hikers, they had full access to the trails at all times.

 

I remained on the South Rim for a few hours, admiring the vast chasm before me. Yet, there was another difference between the two visits, and that is my rucksack. In 1978, I left most of my belongings locked away in a left-luggage locker at Flagstaff. After arriving at the Village, I was able to hire a smaller backpack for carrying the goods needed for the hike. The load wasn't heavy. Together with the backpack, I also hired a pair of hiking boots. This time, with the lockers removed from the bus terminal, I had no other choice but to carry my own larger rucksack which was considerably heavier.

The Hike Begins.

By that afternoon, after watching a large number of tired hikers exit Bright Angel trailhead, I began my descent into the Canyon on the same trail I used in 1978. Looking back, I have some regrets about that. Now, I had wished to have made an effort to take the free shuttle bus to the South Kaibab trailhead near Yaki Point, about four-and-a-half miles east along the Rim. Although this trail was considerably shorter than Bright Angel, being more direct, it would have offered new vistas that would have been fresh to both my soul and the camera alike. The view of the dramatic O'Neil's Butte from Oo-Ahh Point, so I read afterwards, would have lived up to their names.

The Hike Begins.

But I was too obsessed to think about those things. And I also felt guilty. The guilt had arisen from starting the hike down instead of presenting myself to the Park officials the following morning. I was hoping that the trail wasn't policed by Park Rangers. I recall the first time when someone stopped me to ask if I had a Camper's Pass. I showed him the Ranch booking ticket which settled any argument. This time, I had nothing to show and therefore risked being turned back. Maybe this was the reason why I didn't take the shuttle bus to the South Kaibab trailhead. I was afraid the bus driver might ask questions.

As I descended, the trail began to turn back and forth along its long, endless series of switchbacks as it navigated the South Rim cliff wall safely. Many other hikers were still coming the other way. Some looked beaten as if walked all the way from the bottom. Others were day-hikers, having gone as far as the 1.5-mile rest house and turned back from there. Some had gone down as far as the three-mile rest stop and turned back from there. Unlike in 1978 when the sky became overcast and thunder rolled, this time the sky remained clear, bringing out the reddish/brown colours of the different rock layers in contrast with the rich green of vegetation. 

During the descent, I began to feel a little better as I hadn't encountered any staff members, nor had anyone stopped me for questioning. After a while, I was looking up at Battleship Rock, a small butte that, from the angle where I stood, did resemble a seaworthy war vessel. As I saw it, Battleship Rock of Bright Angel Trail was a much smaller version of O'Neil's Butte of South Kaibab Trail, but equally dramatic.

Battleship Rock as seen from the Trail beneath it.

After passing the three-mile rest stop, I reached Indian Gardens, (now renamed Havasupai Gardens) a green oasis and campsite at a level shelf separating the clifftop of the Inner Gorge from the base of the Outer Gorge cliffs. Havasupai Gardens is 925 metres below the Village in elevation. Known as the Tonto Plateau, from it, a view of the majestic Buddha Temple Butte rose from the other side of the River. Next to it, Cheops Pyramid, itself resembling more of a marque or large tent than a pyramid, rose in its splendour, turning the straight North Rim edge, seen from the Village to a sandstone mountain range on the other side of the Inner Gorge. From behind Cheops Pyramid, Isis Temple could just be made out as it pokes its summit into view. The Inner Gorge itself consist of two near-vertical cliffs of gneiss granite rock facing each other with the beachless River flowing through between the two steep cliffs.

It was here at Havasupai Gardens that the trail divided. The 1.5-mile section branched off from my left and carried along the level width of Tonto Plateau to Plateau Point, an overlook on the lip of the Inner Gorge, from which a dramatic view of the River could be seen directly below, with a close-up view of Cheops Pyramid and Buddha Temple buttes across the chasm.

Approaching Havasupai (Indian) Gardens.

I stayed with the main trail as it began to descend into the Inner Gorge at a recess known as the Devil's Corkscrew. I remembered from 1978 the wide switchbacks cut into the hard gneiss and granite bedrock on which the stratified sandstone and limestone layers rested. However, in 1995, the high cliffs of the Inner Gorge didn't seem as foreboding as they did before. I think the weather had something to do with it. This time around, the sky remained clear and there was no thunder as was in 1978. Also, it was quieter this time around as the trail levelled out near the Canyon floor. There was no constant buzzing of crickets in the bushes. The wrong time of the year, perhaps?

I hiked on until I arrived at a rest station seven miles into the journey. The last time I arrived at this location, I was invited to share some food with a group of French hikers who couldn't sleep at Phantom Ranch due to full bed occupancy. So they spent the night at this resthouse. They also wished for me to join them for that night but I refused, wanting to finish the hike properly and sleep on a bed I had already paid for. But this time, the place was deserted and lifeless as I pressed on. As a matter of fact, this hut may be the ideal spot to spend the night should I be sent away by a Park Ranger.

Zoroaster Temple dominates the evening River scene.

I rounded a bend in the trail and arrived at the River - a dramatic climax of the Devil's Corkscrew descent. From the Rim, I have descended 1,524 metres in elevation, that is, a vertical drop from the Rim at the Village to the River which is, at that point, nearly a mile deep. 

(For the record, the height of Ben Nevis, the highest mountain in the UK, is 1,345 metres high.) 

The trail I was on was the properly-called Riverside Trail, although it's still signposted as Bright Angel. I carried on along the south bank of the river until two prominent buttes appeared as I rounded a bend - Brahman Temple and the more famous Zoroaster Temple both towered over me. In 1978, I thought that Zoroaster Temple was what was left of the North Rim from where I was standing. It was soon after I arrived home that I saw that this natural feature was not actually the North Rim at all, but a butte, or mountain, rising near the middle of the Canyon, although it's connected to the North Rim side of the river.

I cross the Colorado River at Silver Bridge. 

Dusk was about to fall as I approached Silver Bridge, one of only two bridges crossing the Colorado River, the other being Black Bridge which carried the South Kaibab Trail. Riverside trail links the two bridges, and I could have carried on along this trail for another 700 metres to reach Black Bridge, which was accessible through a 20-metre tunnel bored through the rock. But it was already beginning to get dark, and furthermore, unlike in 1978, this time I had no bed to welcome me.

Settling Down for the Night.

Perhaps I could have asked the receptionist if there was a spare bed available at the Ranch. Who knows, a no-show could have freed up a bed in one of the huts. After all, in the hut a stayed during 1978, there were several unoccupied beds left by no-shows. But I was gripped by fear, itself fuelled by guilt. Just a little earlier, a lone hiker was heading the other way, up towards the Rim. I was wondering why he started his hike so late in the evening. We both talked as we approached each other. He explained that with nowhere to sleep, he was caught by a park ranger who ordered him to hike back up to the village. He also warned me to be careful.

If I was to approach the receptionist to ask whether any no-shows had freed up any beds, even if I was willing and ready to pay, instead, I could have been sent off with a flea in my ear. Therefore, I made sure that there was no one around, or couldn't be easily seen by anyone.

Evening River scene from Silver Bridge.

Why such bureaucratic restricting of numbers? Mainly to preserve the environment. But before the hike, I made a vow to myself that I would never leave as much of a candy wrap as litter anywhere in the Canyon. If only the authorities had a higher level of trust in us tourists! And indeed, anyone who defaces the environment, whether through litter or other forms of damage, should be rightly fined.

Well after dark, I found a secluded spot of grass to lay down for the night not far from Phantom Ranch. This was nothing new. Sleeping under the stars was something I did from time to time when in my early twenties. But to sleep under the stars whilst deep inside the Grand Canyon took a whole new turn.

After a while, I thought I heard the sound of a rattlesnake in the grass not far from where I was lying down. Nearby was a picnic table, the type with a built-in bench on each side. The bench kept me hidden, or at least, difficult to see by a passing Park Ranger. Now I had no choice. I quickly arose to lie on the sturdy table.

Phantom Ranch.

I looked up towards the sky. Never in my whole life had I seen such a wonderful display of stars, and that even with a full moon! Thus, here at the bottom of the Canyon, where Bright Angel Creek flowing from near the North Rim joins the Colorado River, it was not at all pitch dark. The millions of stars spanning the sky formed a white band stretching from horizon to horizon, although the sky from where I was lying down was restricted by the cliffs of the Canyon, and their silhouettes made a vivid black contrast against the bright starry sky. The white band was appropriately called the Milky Way. From the floor of the Grand Canyon, I was looking up into our own Galaxy, where our solar system silently orbits the central core of the star cluster alongside millions of other stars.

Never did I ever witness such a heavenly display! Not in the UK, nor in Europe, and not even in Israel.

I gazed up at the sky until I fell into a pitiful sleep.

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Next Week: When I thought my time here on Earth was over...