Night Hikes

I don’t entirely remember exactly why I was down at Phantom Ranch, but I had clearly hiked in, and done some survey work. At that point we had decided that including some Corridor hikers in a separate portion of the survey was valuable, as long as they had at least hiked in to Phantom Ranch for the night.

I was hanging out in the campground that morning, a lovely day. I met a young man who was carrying two water bottles (not very large) and hopping around, trying to “warm up” on a warm morning. He explained that in a few moments he was planning to make a “record” run out of the Canyon, up the seven miles of the South Kaibab Trail. His fiancé was waiting at the rim with a big kiss and a bouquet of flowers, along with a television camera crew. They were ready to capture the magic minute that he raced up the final steps to the Rim.

I thought that it was all rather strange; he was going to make this amazing run to the Rim with all the publicity up top, but there was nobody (but me, apparently) to see him start on his way up the trail, and who knew exactly when he departed.

I decided on a whim to join him for a while. I grabbed a water bottle and when he headed out of the campground and across the cable bridge, I started jogging after him. We went across the bridge to the south side of the Canyon and he started up the steep trail out of the Inner Gorge. I did, too, but in all honesty I didn’t make it very far. and finally just yelled “Good luck!” to his back as he headed around a bend in the trail. I turned around and was glad to return to my camp at the bottom of the Canyon.

I always wondered whether he had set that record (seven tough miles) and whether all of it was bravado. For the record, each year there is a Rim to Rim race with many participants, and they go down the same trail he climbed, after which they run on up to the north side of the Canyon. Setting a record on that trail run would not be easy.

Later that afternoon, I went hiking up the North Kaibab trail to check it out, as I had never been very far up that trail, and certainly not all the way to the Rim. The North Rim, that is, the “other” side.

I remember as I was hiking up the trail I discovered a Prickly Pear fruit that had been split wide open and pulp inside eaten. I wasn’t too sure what was going on, but I did have a feeling that it was not some animal doing this. The Prickly Pear had been very carefully sliced, apparently with a sharp knife.

I headed on up the trail, and eventually met a fellow who was very carefully sipping the last drops of juice from yet another Prickly Pear fruit by the side of the trail. I stopped, and in my “I am not law enforcement but I do work for the Park Service” voice, informed him that what he was doing was illegal. He looked up at me and said “I had no idea.” What they all say, I thought.

I said “Well, now you do.” He said he would refrain from harvesting any more, and I left him by the side of the trail. Hopefully he did not later die of thirst.

That evening I was sitting in the campground looking at my tent and gear, and admiring a moon that if not full, was pretty durn close. I looked at the cliff walls and just as dusk was settling, I made a command decision. I quickly scooped up sleeping bag, tent pad, and everything else and stuffed it into my pack.

I was going to head out. I wasn’t too worried about the fact that it was evening. I always had good night vision, and the moon was enough of an ally to make this a fairly easy and straightforward hike. I was going to take the South Kaibab Trail, not wanting to deal with the Bright Angel, even at night. Though the “Angel” had more water along the route it was also two miles longer, and then there were those pools of mule pee that I really did not want to step in. I started out across the bridge, and the moonlight reflecting on the Colorado was gorgeous. I remember looking up at several points to see the silhouette of the Canyon walls looming above me.

At one point while rounding a curve, I jumped at the sound of a very loud “Whoooo-hoooo-hooooo” from a large cactus very close to the Trail. Seconds later, the rush of air from two large wings brushed my skin as the owl headed off for another perch a bit further down the Trail. I think I jumped about a foot when that happened, but it only added additional majesty to what was truly a fabulous night, with the moon frosting all the rocks around me. Cool, beautiful, peaceful, and magical. There was no need to worry about seeking shade, trying to stay out of the heat of the sun or trying to guzzle down lots of extra water.

I almost made a vow then and there never to hike during the day in the Canyon ever again. I broke that vow, but it was still a most magical night. Looking out over the Canyon at dawn is always spectacular, but that morning it was even more so.

I was recently reading Edgar Rice Burroughs’ John Carter of Mars. Yes, he wrote more than Tarzan. I found this quote that captured that evening perfectly.

Few western wonders are more inspiring than the beauties of an Arizona moonlit landscape; the silvered mountains in the distance, the strange lights and shadows upon hog back and arroyo, and the grotesque details of the stiff, yet beautiful cacti form a picture at once enchanting and inspiring; as though one were catching for the first time a glimpse of some dead and forgotten world, so different is it from the aspect of any other spot upon our earth.

Edgar Rice Burroughs, in John Carter of Mars

Reading the tales, I have fallen in love (once more) with the incomparable Dejah Thoris, and all Barsoom lies at my feet. It is a fabulous means to escape politics.

I arrived at the rim just as the world was waking up, and headed to the trailer and bed. I’m not sure how long it took me to get back on to the diurnal cycle, but I do remember that night as being a spectacular experience.

On another evening, I had hiked down the Bright Angel Trail to enjoy the magic of Canyon nightfall. I strode down the deserted trail, with no particular destination in mind, and arrived at the “Mile and a Half” shelter. I was surprised to find it occupied.

A young German couple had decided that they were capable of climbing down to the Colorado River and back – in one long day. She was doing fine, sharing their last orange and looking with concern at her companion, who was clearly suffering. They had decided that there was nothing to do at that point but shelter for the night. Although there was water along the Trail, they had brought little food, and he had gotten dehydrated, feeling absolutely miserable. Blisters may have compounded that misery. They had one backpack between them, and he had been carrying all their water and gear. Without sleeping bags, it was going to be a long chilly night.

I chatted with them for a while, hoping to exercise some of my limited German vocabulary as they told me the tale of one long day. Finally, they begged me to switch to English, which was disappointing but rapidly improved the quality of our communication. I made them an offer.

I slipped on his pack, which was not light but nothing I was not used to at that point. She gave him her shoulder and we all winced as he drew himself to his feet. We started slowly climbing the Trail to the faint glow of the Rim above us. It was quite some time before we made it out, but they both were beaming as we rounded the last bend in the Trail and arrived at the Bright Angel Lodge. I wished them a “Guten abend” and strolled off, feeling mighty good about my humanitarian efforts that evening.