Winter Arrives

One memorable evening, winter settled in and the snow blew around in furious gusts. We huddled in the tiny trailer as it shook and rattled. I discovered – Yes, Virginia, snow storms can be accompanied by thunder and lightning. I never want to ever be closer to a bolt than the one that struck a utility pole right next to our trailer.

It was a sad time, because my six months at the Rim were beginning to wind down. We had a ton of mail surveys, and the few that I had managed to capture in the field. I started to write the report on that IBM Selectric beastie, which was pretty frustrating. Even the primitive word processing capabilities back at Texas A&M (Wylbur, run appropriately on “dumb” terminals, as I recall) started to look good. 

One lovely evening we got some additional fresh snow, and I broke out my cross country skis. The rocky layer of Kaibab limestone did not make for easy going, and I acquired a few new grooves, but really wanted to ski. I made it over to the High School there in the Village (the local team was the Phantoms, of course) and I took advantage of a rock-free sports field to race around in circles, seeking out a small hill for a microburst of speed. I carved quite a track in the new snow, and probably a bit of the sod, that glorious evening. Life was good, but the thought of leaving this wondrous place ate at me. 

John was pleased with progress so far on the information we had assembled, but as usual, he had grander plans. More surveys. More decibel readings. And yes, probably a lot more hackeysack. He had begun to pitch for an extension, but Park Service wheels can spin slowly, and there was no guarantee we could return to finish what he regarded as an incomplete job.

One of the significant restraints at the Park was housing, and we knew it was going to be tough to get back in. Our trailer had actually been promised out from under us. Things were winding down, and I was not happy. I think my wife was looking forward to leaving the trailer, with its complement of wee fauna, but we both knew this was not what we wanted to be happening. 

Trails started to ice up, and the hikers that we sought were few and far between. I wrote up all that I had at that point, and prepared for the drive back to Texas. John offered some encouraging words. They had a party to say goodbye to us. We received a copy of the recent Time/Life book on the Grand Canyon, signed by all of the Resources Management staff. Soon thereafter, we loaded up the Chevy Nova and headed to the park exit.

As we were driving off, we spotted something blue beside the road. I pulled over to the side and wandered over to investigate. It was a pair of new snow mitts, Gore Tex and Thinsulate and warm, designed to fit over gloves. Someone had set them on the roof of their car and driven off down the road. I celebrated. This had to be an omen!

It was a long and discouraging drive back to Texas, but we made it. While we had been gone, our married student apartment had stood vacant, and it was nice to return to familiar friends and the camaraderie of the Marine Lab. Still, I was hoping for news from the Canyon while trying not to get my hopes up. 

There had been changes while I had been enjoying myself at the Canyon. The Marine Lab had a new member – an IBM Personal Computer. Just released, these machines had few of the pains associated with the “dumb” terminals we had been using. Tasks like word-processing were somewhat easier. The floppy disks were expensive, particularly for a lowly student, but could hold 360 thousand bytes (whatever that was) of information. Change was coming. I managed to get some time on the machine and did my best to put it to good use. 

Then word came – six more months to “complete” the survey work. I was over the moon, but my joy was not complete. They had housing for one, but not both of us. There was no opportunity for my wife to return with me. Things took a frosty turn. She was livid that even as a volunteer, there was no opportunity for her. And the chances I would decline the offer were not even slim; they were nonexistent. Rows ensued. Hell hath no fury is a sexist saying, but what I was certainly dealing with was fury. The possibility that I could drive the car (her car!) back to the Canyon was nil. Grimaces and scowls marked my departure, with a few essentials, to the bus station. It was only six months…

When I got back to the Canyon, there had been some changes there, too. John had suffered an aneurysm, and was out indefinitely. Another new IBM PC (8088!!!) had showed up for him to use, one of the very first to reach the public. And spring was beginning to boost activity for visitors and hikers headed to the Rim.

I had my own Master’s thesis to put together, and I had actually collected some information at the Canyon to make this happen. Because I was doing one survey, they let me tack on an additional research project of my own. It was all about expectations.

If you hike the Canyon expecting nothing but sunshine and beauty, you are soon disabused. There are some negatives. Mule pools. Blisters. A pack so filled with water it sloshes and gurgles on your back and cramps shoulders. If you expect the bad, you can prepare for it, mentally and physically. You can bring moleskin. You can steel yourself to wade past those odorous mega-puddles. You can prepare. Expecting the bad can reduce its negative impacts.

On the other hand, if you go expecting to see Bighorn sheep and near-empty trails, you may also be disappointed. Expecting the positive can actually reduce the enjoyment you might derive. “Oh, yeah, there’s that Bighorn I was expecting to see about now.”

Based on this philosophy, I never start at a park’s visitor center. I head out into it, checking the overlooks, the trails, and whatever there is to see. Then, I go into the center to see what I should have noticed. I never read guide books before the fact, either. Anticipate the worst, but let the best surprise and delight you!

That was my theory, at any rate, and I was prepared to reward hikers with an Andes mint if they would complete the survey on their way out. Some looked at me with hollow eyes and shuffled on up the trail, the only thought being to reach the Rim and civilization. Some jumped at the chance to sit and chat, enjoy the chocolate and wade through several pages of questions.

I was back in business! It would sure be nice if John were to return, though. I missed his leadership, his buoyant optimism, and our games of hackeysack!