One of many
trip reports under the
SilGro home page for Alan Silverstein and Cathie
Grow.
Email me at
ajs@frii.com.
Last update: July 26, 2024
(Previous trip report: 1994_0514_HorsetoothMtn.htm)
[With some retrospective comments added in 2023 while converting to HTML!]
One weekend I walked 30 miles around Horsetooth Reservoir (west of Fort Collins, Colorado) with a "short side trip" up Horsetooth Mountain. I wrote about that adventure, but I didn't mention that it was intended as training for the next one. The following weekend I basically drove around Lake Powell, Utah with stops at both ends and a "short side trip" to the bottom and back of the Grand Canyon... An incredible 30-mile, 32-hour, 6800' "day hike".
My motivation was to sort-of participate in the Nth annual (N=8?) Colorado Mountain Club Rim-to-Rim-to-Rim hike, which I thought of as RTRTR and pronounced "hardy-hardy-har". These animals (there is no other word for them) cover 50 miles and about 11,000' of elevation gain in under 24 hours. They go out of their way to make the total distance 50 miles! Participants this year ended up being 13 CMCers and about 30 other people loosely affiliated with the Arizona Hiking Club. [One of the folks was a friend of mine, which is what triggered this outing.]
I'd been to the bottom and back of the Grand Canyon three times before, always as day trips, always on the south side. I thought it would be fun to visit the river from the North Rim this time. And coincidentally, why not lug down some free food to hand out to the runners? Also it was a fine time of year -- not too hot, not too cold -- on average that is!
This will be a long enough report anyway, so I'll exclude the fun things I did on the long drive out and back, and the not-so-fun things too, like sleeping out in the Utah high country under starry skies while the temperature dropped to 20 deg F and waking up too soon, too cold. Suffice it to say, I left Fort Collins about 1100 Thursday and arrived at the North Rim about 1700 Friday.
The North Rim was a zoo. It was depressing compared to my one previous visit about seven years before. I had to wait in line to pass the entrance [but I think back then entry was free, covered by your tax dollars], and again to get my campsite. Fortunately I had been able to secure one a week earlier via Mystix, but only for one night. "No problem, I'll deal with that later." (By the way, for a good time call Mystix at 800-365-CAMP, preferably when you have lots of time to kill, and don't really want a campsite at all anyway.)
I spent several hours before dark carefully assembling my backpack -- and weighing all the contents on a spring scale that had squeeked all the way out from Colorado (sigh). I carried about 11 pounds of extra food to give away, but no tent or sleeping bag.
I didn't sleep very well Friday night. I was excited, plus I had a lot of anxiety about the distance and elevation gain ahead of me. I'd been on longer trips and higher-gain trips, but never this much in combination. "I'm getting too old for this shit... Nah, not yet." [Definitely by 2023!]
I dragged awake and drove over to the trailhead. It was pitch dark, starry, and utterly serene and peaceful compared to during the day. It was also frigging cold. In the time it took me to depart my car I got to shivering. I launched down the deserted trail by headlamp with a stomachache and a headache.
I knew that after a while I'd relax and the symptoms would pass, so I pressed on. "Total drop 5800' in 14.2 miles... No sweat." I walked down very slowly using two light-weight walking sticks. They really helped save my knees. [Real sticks, by the way! Not collapsible trekking poles.]
0630: But I sure moved slowly. It took me over two hours to drop 2240' in 3.0 miles to a marker sign whose sole purpose was to announce I was 3.0 miles from the top. That sign was depressing in both directions. "Hmm..." methinks, "This is not promising." But there was a spectacular view starting just above that point, down to the first of six bridges, after exiting a tunnel. It was a pretty morning, full of promise...
I was surprised that the trail was so steep at the start, losing 3600' in about five miles. I expected something more gentle on average. Shoulda done more map study... Well after reaching Cottonwood Campground it did get gentler, in fact it undulated up and down a lot, adding about 500' to the trip! [No GPS or cellphone apps back then, these numbers were all derived from studying paper maps.] But the upper sections -- they were every bit as awe-inspiring as the South Kaibab. In numerous places they were blasted out of sheer cliffs. It was a neat surprise.
0735: I met the first RTRTR runner below Roaring Falls. I was pleased I'd made it at least that far before being "overtaken" (sort of).
It was a nice shady spot to munch, imbibe, and worry about how the first several runners hadn't wanted any of my food. No way was I going to carry it back up, but I preferred to give it to the runners than to random campers I met later. And I really wanted to have fun playing mobile aid station too.
I had an index card in my pocket labeled "Menu", which said... "Today only, everything is free! Courtesy Acme Wrecking and On-Trail Delivery". I held it up as I passed people and greeted them -- "Are you with RTRTR? Want some free food?" (You should have seen the astonished looks I got!) Also I pinned a card on my front and back saying "CMC Pack Mule". (People didn't get it. It should have said "CMC Mobile Aid Station". So I learned some ultrarunnerspeak.)
Well before long people did start happily accepting my handouts. I figured it out. Naturally the very fastest runners are on such a tight margin, they can't even eat extra food without getting sick. The more people I met, the behinder they were and the happier they were to get something from me!
As I encountered more runners my mood changed from fear, anxiety, and loneliness to glee and jubilation. I had great fun showing runners my "menu". But I also had to make frequent stops to take off my pack and hand out food. It slowed me down, but consequently I felt great. Also, my pack got lighter, especially as the bananas and oranges went!
I was pleased to be nearly halfway to the river, and through most of the vertical drop, after a bit more than four hours. I continued to hand out free food. The runners were now appearing frequently.
At the water tap in the campground I swapped my socks for the first of about six times during the trip. Combined with wearing light, high-top sneakers instead of hiking boots, and applying moleskin, the frequent sock swaps saved my feet so they didn't hurt much until the trip was over (just my little toes, but yeow!) After each swap I hung the "out" pair of socks to dry from my pack (yum).
The campground was appropriately named. It was an oasis of greenery in an otherwise increasingly scrubby desert.
Upon reaching the marked turnoff I figured most of the runners had passed me heading up the North Rim. So I ditched my pack and took a brief side trip to see Ribbon Falls. It was deep in a side gully, a small stream pouring over an enormous bright green algae-coated boulder. Pretty neat.
After that came a rather long and tedious trek down the rest of the way to the river, the Holy Grail of this adventure, deep in the Big Ditch. It wasn't clear exactly where the trail left behind the upper canyon and entered the Inner Gorge. It undulated along the wide, rocky wash surrounding Bright Angel Creek. It was clear, though, that the runners were pretty much behind me now. I still met lots of people, but they had different itineraries. It was a very social day. I couldn't keep names and faces straight, but I had a fun time interacting with everyone I met. "Are we having fun yet?" "Are you sure you want to do this?" "Did you leave some for me?"
1140: The first runner passed me returning, at about the third bridge down from the North Rim. She slowed to a walk briefly to chat with me, but again refused any food. And then she took off again running out of sight. I was impressed! And so was the next runner. He was the better part of an hour behind her, and he couldn't catch her. (Her round trip time was just over 12 hours.)
I was several hours behind "schedule" and kind of tired. I realized I wouldn't be out by sunset, but that was OK. I decided to press on to the river. "All systems go." I continued into the section of trail affectionately known as "The Box" -- for good reason. Broiler -- on; temperature setting -- high.
At last, a landmark deep in the endless narrowing gorge as the day's heat gathered. It was a small creek that entered Bright Angel Creek from an incredibly deep, narrow side canyon. About here I drank the last of my water and wondered why I hadn't completely topped off at Cottonwood...
At last! It was my first return to the ranch in 20 years; and it was crowded. No bunks were available, even by cancellations. "What the heck, I'll take it slow and enjoy the trip out too." But I was still disappointed I couldn't spend more time in this remote natural version of Grand Central Station.
I'd walked 14.2 miles down in 8:57. (Nothing to write home about, but I get to write it down here for the record.) I spent a pleasant hour at this wonderful favorite spot. It was soft and sandy. I had a great view of the river, the inner gorge, and both bridges, but didn't see another person anywhere nearby the whole hour. I soaked my feet, cooled in the warmish waters of the Bright Angel, froze in the icy green of the Colorado [even then, due to the Glen Canyon Dam], ate a large meal, and replaced the moleskin on my feet...
It was lovely and delicious and I hated to leave. But I started imagining getting to the trailhead after sunset (that was a given)... After midnight... The next morning! And it would be cold up there around dawn. And I'd left myself on the waiting list for a campsite on the North Rim too! ($10 if it came through, ouch.)
1500: Back at Phantom Ranch I made some phone calls (yes there were touch tone phones in the bottom of the Canyon!) Then I met a guy with a camping permit to give away! It happened that months before, he'd separately obtained a camping permit and a cabin reservation. One member of his party had quit while mule-riding down, so he no longer needed the campsite for himself and his wife; they'd all fit in the cabin. After a brief bit of hesitation, I took the permit and found a site.
After that I hung around and made more calls. Among other things I made a vain attempt to reach Mystix on the North Rim to cancel myself off their waiting list. What a bizarre combination of technology and backcountry, oh well. I also helped out some runners who were in really bad shape. They needed gatorade, ibuprofen, vaseline, an ambulance, etc. It didn't look like they were having fun at all. (Neither was the guy with the broken ankle who got helicoptered out about that time, but that's another story.)
1620-1724: Eventually I moseyed over to the Silver Bridge, crossed it (whee! river beneath my feet), and hiked back to the Black Bridge on the other side of the gorge. I hadn't been on that section of trail. It was quite spectacular as it rose high above the river, blasted out of the cliffs.
I got back to Phantom Ranch with time to burn, feeling pretty good. I had a fair bit of food left. In fact I gave away more to RTRTR stragglers. But what I still had wasn't very hearty or appetizing. It would have to do. I received a great treasure from one of the runners: Cold baked potato chunks they no longer wanted. The $17 dinner at the Ranch was booked solid and I couldn't join the fun.
That evening as it got dark I attended a great presentation by a ranger at Phantom Ranch. I learned that the ranch was named for the creek, which was named for an eerie shape on the canyon wall as seen by moonlight; and lots of other stuff. So much for going to bed early though.
2100: I returned to my campsite in the dark, crawled down to Bright Angel Creek to wash up (it didn't feel so warm now), put nearly all of my clothes on top of a poncho on the ground (it was too hot to wear very much), laid down, and tried to sleep. The gravel wasn't too bad... The nearby creek sounded nice... But I couldn't relax and fall asleep. After a while the hard ground started to hurt no matter which way I rolled. Oh, and did I mention the ants?
I laid awake thinking about how poorly I'd sleep and how stiff, sore, and fatigued I'd be in the morning... How hot it would be hiking up "The Box"... Yuck. I thought about it some more... Then I got up, packed up quietly in the moonlight, and...
2220: I started on the trail toward and through Phantom Ranch. I felt a little groggy and sleepy. I had some trepidation... "Is this a stupid thing to do?" Nah, I had lots of time, food, water, moonlight, flashlight batteries [real incandescent you know, no LEDs back then], and even some recovered strength. I had everything I needed but recent solid sleep. I could lay down anywhere along the trail and nap if I had to... Might as well push on.
After getting lost at the start (sigh, it figures) and finding my way out of Phantom Ranch, I trudged slowly in the darkness feeling my way with my walking stick. The first couple of hours were hell, mostly because I was so mentally fatigued... I experienced my typical after-hours primal fear, but overcame it by force of will. "There is nothing here that can hurt me. I own the night. This is fun."
Deep in the "Box" after 11 pm, I got a good scare as a shadowy figure came toward me with a flashlight. I wasn't using one, so I sang out to warn him so he wouldn't jump in the creek! I hadn't expected to meet anyone else at that hour, and after him, I didn't.
The hike to Cottonwood Campground turned out to be a magical, memorable experience. For a while I dragged along and constantly considered stopping and sleeping. Then I woke up. I felt wonderful and I sang out loud. The canyon was so different from the daytime... Cool, breezy, deserted; a fine time to go through the "Box". I didn't need a flashlight, even in the deepest pools of moonshadow. The walking stick was great! Large, white datura (Jimson weed) flowers were open. I saw a big moth pollinating them. Their sweet perfume was rich in the air.
Datura is the source of a drug. If I started hallucinating, would I be able to tell the difference? I was already in an altered state. Would it matter? No. Just become one with the eerie night around me...
Interject a profound thought that recurred throughout my adventure: "This hardly sucks at all!"
At Phantom Creek I saw The Phantom... A huge, mysterious, ominous shape formed by the inky downstream wall, with a pale eye-like spot high above near the skyline. I felt a cold rush up my spine... "It's just rocks... This is so cool... I think I'll move on now!" It was an unforgettable but rather indescribable image.
A bright meteor lightened my spirits. There were little frogs and lots of bats. One even bumped into me. "What are you doing here?" The glassy sound of Bright Angel Creek was a constant companion. I found myself "racing the moon" to Cottonwood Campground. Could I get there before the world became wholly dark? Would I have to use the flashlight in my pocket?
Along the way I was surprised and thrilled by the North and South Rim lights... They hung magical and majestic, far and high away, points of color in an otherwise gray-scale cosmos. I saw the North Rim lights only briefly. But behind me, Jupiter and the moon were canyon-framed above the South Rim lights, intermittently for several miles.
It was an incredible journey. I must be honest though and share the fact that I jotted a few garbled, written notes of what I'd seen, because I was so spacey I thought I'd forget! [Years later, of course I take copious trail notes now; at first it was on paper, then using Google Notes on my phone!]
At last I reached the halfway-plus point going up and out. It was soon after the moon set behind distant cliffs, but there was enough sky glow to feel my way around. I felt very high... I'd covered seven miles alone in the magnificent darkness in four hours. I considered continuing up the hill, and I nearly did. But I realized it would be dark and cold ahead. Much better to rest here and wait for daybreak; then enjoy the rest of the trek.
I went looking for a picnic table in an unused campsite, or even a big flat rock. There were bodies everywhere! I was a canyon demon in the dark. I stealthily explored each camp nook with a small flashlight, trying to awake no one. At one point I found myself standing right next to someone snoring on a boulder... Oops. I was the monster in their dreams, the scratching noise "out there". At least I didn't chew through their packs.
I backed down the hill toward the ranger's house wondering what was to become of me. Sleep on the outhouse porch, perhaps? Phew. Then I was saved... By a three-foot-wide concrete rim on a maintenance building. It was hard, but it was flat and unoccupied. I put on just about everything I had, and crashed for nearly three fitful hours. (Gee, where did all those cactus thorns come from?) It was a bit chilly at sunrise.
I groaned, sat up, stretched, and would you look at that, here comes a ranger in full uniform, out from his cabin with a citation book. After a bit of fast talking, he understood that I was bivvying rather than being really stupid by pushing on in the wee hours, and that I hadn't planned to camp, exactly, at least not there, anyway. I told him, "I'd be out by now except I got a campsite down at Bright Angel..." That piqued his curiosity and got me off the hook. I reassured him that I had all necessary supplies, including gatorade (he asked me specifically about that). He ended up saying, "Next time wake me up and ask me for a sleeping bag." Wow.
Gee, never mind a sleeping bag, I wish I'd brought a toothbrush (yeck)... But I'd ditched every non-essential to save weight.
0650: After a decent breakfast of high energy junk food and a washup at the water spigot, I started cheerfully up the remaining 6.9 miles to the North Rim trailhead. It was another gorgeous morning, and I felt pretty good once I shook off the fuzzies. On the way out of Cottonwood I gave my last three spare granola bars to some appreciative young folks I'd met the day before while heading down to the river.
All the way out zillions of people came at me, including lots of one-way runners. "Hi. Howareya. Haveaniceday. Hello." I continued to feel strong and happy anyway as I ascended.
A nice break under the trees. I drank hearty from the tap.
At Roaring Falls I met an interesting couple of college students starting out on a summer of adventure in a genuine 1967 Volkswagen van. We hiked together a while, but eventually I left them behind (or was it the other way around?) We met again at the trailhead.
I'd covered 3.9 miles and gained 2000' in 2:50. Not excellent, but not bad either, considering. What was especially awesome was that I was thoroughly enjoying myself. This was scary because karma paybacks are hell.
I met another couple (one of each gender) and very much enjoyed their intermittent company the rest of the way out. (Offered them "energy pills", which naturally they declined, then explained I was talking about "atomic fireball" jawbreakers, for quick simple sugar, and they accepted.) I knew it was longer and would take longer than it appeared. I started to think maybe I could make it by noon. For a while, near the end, I double-timed just to see if it was possible... Nope. Too hot, too far, heck with it.
"Hiyo!" I felt great! 5:20 to get back to the North Rim trailhead from Cottonwood, a gain of over 4200', with about 18 pounds of stuff left in my pack or on my person. The entire round trip had taken 31:45 (that's hours and minutes folks), and I figured the vertical gain was at least 6800' in 30+ miles.
Various other people I'd met along the way straggled out, and we swapped addresses and soda pop and stuff. Later I went for a much appreciated hot shower, a slow sore walk in flip flops out to Bright Angel Point, and a long drive and various walks at Cape Royale. I discovered that I had come up on the waiting list and thus wasted a perfectly good campsite, but the lady in the booth was understanding and didn't charge me for it.
I forced myself to stay awake till evening playing touron. I found a nice isolated primitive campsite in the national forest outside the park, put up a tent [rare in those days], ate like a pig, and slept for 11.5 hours.
The next day (heck, the whole next week) I had a surprising amount of calf soreness, but that was OK, it was mostly a driving trip home for the next three fun-filled days. I finished the loop around Lake Powell with many enjoyable stops... But that's another story completely and, hell, this one has gone on more than long enough, eh?
[I wrote back then:] Now I'm in condition for the next adventure. I think I'll hike Valles Marineris from end to end... It's only three miles deep and 3000 miles long, and the air's a bit thin, but I hear the scenery is out of this world! (Unfortunately, so are the travel costs.)
(Next trip report: 1994_0701-0103_MidLifeVacation.htm)