My Adventures From The Ledge

So as I return to the East Coast and once again find myself surrounded by familiar and comforting things, that I now turn back to think about all that I've accomplished.

I set out to have real adventures from the ledge of the Grand Canyon and to do things that pushed me mentally, physically and emotionally to the breaking point. I wanted to know that I had done something so unlike myself that no one would ever again look at me and say things like, "You could never do that," or "You hate the outdoors/hiking/bugs." I was just getting so sick of people telling me what I could do, what I liked, what I would hate. All through my life it's true, I've been scared of most things, but I was ready to change the way people defined me--I wanted to be seen for my strengths rather than my fears.

And so I was stalked down Hermit Canyon by a mountain lion while I was alone and without radio contact. I climbed a mountain and had lunch at the summit, 9,300 feet up.

More than anything, however, was learning that the ledges I was attempting to walk were more than just physical. Sure, sometimes my adventures came from the real-life ledge of the Grand Canyon, but more often than not the ledges I faced were just that in my mind. It was the brink of knowing what I was capable of and the abyss of what could happen.

So to say because I am no longer faced with a physical ledge my adventures have come to an end is absurd. The one lesson I have learned in my four months in the backcountry is that my adventures will never stop because I will always be facing my own ledges. And where there's a ledge, there's sure to be an adventure.

And it's with that I close my Grand Canyon chapter and look ahead to the next mountain to climb, ridge to hike, or river to ford. All my adventures will be continuously posted here... more to come: the Appalachian Trail, trips to State College, and EUROPE!

Never a Dull Moment

Usually my morning hikes are relatively uneventful. I hike down, see some wildlife, hike out. Especially now they've become all too similar because I can only get to one trailhead due to the repavement hell this park currently is.

So, it was with expecting all the same down Bright Angel Trail that I decided to set a PR and get up the trail in under an hour (I did it today in 40 minutes. 1.6 miles, 1131 feet in 40 minutes).



^This is The Shnoz aka the second tunnel on BA.

All was going according to plan until I got down to 1.5 mile rest house and saw there was already someone up in my lofted retreat. It took me a few minutes to realize that it was search and rescue--in the middle of a search and rescue. I think what clued me in was seeing this:



The chopper circled a few times before landing on this tiny ten-by-eight ledge off the side of the trail. Truly, an amazing thing to witness.



Turns out a young-ish guy was pushing too hard and ended up throwing up all over the place. I thought it was unusual for a rescue to be happening at 8am in late September--especially one apparently brought on by dehydration and overexertion. That's more of a summer thing here.

The paramedic walked the guy and his dad down to the helicopter where the other EMTs checked him out. I actually was almost hiked out by the time it took off.

I don't think I will ever forget the sight of the chopper sitting on the side of the cliff as I climbed out. The sun at the time was just streaking through the high canyon walls and the helicopter was the only thing it was illuminating. It was just impossible to get a picture because if there's one thing I've learned here it's that there are some things you can only really see with your own eyes--a camera will never be able to capture it.

Limbo Is My Natural State Of Being

Yesterday I was in Flagstaff longer than I usually am. Mainly because I wanted to be able to park at my house and that meant waiting for the repavement stuff to dry. If ever you wondered where your recovery dollars are going, allow me to answer: you're repaving all the roads at Grand Canyon National Park! There are chips and loose gravel all over the place here, wreaking havoc on my poor car and all the confused tourists who can't figure out where the lanes should be.

Last week, there was even a car wreck on a main road where a man died. Could gravel be the culprit? I'm sure it played a part, it's kind of like driving on ice because loose rock pulls at your wheels. God help you if you go over 30 and don't have 4WD.

In brighter news, my back is nearly healed! I've been having issues with this whole "there's no skin on my entire back" thing, but thanks to two bottles of neosporin, it seems to be getting a little better. It still feels tight, but there's no pain like there was last week. Let this be a brutal life lesson: sunscreen is your best friend! Even if you don't think you need it, the excess grossness of it is still far better than laying on your stomach praying like hell your skin peels off soon.

I think I'm still getting some residual side effects of the sun poisoning: for one, I can't sleep at night anymore. I'm tired all morning but at night, it doesn't matter if my eyes are so heavy they refuse to open--I just can't seem to drift off. The other is this migraine that won't go away. I'll be ok for a few days and then BAM, out of nowhere, I get this massive nausea-inducing, room-spinning, world-hating headache that resists 800 mg of ibuprofin.

This week just kind of sucks in general, so why not a skull-busting brain bruiser on top of it?

I was walking out of the Safeway in Flag--my last stop before heading back to the canyon--and the sun was already on its way down on the horizon. A breeze kicked up (it is noticeably cooler here), and it officially smelled like autumn. For a minute I let myself pretend that I was walking out of the walmart in State College. So used to this smell being associated with new classes, friends and tailgates, I could easily pretend I was holding bags of chips and dip for this weekend's opening football game. I'd get in my car, drive home, call up my friends and we'd hit the bars. The bars are always hoppin syllabus week.

Of course, then I got into my car, took one look up at the mountains casting a shadow down on Flagstaff and realized that there'd be no bars tonight. No friends. No tailgating out on my deck (like there has been the past three years). No, tonight I'd go home, cook some dinner, read a little bit and hope I actually got some sleep. Seriously, I could carry the contents of my purse under my eyes at this point.

The Great Outdoors

After spending four more days down a trail in August heat, I can finally take no more. I have a sunburn so horrendous, clothing has become an issue. I've never experienced pain like this before. I can't sleep at night because my entire back is in pain.

This is what you get for wearing a tank top out to Bright Angel Trail.

So there I sat for two days, 1.5 miles down, doing interview work. And then another two without shade, without ample sunscreen, without any clue that my skin was burning off. I blame my Texan childhood that allows me to adapt to heat to the point I don't realize I'm literally baking in the sun. I don't even sweat here!

People kept coming up and asking me if I was doing homework. Why, yes. I'm sitting on a rock over a cliff face with 500 feet of falling below, in a Penn State hat (we're in Arizona, people, look at a map), in direct sunlight doing homework. Because all kids from East Coast schools love to pick out rocky perches at the Grand Canyon at which to do some good old-fashioned homework.

It got to the point of misery that I considered pushing the next jackass to come along and make a snide remark at me over the tinier ledge--just a fall of 15 feet or so. People all think they're so clever. If you're doing tedious work, sunburn searing your skin (even though you've covered up this time), exhausted beyond belief, and in general uncomfortable (you try perching out of the way of hikers and mules for six hours!), the last thing you want is a one-liner and a smirk.

The second day out there I was both up and down wind of some very fresh mule shit baking in the sunlight.

My job is extremely glamourous.

The best news is that now I've collected the majority of data I needed for my project, and thinking about that just lifts a huge weight off my shoulders. The tedious part is almost done (I have to enter and analyze two more days) and then all that remains is some field work I can move around for, and cleaning/writing up what I've found.

In other news, I've officially been inducted as Wilderness Woman. Why, you ask? Because, as all backcountry people can tell you, I've hit my final landmark that I'm in the know of the outdoorsy.

Ladies and gentlemen, I have officially done my business in the woods. Not in a portapotty. In nature. I have finally crossed that threshold of "I'm not afraid to be in the wilderness, 'cause I can handle myself!" Elevation change? Check. Hiking etiquette? Check. Proper equipment? Check. Trail savvy? Check. Going a while sans civilization? Check. Forgoing a shower for rolling in a river? Double check.

Doing my business out-of-doors and not caring? Check.

Why Hiking At 1PM Is An Overall Bad Idea

Last night I suffered a headache so bad that this morning my brain actually feels like it's been bruised.

Apparently, even if you survive hiking out of the canyon at the hottest part of the day (barely), you'll still suffer for it later. When I climbed out yesterday, my skin was so hot I could double as a radiator. So I found myself a nice, covered bus stop and laid on the bench for about half an hour.

Later when I got home, I was still burning up so I took a cold shower and stretched out on the couch for a few hours. The sun paired with that hike completely sapped me of all my energy. You don't think that could happen, as most of us have spent more than a few hours in the sun. Just not on a strenuous hike where you gain 1,131 feet of elevation in about a mile and a half to 7,000 feet (at the trailhead).

Now I understand why people get so sick (and die) hiking that trail. I finally experienced that heat and have to say I never, ever, want to again. Ever.

Best Burn Of The Summer

Here it is... from walking the rim in an attempt to rehab my knee (didn't work).



You see, sunscreen would have been a good idea, but I don't layer it like I should because I'm allergic to it. So instead I had to suffer through the burn and laughter of my roommate when she saw it. As you can tell, I was wearing the chest strap to my pack.

It's much, much darker in person because in general, I am quite pale. Three guesses where the chest buckle & excess band was located.

Also, you can see where my backpack straps sat on my shoulders.

Ahh, awkward tanlines. It must still be summer.

Like Another Life

I was laying in bed last night thinking about how this place feels like home to me now. I had thought it was going to be so hard to leave behind my college existence and become an "adult." It had taken me hours to officially leave my college apartment, thinking I would never again feel a place as homey to me as this.

But the Grand Canyon is home now. How strange is that to say? I know all the roads, the good places to hike to avoid tourists, how to get in and out without waiting in line at the gates. When I drive here, it's second-nature now. No more maps, no more anxiety about finding where I'm going.

Of course, at my other home(s), you rarely hear about French tourists falling off the edge of your backyard and needing rangers to repel down to get you. Which was exactly what happened to an 18-year-old French boy who was taking pictures too close to the ledge. He's in the hospital with neck, wrist and other injuries. Was that picture really worth it?

It happens all the time here. People go "oh hey, lets go right up to the edge of this massively giant hole in the ground... whoops!" It's for this reason I never leave the trail... for anything. Ever. I think because the distance down (a vertical mile) is so great, people can't wrap their brains around what it means to stand on the edge... or fall. There are some places you can fall anywhere from 200 feet to oh, 2,000 feet. That's about two Eiffel towers stacked on top of each other.

Would you like to fall the distance of the Empire State Building? All 1,472 feet of it? No? Try telling that to the tourists who stand on the edge of The Abyss and pose for awkward pictures. I'd rather have still good, acceptable pictures behind a railing and you know, live, than tempt fate by crawling out on the ledge.

And I don't think people understand what the rangers here go through trying to save people who do stupid things. They have to put their own lives on the line and dangle above that huge drop to come and get you. Or be fixed on a rope tied to a helicopter. Or run up a trail in the heat of summer to carry you out.

Some people who collapse are in very, very poor physical condition and end up having to be carried somewhere--even up and out. Imagine trying to help carry a 200-lb woman in a basket up a narrow and extremely steep, crowded trail with 100 degree heat baring down on you. Cause that is what these people do.

Back Down The Rabbit Hole

Taking Mondays and Wednesdays off is possibly the best idea I've had since I've been here. For one, I don't waste time sitting in my office doing nothing anymore, I am actually out being busy and I love it. Plus I don't burn out as easily because I work four days on, one day off, one (office day) on, one off.

This week I decided to go down South Kaibab Trail to do my study. I would have had to go there eventually, but because I injured (or reinjured) my knee, I had no choice. There's nowhere you can stop on Bright Angel that isn't a mile and a half or more down. It's too hot to sit anywhere along that trail.

So I arrived at South Kaibab, went to go set up and was promptly kicked out by trail crew. They're working on the first set of switchbacks, aka about half a mile of trail and 200 feet of elevation change. I now had to make a choice, I could hike down on a bum knee and sit out all day half a mile down trail, or I could abandon my study until I was better.



Naturally, I hiked down the switchbacks. The crew was stopping traffic on the trail every ten minutes or so for fifteen to twenty minutes of waiting, so attempting to do my interviews meant a lot of diffusing first. I let people complain to me--even though, I, like them, have been burdened by this construction. It didn't seem to matter to people, all they wanted to do was catch the bus.



The first day wasn't so terrible--I just kept looking up the switchbacks and thinking to myself, "yeah, this is going to hurt." For the five or so hours I was down there, the thought of having to climb out never left my mind. I just took is slowly up the trail and didn't care who I was stopping up. I don't get why people are in such a hurry, I really don't. You're just going to kill yourself running up this trail and see that it's only going to take five minutes to get on a bus back to the visitor's center.

I really just don't get people sometimes.

For instance, there was a Chinese woman who knew minimal English. When she reached the trail stopping point, she was babbling, incoherent, shaking, and was no longer sweating. It took all of one second for me and the other volunteer from trail crew (whose job it was to stop traffic down below the switchbacks) to realize this woman had some sort of heat-related illness.

It was about 1:00 in direct sunlight, and I'd seen her hike down at 11:00. I asked her when the last time she had anything to eat or drink was, and with her limited abilities, she just pointed up. As in, she took a swig from the water fountain up top--two hours ago. I made her sit down in the shade, got my extra bottle of water I always carry and forced it to her. I didn't have anything salty, but then again, I hadn't planned on being down there for so long either (thanks to lack of knowing TC was out there).

She sat on a rock, her hands shaking, and I could hear the triathlete couple behind me talking. I caught "they must have stopped her right in time," and "she doesn't look good." It didn't help the situation that we were essentially cut off down below where everyone else was, I'd forgotten my radio (read: didn't plan to be there), and had an onlooking crowd of twelve people.

When the trail opened, I did my best to make her stay sitting in the shade so one of us could go get someone with a radio to call it in. She babbled at me in Chinese, hugged me, and flew up the trail. We did all that we were able to do.




The second day was better--I was over the feeling of anger I had towards trail crew (for the most part). I just don't like being treated like some kind of idiot and being talked down to like I was the day before. I had seriously stood and been lectured at for fifteen minutes like I was five years old. I really didn't appreciate that, on top of the knee, and I really did not want to go back a second day.

I've been noticing that because I'm a VIP here (volunteer-in-park), people treat me like I'm some kind of deficient. People also ask me what high school I go to. Because I look 16, right? I never really say anything to anyone, but it really bothers me how some full-timers will treat volunteers--I mean, hell, this isn't my JOB. I don't get a SALARY like they do. I'm doing this on a living stipend! How about a "thanks" or a "welcome!"?



The only thing worse than going back is to not go back, so I sucked it up and went back down the trail. Where I was promptly stalked by a squirrel. It locked eyes on my pack at 9:00 and didn't leave me alone all day.



It's creepy how they sit behind rocks, lean back on two legs, and look at you from just over the rock.

Rule #1 of Canyon Life

Always check everything for bugs. Everything. I'm talking shoes, sheets, towels, clothes and toilet paper. Yes, I did say toilet paper.

It's easy to remember that while I do live in a residential area, this area happens to be located in a forest about a mile from the rim of the Grand Canyon. We have streetlights, paved driveways (sometimes) and backyards, but I'm pretty sure in other residential areas (read: suburbs) you really worry less about elk getting trapped in your fenced-in yard, breaking out your windows and trying to kill you when you go to get it out.

Or about coyotes getting your dogs because you left them outside.

Or scorpions hanging out in your underwear because you didn't shut the drawer all the way.

My personal favorite is this morning. Usually, I check everything compulsively because there are bugs all over the place. It's just the way it is when your house is built in the wilds. I check my sheets, my socks, my towels, my clothes, and then my plates and bowls.

On the way down to the kitchen this morning, in bare feet, I stepped on a moth that had decided to die in the middle of a step down from my room. I got to the dishwasher and opened it up to reveal a very dark, very black and very fast spider hanging out around my bowls. I guess he decided he needed a sprucing up with the rinse cycle. How this guy survived that is beyond me, I just let him dart away (and probably crawl back into a mug of mine).

After breakfast, I went back up to my bathroom, flicked an ant off the toilet seat, looked around the rim and bowl for other creepy crawlers (What is my toilet bowl to them? The community pool.) I grabbed a roll of my toilet paper and proceeded to check that for bugs as well, finding one right on the top. He too got flicked into the wall.

I was all ready to go, clean new white socks (why do I buy white anyways, they always turn orange from dust/dirt after I wear them out) on, I opted for my running shoes because they have support in them and my knee has been killing me lately. Hiking shoes are great for walking in steep, rocky environments--not so good for supporting knees, though. As I slipped in my left foot, I felt something down by my toes, which I wiggled around to figure out what it was.

I took off my shoe and turned it over in that childlike "crap-*shake*-I've-*shake*-got-*shake*-another rock-*shake*" way of removing anything from one's shoes. Out drops a big, ugly beetle. That I had just killed and squished (in my white socks) with my toes.

With Your Head In The Clouds

For about the fortieth time this week, I wish I knew how to operate the safety van's lights. Was it because I was driving at night or early morning? Good guess, but no. Extreme rain? Only at moments. Fog? Well, sort of.

I was driving through clouds. This week I got to witness something very strange and apparently, not as rare as I thought it was.





A few days ago on my commute out to Hermit's Rest, I noticed what I took to be steam or smoke coming out of the canyon. It was a strange sight to be right next to the rim but see nothing but white vastness. As I drove further out to my destination, I noticed that there was far too much dense whiteness in the canyon for it to be smoke (that would have been one hell of a massive wildfire), also steam doesn't look or move like that.



What was happening is what's known as inverted clouds. It's this strange and supernatural-feeling phenomenon where clouds are formed and trapped deep in the canyon and along the rims. I've been living, walking, driving, thinking, hiking and eating in the clouds for days now.


(there is a trail--and drop--here)

All of this is all ok, seeing as how rapidly it cools off inside of a cloud and how the cover blocks those pesky sun-burning rays. The downside to this is that it rains. All. The. Time. After spending four days in it, I'm soggy, muddy and miserable for the most part. Everything I own is damp and my shoes are coated in thick, canyon mud. Canyon mud is not like regular mud. For one, it's orange. Also, it's stickier and more like cement than normal mud.



The clouds are cool, but make driving on a two-lane road winding around the western part of the South Rim without knowledge of car headlights just a little bit nerve-wracking. Lets add in to this bikers, without lights or vests, foreigners who walk in the middle of the road and not the trail for some reason, critters that weigh up to about half a ton, buses carrying more tourists out on a schedule, and numerous tourists who somehow got the code to the gates and are now rubbernecking it through the dense and barely-visible cloud.



I kept trying to stop and take pictures on my way back, but the clouds envelope you here pretty fast and make taking pictures a complicated task. I did manage to get a picture of people standing in the clouds, in case you ever wondered what that looks like (above).

The clouds are strange in that they get sucked upwards out of the canyon when they hit rim (thus my driving problem). They move so quickly you can stand there and visibly see them get ripped into the atmosphere, like a huge, white waterfall in reverse.



Here's a video of the clouds being sucked out (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eKXbcC7JDeg)

Don't Be Your Own Statistic

I started my weekend by going to Flagstaff and finally getting a haircut. There is very little in this world that can make you feel as shiny and new as simply getting your hair done. I walked in a scraggly mess, having lived in a desert for five weeks, and walked out a new woman. I was feeling so good, in fact, I decided to go buy some new pants because the ones I wear to work everyday are getting pretty beat.

So I went to American Eagle, where I buy all my pants, and went in search of the 12s. The problem with this? Everyone is a size 12. Disheartened I could only find booty shorts in 12s (read: the LAST thing a 12 wants are booty shorts!), I picked up the 14s in the khakis I wanted and 12s in the jean shorts I wanted and shlepped myself into the fitting room.

The 14s were far too big, so there went all the khakis I liked. I went to put on the 12 and realized that it too was too big for me. Adventurously, I had the woman bring me 10s. I put them on and zipped them up. It would have been great had they not been low-risers. I don't know who designs pants to have the legs shorten and crotch shrink when all you need is a smaller waist size. So, even though 12s are now too big, I still can't buy 10s because while my waist is smaller, these rhino legs of mine are going nowhere.



Having this slow-paced "whatever" weekend, I opted for a mostly-flat 8+ mile walk out to Hermits Rest. You all might remember this as the very first walk I did the weekend after I got here. I wanted to see if I'd changed in five weeks.

Only this time, I left at noon on one of the hottest days of the month so far. I wanted to really experience the heat, especially since I'd be going down into the canyon and so far I'd really stuck to morning hikes. Out I went into the sun armed with government-issued sunscreen and my camera.

Already a difference: there were now signs to tell me just how far there was left to go on the trail! Improvement.



The best sight of the day? A Swedish (?) man and his friend biking. The heavier friend was yelling in some language and grunting up the hill. His fit friend decides to help him out and literally, while still biking, pushes the other man up the hill. That's true friendship right there.



People tend to love the paved trails here, but I hate them. Not only are they uncomfortable to walk on them, but they kick back up the heat from the sun. Not only do you have the sun mercilessly on top of you, you have waves from heated tar coming back up from below you. When I hit the actual trail after the initial 2 miles of pavement, I always feel cooler. Which is ironic because this is the point where you're on exposed rock cliff and the heat from the canyon is now battering you from the side.

I kept reapplying sunscreen and taking water breaks while other, ambitiously uninformed hikers plowed right past me. I would later see them, drenched in sweat, sitting in the shade waiting for the bus. I enjoy the solitude and hate when some tourist, completely unprepared, interferes with my Sunday stroll.

Take for instance the woman wearing improper shoes who, instead of letting me (the uphill) pass her, she came barreling down the inside of the trail (me on the outside, drop of, oh, 2,000 feet) and slipped. She slipped right in front of me, her legs almost kicking mine out, but missing by two inches. All it would have taken was being off balance to fall over the ledge because some stupid person decided she could handle this twisting, loose gravel and dirt trail. But having worked in the park for five weeks, I was prepared. Honestly, she probably would have fallen and I would have just landed on my face. And so she, embarrassed, got up and on her way and I continued on mine.

If there's one thing you learn here it's Don't Be A Statistic. Especially your own.

(Video: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DhIIVQi1uAU)

The heat was almost unbearable towards the end. When you hit the greenway (where bikes and people are allowed to mingle away from the road), you have a hilly paved monstrosity soaking up heat and throwing it back at you on this five-foot wide opening devoid of shade. It is literally the only point I felt as if the heat was too much.



But, right when I thought I'd have to go find a tree or bush to crawl under for some shade, it becomes steadily cooler. I can no longer feel the sun burning my exposed skin, a welcome relief. I looked up into the sky and this is what I saw:



The shape of two hands?

I finally made it to Hermits Rest, sat down, and waited for the next bus. I'm sure the guy who sat next to me was so thrilled; I probably smelled awesome at that point.

And As The Sun Sets On This Week

I thought it would be a good wrap-up to the week to end on a positive note. After three deaths this week, one begins to wonder what it is about the canyon that draws people in to the potential death-trap. I found myself wondering this after a long, hard week, where my body finally rebelled against my new lifestyle and had what a coworker described as an "altitude crash." Meaning, essentially, that every once in a while you get tired, lethargic, and progress backwards in your acclimation to being at 7,000 feet.

And I picked one hell of a time to overwork myself physically: the week the CDC study was here! So not only was I exhausted all week, but I've been pretty much eating whatever I find in the pantry. Overall, not the best week here in the Grand Canyon.

It was with this overall lackluster that I went out to meet the CDC team for a BBQ and s'mores out at some point towards Desert View. Thanks to a lack of knowledge of the eastern canyon and a cell phone that is best used as a paperweight here, I drove around mindlessly for about an hour looking for signs of cars or people that I could recognize.

As I was looking to the left, a tourist two cars in front of me decided to turn in to a lookout at the last second, causing the car in front of me to slam on their breaks, and thus, when I looked back right at the last possible second, I too slammed on my breaks and took a full-on header into my steering wheel. I managed to avoid the SUV ahead of me, by inches. I can only wonder what I've done to my breaks and tires.

Eventually, though, I did find the road, walked about 20 minutes up a blocked pathway and found the team already in BBQ mode. We were at Shoshoni point, a lesser known area where there are grills to use and an amazing view of the canyon at sunset.


(a condor flying into the sunset)



It was truly amazing to be sitting at a picnic table shooting the breeze with a large drop off just fifteen yards to your right. To add to this experience, there's a rock outcropping here you can crawl out to--only if you have good balance! Do not attempt in flip flops! The way out is loose rock!





We hung out, made s'mores (ok, I sat and someone else made me a s'more), and it really reminded me that yes, there is life outside of the park. It was the first time in a long time that I felt like a real human person--out and interacting and laughing. And thanks to this visit, I now have really begun thinking about continuing on with this project and getting my masters.

And so as the sun sets on this week, I once again feel like I have a purpose, a direction.

Sometimes Things Are Worse Than They Seem

Yesterday, during one of the many meetings the CDC study folks have had, I finally got the full story of the mystery helicopter. As it turns out the park has had three fatalities in one week--all of which were preventable. I had really hoped that the mystery person down by three-mile rest house had gotten out ok, since the details were sparse.

It was a man hiking while on a business trip. He'd spent the day meandering on down to Phantom Ranch (bottom of the canyon. temp? close to oh, 105 degrees if not more) where he and a few coworkers and/or friends had a lemonade and hung out.

Phantom Ranch, from what I hear, is absolutely beautiful with a "canteen" to get food and drink and a pool to cool off. The man decided to hike back out in the early afternoon. The sun at 2:00 (ish) in the afternoon is directly overhead and beats down relentlessly on anyone who dares to be out in it. Your skin sizzles and your brain boils in such temperatures, especially because it's not just the sun--the canyon itself exudes heat, if you happen to be hiking by a rock wall, expect to literally bake. Like in an oven.

Dispatch began getting calls a few hours later by bystanders who witnessed a man stumbling with a bloody leg. It's hypothesized the man, suffering from heat-related illness, had stumbled along the trail. A short time later, the fatality was called.

What makes this all the more tragic is that his companions said the man had seen all the safety information, had actually been treated by a well-equipped ranger in Indian Gardens, who told the man to wait it out until it cooled off, and still decided to hike during peak heat hours up a 10-mile trail.

Why?

The man probably stood at the bottom of the canyon and looked at those massive rock walls, as we all do, and thought "wow, I really did it." He didn't plan on only making it 5 or 6 miles back up the trail--the rest of his life. So, why? Why did he think the information didn't apply to him? Why does a woman now no longer have a husband? And better yet... how? How can we change the signs around here to actually impact these people before something like this happens?

Another fatality happened two days ago. A man fell off the rim. It was another case of people crossing barriers to "get a better look." Ironically, they get a "look" that very, very few people ever see. It also happens to be the last thing they ever see.

I think maybe I should have picked a park with simpler problems... like road signs or bear problems.

Even in the shadow of all this, I went down that same fateful trail the businessman died on. One of the Washo folks decided to come on a hike with me down Bright Angel.

There's nothing quite like hiking with a professional athlete. I was pouring sweat, panting and in mild abdominal discomfort. She was breathing normally, and able to keep a conversation without the raspy "oh... yeah... this one... time..." effect. I both envied her and silently cursed myself. Why hadn't I tried harder to get in better shape before they came out here?! Sure, I've lost about 10 lbs since June, but I'm no athlete, that's for sure.

We did the easy 1.5 mile rest house hike and then walked up the rim trail a ways. She then decided to go on the Jr. Ranger Adventure Hike down Hermit Trail. Her total mileage today? More than six miles and 4,000 feet of elevation. Unreal.

Things Aren't Always How They Seem

So it's been a few days now and no word of this "death" has emerged past what happened in my last post. I'm not really sure what happened, but there's no record of someone actually dying. And if someone did, perhaps it's just taking a while to get the details. It actually puts my mind at ease to think that whoever it was, whatever kind of episode happened, that the person was able to walk away from it. That's usually not the case here.

The CDC study arrived here yesterday and I've been following them around the park. It's interesting to see the response that they get here--much, much different from the response I personally got. It's strange to be sitting in these meetings with these high-ranking officials, look down at my stained volunteer uniform (someone else stained it before I got it) and think "yes, yes I am sitting in a room, two months after graduation, discussing a CDC study in Grand Canyon National Park." And not, "I am sitting in my cubicle writing another freakin' blurb about the local high school's football team." Or even "I'm in my parents basement, again, eating chips and thinking about how fat I'm getting. Now, where did I leave that box of cookies?"

It's moments like this that I really have to stop myself and realize how differently my life turned out. Sure, I could always go back to school or into publishing. But no one told me that there was a life out there besides the one I told myself I had to have. Wouldn't that have been a good thing to figure out, oh, say four years and two degrees ago?

A Tragic Reminder Of Why I'm Here

We all remember the hike I did last week? The one to 3-mile rest house on Bright Angel Trail? (Down Is Optional...)

Well, yesterday my roommate and I were sitting in our living room when we heard a chopper fly out. This is not an uncommon occurrence for a helicopter to fly overhead, but to hear one so low was. I, in passing, asked my roommate if that was a search and rescue chopper.

About an hour later, 7:00pm, my roommate comes back in the house from an errand she was running and announced that it was, in fact, a SAR helicopter. Her friend had called her from being called in on it to tell her a woman had died on Bright Angel Trail, down at 3-mile rest house.

The woman had died doing that hike I did last saturday. It's the first person to die on the South Rim since I've been here and it's hard for me to wrap my head around. I know there's a reason why I'm here and to look at the safety messages in the park, but it doesn't really sink in that these things happen here. No one comes to the park to die, or have the last memory of someone they love crumpled in a heap and disoriented from heat stroke. It's incredibly tragic.

The park really does all it can to stop these things from happening, even sending out PSAR (preventative search and rescue) teams to talk to people before something bad happens. They have Hike Smart and signs at the trailheads. And yet, people don't listen, nor do they read anything. It's the sad truth of the world we live in that people die unnecessarily just for the sake of either a good time or convenience, or both.

It was with this thought that I went out to hike Hermit Trail, by far the rockiest, steepest trail I've attempted here. The trail in some places is literally just rock faces. Rock shelves laid out on other rock shelves. The trail also has no water sources, so my pack was extra heavy from carrying 4 liters of water (extra water is used to wet my two bandanas when the sun comes out). I started at 7:00 am this time, instead of 4 or 5, because it was raining when I got up and the dark + rain=bad hiking conditions.

I had no idea where the trail would turn in places, mainly because it's hard to see a blazed foot trail when there's no footprints to follow. That's the one issue I had with the rock-trail, I couldn't tell where I was or which way I was going. But the trail is located in the western canyon, so I still had plenty of time in the shade to hike in and out before the sun made it harder.



I made it down to the trail split off point and decided to turn around there. I'd probably gone about 1,200-1,400 vertical feet in maybe 1-2 miles. It was difficult to tell--neither the park maps nor the trailhead gives any detailed trail information.



I climbed back about 400 feet in 10 minutes and took a break. Afterwards, I noticed, I really didn't need one. I did about 1,000 vertical feet up rocky, steep slopes (and I thought the Kaibab trail's stairs were bad...) and barely felt the need to slow down.



I took Hermit Trail with far greater ease than I knew was in me. Surely, this is a sign that I am getting fitter. It wasn't hiking so much as rock climbing at points, and yet, my legs didn't burn with effort, my breathing was fairly regular (still huffing and puffing, but manageably), and my arms weren't tired from planting poles.

I cracked a huge smile when I reached the trailhead. Today was a milestone day.

Here's a video from my break (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=opKURQKraBk)

Why am I doing this to myself? I'm in training of course. In two weeks I'm going to be doing a solo rim-to-rim hike over the span of 5 days. The distance? 8,000 feet down North Kaibab and 6,000 feet back up Bright Angel. It's about 25 miles in total.

This may be a national park, but it's still an unforgiving inverted mountain in the desert in Arizona. I have to do everything in my power to be ready for the demands of the inner canyon.

How I Spent My Summer, Birthday That Is.

(This pic is from the rim trail's Walk of Time...)

Happy Birthday to me... 22 years and still keeping with tradition. I went down South Kaibab again today. As you remember, this is the first hike I attempted (trying for Cedar Ridge) my first weekend here. I made it not even halfway. It was windy in the shade with sun in your face around each corner. This morning was a different situation, now that we're firmly into monsoon season.


(Yes, this is rain over the canyon)

It's a welcome relief sometimes to have the sun hiding behind clouds. Especially today, where it qualifies as humid (more than the 3% we're used to).



There were only two other people (and one maintenance worker) on the trail when I went out. Which was a nice change from the bus loads that roll in at 7:00 and clog the trail. No one visiting the park for the day cares much about other people on the trail, especially when all they want to do is go down to the river and back--a death sentence on summer days. Literally.

The trail on South Kaibab is perhaps one of the steepest I've ever encountered. While Bright Angel has long, slightly sloping switchbacks, Kaibab has short, steep, stair-like slopes that sometimes are on top of a ridge and lined with rocks on both sides. This is both an amazing view and a startling realization as you're hiking on it and tourists are attempting to blow past you, as if the 2,500 ft drop isn't there.



I had yet to hike on a day like this, where it was raining just above you but evaporating right before it hit your head. The views were spectacular in a Tim Burton-surrealism sort of way. To be mostly alone, hiking on a ridge down to a plateau is an amazing feeling. It's not like hiking a populated slight slope, wide enough to pass and sheltered on one side by a high canyon wall. No, here was the true canyon.



When I got down to Cedar Ridge, I took a good look around. It was just this plateau, a randomly flat part of land on an outcropping you have to hike a ridge to get to. If you didn't know any better (read: that there was a 2,500 foot drop awaiting you on the edges), you could easily mistake this for flat land, like a field at home. It just looked so out of place.





I found myself a nice, big rock in the middle of the plateau and stared up at the now-clearing sky and wished I had carried my book down. It was a cool day and the rock was slanted like a beach chair. What a crazy place to be just hanging out, staring up at the sky. On a plateau in the Grand Canyon, far away from the population and 1,140 feet down from the rim.


(Just for perspective, I was on the very bottom left hand corner of this picture where there's that flat red land)


(me, on the rock, looking up at the canyon walls)

The hike up was steep and I poured sweat like I was back in Texas running a marathon. My shirt was soaked, my bandana pretty much useless because it too was soaked. People parted for me as I came up because I'm sure I looked like something you didn't want to get too close to. I had to stop and rest back at Ooh Ahh point because I was so uncomfortable in my now wet clothing. I took off my pack, sat down, and ate my granola bar. I gained about 500 feet of elevation in less than half a mile.

The trail was getting crowded now, and I seemed to be the only person hiking up and out. Families came running down the trail and I had no energy left to tell them uphill (read: my fat, sweaty ass) has the right of way. So I just used my hiking poles and thundered right through them.

By the time I could see the trailhead, I could also see the Interp-lead tourist hike. They'd be going where I'd just been, but at a much slower pace. What took me 2 hours to do will take them 5. This also meant the trail was completely clogged from the ranger standing there talking and no one paying attention to the other hikers on the trail. I waited a few minutes and then just went through. Manners be damned, I just climbed 1,130 vertical feet with 10 left to go. I could see the top and I just wanted to get there.

Taking off my pack and cooling off by the trailhead was momentarily enjoyable, until the wind kicked up the smell of the mules twenty yards off through the woods.

All in all, not a bad hike. 3 miles, 2 hours, 1,140 vertical feet. Perfect for a day when you have to be in at work by noon. I was such a bum when I got home that I didn't even shower. I threw my hair into a side ponytail, put on my SCA hat, my uniform and went to the office.

Welcome home, Wilderness Woman.

Down Is Optional, Up Is Mandatory

The moon has been so bright lately, it's been waking me up at 3 or 4 every morning now. The first night, I didn't know what the hell was so bright and flashing in my window. The coyotes in my backyard howling gave me a pretty good idea, though. I've never had the moon cast so much light on me before, it was enough to see without a flashlight.

This is what I experienced as I set out for my normal weekend hike. This time, I told myself, I was only going to go about two miles down and come up. I'd miss 3-mile rest house by one mile and call it a day. I wanted to go a little farther than 1.5-mile rest house, but I knew that it was going to take me a very, very long time. It's important to note that 3-mile rest house is just barely above the canyon's base and is just barely two miles out from Indian Gardens (campground).



So I set off my usual time, the smell of bacon wafting down and reminding me of civilization just above my head. There's something comforting about the smell of bacon in the morning. Somehow it signifies home and safety. If you can smell bacon, you're going to be ok. And this is coming from a vegetarian.



I plodded down slowly, much more slowly than the other people on the trail would have liked. But I hike at my own pace, I don't let people rush me. I made it to the first rest house at about 6:00am. You could tell it was going to be a hot day because by 6, I'd already shed my outer layers.



The rest house where I always sit on the ledge above the box there and just observe. A lot of people miss the house because it's up off the trail via a narrow staircase.


As I'm sitting there watching the tourists with mild interest, this strange alien-like figure appears around a bend down below and just trods on up. I'd never seen a bighorn sheep before, and neither had the tourists who were standing there debating what the hell it was. "It's some sort of weird goat-thing," was one guess.



Everyone stared in awe as the sheep moved by the trail to the restrooms, as if to say: Nobody poops on my watch!



"It's a bighorn sheep," I said as I finally left my lofted resting place and came down to the crowd. An Australian rounded on me, "That is not what sheep look like!" After some shocked debate, she agreed that it could be a sheep, but not like the ones she was used to.

This same Australian would later get herself stuck up on a perch when she went off-trail.



The further down I went, the hotter it got. And the higher the canyon walls rose. It's really something strange to be standing in the canyon and looking way up at the rim trail you know is up there, but it's so hard to imagine anything being up there. Then, of course, you realize that that's the distance you need to cover to get home again.



There was this great little sign down at 3-mile rest house that said "going down is optional, going up is mandatory." I stood there for a second, ate my granola, and turned around. I knew I'd already gone too far.

The way up is brutal. We're talking steep inclines, those stupid stairs that are all over the trails here, mule poop, sun beating down on you, chapped lips you can't seem to put enough chapstick on, and the dry mouth coated with dust. Everything gets coated in dust, your clothes, hair, mouth, legs. You'll often see people with strange orange streaks on them--sweat + dust=gross orange streaks all over you.

Along the way, some strange photographer flagged me down.

"Give me your bandana." He said, as if it were the most natural thing in the world to ask.
"It's all sweaty, what do you need it for?"
"I'm going to wet it for you."
"Uhh, I don't think you want to touch it, it's all sweaty."
"I was in the reserves, I can handle it."
"Ok..." I handed it over.
"Looks like you got it good and wet already! Or is that sweat?..."
"Its sweat."
"Oh."

He was a nice guy though, just one of many people I happened upon along the trail. I advised a hiking trio at 1.5-mile rest house (after I reached it once again, only going uphill this time) to turn back. They later told me that I may have saved their lives. It's so hard not to keep going without thinking of the return trip because walking downhill, it's easy.



I continued up again, this time it was around 8:15-8:30. The sun was nearly in full-force and I was feeling it. I kept running in to the same nice two old guys and we would sit a while and drink and talk, they would take off, I'd give them a head start, and we'd meet up again ten minutes later.


(the cause of the horrible smell on the trail in places)

From start to finish, it took 5 hours, 2,112 vertical feet, and 6.2 miles. The biggest lesson I learned was the need for a good day pack. I use my backpack, but it doesn't have good support so now I can barely talk or swallow and my shoulders/neck are all crunched up and painful. Breathing is also an issue. This is the importance of a good pack!

Just Another Day At Work

Today I went out to gather more information for the project I'm pitching to my boss tomorrow afternoon. I'm really excited about it, which makes me all the more nervous about going public with it. I think of all the things I've done, this has the most potential for a real impact. I won't bore you with the details until tomorrow, if it gets approval. If not, back to square one and two months to go.

When I say "gather information," I really mean "put on my Penn State tank top and jean shorts and go out and pretend to be a tourist while secretly observing other tourists." Subsequently, I always get some good exercise and pictures. This job is like nothing I've ever done before, and sometimes I have to stop a moment, gaze out into the canyon and realize that yes, yes this is my life. And I'm really here. Walking the rim of the Grand Canyon.



I have a few places I like to go when I set myself loose on the park, one of those places being the rim trail. Once you get out of the village, it gets quieter. I like hiking along the rim in the morning and people-watching while I eat my granola bar and drink my electrolyte mix.



I like to go sit on the benches on the Rim Trail out by Yavapai Observation Station and just take in the view. Plus I run in to more people this way.

Remember how I told you that you could always see the moon here? Well, here it is:



Here's a view of South Kaibab, the trail where I saw a mountain lion... you can see how steep it is. That flat area is about 2-3 m down... I hiked about 1/4th of the way down this as my first hike in the Canyon.



I wonder if this lady knows you can get the plague from squirrels? I see this kind of stuff all the time. Part of my job? Making it stop.



Days like today when it's hot and windy, crowded but perfect, that I really love being here. I get to walk around the rim of the Grand Canyon on a daily basis. Who gets to say that? Sure I have no friends here, no internet or cable at home, and very limited supplies (groceries/laundromat is an hour + away), but living a life where you wake up excited each morning and go to sleep tired but accomplished at night... this is the way people were supposed to live.

I always wondered how a world would be without facebook, internet, or the Jonas Brothers. I imagined happy people, mostly, outside doing active things. I've found that place, but ironically, now I need the internet more than ever. If only to remind myself that I have an identity outside this park. Friends, family, a real life that I came here to escape.

People tell me constantly what an "adventure" this is, or how "brave" I am for doing it, and I just laugh. No, in fact I'm quite cowardly. I was looking for a life that didn't feel like... well, real life. And then I discovered that I could really do this. Not the internship, exactly, but the Park Service.

I want to wake up in the mornings and breathe clean air. I want to bike on the greenways to work and pass wildlife. I want to hike every weekend in my backyard.

This internship is really just that--an internship. Sometimes I forget, get stressed out and treat it like it's a job. I have to remind myself that my time here is limited and to go out and have fun. Go hike if the urge strikes, because tomorrow I'll be back in the snow. Go bike if you feel like it, cause too soon those knees won't be able to handle it anymore.

Here's a video of Bright Angel Trail from where I was this morning... (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RospmSKJKsE) It shows you where I hiked and where I'm going this weekend.