Karl, Tom, and Mark are off again on a wild, Grand Canyon adventure—our seventh annual trip! So, La Macchina Fotografica will be on vacation as well. We'll have some great new photos and stories to tell when we return later this month.
Happy Trails!
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Nankoweap Trail
The edge of Nankoweap was coming to an end. We'd hiked along the red-rock traverse until there was no more of it. We were at the end of the side canyon. The only way to go was up a short distance and then out of the canyon. Nankoweap is tenacious and its last grip is filled with boulders and gravel and gnarly brush. But, any final surge out of the canyon is aided with a healthy dose of adrenaline. Soon we were released from the canyon and its exhausting edge.
It is a strange thing to sleep at the bottom of Grand Canyon. Gravity seems more profound down there. The curious attraction that pulls you down into the canyon in the first place seems to have a grip on you and teases you with the notion that you just might never be allowed to emerge from the hot pit. For me, these feelings come out at night, like demons that have been locked in a closet all day.
Not long before the raven caper more boats had landed on the beaches around us. A large group of photographers and their crew were setting up camp for the night about a hundred yards downstream. Life on a river boat is certainly different than that of the hiker. Cots, tables, lamps, and stoves were set up by the crew. A flirtatious, young woman set up horseshoes for a group of men who had gathered around her. She threw the first shoe and the eager men let out a loud cheer of approval for her.
Every journey into Grand Canyon has a transcendent moment that is ineffable. One stands and looks out and up and feels a connection with land and spirit that cannot be described with earthly words. Reaching the Colorado River on our second day of Nankoweap was such a moment. In an instant, the trials of the day before vaporized off into the late morning sun. I stood, transfixed by the sensory feast before me and within me. "This is why I hike Grand Canyon!" I thought.
"Where's the river?"
It was my first ever question when I saw Grand Canyon for the first time. I was fourteen. I strained my neck to pan the expansive vista but the river wasn't there. The waterway was a mystery, a deep and invisible sorcerer. It had done its job of carving the canyon so well that it had worked its way down to the center of the earth—or so it seemed. This added to its mystique.
Things get very basic when dehydration sets in. The higher aspirations of life evaporate into wisps of nothingness. When dehydration grips you there is nothing left but the desire for water and for shade. It's a curious thing about water—it's something very ordinary until you really need it. Then it is everything.
There I stood, face-to-face with the Scary Spot. I rehearsed this moment in my mind for weeks. Would I turn around and go home? Would I crawl across it? Would I sit down on my ass and slide past it? Like so many of life's mental rehearsals, I did the unexpected. I just walked across it. My heart was pounding, my legs were a little shaky. I dug my hiking poles in a little deeper. I did *not* look over the edge. All in all, given the context of the overall experience, the Scary Spot wasn't all that scary. I think, by now, my brain was numb to it.
It doesn't take long before Nankoweap plays tricks with your head. The genuine Nankoweap, the real deal, starts when you see the sign welcoming you to Grand Canyon National Park. That takes awhile to reach. Before that the path is a national forest trail, officially called Saddle Mountain Trail 57. This preliminary trail is a rigorous romp in an alpine forest studded with aspen. It offers a compelling vista of much of Northern Arizona from over 8000 feet in elevation. Saddle Mountain Trail 57 is lovely and dramatic but everything before Nankoweap is foreplay.
There are two ways to find your way to Nankoweap. Both require a long hike into the Saddle Mountain Wilderness of Kaibab National Forest. One can get to Nankoweap from the north or from the west. We came in from the west, a choice that has its advantages at the start of the long hike but extracts a pound or two of flesh at the end. At the start of this crisp morning, we didn't realize how annoying the end would be. Saddle Mountain just seemed in the way. I barely noticed any of it.