Saturday, September 29, 2012

Have only been home one week out of the past six. I was only supposed to do one trip this fall, but things happen, and I have been on the trail most of the time.  Just got back from Supai, and the place is doing better.  The campground is still overcrowded, and the fact that several companies have permanent camps there doesn't help.  The campsite I found (after a 30 minute frantic search) turned out to be just right, except for the fact that the outhouse was closed, so we had to walk ten minutes each way to the other outhouse, or wade across the creek, not so useful at night.  First time I have ever seen racoons down there.  One of them had a gay old time trying to get into the rat sacks.  Or maybe he was just having a gay old time swinging back and forth on them.

Also two horses.  Wandering through camp in the middle of the night.

Also SOMETHING that squeaked, and then jumped, and then  knocked a bunch of rocks down, maybe a small animal that was eaten by a larger.  Or maybe the horse stepped on someone.

But I only picked up three bags of trash on the way out.  Last year it was ten.  The village elder who spoke with us decried the fact that he cannot swim in the creek barefoot because of all the broken glass from partying.  I thought: so you must know who is doing it.  Then I thought: yeah, but it is a very small town, and one does not necessarily want to tick off one's neighbors.

More rangers ranging, including one below Mooney who caught three illegal backpackers (hee, hee).




A tattooed harmonic convergence convention was meeting at Havasu Falls.  They were lean and tanned and bikinied, and our group were middle aged and up, in granny swimsuits with a certain amount of cellulite showing.  I thought:  bikini people, behold your future.

Thursday, September 13, 2012

Just finished a rim to rim which started out like Noah's worst day.  As we drove to the North Rim, we traveled in and out of thunderstorm cells.  By the time we reached the Rez, all the side streams were flooding.  Mel and I were jumping back and forth in the van, yelling, "Look at that one!  It has rapids!"  Meanwhile the more sober in the group were wondering, who are these maniacs?

Camped in the rain, got up in the fog, started down in a cloud.  The clouds parted to allow a view, then started to rain again once in camp.  I remember pitching the tent, starting to walk to the outhouse, and getting caught in an instant deluge.  I yelled, "All I wanted was to go to the bathroom!" as I ran back to the tent, and Mel (safe inside her own tent) laughed. 

Woke up at 1 AM to stars.  Hallelujah!  It kept raining, but just behind us, which made the walk through the box nice indeed.  Hiking out today it was cool and windy, much more pleasant that I had anticipated for a September rim to rim. 

I guess the lesson learned is to enjoy the weather whatever, because there you are, and it may be a blessing.  Cold on the North Rim means cool in the bottom.  As the old Girl Scout song goes (and yes, I was singing this most of the way across):

Whether the weather is cold
or whether the weather is hot,
we'll weather together, whatever the weather,
whether the weather or not.

And sometimes you get a rainbow picture.



Sunday, September 9, 2012

Someone has turned off the faucet: the number of hikers on the trails is really down.  Only saw about two dozen day trippers on the South Kaibab.  Once again, along the rim there is very little English spoken. 


I thought I'd have a couple of weeks to get some stuff done, but, alas.  Inherited a women's mule assist, then got a call to assist on a rim to rim, and today my boss tracked me down at the gym with an afternoon gig.  It's a dirty job but someone has to do it. 

It was just about a year ago that a huge thunderstorm dumped on Phantom Creek and flushed it clean.  Now, for our rim to rim tomorrow, the forecast is for 70 percent chance of rain.  I would dearly love to see a flash flood (from safely high ground) but I don't want to camp in the rain.  Bitch, bitch, bitch.

Monday, September 3, 2012

I am getting really anti-social on the trail.  Thursday I hiked out carrying two packs (don't ask) weighing 60 pounds.  I tied my umbrella to the pack strap, because it was hot and I don't like carrying the umbrella in my hand.  The mule wrangler asked me to take the umbrella down, and I explained that it was tied on.

"Then you'll have to take the pack off".

One who has never carried a 60 pound pack does not realize how difficult this is to take off and put back on.  It is best to have a ledge of some sort to balance.  Lacking same, I dumped it on the ground and glared  at the mules as  they passed.  Several things I did NOT say:

        I'm 60 years old, carrying two packs, and I'M walking: what is wrong with this picture?

       You are trusting your lives to an animal with 63 chromosomes  that is afraid of an umbrella.

        Those little holes in the sand stone are NOT caused by meteor strikes, there is NO petrified  wood in the inner gorge, and the Anasazi did NOT water their corn by carrying water in buckets.

A gentleman then attempted to assist me in putting the pack back on, but he was so enthusiastic he almost pitched me forward over the cliff. 

After mile-and-a-half house I was really surly.  Dehydrated, underfed, sweaty, and exhausted.  Passers-by would chirp, "Just go slowly and drink lots of water!".

"Really,"I would snarl, "I hadn't thought of that.":

Wearing an umbrella on the pack gives a whole new meaning to the concept of "uphill has the right of way".  Several people ostentatiously bent under or around my umbrella, to which, in the mood I was in, I say bugger you.

At the top a perky little runner with a tiny fanny pack asked how long we had been down.  I leaned on my sticks and sucked air while my companions explained that we had spent a few days in the bottom.  She then leaned under my umbrella to chirp at  me.  Why do downhilll hikers think that those of us on our way out are fascinated by the fact they they are hiking down?  Finally she gave up and giggled, "Well,  I guess coming back out is a little harder,"  and pranced on down the trail.  I hope she CRAWLED all the way back out.

Today there was a mass of graffiti at Ooh Ah, all kids (because they wrote their ages) so it took several minutes to erase that.  There were two guys smoking, with external speakers on their ipods, and I muttered something about not needing to smell their carcinogens or listen to their alleged  music, and Brad said,  "Boy, you ARE still snarly". 

I am really starting to think that people need to pass a test of my devising before they are allowed into the Canyon.  I'll have to get to work on that.