brightangelblog

2011-10-02T19:32:00.000-07:00

Supai is kind of a dichotomy. Or an oxymoron. The waterfalls are beautiful. The people are friendly. But the trash piles up in the campground and along the trail. The floods have scoured the campground and there aren't many flat camping spots left.

In the National Park, numbers are limited below the rim. In Supai, anything goes. Reservations are "required" but arrive without one and you are still allowed to stay. You pay twice the fee, but they don't make you hike out.

Group size is not limited. When we left, there was a group of 70 people hiking down. Seventy! They will spend the whole weekend just keeping track of each other. And we were thinking: 70 people swimming in Havasu Falls. 70 people climbing up, or down, the Mooney route. 70 people lined up to get water from the spring. And I know they all didn't wait in line for the bathroom: they would have, ahem, taken matters into their own hands. No matter how careful a group is, there will be 70 people's worth of microtrash, kleenex, water bottle lids, and general mini debris that is so easy to lose track of.

We hiked down on Monday. With an early start we had shade until we reached the creek. I picked up a bag of trash, and upon entering the village, a woman took it from me to put in her trash can.

Once we left the village, it was horrendously hot with sun reflecting from the white sand in the road. It was lunch hour at school, and three kids stalked us. They tugged on our packs, giggled, and ran. They jumped out at us and yelled, "boo!". One little charmer trotted along in the shade from my umbrella, very pleased with herself indeed. The Havasupai are a mischievous people when they like you. Gosh knows what they do when they don't like you.

On a Monday, the campground wasn't too crowded. My favorite spot was available. It is pretty far from the campground entrance, and I know everyone was eying closer spots. There's one. There's a nice one. There's one in the shade! But my spot was better. There were two milk cartons full of trash in the site, so I picked them up and took them back to the ranger when I went for water. There was the lady who had taken the bag from me earlier in the day! She laughed, and said, "Is all you do is go around picking up trash?" Well, pretty much, yeah.

The second day we hiked up the West Rim. I had asked in the Tourist Office for permission to do so, and was told to ask the campground rangers. The first ranger I approached said, No. I was disappointed, and she looked at me closely. "Have you been there?" she demanded. "Yes," I lied. "Will you be careful?". "Very," I said sincerely. "Okay," she decided. When we started up in the morning, I told the ranger on duty that we had permission to climb the West Rim, and he sighed. "Will you be careful?". "We won't get into trouble," I promised. I think the climb is a lot easier than Mooney: I don't know what they are worried about.

The third day we climbed down Mooney (no one told us to be careful) and hiked to Beaver. The rope climb was harder because the water was higher, and we had to wade to the climbing spot. The climb on polished Temple Butte is hard enough when your shoes are dry. And the rope is getting pretty frayed. We had about an hour to ourselves before anyone else showed up.

Day four there was supposed to be an Indian Day parade, so we walked into the village, picked up another bag of trash, and bought a cold soda, but the parade was canceled. So we hiked up Carbonate to see some fossils and played in the water. I guess they have decided to call the new falls Rock Falls. There had been some discussion as to if they should be Sinyalla Falls, or Whatohomogie Falls, or Manajaka Falls, but I guess Rock Falls won't offend anyone.

Day five we hiked out early, passed the 70 people and various other groups, and I picked up five bags of trash. About a dozen people thanked me, and one Native gal asked me if I had an extra trash bag. She had meant to bring one, but it got taken down in the helicopter before she remembered.

It would be interesting to go back in a week and see how much trash has accumulated. I think it is a minority who throws trash, but it only takes a few groups of 5 or 70 to decide that it is cool to toss their water bottles and Gatorade bottles. 99 percent of the trash was for drinks: water bottles, gatorade, pop cans, a number of beer cans, three whiskey bottles, and a six pack of hard lemonade. Considering the Supai Nation is dry, and the stuff would have to be drunk warm instead of cold, that is a lot of work to bring in some booze.

2011-06-09T17:31:00.000-07:00

Big vacation to southern Utah. We scored permits to ride the White Rim, but the road was closed at Potato Bottom because of high water on the Green, so we did an in-and-out. We still rode just as far: over 100 miles. and in that 100 miles there are probably three trees on the whole rim. NO shade.

Just the two of us, so we switched out bikes. Then we decided to both ride the same bike. I rode Brad's 29er for two days. It is faster on the flat, more stable on the downhill, and climbs more easily. So what's not to like?

Then Moab and Arches. Very crowded at Arches. We visited fiery furnace first thing in the morning all alone, but contended with hundreds of people in the Devil's Garden. Rode to some dinosaur tracks at Klondike Bluffs.

Went to Goblin Valley, then to Capitol Reef. We were wandering around the visitor's center, listening to a ranger talk, and thinking: boy, she sounds familiar. It was Andrea, a ranger we knew from Grand Canyon. She gave us some good tips for hiking. We climbed Navajo Knobs, Golden Dome, and walked through two of the "slot" canyons.

2011-04-14T14:29:00.001-07:00

Consider a cup.

A cup is a roughly hemi-spherical container with a device attached for easy grasping with the hand. A cup can contain water, lemonade, tea, hot chocolate, cold pudding (or if you mix up the packages, cold chocolate and hot pudding), hot gelatin, solidified gelatin, noodles and cheese, petit fours, caviar, dirt, or African Violets. A cup can be made of plastic, metal, paper, waxed paper, bone china, stoneware, or chain link fence (for very fast drinkers). The sides may be striated with 1/4, 12/ and 3/4 cup marks. Then you can see graphically the small rations you must exist on. You can also measure accurately the ingredients for various dishes. However, since most of the time you do not bring the box with the directions written on the side, you end up doing things by guess and by golly anyway.

Plastic cups are advantageous because they do not break, no not get hot, and you can drill holes in the handle to tie the to your belt. You can scratch your name in the bottom (and if you scratch too deeply you can reduce your intake of liquid enormously) and if you heat food in them over the stove you can suddenly find yourself with one less thing to carry out.

Metal cups are nice because you can polish them and use them to signal Search and Rescue, you can drop them over a cliff with nothing but a few minor dents resulting, and you can heat things over the stove with them and permanently brand yourself when you try to pick up the cup by its hot handle.

Which leads us to that paragon of cups, the Sierra Cup. The Sierra cup is cleverly constructed so that the lip of the cup stays cool while the contents are boiling hot. This way you do not burn your lip when you drink from it. Instead the boiling liquid enters your mouth to burn your tongue, larynx, esophagus, and stomach lining.. Sierra cups are, above all, perfectly shaped for panning gold. Older Sierra Club members were allowed to carry a Sierra Cup with the proud embossing of “Sierra Club” on the bottom. However, if you have ever tried to clean a cup with the aforementioned legend so embossed, you may be tempted to pay dues to the Wilderness Society instead.

Cups can be used to get water out of a creek for transferal to a canteen, to catch pollywogs, to start an ant farm, to throw water at someone, as an emergency jai alai scoop, to plant an organically grown carrot in, as an emergency hat, as part of a first-aid kit to catch blood if you cut yourself, to dig an elephant trap, and to drink out of.

Why deprive yourself of this benefit to humankind any longer? Why deny yourself a position in the ranks of cup owners? Why drink scalding hot tea out of your cupped hands for another second? Run out now and get a cup.

2011-04-12T13:10:00.000-07:00

Consider a sock.

Socks are worn on the foot. They are used to reduce friction, separate bare tootsies from hard leather, keep feet warm, dry, and full of lint. Socks are made of nylon, wool, or cotton. They can be half socks, ankle socks, knee socks, leotards, or body stockings. Socks can be pulled up on the leg so they will creep back into your boots, or folded over the top of the boot so rocks can get inside. They can be of subdued color or fluorescent green. The latter is preferred so if you get lost you can stand on your head and attract attention by waggling your feet.

Socks can be used for a wind stock, pulled over the head and used for a disguise, pulled over the hand and used for a mitten, or filled with rocks and used as a blackjack (could this be known as socking it to someone?) They can be unraveled and knitted into a dickey or crocheted into a doily. One sock can be used for a hat. They can be filled with water, placed in the refrigerator, and used as an ice tray. They can be nailed up on the mantle for Christmas. They can be filled with paperbacks and used for a book bag. They can be equipped with a drawstring and used for a purse. They can be cut into strips and woven into potholders. The toe can be cut off and used for a nose warmer. The heel can be cut off and used for an elbow warmer. The ankle can be cut off and used for a wrist warmer. If your feet are getting cold by this time, cut up an old glove and use it for a foot warmer.

With this wonderful world of new and exciting things to do with this fantastic product, how can you longer resist running out and buying 63 pairs of socks? Wonderful things can be done with 126 socks. If you ever find a 124 footed mastodon, you can outfit both it and yourself at a moment’s notice.

2011-04-11T14:41:00.000-07:00

Consider a hiking hat.

A hiking hat is an object that covers the head, more or less. It keeps the sun out of your eyes and the hair out of your face. It keeps 5% of your body heat from escaping and protects your part from sunburn. It is also a good place to carry feathers, headbands, notes to your girlfriends, fleas, safety pins, and trail markers. It can be used to hit people, to scoop water up in, to hold rocks, as a table, to fan a campfire, to fan yourself, as a Frisbee, or to plant ivy in. It can be made of straw, plastic, felt, paisley corduroy, wool, canvas or old newspapers. It can be cowboy, mod, bush Australian, French, Swiss, Dutch or Cossack.

To keep a hat on you can tie on with string, keep it jammed down over your ears, pit in it your collar, glue it on, stick it in your pocket, or hike where there is no wind and/or people to snatch it. A hat can lead to jolly companionship and fun games like “see how long the hat will sit on the fire before it catches”, or “see how long the hat will stay in the river before it sinks”, or “see how long we can keep the hat before the owner decapitates us”. People have been known to become so attached to hats that they will scale cliffs to recover them, walk ten miles with both hands on their head to avoid losing them, and kick people in the Cheetos to keep them from being stolen.

If you happen to buy a new hat, you must first break it in before you take it on a hike, else it be broken in for you. To do this it is advisable that you step on it a few times, drag it for five miles behind your vehicle, soak it in a muddy river, bury it in the dirt, singe it in at least three places, knock it out of any shape it make have fool heartedly once held, and stick a feather in it. Shooting a few holes in it is acceptable, but must not be overdone lest you attract target practice while it still resides on your head.

A hat should ideally not be bought, but found in a ditch, at the side of the road, on top of the Peaks, or on someone else. In extreme cases one may be purchased at Goodwill.

Hats are useful for prestige, for keeping rain off your roof, for protecting your head in caves, for making people mistake you for a hippy, and for throwing into the air in moments of exultation. They can be thrown into a ring, eaten, tipped, or pulled down over your eyes so you can sleep during meetings. A hat can be love, beauty, and truth. A hat can be the ultimate trip. So don’t just sit there, let a hat be your guru. Discover the wonderful world of hats.

2011-04-03T20:23:00.000-07:00

Consider hiking food.

It is broken down into several sub-sections: breakfast, mid-morning snack, lunch, mid-afternoon snack, dinner, after-dinner snack, and before bed cocoa and cookies. A pre-breakfast snack is optional.

Breakfast can be composed of gooey oatmeal, lumpy Instant Breakfast, stale doughnuts, burnt biscuit mix, rubbery pancakes, or quickly gobbled noodle dinners. If this does not appeal, one can always skip the hike and eat at IHOP. On second thought, what’s the difference?

Lunches are composed of stale bagels, peanut butter (either frozen or melted, depending on the locale) moldy cheese, strangely smelling bologna, liquid candy bars, lumpy instant pudding (and hearken unto thee, it is not the pudding lumps but the instant milk lumps which cause strong men to cry and strong women to quietly have hysterics) graham crackers, chocolates, raisins, rye krisp, and a dram of instant lemonade. Or the affluent may purchase at exorbitant prices a Trail Pak lunch from a major retailer comprised of graham crackers, chocolate, raisins, rye krisp, and a dram of instant lemonade.

Dinner may be composed of Lipton Noodle Main Dish Dinners (noodles, sauce, and meat), Betty Crocker Noodle Dinners (Noodles and sauce), poor but honest hiker dinners (noodles, butter, sausage, bologna, or mystery meat), or absent-mindedly-packing-for-the-hike-dinner-10-minutes-before-you-leave dinner (noodles). Or one may cave into the materialistic hiking store procurers and purchase freeze-dried repasts such as Turkey Tetrazini, Lasagna, Chicken-a-la-King, or Kung Pao Chicken, most of which taste a lot like noodles, sauce, and stringy mystery meat.

Meals can be cooked in a pot. In fact, it is highly recommended that noodle dinners be so cooked. A pot can consist of the saucepan section of a mess kit, a coffee can, an empty glass jar, a hallowed-out rock, or a bandana, if you cook really fast. An emergency pot can be constructed from a tube tent, cut up and folded into shape, in which you place hot rocks in it to boil the water. Such an emergency might occur when you use your pot for an open canteen, a hat, a daypack, or hung from your belt to conceal holes in your pants.

Snacks are inclusive of M&Ms, lemon candies, mints, nuts, lemonade, limeade, orangeade, apples, cookies, kippered herrings, petite fours, lobster Cantonese, and pheasant under grass (glass will break). Snacks are useful for resting, waiting for lost hikers to get un-lost, puzzling over topo maps, picking up rocks that you can’t carry out so you just take close-up pictures of, and luring yourself along the trail by promising your weary bod a rest and sustenance if it can only drag itself along to the top of the next butte.

Meals are good times to dispose of extra weight in your pack by consumption of food. They are also good for reviewing all the fantastic, beautiful, rare and wonderful things that everyone else saw along the trail, but you somehow missed.

As any hiker will tell you, after 14 miles on the trail, food is more valued than precious gems, exotic furs, cold cash (even before taxes), a Rolls Royce, or a 900-power down sleeping bag. Uncrushed potato chips are worth all these and your first-born child.

Alternatively you can skimp on food and when others find they brought too much and offer to share, produce a grasping hand and an eager happy-to-help-out smile. If they do not offer to share, adopt the classic Puppy Dog Eyes, and begin to drool discretely into your boots. In any case, food is rightly one of the ten essentials. One may live 30 days without food, but one becomes an undesirable and testy trail companion about 29 and a half days prior to this extreme. So do yourself and your hiking buds a favor and invest in trail substance.

2011-04-01T09:59:00.000-07:00

It is not until some uninitiated tourist asks me, “why do I hike” that I realize how little I really know about hiking. I have equipment that satisfies me, almost, and I can get food that I like, usually, and I can amble along a trail without watching my feet, most of the time, and somewhere I have a journal full of details on most of the trails I’ve been on, except every time I go there I find things to add on the list.

But not only does memory sag and lag, and the mind conveniently blank out nastier portions of the adventure, and the trails change with every rainstorm, and the camps change with every passerby, and the seeps change with the snowmelt, but the hike itself depends on the weather, muscle cooperation, water, rocks, animals, wind, blisters, a knee that decides to conk out, mice that eat your apple, lemonade that leaks and sifts throughout the pack, and a thousand other variables.

Then I stare in perplexity at a place that I remembered as Xanadu, and now find to be part of Dante’s Inferno. Or a place that never really ranked outstanding in my mind suddenly grabs my attention with both hands. And then I hear the ghosts of the old explorers who came before me and laid down the path I walk on, laughing down the wind as they sit on some butte and watch us stumble through their old stomping grounds. The grandeur of wilderness reduces us back to our proper place in the perspective of things as that of busy little bugs scuttling about pushing things around.

The faded footprints of the first travelers remind us that we have a long way to walk before we really learn anything. The rolling majesty of clouds, of rocks, of canyon buttes, that were old before time started to mean anything to us, humbles our lives into bursts of music down an undisturbed street, and the ageless wisdom of delicate balance and endless cycles reduces any learning we may profess to have to its less than exhaulted portion of tiny crumbs of facts out of a world of knowledge.

If that is the case, then why frustrate ourselves by trying to find out anything about hiking, or anything about anything? The wisest man in the world knows very little of all there is to know, and if he is wise enough, he may realize this. Ill never climb K-2, or achieve the first decent of a river. I’ll never hike every route in the Grand Canyon. But I ‘m happy with my crumbs. I’m satisfied to just hike in a place for the first time in my life, if not for the first time in the ageless eons of time. I'm glad to know just one part of one trail for certain, if not every inch of every trail in the world. I’m glad to get one insight of myself, if I can’t know everything about people that anyone could know. And if I can so satisfy myself by hiking, then maybe that’s what I ought to tell that tourist.

2011-03-31T14:41:00.000-07:00

What is a hiker?

Somewhere between tourist and explorer there occurs in human development a stage which is physically and psychosocially impossible. It is that unfathomable stage known as the hiker. A creature of undefined by psychologists, misunderstood by park rangers, either admired or doubted by tourists, and unheard of by the rest of society.

A hiker is a rare combination of doctor, lawyer, Indian and chief. She is a competent woods person with her copy of Desert Solitaire as proof. He is the example of manhood in worn-out hiking boots, a sweatshirt two sizes too large and a hat two sizes too small. She is a humorist in a crisis, a doctor in an emergency, a trailblazer, backpacking stove tender, and song leader. He is a comforter in a leaky tube tent on a cold night and a pal who has just loaned someone his last pair of dry socks.

A hiker dislikes 5:00 AM alarm clocks, waiting in line, taking the car to the mechanic (and being asked, “You drove it WHERE?”), and proofreading reports. She is fond of sunbathing in the Grand Canyon, exploring, rock climbing, a 1965 pick-up truck, and weekends. He is a dynamo on weekend hikes, exhausted the next Monday, but recuperated in time for the need weekend. She is good at finding lost trails, downhill hikes, and chasing scorpions out of sleeping bags. He is poor at crawling out of a sleeping bag on raining mornings, remembering salt, and getting to bed early. She is a lover of the out-of-doors, knee-deep in poison ivy.

Who but he can carry a wet sleeping bag, play sixteen games of Uno in succession, carry two packs, whistle “A Fistful of Dollars” through his fingers, speak pig Latin in Spanish, stand on his hands, sing 37 verses of Ging Gang Goolie, and eat four helpings of dinner.

She is expected to hike 25 miles in a weekend when during the week all the walking she does is from the car to the elevator. He is expected to take a 1989 VW over a jeep trail. He is expected to ride for 300 miles sharing the back of a panel truck with 16 other people and 23 packs. She is expected to hike energetically when all she has had to eat are pop tarts, rice and chicken soup, roll-ups made with stale tortillas and beef jerky, and 3 melted chocolate bars. He is expected to sleep warmly in the mountains in a sleeping bag so thin you can see the stars through it.

For all this, she gets blisters, a beat-up pack, sprained ankles, twisted knees, a sunburn on her nose, and a bad cold. All for the glory of seeing a place that the tourists never go. You wonder how he can stand the pace. You wonder why she doesn’t quit all the nonsense and press on to higher things. But on Saturday morning when the hiking group gathers in the parking lot to brandish road directions and trail maps, you know why.

2011-03-09T16:57:00.000-08:00

Recently SUV (stupid useless vehicle) clubs have been complaining that there aren't enough off-road sites for them. Apparently the 2 percent of our public lands which are preserved as Wilderness are too much. Notwithstanding the fact that that is about the same amount of land under pavement.

Anyhow, the cry of the month is "access". Access for all who don't want to walk, primarily. And I just want to say that I couldn't agree more.

If hiking trails are too narrow for those poor 4X4'ers, then by all means they should be widened to accommodate those mistreated dusty little souls with their accompanying ice chests full of cold beer. Of course, not everyone can afford a 4X4, so then we'd have to smooth the road enough to accept a high clearance vehicle, like a VW bug. On the other hand, not everyone wants that kind of car, either, so we'd have to grade the roads to accept a passenger car.

Now we have a problem with car owners who don't have a powerful enough engine to chug up and down a steep grade, so bring on the bulldozers and blasters and keep those road grades to less than 10 percent. Then there are those who don't want to get the car dusty, a notable goal. So we have to pave the road.

Now we have those who don't want to spend that long of a time on the road, so we shall put in hotels and cafes for their convenience. And if they don't want to suffer that long of a drive, we'll sell the land to developers and they can put in their second houses and enjoy the Wilderness for as long as they want in comfort.

Of course by this time, the entire United States looks a lot like downtown Los Angeles. Not to worry: frustrated hikers can go north to Western Canada, where the mountains are really too rugged for a lot of road building. But then the poor SUV's are left out again, so we'll just have to widen those trails...

On the other hand, wouldn't it be cheaper and, in the long run, more accommodating for all to say that cars can drive on the pavement, SUVs can drive on the dirt roads, and hikers can hike everywhere else? And if any SUV person really, really wants to see the middle of a Wilderness area or a National park, they could lower their standards enough to walk.

They can even bring along a six pack of beer, if they promise to carry out the cans.

2011-03-03T14:19:00.001-08:00

Don't ask of your friends what you yourself can do.
- Quintus Ennius

It is not fair to ask of others what you are not willing to do yourself.
- Eleanor Roosevelt

Clean up your own mess. Your mother doesn’t live here.
-Anonymous

The Brotherhood of the Rope demands that hikers and climbers take care of their own. Or themselves. When a fellow traveler is injured, dehydrated, blistered, burned or otherwise dehabilitated, they get them out without resorting to outside forces such as the Park Service or Search and Rescue.

The Brotherhood has frayed a bit in years past. With the advent of cell phones, GPS, and the nanny state too many hikers, climbers, and even mountaineers on the world’s most challenging peaks have begun stepping over their dying comrade to make the summit, then when they are safely back, placing a casual call to 911.

Add to that the increasing number of “ego climbers” who find themselves in challenging circumstances without the years of experience which one usually approaches such challenges. Many are the “independent” climbers who boast of their solo status while relying on larger parties’ fixed ropes, medical facilities, and radios. Then when something goes wrong, they berate these expeditions for not risking everything to save them.

In wilderness medicine classes we are taught to improvise for splints, bandages, padding, and whatnot from hiking equipment rather than first aid kits. We are further told to use the victim’s equipment. The reasoning being that, if I use up my clothes or pack or sleeping pad on the affected person, I may become affected myself in the fullness of time. And I shall have used up the equipment needed to keep me safe and sound. Rule number one is, “I’m number one”. Don’t make another victim.

I, of course, can picture someone bleeding profusely and protesting mightily when I cut up his/her $200 technical running shirt to bandage said bleeding. When, in fact, I play the part of victim for a learning scenario, I make myself as malevolent as possible (“Do you know how much I paid for these pants?”). Conversely, I can picture coming to the rescue of one of those minimalist hikers who pride themselves on the lightest pack. The lightest pack means no first aid kit, no spare clothing, no, in point of fact, spare anything. “I need an extra shirt to staunch that spurting artery: too bad you don’t have one”.

Oft am I approached by people who know me (and many who do not) asking for equipment which they require but did not fetch along themselves. “I don’t bring a first aid kit,” one such informed me, “because I know you’ll always have one”.

Often in the desert one espies hikers (usually male) dashing madly into the arid climes with a half-liter of water, a can of soda in one hand, or more often, nothing whatsoever in hand or non-existent pack. On one hike into the Grand Canyon one such scampered past me, a half-empty bottle clutched in one sweaty palm, no pack on his ample back. It was a warmish day: temperatures topped 100 in full sun.

In the course of time, I met a fellow traveler who queried, “I have a philosophical question. Did you see that male who rushed past in such a hurry”

“Oh, yes”.

“Do you think he had enough water?”

“I know he didn’t.”

“So my question is, when he collapses on the trail, do I have to give him some of my water?”

“I refer you to the National Outdoor Leadership School’s Outdoor Medicine curriculum: don’t make another victim”.

She nodded, and we were in accord. If said male collapsed due to testosterone poisoning, we were not going to dehydrate ourselves for his sake.

For the record, we last saw him hiking out. Totally out of water, during the hottest part of the day, but heading the opposite direction as we, so if he did collapse it would not be on our heads to provide hydration.

Self-reliance can be taken to extremes. A close friend on an off-trail route, which I have never and will certainly not now attempt, fell 40 feet when part of the route crumbled under her tenuous tread. Her compatriots hastened to treat her shattered legs (tee shirts and sticks for splints), and then discussed how to get her out. She was all for climbing out herself until her innate good sense reasserted itself. If she could not climb down with two good legs, how was she to climb out with none?

Two fast hikers were dispatched to fetch a helicopter, but once on the rim, it was dismissed. My friend was tossed unceremoniously into the back of a pick-up and driven willy-nilly (four-wheel drive road) back to the city and medical aid. “We don’t need Search and Rescue. We take care of our own”.

Said friend now decries this lack of trust in the powers-that-be, and both of us wonder if her 30-years-after-the-fact arthritis in both feet are at all related to the delay in proper medical care. Not to mention bouncing around in the back of a pick-up whilst navigating a Navajo Reservation dirt road.

Self-reliance requires that I carry in my pack a bottle of water and a bag of nuts, a small first-aid kit and enough clothing to be comfortable if I became injured and had to either haul myself out more slowly than I am accustomed or wait wearily for rescue. No wonder those denizens of the outdoors who dash by with half a can of energy drink come to me when they are injured, or hungry, or cold, or thirsty.

Sometimes I help them out. Sometimes, particularly if they let fly a less than charitable remark on their way past about people who burden themselves with a largish pack, I resort to a less than charitable response. “No hablo inglés”.

2011-02-24T13:41:00.000-08:00

Be prepared.

Chance favors the prepared.

Pray to God but row for shore.

To be prepared is half the battle.

One of the things with which avid backpackers bore their couch potato acquaintances is the ability of backpackers to be self-reliant. We carry our food, our water, our house and hearth on our backs.

To be self-reliant requires a modicum of self-sustaining equipment. Food, water, warm clothes, and the rest of the Ten Essentials. Too many of the Ten, and the pack becomes so heavy as to lend an odious burden of its own. In Wilderness First Response classes they tell us that if we carry a first-aid kit that would handle everything that could go wrong, we wouldn’t be able to lift it.

The prudent hiker carries enough to muddle through the worst that can happen without burdening the self with excess baggage.

For most of my twenty-five year hiking career I have carried the heaviest pack in three counties due to the just-in-case syndrome. I'll have my pack neatly stuffed with a reasonable amount of weight and reconsider. Remember the Sangre de Cristos, when we ran completely out of food on the 9th day of an 11 day hike? Then I throw in another bag of dried fruit. Remember the rattlesnake-drowning rain on the Grandview Trail when I had a cold stream of water running down my neck and out each sleeve? I replace my light-weight rainsuit with the heavy-duty job. I stuff in the snake bite kit on my way out the door, and my down parka as I lock up the car. People amuse themselves by hefting my pack and pretending to suffer hernia. A park ranger once accused me of smuggling metates. And at the end of almost every hike I carry back a day's worth of extra food, a pint of extra fuel, and a sack of extra clothes which served only as pillow stuffing.

One year, the just-in-case syndrome saved the trip, my husband's toes, and quite possibly five people's lives.

Each Thanksgiving we celebrate Harvest Home by taking an extremely difficult, mostly off-trail route in the Grand Canyon that our first year surviving companions facetiously (I think) dubbed the Death March.

This year's hike had not begun auspiciously. When my husband, Brad, and our friend, Tim, arrived at the Grand Canyon back country office, the rangers said "We've been waiting for you", and hauled me into the back room. Stalwart no-impact camper that I am, I was nervous. My conscience isn't that clear.

Flanked by two armed rangers, I admitted that, yes, this was an organized club hike. I hadn't been able to find anyone willing to hike with us this year (I can't imagine why) and opened it up to a local hiking club.

Was I aware that hiking organizations had special regulations to follow when applying for a permit? Well, no, since I hadn't led an organized hike in five years. Most people would claim that my hikes prior to that time were somewhat less than organized. The gist of the matter was that the rangers were concerned that the dozen-odd hikes I take a year in the Canyon were all with organized groups, and I had neglected to follow the permit regulations. With earnest zeal I assured them otherwise, and they admitted that they had never had trouble from me before.

"You come up here several times a year," one ranger commented, "And we've never had to haul any of your people out of the Canyon. We appreciate that." I vowed to go straight henceforth and they turned me loose.

Because of this we started down into the depths of the Grand Canyon a good bit behind schedule. Beth and Rolf, whom we had not met before this trip, were strong enough going down the steep, loose, rocky route laughingly called the New Hance Trail, and I was confident that we would reach our proposed campsite before dark. On the second switchback, Brad slipped and landed hard on his knee. "Just a flesh wound," he grunted, and at intervals pointed out the blood stain spreading down his pant's leg with a martyred air. About a quarter mile down, the waist belt fell of Tim's pack. Nonplused (it takes a bit to plus Tim) he lashed it together with nylon cord. When it began to snow on the North Rim, I commented that maybe Someone was trying to tell us Something.

We set up camp in a drizzle, but the forecast was for clearing skies on the morrow, and clear but cold afterwards. When I looked out of the tent later that night and saw snow at the Colorado River level, 2,000 feet above sea level, I got a chill that had nothing to do with temperature. In the morning snow had fallen far into the depths, including over most of that day's route, and it was still snowing. I had rarely seen snow that far down into the Canyon, and I was not willing to take an untested group off-trail in fresh snow. Nor was I sure I could find most of the route under snow.
Brad and I made a leaders' decision to turn around and go back out the trail we had come in. We had to cover some off-trail mileage to reach the start of the New Hance Trail, and so we didn't start hiking out until mid-morning. However, Brad and I normally come out the seven-mile New Hance in four hours or so, and we figured we would make it out easily. We had come out of the Canyon in fresh snow before, and we had advised everyone in the group to bring instep crampons--small metal frames studded with spikes that lash to the boot. JUST IN CASE.

We hit snow about 1,000 feet above the River. After climbing another 1,000 feet, the snow was so deep that we could not see the trail markers.
When I had first started hiking in the Grand Canyon, there wasn't much of a New Hance Trail. In its stead was a series of "landmarks" that indicated key points on the route. To get out of the Canyon, the hiker had to hit each of the landmarks. Getting between them was mostly a matter of opinion. Nowadays hundreds of thousands of busy little feet have worn in sort of a trail, so the use of landmarks has fallen by the wayside. Now I flipped through my memory files to recall them.
It helped, of course, to know the formations in the Grand Canyon. The Canyon is there because the Colorado River cut through a number of rock formations that now form a series of cliffs and slopes. Veteran Canyon hikers memorize these formations so we can impress people, but also because it is easier to describe a route to someone who knows the difference between the Redwall and the Supai.

The first landmark to be hit on the way out of the New Hance was the Hakatai ledge where the route left the streambed. We were past that. The second landmark was a set of twin towers atop the Redwall Limestone. I managed to stay on trail climbing to these: a good place to stay on trail since the Redwall forms a nicely sheer cliff.
The next landmark was a long, steep wash cutting through the Supai Mudstone formation, which I call the Supai Chute. We had to contour through calf deep snow for a bit over a mile to reach the base of the Chute, and at one point I could only find the trail by aiming for a large boulder inscribed with graffiti.

Once in the Supai Chute, the snow deepened to knee level and the trail became most recalcitrant. Every time the trail crossed the wash, which it did with depressing regularity, we lost it and spent 15 to 30 minutes finding it again. It became apparent that we would not make it out by dark, and we did not want to risk the chancy business of following a trail less than a foot wide in deepening snow by flashlight, so we decided to camp. Five people crowded into two tents on a semi-flat spot we stamped out on a narrow ledge. I threw most of our gear into the tent to keep it from freezing, pulled on all the clothing I had brought, and zipped into my sleeping bag.
After a disastrous car-camp on the North Rim in a blizzard, I had replaced all my cotton hiking clothes with wicking, fast-dry fabrics JUST IN CASE. I now depended on polypropylene type fabrics and pile (I am allergic to wool, and I had not yet discovered the joys of Merino). The only cotton I carried was a bandanna. I replaced my lightweight, nylon rain gear at the last minute with my heavier, breathable rain gear JUST IN CASE, and it had kept me dry while pushing through deep snow and under snow covered trees that dumped their load as we passed beneath. I had an extra set of long underwear to replace the sweat-dampened set I hiked in. True to habit, on my way out the door I had stuffed in my heaviest down parka. I had lots of clothing, but I could not get warm.

I was shivering so hard I couldn't talk, classic symptoms of the first stage of hypothermia. Brad, huddled next to me in the fetal position trying to warm his feet, was no help.

I have read of people who died while climbing or hiking, and the article invariably said, "At least he went doing what he enjoyed most in the world." I always wondered if that thought was singularly comforting during the last moments when the brain began to mist over. My brain was close to misting right now, and the idea of doing what I enjoyed most in the process wasn't much comfort to me.

I thought of my five-year old, Robbie. He was bright and funny with a vocabulary larger than some adults'. If I was overdue from this hike, he would be frightened. If I was ultimately overdue, Robbie would be raised by his aunt and grandmothers. Sterling women all, but I hadn't suffered through 36 hours of labor to let someone else mold my kid's mind. The idea of getting back to Robbie seemed more important than saving the lives of everyone on the trip, even Brad's (sorry about that, dear).
I knew what to do about hypothermia: get the body out of the weather, put on dry clothing, and supply hot food and beverages. I had the first two covered, but in the mad rush to get the tent up, I had left the stove and pot in the pack.
My options then were: freeze where I was in relative comfort; stuff my dry socks into freezing, wet boots and get the stove; or put on my wet, frozen socks and stuff them into freezing, wet boots and get the stove.

I didn't like any of those, so I dug the extra plastic bags I carry JUST IN CASE, pulled them over my dry socks, and tucked them into the cuffs. Instant galoshes. I unzipped the tent and climbed over Brad, sending a shower of fine ice crystals onto his face. He protested weakly. I skidded over to the pack and produced stove, pot, and fuel bottle.

By now it was dark. It took about a century and a half to clean the stove orifice with a hair-thin wire, holding a flashlight in my teeth and balancing my glasses on my head. Finally the stove roared and I scooped a pot full of snow to melt. I reached for the pot lid--still in the pack. Every drop of fuel would be vital, so I donned my plastic bags again and retrieved the pot lid.

A quart of hot cocoa and a bag of freeze dried sherry beef restored the inner woman wonderfully. I offered the same to Brad, and, groaning piteously, he emerged from his cocoon. Warm at last, I could spare a thought for the hapless occupants of the other tent. I had plenty of fuel, JUST IN CASE, so I threw them a canteen of cocoa.
Since I had dry socks and down booties, JUST IN CASE, I gave the booties to Brad, and he gratefully stuffed his frozen feet therein. Later he was diagnosed with frostnip, and it is likely that the booties saved him from full-blown frostbite.
I snuggled down between Brad and most of our camping gear into a rapidly melting depression in the snow. We put our remaining water between us and the boots under us so nothing vital would freeze, and settled in.

I spent much of the long, cold night reviewing the trail ahead. I could manage the Supai formation: there hadn't been much of a trail there in the 60's when I first started hiking, and I could always fake it through the Supai. Above the Supai were the Coconino and Kaibab cliffs, formidable barriers that would take more care.

There was one spot in particular in the Coconino that I mentally climbed all night long. Near the top of the cliff there are two routes. One, a set of short, steep switchbacks, carries the hiker along a ledge overhung by the last of the Coconino formation. The other suckers the hiker out onto a flagstone-laid slope that ends in an impressive cliff. Every time I come down the New Hance Trail, I block off the flagstone route, and without fail when I hike back out I walk right out onto it anyway. The flagstone is precariously balanced, and I am sure one day a piece will cut loose and skid me over the edge on the ultimate wind surf ride. If I couldn't stay on the best route when the trail was clear, how was I going to find it in the snow?
The snow won't stick to the steepest parts of the trail, I decided. Besides, the wind is blowing, and it will clear some of the drifts away near the top. It was still snowing outside, and I even convinced myself that, deep as the snow was, another six inches wasn't going to make a difference.

We were alerted to dawn by Tim's "sun yell" which he reserves for the first day's sighting of that orb. The clouds had lifted, and we could see the colors of sunrise on their bellies.

We packed quickly, and the stove fizzled out of fuel as we melted the last two quarts of hot water for breakfast. I stomped off through the snow, ignoring plaintive cries behind me that we weren't on the trail, and we should stop and dig for rock cairns. I wasn't wasting any time looking for the trail: if the route worked, I'd do it, trail or not.

This attitude got me to the last landmark, a low pass between the rim and Coronado Butte that I call the Coconino saddle. We had stopped for a snack there on the way down, and I recognized the tree we sat on. I was, incredibly, right on the trail.
I lost it again trying to make the Coconino connection, but I found it where the route narrowed down between a cliff and a gully. There in the center of the gully the snow had blown away from a huge rock cairn, which was greeted by unbelieving cheers. Wind had scoured isolated areas nearly free of snow, but the snow thus eliminated had piled up in deeper drifts elsewhere. The average depth was mid-thigh. I found I could stay on trail, because there wasn't much choice. I could follow a faint depression in the snow, and I could "feel" whether the footing was relatively smooth trail or jumbled rocks. I could not, however, let someone else break trail. I tried pointing them in the right direction, but they couldn't stay on the route.

We found yet another mostly snow-free cairn on a ledge, and we paused to consider. Brad wanted to camp: he was sure we couldn't get out by dark. I figured we only one more mile to go, and we could handle it. Even if it had taken us an hour and a half to hike the first mile, and we were slowing down fast. We agreed that if we weren't out by 3:00 we would stop and camp.

I doubted we could make it through another night in decent shape: our fuel was gone and the sleeping bags had gotten wet the night before. There was no place for a rescuing helicopter to land, and the rangers had praised me for bringing my groups out intact. I was determined, and I was in the lead.

I got off the route a few times, and at one point stepped into a heart-stopping hole. My foot kept going down--and down--and down. I was sure I had stepped through a cornice and into open air when I came to a comforting stop waist deep in a drift.
I pushed through an over-friendly tree and spotted a cairn on a wind-cleared rock about 15 feet over my head. I looked around suspiciously. I was smack in the middle of the flagstone slope--again. Since the snow was hip deep, I wasn't worried about sliding off the edge. Unless the whole slope began to slide, and I wasn't going to think about that. I plowed my way straight up to where I knew the trail hid coyly beneath its ermine mantle.

We climbed a nasty boulder, traversed an even nastier ledge and were back on the main route. We had topped the Coconino cliff, and only the Kaibab cliff remained.
I pushed off resolutely, ignoring all complaints that I was completely off route, that we hadn't contoured this much coming down, that we were doomed, doomed! I recognized a spot where I had taken a photograph two years before. I crunched my knee on a large flat rock blocking the trail. We call it the "sit-down rock" because that is the only way a hiker with a pack can traverse it. I was still on the trail.
At one point, faced with shoulder deep snow that had blown over the edge of a cliff, I surrendered the lead to Brad. He promptly became stranded on a pile of jumbled rock. Wearily I took over again.

I couldn't walk; all I could do was plow and stomp. I tested the snow with my hiking stick to be sure there was solid ground beneath, plowed into it with my leg, and stomped down firmly with my crampons. Plow, stomp. Plow, stomp. Pull myself up by way of a friendly tree. Plow, stomp.

The snow seemed less deep, but I told myself it was a hallucination. I could see trees on the south rim, but that was a hallucination, too. When I fell over the wooden sign that marks the top of the New Hance Trail, I knew it was real and I was out.
The group erupted into weary cheers. I was declared "trail finder extraordinaire". I kissed the trail sign. I was on my way home to Robbie.

2011-01-31T08:16:00.000-08:00

Consider a sock.

Socks are worn on the feet. They are used to reduce friction, separate bare tootsies from hard leather, keep feet warm, dry and full of lint. Socks are made of nylon, wool, cotton, or a variety of highly-priced and trademark-protected synthetics. They can be half socks, ankle socks, knee socks, leotards, or body stockings. Socks can be pulled up on the leg so they will creep back into the boot or folded over the top of the boot so rocks can get inside. They can be subdued colors or fluorescent green. The latter is preferred so if you get lost you can stand on your head and attract attention by waggling your feet.

Socks can be used for a wind sock, pulled over the head and used as a disguise, pulled over the hand and used as a mitten, or filled with rocks and used as a blackjack. They can be unraveled and knitted into a dicky or crocheted into a doily. They can be used as a hat. They can be filled with water, placed in an icebox, and used as an icetray. They can be nailed up on the mantle on Christmas They can be filled with paperbacks and used as a bookbag. They can be equiped with a drawstring and used as a purse. They can be cut into strips and woven into potholders. The toe can be cut off and used for a nose warmer. The heel can be cut off and used for an elbow warmer. The ankle can be cut off and used for a wrist warmer. If you feet are getting cold by now, cut up an old glove and use it for a foot warmer.

With this wonderful world of unusual and exciting things go do with this fantastic new product, how can you any longer resist running out to buy 63 pairs of socks? Wonderful things can be done with 126 socks. If you every find a 124 legged mastodon, you can outfit both it and yourself at a moment's notice.

2011-01-26T07:11:00.000-08:00

Consider a topo map.

A topo map is not, as the uninitiated might conjecture, a layout of Topo, North Dakota. It is a map containing a series of lines which represent changes in elevation. They are very useful for telling you where you should be and why you didn’t end up there. If a trail is marked along said series of lines, you can spend many happy hours arguing about where the route is with such enlightening comments as, “That can’t be the butte, you dope, the lines go IN.”.

If no trail is marked, the lines can help you discover the easiest, safest, most surefire route, with the help of experienced woodspersons who are happy to inform you that if you insist on trying to climb out at a point where 16 topo lines all run into one, don’t be surprised if you end up trapped halfway up a cliff.

Topo maps are printed on paper. They can be stored rolled-up so that they last longer, and when you try to look at anything on them they can insist on compacting themselves back into their accustomed form. They can be stored and carried folded up, so that the fold lines will eventually rub out all trace of elevation lines and vital lettering. Or they can be framed and hung on the wall with the routes you have traversed traced out in indelible ink, impressing people no end and falling down at inconvenient times, such as when your roommate is gone for the weekend and you’re reading ghost stories at midnight.

Top maps can be used to start fires, to write home for money on the back of, to rough draft a scathing letter to the editor, to use as emergency TP, to wrap fish, to housebreak a puppy, to make a kite, to print an underground newspaper on, to make insoles for your boots, to fold into a boat to cross the Colorado river, and to write to Legal Aid to bail you out when they catch you crossing the Colorado River.

Topo maps are printed with soulful ink, with beauty and truth, with mystery and abandon, and with mistakes so that geologists can make money by correcting them.

So why sit there wondering where the heck the Boucher Trail is located? Run out immediately and buy a topo map so you can unerringly lead people onto a trail that you’ve never been over before. Just because after three years of topo reading I wound up on the Apache instead of the Bass by reading one…

So run out and buy all the Grand Canyon quadrangles from Apache Point to Vishnu. Then buy the large maps of the Western and Eastern sections. Then the geologic Western, Central, and Eastern ones. Then you can begin on the Superstitions. Buy, consume, grow…

2011-01-24T07:06:00.000-08:00

Consider a bandana.

A bandana is a square of material in a varity of colors with various and sundry designs executed thereon. A square is someone who refuses to sign a petition for fear of unduly upsetting the Establishment, but we needn't go into politics just precisely now. A bandana can be made of cotton,nylon, wool, silk, cardboard or aluminum foil. It can be red, navy blue, yellow,magenta, or puce. some people may aspire to carry a bandana composed of lavender paisley delicately embroidered onto a chartreuse background, but they soon find it doesn't pay to aspire beyond one's human limits.

A bandana can be used as a muffler to keep your neck warm, a scarf to keep your head cool, a hat to keep your part from being sunburned, or a belt to keep your pants up. It can be utilized as a snare to catch animals (or, if you aspire to lavender and chartreuse, to scare them to death), a fishing line, a hammock for midgets, a net for filtering water, or a necktie for your next necktie party. Bandanas can be used to tie down your hat so it won't fly away in the wind, your canteen so it won't get washed down the rapids, or your neighbor so he won't decapitate you while you ransack his pack (which, incidentally, was tied up with a banadana so it wouldn't fall over while you were ransacking it).

Several bandanas can be tied together to make a tent, a ground cloth, an air mattress to be used with extreme haste, or a graduation cap and gown. They can be cut into pieces and used to play checkers. They can be folded up small and used to patch your jeans. They can be unraveled (or raveled) and woven into a macrame belt. They can be lined with foil and used to boil water. They can be tied together and used as sportswear accessory while your wet pants dry (which probably got wet when they fell down while crossing a creek because you were using a bandana as a belt). They can be used to hold your hair back while you hike, to hold your food while you day hike, or to hold over your face while you hold up the train. They can be used to secure your roommate's hands so she will stop typing while you study for your algebra exam, and they can be used to secure the instructor to the desk while you and your cohorts abscond with the exam that he had no right to give the second week of school.

All in all, a bandana is something no hiker should be without. A bandana is truth, beauty, and a little bit of Rit dye. Join the ranks of bandana lovers, and you too can join in Chicita Bandana's anthem, "Bandana, bandana, bandana is good enough for me".

2011-01-18T07:37:00.000-08:00

I hate to hike. I get tired and dirty and hot and scared and blistered and my knee hurts going downhill, my feet hurt going level, and my body hurts going uphill. I worry about rain and get sweat in my eyes and sand in my noodles. I fall down or trip over rattlesnakes or beer cans and curse bitterly at graffiti on the rocks.

What, then, are my motives as ever week I appear, hat in hand and ace bandage on knee to further neglect my bod and state of mental health? I am not, as many claim, a masochist. As my sister claims, a wee bit dumb. As my mother claimed, going through a phase. As my shrink claims, seeking peer approval (at the bottom of the Grand Canyon?).

The analytical mind grappled with the problem and finally resulted in the essence of hiking filtering through my mind.

Waking up to the sounds of birds and breezes and a pink blush in the East. Startling a mule deer who stood three feet away from me for five minutes before we noticed each other. Walking for 14 miles and finding a spring bubbling with water at clear as sunlight. Washing dishes to the rhythm of the rapids. Lying awake at night tracing the course of the Big Dipper as it swings ponderously around Polaris. Standing on a peak where the silence is so complete that the sound of my heartbeat shatters it.

It is entirely removed from the dirt and pettiness of the towns. How can anything be petty in the Grand Canyon? Walking along the trail with grandeur ahead and wonder behind. Waking up to snow-soaked boots and socks and sweatshirts, and all the dry gear in the pack buried under six inches of snow.

Then the simple things like a ray of sun, a pair of dry socks, a clean bandana to whip all that mud off, a dry match, and a cactus frosted with ice begin to fit into the scheme of Things that Make the Hike Bearable. And of course, standing on Miner’s Summit to see Weaver’s Needle with a cap of snow was worth the whole windy, wet, icy, worried night.

I have learned the measure of a mile, the worth of the simple, soul cleansing at of walking, the simplicity of wilderness and a means to escape a worth where nothing makes sense.

This, then, was and always shall be the final reward for daring to step off the paved road into the unknown. May there always be an unknown to step off into.

2011-01-16T08:04:00.001-08:00

Okay, so the mule affectionados say it is classically unfair that they are now limited to 10 Phantom mules a day.

Try getting a permit to hike the Corridor during rim-to-rim season. Or anywhere in the Canyon during Spring Break or Thanksgiving. Or during most of the spring and fall.

Try getting a permit for a private river trip. Even with the lottery system, it still takes most people ten years to be drawn.

I am constantly (well, not constantly but often enough) asked if visitors are allow to mountain bike, hang-glide, or BASE jump.

Let's say the Park Service sold the Grand Canyon to private concerns, and there would be unlimited mule rides, backpacking, and river running, not to mention downhill mountain biking (with an uphill shuttle provided) BASE jumping, Xtreme sports events -- everyone could visit anywhere and do anything. The Canyon would become a place that none of us would wish to visit.

And so far as not being able to ride a mule, over Martin Luther King weekend this year -- a three day weekend AND a fee free weekend, three persons rode down to the Ranch on Wednesday. Two rode down on Friday. No one on Saturday. No one on Sunday. So a rider might not be able to get a reservation for spring or fall, but then, neither can most hikers. Bundle up and go in the winter.

2011-01-10T15:06:00.000-08:00

So I have hiked to Phantom Ranch, and as of last weekend, I have ridden the mule. I prefer to hike.
When I hike I can carry whatever I am willing to haul. On the mule, I am limited to two plastic bags. Since I had a layover day on which I wanted to hike, I needed some extra stuff.

When I hike I can carry as much water as I wish. On the mule I have a bota bag (I hate drinking out of those) that holds one liter.The wranglers carry extra water to refill, so more water is a possibility. Of course, if I drink enough to be hydrated I need to, not to put too fine a point on it, use the outhouses. There is only one stop on the mule ride, so if one is hydrated, one is in dire straits. Again, the wranglers will stop at the outhouses, but one has to ask, and the whole string has to stop, and the mules have to be restrained so they don't run off while I am using the facilities.

As for the much-vaunted education one gets on the mules, here are some of the things I learned:
The pictographs are painted with cochineal (not).

The resthouses were CCC kitchens until they were turned into resthouses. The CCC did not build the Bright Angel Trail. They did build the resthouses, but as resthouses, not kitchens.

Cedar Breaks is the only place that cedar grows. There is no true cedar in North America, and if they are talking about Juniper, it grows all over the place.

The Colorado River cut the Grand Canyon 80 million years ago. A good trick, since the Laramide Orogeny was only 65 million years ago.

Scientists have proven that the Colorado River used to flow north. This is one idea, but it does not enjoy common acceptance, and it has certainly not been proven by anyone.

There is petrified wood in the inner gorge. The ruins at the Boat Beach were habitated by Havasupai Indians. Brama Temple is called that because it looks like a bull. I could go on and on.

Riding the mules is not, as many have said, for the infirm. It hurts the knees, the back, and the ankles. One needs a strong body core to sit upright, and strong thighs to control the mule. If one has any problem with heights, parts of that trail are terrifying.

2010-11-07T12:28:00.000-08:00

So finished a GCFI trip this week, and had a few weird interactions.

Campsite 32 has a CCC lean-to, three picnic tables, and six ammo cans for food storage. I pull into site 33, and I have five ammo cans and six lids. Hmm. So I discreetly check out site 33: sure enough, they have six lids and seven cans. So I waltz over and tell them I believe they have one of my storage cans. "Oh, no, I'm sure not."

"Well, see, I have six lids and five cans, and I have 11 people, so we kind of need all our storage."

"By golly, this can I'm sitting on has no lid! It must be yours!"

"Fine, thanks, no harm no foul," and I take the can back.

Later that night one of them walks over (short-cutting through the re-veg area -- tsk, tsk) to apologize and say he had NO idea, NONE that he wasn't supposed to take cans from other sites. Yep, just because it says so on the lid of the can? Just because he has three picnic tables, six ammo cans, AND the benches inside the lean-to to sit on? Poor baby.

Then the water goes out. Again. 24th time this year. I have a water filter, so that's OK, but it means there is one bathroom with two stalls for 45+ women campers. And one has to grab a bucket, clamber down the rock-lined stream bank to Bright Angel Creek, fill said bucket, clamber back up and use it to flush.

So I have actually done this a lot. Our toilet used to break, and we would use a bucket to flush. Also it is a good way to clean the bowl. No biggie.

Except most of the women don't re-fill the bucket. It is too, too difficult to climb up and down with a bucket of water, so I fill the #$%^ buckets every time I go to the bathroom, and every time I walk by the bathroom. And most women apparently have never dealt with a broken bowl, or have never cleaned one, because they don't get the flush technique (which is, for future reference, to pour quickly from a substantial height). One lady gets her boyfriend to haul the water --that's OK -- but then has him flush as well, which is not OK because it means there is a guy in the ladies' room.

So the morning we hike out, I go to the bathroom, and without going into sordid details, I am desperate. And Mr Boyfriend is in the ladies' again. There is a slight problem with the flushing, and he is working on it. I wait, and I wait, and when he steps outside to grab another bucket, I grab the bucket, push past him, and fix the problem: both his and mine. I suppose he thought he was doing the world a favor, but Pl-ease, don't stand around posing in the only two women's stalls in the entire campground.

2010-09-30T19:12:00.000-07:00

Busy, busy fall. Did an intro backpack which will be written up in Arizona Highways, then a rim to rim and another RTR next week.

Saw the usual pink rattler at Cottonwood. It likes to hang around the water faucet to catch mice when they show up for a drink.
Lovely full moon, in fact, the first equinox moon in more than a decade. The full moon rose opposite the sunset, right over the equator. Jupiter is also directly opposite the sun, and closest it has been in a while, so it was spectacular. With the full moon, the runners were out. Trotting through Cottonwood at 10 PM, 11 PM, midnight, 1 AM, 2 Am, etc., all stopping by the water faucet (along with the snake) and all conversing LOUDLY about their run. "We can't be more than 5 miles from Phantom Ranch". "You are 6.5 miles from Phantom, and please leave. Now."

Lots of bugs at Bright Angel. We don't get bugs here! Biting flies, something else little that bites (gnats? Miniature flying scorpions?) Took a black light and found a dozen scorpions in the rocks at campsite 33. Very dramatic. A little scary, when they just kept showing up, and showing up, closer, and closer...Bwa ha ha ha.

2010-08-13T18:06:00.000-07:00

There has been a lot of talk lately about the mule traffic. With the work being done on the South Kaibab, all mules are on the Bright Angel, and they are limited to ten mules a day going to Phantom Ranch with the 20 pack mules a day which support them. When the South Kaibab is complete, they will start work on the Bright Angel, and then what? Xanterra doesn't want to take mules down the SK, because they say it is too steep for novice riders.
The Park doesn't want mules on its new trail because their hooves have much more effect than hikers' boots. Do the math: my foot is about 12 by 4 which makes it 48 square inches. For the sake of easy math, let's say I weigh 200 pounds when carrying a really heavy pack, my foot pressure is about 4 pounds per square inch. On a day hike it is closer to 3 pounds.

If a mule weighs 2000 pounds, and he or she has a 200 pound load, and the mule shoe is about 12 inches by one inch, it has 180 pounds per square inch. Even if we count the whole foot, which is maybe 4X4, it would be 130 pounds per square inch. And the shoes are metal. Mule riders say their mounts have no more effect on the trails than hikers, but that doesn't add up.

Proponents of the mule rides say that the trails were all built for mules, and therefore mules have the right to stay.

Originally trails were developed by game animals, and then by Ancestral Puebloans, who had no stock animals at all, much less mules. It is true that the Native American trails were improved for mules and burros, but by miners, and mining has been outlawed in the Park.

By the 1960's, Phantom Ranch was so rarely visited that Fred Harvey wanted to close it down. The Park Service told them to raise rates in order to keep it open as a tourist attraction. Hikers at the time weren't even allowed to WALK through Phantom. The first time I visited it on the day hike, the caretaker chased me away.

Also by the 1960's all the trails were in poor repair. Trails outside of the corridor were, in fact, mostly gone. The Tanner had no trail at all below the Tapeats. Hikers made their own way down the last shale slopes. The New Hance (Red Canyon) trail wasn't. A trail, that is. Hikers were given a mimeographed sheet of paper describing "way points" along the route, such as "leave the stream bed when the red rock cliff appears", and "climb to the twin towers in the Redwall".

Us hikers showed up in the sixties as part of the "back to the earth" movement, and we found those abandoned trails. We wore them back in with our busy little feet. The Park Historian, Michael Anderson, believed that we hikers saved the off-corridor trails from oblivion. So mules are not the only animals to thank for the existence of the trails.

When I first started hiking, there were no permits required (hikers had to get a permit, but the numbers were not limited) so it was not uncommon to meet a group of 200 Scouts, 300 Sierra Club hikers, or 100 church members.

Campfires were allowed. Very bad idea. Popular sites such as Indian Gardens had NO living plants. Trees, branches, bushes, grass, flowers, were all torn out for campfires. Bark was stripped from the trees as far as a person could reach.

In 1972, permits were limited and fires were banned. The inner canyon is better off for these changes. Perhaps limiting mule traffic is one of those changes forced upon us by increasing visitation and limited public funds.

2010-08-13T15:05:00.000-07:00

This weekend was the Perseid meteor shower, and we were discussing where to go see it. Mather Point? Hopi Point? Just lie in the back yard? Then I mentioned jokingly that Horseshoe Mesa would be nice, and we thought, why not?
I got a permit, and we walked down Thursday night after work. There was an after-school meeting, of course! so we didn't even get on the trail until 6:10.
I finally found a trailhead more obnoxious than the Bright Angel. The Grandview has toilet paper all over, people standing in the middle of the trail taking pictures of themselves, taking pictures of their dogs(!) on the trail. They cut switchbacks shamelessly. The trail is steep enough without taking a shortcut.

Got down in two hours, just before it got too dark to see the route. About 10 minutes from camp I heard a BUZZ and stopped to study a little rattler. He was most upset that I wouldn't move on, but I wanted to point him out to Brad before he (Brad) stepped on it or was startled right off the cliff.
No one else camping on the Mesa. The Milky Way was spectacular, and lots of huge meteors with tails until about 9 PM when we both fell asleep. Woke up at 3 AM because the experts said that would be the best for the shower, but all we got were lots of wee little shooting stars: nothing big. Out in 2 hours ten, but I spent at least ten minutes trying to erase graffiti from the desert varnish, which is really tough. Troop 407 was there, and their leader was either too lazy or too ignorant to keep them from leaving their scratches on the rocks.

2010-07-13T13:45:00.000-07:00

Been spending a lot of time on the North Rim lately. spent a night at Cape final out on the way eastern rim. Didn't even know you could get a permit for that. Also hiked down North Kaibab to Supai Tunnel, but turned around because it was a)hot and b) full of mule traffic. The mules have worn the trail down to dust, and it is full of mule droppings. I guess because it isn't as dry on the north side, so it doesn't dry out as fast as on the Bright Angel.

2010-06-17T14:32:00.001-07:00

Spent a week on the North rim scoping out hikes for a new class for GCFI. Did Cape Final, Point Imperial, head of the Old Bright Angel, Ken Patrick, and Snake Gulch. Lots of really good rock art in the latter. Told ourselves we would hike in two hours to beat the heat (the gulch is very exposed) and kept seeing better and better rock art. I guess we turned around before the biggest panel, since we had forgotten the map and were guessing at where we were.

Snowed the first day we were there.

2010-06-09T12:51:00.000-07:00

Busy,busy, busy. A meet the canyon with a nice couple who are going to Phantom Ranch later this week, then a day with a school from California. One of the middle school boys asked if there were any "hot girls" on the rim, and I said I knew one who often hung around the south rim. After our hike, we were sitting in the shade waiting for the rest of the group to show, and hot chick shows up on cue. I invited her over, and she chatted, and after she left, the guy who wanted to meet her came back from the curio shop. He was rather peeved that the girl of his dreams had come and gone without him.

A five day rim to rim for the field institute. The sign at the trailhead said water was off at Supai Tunnel, so we filled up from a very weak dripping faucet. It wasn't off: but it was off at Roaring Springs. 140 degrees in the sun. Two pink rattlers, a king snake, a big horn (at Phantom: pretty hot for that).

The family next to us at Indian Garden got up at 2 AM to get ready to hike out, and EVERYONE heard them. Yelling and clanging and yelling some more. Caught them at Mile and a Half, and the kid was still yelling. A day hiker on the trail told him to pipe down, even.

2010-05-23T12:39:00.001-07:00

Rim to rim this weekend. Dan and Paul's first. I didn't want to drive around so I hiked to Cottonwood the first day and then back. so I guess I did a
Rim to R.

Whoever wrote your names on the Stromotolite rock (I suspect boy scout troop 420) it is bad enough to mess up rocks without messing up fossils.

Counted 318 rim to rim runners from Cottonwood to Phantom, just in the morning. Clue to y'a'll: banana peels and orange peels ARE trash and should be PICKED UP. I got irritated enough to shift into high gear and pass two groups of runners. When I passed a bunch of boys, wearing my full pack and my skirt, one of them muttered: well, that's embarrassing.

Weather nice but very windy. Ribbon falls was really full.

2010-05-08T06:19:00.000-07:00

Hiked to Supai as assistant for GCFI. Day one we talked about the Sinyalla Syncline and found the Havasu Springs Fault. It cracks the Redwall and allows the spring to gush out. The 2008 flood scoured the campground and made two new water falls, whilst drying out Navajo. The campground used to have some semblance of privacy with all the trees, but they are dying or gone.

Camped at the end of the campground. Day two hiked up Carbonate Canyon to the old mine and wandered around inside. Day three we climbed down Mooney and hiked to Beaver. The old ladder on the high route is gone, so there is a rope of dubious origin. One participant didn't like the rope, so I took him on the low route. Saw some lost kids on an incorrect high route (they had been cliffing out quite a lot) and turned around. The real route was below them, and much easier.

Day four went to see the Pillar of Gold: a brecca pipe that was advertised as the El Dorado of the Grand Canyon (it wasn't), ate real food in the village (if Supai tacos are real food), visited the museum, and hiked up Carbonate to find some fantastic fossils.

Day five we hiked to the village and dropped off the people who were coptering out. I filled water and started walking out with Marce. We started picking up trash (a lot of that) until we each filled a big bag. Never saw the people ahead of us. We kept walking, and walking, and never saw the others. Thought: boy, those girls are moving! Stopped in the last shade for a drink, and the others caught up! They got lost in the village and were hiking hard to catch us!

Managed to pick up a dollar bill in the village, and then on the trail out I found two twenties. Talk about Canyon Karma. Paid for our lunch at the Snow Cap.

2010-04-30T17:41:00.000-07:00

Last weekend we took the MCC geology class. Hiked to Skeleton Point and did geology drawings, then visited Sunset Crater and Grand Falls.

Friday this week hiked down South Kaibab and across to Bright Angel. Flowers are great. Snowed on the north rim -- last weekend in April!

I keep telling myself I don't have to beat every 20 year old out of the canyon, and then someone cuts a switchback and I have to dust him to teach him a lesson.

2010-04-16T17:53:00.001-07:00

Hiked to Indian Garden with a women's basic backpacking class. Weather was just right: cool at night and pleasant during the day. All the flowers have started to bloom. One of my participants pointed out that my shirt was the same color as the redbud.

Water out at Phantom Ranch. They fixed one leak and when they turned it back on, another leak sprang forth. Oh well, showers are overrated.

Some mule riders came in while we were drinking lemonade and asked where we had come from. We said we were camped at Indian Garden, and one asked, "Oh, are there cabins there too?". We all decided that 10 miles round trip is a long way to go for a lemonade, even with ice. Maybe a Cherry Pepsi, but a lemonade?

The dude mules met the pack mules at Three Mile, and they had to pass one another while we got to watch. With all the mules on the same trail nowadays, they have to get kind of creative to get past each other. They are actually forming new trails at certain areas where they meet and pass.
Poem written on the trail:to the tune of Smoke gets in your eyes:
I said the hike was hard, my legs felt like lard,
And this trail is tough, it is way too rough, I have had enough.
They said the trail is fine, and I should not whine,
Hiking makes you wise, strengthens up your thighs, and salt gets in your eyes...

2010-04-11T17:30:00.001-07:00

Friday we hiked down to Skeleton Point. Spring is definitely here: there were dozens of people on the trail, at the Point, and way too much graffiti on the rocks. I had filled my liter squirt bottle, and I used up half before I got to Cedar Ridge.

Then we had to go to Prescott to mail a package, and Sunday I was supposed to do a Field Institute gig, but the couple canceled at the last minute, so Brad and I hiked to Indian Garden to see the Redbud in bloom. Not as much graffiti on the BA: maybe because it lacks that lovely, smooth Coconino slab section on the South kaibab, that I have termed "graffiti alley". Met a boy on the way out racing his dad. He said they were trying to get to the "motel at the bottom", so I told him to be sure to get the pink rattler junior ranger patch. I can picture him now, bugging his parents to get to the bottom so he can get his patch.

Just a dibble of ice left on the very top of the SK, and some still on Heartbreak Hill and just below. Nothing we couldn't handle without grippers, though Brad did manage to slip on the way up and twist his back.

2010-04-04T16:18:00.000-07:00

Got out of the rut this weekend and went to South Canyon. Used to run in and out of that all the time when I was a kid. I don't remember it being that exposed...no trail, just a route. Down-climbing in the Coconino, and lots of loose scree, then rock hopping all the way down the wash to the Colorado.

There was water in the wash, so we dropped packs and ran to the River and back. I thought the redbud would be in bloom at Vaseys, but it was not so. I had also forgotten the joys of alkaline water in the slickrock. Ick. Brad dropped his canteen and it split, and when we got out our emergency Platypus, it had a crack in it. Fortunately I'd thrown in an extra folding canteen because I thought we would be settling grit out of the River water.

Ran up to the head of the canyon to see some really nice fossil footprints, and then climbed out. Took less time to climb out than in, as is usual with a loose route. Carried out someone's discarded water bottle and tore apart a campfire ring. Same person? Perhaps. There was a cache of what looked like gatorade, and we debated leaving it, until we saw that it had a critter hole in it, and had been there so long it had fermented. Why don't people clean up their caches? With the incoming storm tomorrow, it was nice and cool hiking out. I do remember from our college hikes there that the last 1000 feet is all in the sun, and we never carried enough water...

2010-03-20T13:30:00.001-07:00

Spent last week running a Mule-assist for the Grand Canyon Field Institute. One lucky fella on the trip. Mules were down very late on Tuesday: didn't get in until 5 PM. Rockslide on the Bright Angel, so they couldn't start down till noon, and then they were very vexed. I guess if they aren't chosen by then, they figure they get the day off. Sjors says lots of rock slides this spring.

Saturday hiked to Horseshoe Mesa. Much, much nasty ice and snow. That trail is narrow and slippery enough without adding complications. Picked up a colman inflatable mattress that weighed 9 pounds (!) and carried it out. Mucho karma points for that one.

2010-03-14T14:37:00.000-07:00

Hiked to just below Cedar Ridge on Friday. Had to get to Prescott for an appointment, so we hiked down for an hour, showed some fossils to a gaggle of girl scouts, and hiked out to shower and drive down. Sunday we hiked to Skeleton Point. Lots and lots of persons out for Spring Break. Even saw my boss on the trail with a batch of kids.

The top of the Kaibab is terrible. Glare ice and steep ... and about half the hikers with no crampons. They have a good old time sliding down, but I don't know how they think they will get back out. Brad passed one couple who commented: lucky thing you have those crampons, and he said: luck had nothing to do with it. Then I passed them, and they said, lucky thing YOU have those crampons, and I said: I wouldn't have come down that trail without them. No sympathy at all.

My Skeleton Point Raven has a girlfriend now. Just before I got this picture, he chowed down on a big hunk of TP. Ewww! I knew they would eat anything but, geepers...

2010-03-07T17:51:00.000-08:00

Dan came down today and we hiked from Kaibab to Bright Angel. I can't remember the last time I did that. Maybe 30+ years ago? 8 hours. It started out nice, but the weather deteriorated and by the time we got out it was snowing hard.

Saw a bighorn that Della told us had been chasing people, so we figured maybe she is about to be a mother. Those hormones are killers. Then a little baby pink rattler on the Corkscrew. I'm tired, but my good knee hurts more than my muscles do. My bad knee did OK. Oh, well.

2010-02-28T18:51:00.000-08:00

Last weekend spent the entire three days in meetings. First the GCFI annual instructor round-up, then two days at the GCFI sponsored Guide Training Seminar. I always learn something new. This time I got to tour the rim with a local historian who gave me all sorts of tidbits I can use when I take people around.

This weekend, Brad was in a meeting Friday, so I worked on the online college class I am taking, then walked the rim trail. Saturday we drove to Flag so Brad could train to be an Odyssey of the Mind judge, and Sunday we hiked to Indian Garden and out. It was foggy on the way down, but cleared up and was actually warm at IG. Two hours and 5 minutes out, and it was really slow in the slush. I prefer the ice, because I don't slip back with every step I take. Spring must be here: I picked up orange peels and a face mask (yuck) on the way out, and saw someone cut a switchback. Their rationale: the trail was too muddy.

2010-02-14T11:07:00.000-08:00

Got out of the corridor this weekend to do a Hermit Bright Angel. Met one guy who camped (probably illegally -- no permit) at Hermit on his way to Horn. He said we should have camped in the overhang to get away from the dew, and I said, "Yeah, except it is illegal." He grinned, "You pays your money and you takes your chances". Except since I didn't see a permit, perhaps he did not pay his money.

Weather was nice: ice on the trails is melting fast. Lots of mud. The mules really tear up the trail when it is wet.

It was cold and we got dewed upon because we are too stubborn to put up a tent. Found some nice fossils. Indian Garden had no one at 3 PM and by dark it was almost full. Quiet, though. The gal next to us never made a sound, but she was chain smoking. I managed to carry my thumb drives down: they were in my jacket pocket. Baked a chocolate cake at Indian garden for Valentine's Day but it didn't work quite right.

When we were at Cinch-up, a young lad stopped me and asked if I would mind being in a movie. I replied, "I am ready for my close-up, Mr. Lucas". They are making a new orientation film for the new visitor center, and I might be in it. I suppose the skirt and the purple top (which perfectly matched the purple ear band) were hard to pass up.

2010-02-07T11:59:00.001-08:00

Hiked to Phantom this weekend. Brad had to attend a class in Flag, so he didn't get to hike down in the storm.

Going down there was a bighorn leading the mules out. I guess like the snowplow for the train?

Got in about 3, then on the layover day we hiked to Clear Creek and watched the storm move in. Gail and Mike hiked to Ribbon Falls, but got rained on. I sat by the canteen watching the world go by and got to talk with Ranger Patrick and Ranger Matt. I figure if one sits at Phantom long enough, everyone one knows (who hikes) will come by.

In the cabin, reached over to get my headband and there was a bark scorpion on the clock. I guess the clock was the warmest place. Put it in a cup and carried it outside. Lori Rome has told me about scorpion karma: squish a scorpion and get bit: and I wasn't going to tempt it. I did, however, get bit by a spider that night, so maybe the spider was jealous.

The roof in cabin eight leaks. Made a big puddle that got my pack wet. So I want a refund, Xanterra. Rain all night, a little snow on the way out, and everyone took off home to beat the storm.

2010-01-31T13:07:00.000-08:00

Hiked down to Skeleton today. South Kaibab is pretty iffy. They apparently shoved the top two switchbacks, but then one is on one's own. In places the drifts were shoulder high. Some of the trail leaves the trail as people try to get down without getting too close to the edge, which no longer has any sort of protective rock wall. Can't imagine doing this without grippers.

Passed by two runners in shorts, tees, and grippers. No clothes, no food, no water. Ok, but if anything goes wrong, WFR tells us to use what the other hiker has to fix him up, and they had nothing. I would have stepped into the knee-deep soft snow on the side of the packed trail, or caught the grippers on the water bars, or probably cut my leg with my own grippers had I tried to run.

My raven was not at Skeleton, possibly because a red tailed hawk was cruising.

2010-01-29T12:23:00.000-08:00

Dragged our weary bodies out of bed and clumped over to the rim for a workout, and what should our wondering eyes behold but an inversion layer! Haven't seen one for at least twenty years. Debated if we should keep hiking or run out to the rim trail and get a better view, but we kept hiking, and 20 minutes later the clouds lifted, so that was a good choice.

No one on the trail. One dude in cotton jeans and no ice grippers asked if we were doing OK. better than you, I guess? Or was that a disguised cry for help?

2010-01-24T13:31:00.000-08:00

They plowed the rim trail Saturday, so the skiing was pretty nice. A few inches of fresh snow over plowed. Skiing into the snow blocks ones glasses and makes it hard to see. Also, old show tunes make a good rhythm for skiing ("You've got to be taught, to be afraid, of people whose eyes are oddly made...").

Sunday hiked down to Three Mile. Lots of snow still. About two feet. First mile had been shoveled, then it was just what people and mules have worn down.

2010-01-21T09:18:00.001-08:00

Thursday we didn't get enough snow to close school (even though every other school in Northern Arizona is closed) but we did get a two hour delay. We hiked down to the second tunnel on the Bright Angel. Started out in the dark with our headlamps. Only one set of tracks ahead of us on the trail.

At the first tunnel we heard a shout: "Turn off your lights!'. We stopped, understandably confused. "Turn off your lights! The mules are coming!". So we did.

The pack mules passed us. I guess our lights would destroy their night vision. Without headlamps I could see Okay, but not enough to trust myself on the trail with that drop-off on my right. I let the mules get ahead and turned my lights back on. I figured that was allowed, or else imagine the lawsuits? Xanterra TOLD me to hike down in the dark with no lights...

Very quiet, very alone (except for the mules) and our leds made the falling snow look like it was strobing.

2010-01-17T14:51:00.001-08:00

Friday hiked down to skeleton then drove to Flagstaff to pick up a new washer. Saturday at the folks' for their anniversary, today hiked to Skeleton again. Looks like the trail crew has a new toy. It appears that this object crushes rocks. Must replace a few student conservation volunteers at least.

The resident raven is still at SP. He gets closer every time, and still hasn't figured out that we won't feed him. But it makes for good pictures. Took about a dozen trying to get it with its beak open. Oh, well. It would probably have opened up for a piece of bagel.

Was passed by some kids (in their 20's or so) and caught them at the chimney. Turns out they are professional guides from Colorado, and they had just hiked down to the River and back. So I didn't feel that hot about passing them, except maybe that I do have a few years on them. But I'm not competitive or anything.

2010-01-10T12:43:00.000-08:00

Hiked to Three Mile Resthouse. Carried out a canteen and managed to reuinite it with its owner. He was most appreciative. Almost beat Brad out but got caught behind a mule on the last switchback.

When there is this much snow, no one is writing their name on the walls and no one is cutting switchbacks. Because the wimps who do such things stay home, or because they can't find the rocks or the shortcuts under the snow?

2010-01-09T12:26:00.001-08:00

Hiked down the Hermit. Turned around before Santa Maria because of glare ice. Top of the trail was REALLY icy. People who slide down on their bottoms make the trail more packed and thus more dangerous.

Found an old milk tin with a solder spot on the bottom. I think this dates it to early 1900's. Since the trail was built in 1913, this makes sense.

2010-01-08T13:42:00.000-08:00

Hiked down to Skeleton Pt. Very windy. The wind was, in fact, playing a little tune on the holes that adjust my trekking poles. Ice for two miles, then dry, then ice on the dark side of O'Neil. The trail crew mules were hauling dirt, so we sat in the sun and mostly out of the wind waiting for them to dump their load (of dirt).

People writing on the snow instead of the rocks. This is refreshing, except when they write silly obscenities.

2010-01-06T07:21:00.000-08:00

Got to teach a class on Mary Colter for the Field Institute. We spent day one talking about Colter and visiting her buildings on the South Rim, including the Watchtower, but we were too tired to get out to Hermits Rest. Then we hiked down the snowy and icy South Kaibab, spent two days at Phantom Ranch, and hiked out. Took an history tour of the Ranch and snuck into the 10-person cabins to look at the prickly pear ceiling. The pipeline was out, again, so we didn't get showers the second night, but they didn't have showers in 1922 either.

First night the door to the bathroom was so squeaky everyone woke up anytime it was opened or closed. We couldn't find any WD-40, so I stole a pat of butter from dinner and used that on the hinges. Worked great.

2009-12-31T14:57:00.000-08:00

Skied to the post office, and then over to the rim trail. The rim had enough snow to ski on, so we continued to Pipe Creek Overlook and back. Drawback was we didn't bring food or water, since we were only going to the post office. Skied 11 miles in all. By the time we got back at 2 PM, snow was melting enough on some of the walkways that I had to take the skis off about a half mile from the house.

2009-12-28T15:30:00.001-08:00

For something new, we hiked down Hermit to Dripping Springs. The west rim drive is open, but there was not only no place to park at Hermit Rest, the Harvey bus was double-parked, blocking off about 6 spaces. So we parked at Pima and walked. The Harvey bus almost ran over me, I suppose following the rule that says they can't cross the double yellow line, but they don't mind double parking.

No one had been to Dripping springs since the last snow. We broke trail for the last half mile. Wondered if there would be a frozen spring, but it was dripping. The snow had not been in the sun at all: it was still crystalline. On the way out, my new ice grippers got caught in my bootlace, and I took a bad fall. Broke the gripper, also. So I guess I can sue the gripper company for not warning me not to trip on a bootlace, and the boot company for making such long laces.

2009-12-27T14:10:00.001-08:00

Hiked to Phantom last weekend with the artist in residence. Then Christmas in Prescott. Today hiked down to Skeleton.

I can almost understand these bozos who write their name on a rock: they are just ignorant: but today there was obscene graffiti, and that is just graffiti. Gone now, due to the Squirt Bottle of Retribution.

Found a sleeping bag stashed under the outhouse (eww!) and we'll check it out in a day or so to see if it is still there and carry it out. Probably just couldnt' stand the thought of getting that extra 8 1/2 pounds out the last 900 feet and ditched it.

2009-12-20T13:39:00.000-08:00

Our annual trip to Phantom for solstice is done. Robert couldn't come because of his knee surgery, but we took the local artist in residence. Dropped the camera on Asinine Hill. Lots of ice on the Kaibab. I find that songs from My Fair Lady are a good hiking rhythm, but the words need work.
I could have hiked all day, I could have hiked all day
and still have asked for more.
I could have doffed my pack and eaten all my snacks
I've never had before
I told myself, this is a hell of a workout, no matter what my muscles might say
And when I saw that view, well, that is when I knew,
I could have hiked, hiked, hiked all day.

My winter boots are falling apart, so I need a new pair before my next trip in two weeks. Busy, busy, busy.

2009-11-29T08:36:00.000-08:00

Yeah, yeah, most of my updates are on facebook now. Been doing a lot of corridor trails. The dog is in renal failure, so we can't leave him with anyone and had to cancel our Thanksgiving overnight, so we decided to do a day hike a day. Wednesday we walked the west rim trail (8 miles) Thursday down to Skeleton Point, Friday I had a gig for the field institute (got paid for that hike!), Saturday skeleton again (it is warmer and sunny on the south Kaibab) and today we were going to do Dripping Springs, but it is snowy and blowy and we are wimps.

Cleaned up a LOT of graffiti: lots of kid with parents who don't know better. Every day there are 10 to 12 tags on the South Kaibab. That Coconino Sandstone is just too inviting, I guess.

Found three new fossils on the Bright Angel. Hiking with little kids (Field Institute Meet the Canyon hikes) they look for stuff close in. Little guy swears he found a shark tooth, but didn't have my camera to take a good picture, so I need to get one and send it to a geologist and see if it really is. It looks promising. this picture isn't the shark tooth: this is a Derbia. I know that one.

2009-11-11T13:20:00.000-08:00

What do you do with a day off school? Why you hike to Indian Garden and out. Not too many people on the trail, but lots of gnats! Came out just behind the Park Circus mules, and when they turned off at Three Mile we ran past them. Then got behind the dude mules, but the wrangler graciously moved to a wide spot in the trail and stopped to let us by. "See you soon," he offered, and we snorted (quietly) and beat them out handily. It's not hard to stay ahead of the mules because they stop a lot more than we do.

Erased one graffiti panel and picked up four cigarette butts, a Kleenex, and a napkin. Passed on the really, incredibly gross bandanna, though.

2009-11-08T14:02:00.001-08:00

Phantom in November with temps in the 80's. Wow. Robert came willingly for the first time in a few years. Four hours out, even with Robert's bum knee. Spent the layover day going up Phantom Creek.

2009-11-01T13:10:00.000-08:00

Friday had a Meet the Canyon for GCFI with a nice couple and their girls. The girls were soccer players and they really gave me a workout coming out from mile and a half.

Saturday spent most of the day helping to build a foundation for a greenhouse for the community garden. Sunday hiked to Skeleton Point on SK. Alex and Nick Clement from Wisconsin: good job tagging every stinking rock in the Coconino. NOT! I used up two spray bottles of water to get rid of your crud.

Other than that, a beautiful day. On Friday highs were in the 40's. Today it was 70 when we got out.

2009-10-27T08:40:00.000-07:00

I really have been remiss in keeping this up. Nothing like being on Facebook to louse up your priorities.

Did a custom day trip for the field institute and one for Intel. Brad has been sick with some kind of flu that turned onto pneumonia, so I've been hiking by myself.

Erased a bunch of stuff on the BA, then on the Kaibab. Looks like only one group, but that's all it takes. Mathew Stelling from USC: shame on you. A passing hiker said that just proves everything he thinks about the Trojans. He also admired my Macabi skirt, and said he wanted one for himself (they do sell kilts for men!)

Looks like snow today, but they always promise more than they can deliver.

2009-10-17T17:01:00.000-07:00

Finished two rim to rims in a row, then a beginning backpack, and today took some persons down to Indian Garden and out. Felt pretty strong coming out, considering that just the day before I was on the trail carrying a 30 pound pack.

Lots of kids: some kind of outreach group. Left almost no trash. Hurrah! Some other kids, though, carved their names onto a lot of rocks. Andrea, CJ, Kyl, etc. Naughty, naughty.

2009-10-11T13:51:00.000-07:00

Hiked down to Skeleton Point, and climbed one cliff down from where we usually stop. Ugh! Lots and lots of graffiti. Spend almost half an hour and a liter of water washing off the rocks. Also RGS was there from Luke Air force Base.

Went down the Hermit today, and carried out a bag of trash from Santa Maria Resthouse. There is an ammo can there for a trail register, in a vain attempt to keep morons from writing their name on the walls or the benches, and some people think it is for their junk. Mike Shryock, no one cares that you hiked two miles into the Canyon.

2009-10-05T09:35:00.001-07:00

Busy, busy, busy. Did two rim to rims in a row for the GCFI. One a regular, another a custom mule assist where the gear came down the south rim by mule and we hiked the 14 miles from North Rim to Bright Angel Campground in one day. Then they talked me into going up Phantom Creek, the animals.

Five rattlesnakes (3 pinks), a herd of bighorns, a few baby deer still spotted and fluffy, and about 2,000 rim to rim runners.

First hike we had 100 degree temps. Second hike we were in the 80's during our long, long day. What a break. Picking up all that litter must really give me good karma.

2009-09-20T15:14:00.000-07:00

It was cool enough today to hike to Skeleton Point. Haven't been on the South kaibab since May. The trail work is awesome. I told the trail crew it was hard to believe it was the SK. Carried my backpack to get ready for rim to rims next week.

Only had to erase a couple little graffitis, too. Less traffic, I guess.

There was sign at Skeleton to the effect that someone has been stealing signs all summer,and people are missing their turn-around at Skeleton and getting into trouble. If anyone knows where the signs are, tell the Park Service. I would suspect seasonal Xanterra people, if it has been happening all summer.

2009-09-19T11:49:00.001-07:00

Another day, another trip to three mile resthouse. Erased a HUGE panel of spanish stuff: something like "who wants to be on this trail", and then "carlos" and "route 66". Methinks Carlos sas a little lost.

Advised some tourists that, no, the view doesn't change much all the way down the BA unless you hike out to Plateau Point. Some of them opted for that, some turned around to visit the West Rim Drive where views abound. Maricopa Point is a good substitute for the Skywalk, IMHO. It has a 285 degree view of the Canyon, you can see the River (well, a wee bit) and it is free. Also it is not a four-hour drive on four wheel drive road.

The bighorns are hanging around the head of the BA. We've seen them on every hike for the past two weeks. They aren't afraid, either, but the daddy bighorn has been seen huffing his group out of the way if they stay on the trail too long.

2009-09-13T16:44:00.000-07:00

Busy weekend. Thursday might we ran down to Two Mile Corner. Something was throwing rocks at us at the second tunnel: not one of my "danger" spots, so we looked up and there was a bighorn on the cliff. Scampering by it, we ran into a baby bighorn (A tiny horn?). Then mama showed up. Then a few more babies. Then another mama. We snuck around them, trying to stay far enough away that we didn't scare them. They were pretty cool, though. Mama kept glancing up nervously as the bighorn above them knocked more rocks loose. I guess she figured that was the real threat.

On the way back out, there were eight of them, two males, a cluster of babies, and their mamas. One of the babies took a flying leap and knocked down a whole pile of rocks! If it isn't the small boys, it is the wildlife.

Went mountain biking in Prescott, and my front brakes went out at the bottom (fortunately!) of the first big hill. So I had to decide: walk back five miles or ride downhill most of the way with less than half of my braking capacity? The front brakes do most of the work. So I walked down three of the really steep hills and went as slow as I could down the others. I only had to skid uphill twice to keep from losing it. It is amazing how many small uphills there are on the downhill run when you are looking frantically for the next one.

Then Sunday we went to Three Mile. No bighorns, but a lot of backpackers, which aren't as much fun. Between Thursday and today some toads wrote their names all over one of the switchbacks in the Fault Switchbacks, but we managed to erase most of them. Carried out a baggie full of cigarette buttes and a Vibram sole that someone had tried to tape on, but didn't. Do these smokers think the nylon in the filter is going to rot? Or do they just not think? If they thought, I guess they wouldn't smoke.

2009-09-06T10:57:00.000-07:00

Since getting on Facebook I have been remiss on keeping this journal. Hiked to mile and a half after school, then to two mile. If we leave as soon as Brad can get away, we can get to two mile and out before dark. Then today we rode the West Rim Drive. Same old, same old. Hiking at dusk is sure less crowded. Also we get to see the people who went to the River and back in a day, dragging their knuckles. If I were a PSAR i'd be tempted to go down at dusk, just so I could see the guys I warned not to try it, and say, 'Told you so!'.

2009-08-24T08:18:00.000-07:00

Hiked to three mile. Nice clouds in the morning with sunbeams and all. Picked up a bottle, a pocket full of paper.

Suffering an eye infection, but it is finally getting better. Had to "dope" my eye six times on the way out. Met Karen, volunteer PSAR and helped hassle hikers for a while. "Going to the River and back? Starting at 9:30? Where would you like the body buried?"

Discussed the guy who wants to reduce his possessions to 100 total. Maybe if I didn't have to count books. So how many packs, as an example, does one woman need? Fanny pack, racing pack, day-and-a-half pack (guide pack), overnight pack, week-long pack, computer pack for school...apparently six. Worse yet, I have five tents and I never sleep in a tent.

2009-08-19T10:39:00.001-07:00

Number one son and I drove to the Great Sand Dunes where he managed to bring back most of one dune in his clothes. Thence to Buena Vista to visit friends, and then Arches to mess around in the desert. I have a nasty eye infection, so we couldn't hike as much as we wanted (well, as much as I wanted).

2009-08-08T16:08:00.000-07:00

It was cold this morning: 45, so we hiked down the Hermit to Santa Maria for a change. Picked up a bag of nasty trash at the reptile tracks. But the light was very nice for pictures of said tracks.

Lilo Pizo, no one cares that you hiked to Santa Maria. And the Squirt Bottle of Retribution has erased your puny efforts at immortality.

Also saw a huge fossil fern which we moved off the trail so it doesn't get stepped on or stolen.

Told one gal it was too hot to hiked below Santa Maria and she laughed. I wonder if she's laughing now that it's over 80 on the rim and 100 in the bottom?

2009-08-02T11:16:00.000-07:00

Had a Meet the Canyon yesterday and the Bighorn mamas and babies were behind the TB grazing. Today we saw a wee baby fawn just above mile and a half. It was so young it was still nursing, but mama was scared of us and led it up the hill to get away. It was hot at 8 AM, don't know what these people are thinking when they head down, particularly the young ladies in bikinis. Nice sunrise with some clouds, though.

2009-07-25T12:47:00.000-07:00

So we have visitors and S didn't want to go down the corridor so we left at 6 AM to hike down the New Hance, just to the Redwall, because I don't go down further than that in summer, for anybody. That sucker is steep. Like climbing up and down a ladder. And I always lose the trail in the Coconino coming out, so I end up on the loose flagstone, ready to take that last windsurf off into infinity.

But it was a pretty day, and not too hot. Whoever left your water cache at the Redwall, one normally HIDES those and dates them, too. To the loser who wrote "enjoy" at the shady spot, stay home and enjoy that!

We have decided that rather than the Leave No Trace Nazi I should now be the High Priestess of Leave No Trace. This sounds more beneficent, somehow, and gives me an excuse to wear my tiara on the trail.

Hour and a half down, hour and a half out. Not bad for steep and loose.

2009-07-24T10:42:00.000-07:00

Overslept so we didn't get on the trail until 6 AM. It was a little cooler, though, because there was a mongo storm last night.

These poor mules are lost. All the way off the trail. Must have been cutting switchbacks again.

At three mile I scared off a begging squirrel, and the gal said, "OH!", so I said, they carry rabies. Brad said, "They carry plague". Then I got to tell her boyfriend not to cut the switchbacks. Busy, busy, busy....

Jake, you managed to get your name on the rocks when I wasn't looking, but it is gone now.

Lots of French persons hiking down in groups. All the women wear as little clothing as possible. I hope they had a garbage bag for when it started to rain at noon.

2009-07-19T09:55:00.000-07:00

It was so hot Friday we got up at 4 AM to hike to three mile this morning. A lot better. Of course the cloud cover and and the little spotting of rain helped. 35 minutes down, 40 minutes out. Had to erase LEEDS at the birdbath, and MTWT just above mile and a half. Also, "A", whoever you are, just stay home next time and write on your own walls.

Picked up two bottle lids and a bottle wrapper. I saw some gals, bored, playing with the label on their water bottle, so I guess that's where these come from.

Lots of foreign visitors. I think this is their long vacation time. Most of the gals in bikinis and no socks so they can get a good tan. I love being in the Fault when it starts to rain, just to hear all the bikini babes squeal as they start to get wet.

2009-07-17T10:26:00.000-07:00

Hiked to Three Mile this morning. At 8 AM it was already 90 degrees in the shade. Yet we saw hundreds (OK, dozens) of people starting down as we were heading out. Wouldn't want to be SAR today. This weekend is free parks weekend, so I don't think I'd want to be SAR this weekend, either.

Picked up two wash cloths, one bandanna, four water bottles. Saw a condor and three baby big horn sheep right in the middle of the trail. No camera, of course. Tried to take a picture with my phone, but it didn't work. Obviously need practice.

2009-07-15T17:27:00.000-07:00

The sign of a successful vacation is having to do three loads of laundry consisting of filthy dirty hiking clothes when you get home.

We did the Continental Divide Trail through the Weminuche wilderness in Colorado about 25 years ago and wanted to repeat it, but no one could join us to help with the car shuttle. Dr. Dr. Dan was busy, B was getting ready for a new job, G, D, and J all needed time to "get in shape" so we went alone. Then we thought: when we did this epic journey, we noted that the second half of the hike, from The Window to Stony Pass, was the most spectacular, and we said we would come back and just spend time there, so that's what we did.

We hiked up Vallecito Creek to the Divide and spent two days at Nebo Lake, one of the spots we remembered on our headlong rush as "ooh, pretty, but we have to get off the ridge before the daily lightening drifts by, so let's go". At 12,000+ feet, it was pleasantly cool, and no bugs. Using our Leave No Trace skills, we left the area pristine.

Coming back out, we were going to camp at the junction to Johnston Pass, where a lot of hikers stay on their way into Columbine Basin where the three 14ers are, but we got there at 10 AM, the afternoon storm was just moving in, and we were both almost out of book. We thought of crawling into the tent to wait out the coming storm, and reading some more, then going to sleep at dusk and lying there for 14 hours, and thought: we could make it out today. So we ended up doing a 20 mile day. My neuroma hurt so badly I didn't even realize I had two big blisters. When you own three pair of hiking boots (day hikes, corridor hikes, and off-trail hikes) you tend to forget which set of socks goes with which boots, and I didn't have the optimum sock combo for my off-trail boots.

We then boogied over to Mesa Verde to visit some of the ruins. Since our week in Santa Fe, we had been learning all about the Pueblo people, so MV seemed a fitting degoumois. And I haven't been to Balcony House since Robert was knee high to an atlatl.

I am Sooo glad I usually hike in a place where campfires are banned. There were fire rings all over the Wemenuche. I cleaned out several and tore them apart. News flash y'all: FOIL DOES NOT BURN. So we get to MV, and everyone in the campground has a fire. A smoky fire. A nasty, smoky, chemical charcoal fire. Welcome to the great outdoors: let's fill it full of smoke.

Balcony was good, and then we went to Wetherill Mesa and did Long House and Step House and all the stuff on the Mesa. It is actually a Cuesta, not a Mesa. A mesa slopes away on all side and a cuesta only slopes away on one. So this is actually Cuesta Verde.

Travel tip: when you want to find good Mexican food, ask a park ranger. In the west, at least, they love Mexican, and since they live on a pauper's salary, they look for the cheap. We were sent to Tequila's in Cortez, and it was great. Then on to Navajo National Monument to visit Betatakin. Navajo doesn't allow campfires, thank goodness. Betatakin was one of the last places they lived before heading south and/or back to the Hopi Mesas, so it was fitting to finish off with that one.

2009-07-04T12:05:00.001-07:00

Hiked to Three Mile. Got a later start than usual: about 7, but it was coolish because of last night's storm. Only 80 degrees at Three Mile at 8:00 AM. That's progress.

Kilroy Lunes was here: you are not anymore. Left your name at Three Mile and now it's gone. Thus strikes the graffittinator and her squirt bottle of doom.

Picked up a long sleeved shirt, two hand towels, two wash clothes (these guys must be really into cleanliness or something), a water bottle, two straws, and a couple of goo packets. Stay off the trail for a few days and it goes to hell.

Though, I know the river companies have guides up and down each day, and groups like Four Seasons, and in fact, the Field Institute is on the trail, so am I the only one who picks up this crap?

2009-07-03T08:05:00.001-07:00

Friday had a Meet the canyon, then Monday and Tuesday a Learning and Lodging.

A new feature: Things I Find on the Trail And I Don't Have A Clue. Like this thong underwear:
I am told by Those in the Know that the underwear and bandannas I find are used for TP and then thrown under a rock. File this under "things I could have gone without knowing for a long time". But a thong? And at the first tunnel?

Thursday we then hiked down South Kaibab. It was an overcast day with a 50% chance of rain, so it was nice and cool. Brad had to turn around in the Chimney because his boot was acting up, so I hiked to O'Neil and turned around. It was nice and cool as long as there was a breeze. Once I got behind the rocks, it was muggy and warm. It was still about 100 in the bottom.

This is the BIG weekend for rim to rim runners. "Gee, it is 120 in the bottom, let's spend all day exercising in full sun". And here is the view from Trailview Overlook. It is a long, long way out, and almost all in the sun at mid-day.

2009-06-28T15:17:00.000-07:00

Last week we spent in Santa Fe and hiked Picacho Peak (which means peak peak) three times, did a 15 mile day hike in Bandelier and went to Pecos to see the ruins and the Civil War Trail, Albuquerque to see the museum of natural history, and ate a lot of Mexican food. Good thing we did all that hiking. On the way back we toured Acoma, the sky city. By the by, Winslow has the BEST chili rellanos in the world at El Pueblo.

Since we spent all week studying the Ancestral Pueblo, this weekend we decided to load all the stuff in the car and hike to Keet Seel. Haven't been there since Robert was a wee young thing. Probably at least 15 years. 8.5 miles in, wading in a yucky creek full of cow. The ruins were nice as always, and a nice little ranger took us on a private tour for an hour and a half. We were the only people in the campground. It was sooo quiet. No water running (you have to carry in all your drinking water), no wind, just some little animal that kept rustling the leaves, probably seeing if he had left anything for it to eat.

Apparently there was a cow stuck in the mud on the "low" route. We took the high route, and on the way out four trucks, a horse, and an ATV were on their way in to get the cow. Everyone asked about it, and we had to say, nope, didn't see it. I wanted to say: just the tips of some horns and a little note reading, "Help me, help me", but I didn't.

Met a gal who was hiking in the day we were hiking out, so I told her to bring me a Cherry Pepsi, and she did! It was HOT climbing that last sand hill, too.

2009-06-16T19:12:00.001-07:00

Rode my bike to Shoshone point, but there was a Ranger meeting in progress, so I turned around. Then rode to Yaki Point. One of the men off the suttle bus suggested that it was a "hard ride". I agreed. Why not?

They are tearing up the landscape by the Visitor Center, probably for the new parking lot. Part of the Greenway is closed, so I had to ride on the road. The lot for the Kaibab shuttle is closed. It was only open a few months, and it was nice to be able to park there and jump onto the green line. No more, alas. Now one has to catch the bus at Yavapai and then switch over to the green line, which usually takes up to an hour.

The parking lot at SK has been closed for years now. It used to be open in the winter, but then the rangers noticed that when it was closed,their SAR calls dropped more than in half. I guess when people wander down the BA, there are amenities like water and phones and rangers, but when they wander down the SK there is nothing but trouble.

2009-06-15T11:01:00.000-07:00

Friday we hiked down the SK to Cedar and chatted with the PSAR rangers. Also erased Noah, Ivan, and Marika off the rocks.

Today we hiked to Two Mile Corner. On the SK you work around the trail crew, on the BA you you work around the mules. The trail crew smells better. Saw a normal squirrel eating what it is supposed to eat: namely mule dung. Must be better for them than Cheetos.

Mule strings are supposed to travel 10 minutes apart. We met three strings between two mile and mile and a half, so I guess no one told them. Dusty, dusty trail. The wrangler told everyone it is because it hasn't rained. Also because the mule shoes grind the rock into dust, but they wouldn't say that.

Suggested to a hiker that his pack would ride a lot better if he would tie his sleeping bag on instead of letting it swing free and bounce against his legs. Ignored me.

Erased Avi and a couple of others off the rocks. Busy, busy, busy.

2009-06-13T17:05:00.000-07:00

Climbed Humphreys Peak (12657) for a change . A wind up there is not uncommon, but it was blowing so strongly I couldn't stand while approaching the summit. Made it up in three hours (4.8 miles) and down in 2 1/2.

Lots of people climbing. Many in cotton tees and shorts, no wind gear, no water, etc. One gentleman informed me that my hair "was a mess".

I said, "Oh, damn. And I bet I've chewed off all my lipstick!"

It was kind of nice going DOWN when tired. The trail is a good grade for down: I could really move.

The wind actually picked up as we were walking down, so I doubt most of the people heading up climbed to the summit. I wouldn't have...

A funny thing about Humphrey's Peak. When people come to the Grand Canyon, they often want to hike to the river and back in a day. On the BA, this is 4300 feet in 7.5 miles. Ask them if they want to climb Humphrey's, outside of Flagstaff, and they say, oh, that's too high! But the elevation change is only about 3700 feet, which is less than hiking out from the River! But they can't see the distance from the bottom of the Canyon to the Rim.

2009-06-05T14:56:00.000-07:00

Just got back from a nine-day river trip with CRATE. I don't like motorized trips. They seem to me a bit like doing a rim-to-rim in a day. You see everything, but it becomes a blur. But this was a natural history trip with Dr. Bob, from whom I have taken several geology classes, and Dr. Ron, a biologist extraordinaire. So number-one son and I signed on.

I learned a lot, which was the point. Took pages and pages of notes and pestered the experts about stuff. We hiked up North Canyon, Buck Farm, Deer Creek, Kanab, and Havasu. Rode most of the way with a boatload of Canadians (go keeners!). Another thing about motorized trips is they often attract the blase type of passenger who has done it all and been everywhere, and this is just another notch in the belt. The Canadians were there for the action and the expertise.

It rained the first night. Then it rained every day. I had my rain gear, and my wet suit (yes, I am paranoid), but a lot of people didn't bring rain gear, or not good rain gear, because it was supposed to be hot in May. Indeed, but this is the Grand Canyon, and sometimes it has its own agenda.

I have done three private trips, and the first one we flipped a boat in 24 1/2, the second one we flipped a boat in Bedrock and I got to ride down the left side sans boat. The third time I was white knuckled all the way with the thought of another flip, even though we didn't. So on the motorized trip I thought: at least we won't flip!

So we get to Havasu, and the boats tie up in the fast water, as they do. We go for a hike, and when we get back there is another boat upstream from us, trapped on our boat. They are pushing and shoving and motoring, and suddenly, POP! Then POP! POP! Three of our valves tear out and the upstream pontoon deflates.

The boat lists, water is pouring into the motor well. The boatmen snatch up all the bags rapidly vanishing into the water and tie them on the uphill side, then put us all on the good boat. As we try to free ourselves, with the upstream boat floundering under its flat side, we start to be pulled under the boat just downstream from us, a Hatch boat.

"High side, High side!" Wait a ding-dang minute! Why am I high siding on a boat the size of a greyhound bus? Then one of the ropes holding the Hatch boat in place goes "SNAP!".

"Everybody down!" We all huddle together, trying to figure out where we will jump if the boat gets sucked under. If we go straight in, we will all be sliced off by the Hatch boat. If I jump to the rear, I go into the rapid. If I jump forward I go into the rocks. If I jump onto the other boat, it is half sunk. Then a bystanding boatman jumps into the Hatch boat, revs up the motor. The remaining rope is cut, and we swing free. It takes hours to fix the valves (we have two spares, but not three, and they have to fiddle with the third valve to make it work. And then it LEAKS!)

So we continue downstream, the bad valve bubbling away madly. We pull over just before Lava to fill the pontoon (good thinking, guys) but not for every rapid, which makes me very nervous. I'm nervous anyway, but the boat is sinking! It leaks!

At one point the motor quit, and the boat is sinking, so we started to sing, "And my heart will go on..." But I still don't look like Kate Winslet.

Anyhow, we made it, and the food was good, and the boat didn't sink. But if that River is out to Get Me, I might as well stay in the little boats.

Poem: written by Robert, Slim, and Lynn

There are strange things done 'neath the noon day sun
by those who toil through stone.
They face the waves that gape like caves
as they perch on the bow, alone.

Dr. Bob talks of sexy rocks* and tales of ancient terrain
Ron has the style of a nutrient pile* and we echo in refrain
But a cad on a raft, he rammed our craft and it listed, to our dismay
But our fearless crew knew what to do and leapt in to save the day

With a sense of brava we splashed through Lava on our newly inflated pontoon
We camped on the sand with our merry band, after enjoying the full moon*.
There are strange things done 'neath the noon day sun by those who toil through stone
But none so strange as by those deranged within the Precambrian zone.

*in joke alert

2009-05-17T18:02:00.000-07:00

Too hot to go down inside. Saturday I was to mile and a half with a nice couple from Florida. That was OK. We were out early enough that there was plenty of shade in the Fault Switchbacks. By early afternoon, we could see from the rim that ALL the shade was gone from the trail, and the rim-to-rim runners were still plugging along.

A guy passed us at the second tunnel, telling all and sundry that he left the North Rim at 5 AM, with his spiffy "rim to rim 09" shirt. He said, "There are over 100 of us." I said,"And did you get a permit?" but he ignored me.

Sunday we rode bikes along the west rim road. Looked for the terminus of the Pima Point tramway, but no luck. Have to look for some old photos to pinpoint it, I guess. It was 85 on the rim, yikes!

2009-05-10T14:24:00.000-07:00

It is officially HOT in the Canyon. Caught the 5 AM South Kaibab shuttle to do a SK-BA loop. It was like a solar oven in the Redwall on the SK. It was hotter coming out from Indian Garden on the white sand. It was hotter still climbing to mile and a half with no shade. The full-sun thermometer at Indian Garden read 120 at 9 AM. I don't think I'll be below the Redwall again until fall, except of course that I have to lead a rim-to-rim the first week in June.

Someone cleaned up the graffiti! I could tell that panels we have been working on are now completely clear. Probably a ranger-type who actually gets paid to do it.

Coming out the Redwall in the Bright Angel, we stepped off to let the mules pass, and a hiker was right behind them. One is actually not allowed to walk that closely behind. Anyhow, he started off down the slope to cut the switchback and get ahead of the mules.

I yelled, "Hey, don't do that!"
Brad yelled, "Hey, dude, stay on the trail!"
His hiking companion yelled, "Don't cut the trail!"
The wrangler, who was at that point directly below him, so cutting wouldn't have worked anyway, yelled, "What the hell do you think you're doing?"
The hiker said, "OK, OK", and got back on the trail.
I sympathize with not wanting to be stuck behind the mules, but they DO stop and let hikers by eventually.

It is miserable to hike in the heat. It was just a month ago that we were hypothermic coming out in a sleet storm, and now it is 100. And as we were climbing out, there were hundreds just starting down. In fact, I counted 100 people from Indian Garden to the Fault Switchbacks, 100 from the Fault to the first tunnel, and 48 from the tunnel to the Rim. Yes, I was trying to keep my mind off hiking in the heat.

2009-05-03T13:59:00.000-07:00

Yesterday we walked to Grandeur point. Haven't been out since they put in the Trail of Time. Every meter is 1,000 years, and every 10,000 years is a marker. Eventually there will be more information on the deep history of the Canyon. It was interesting to walk the Great Uncomformity. Now they need to put in a 6,000 year old history for the creationists right at the end of the trail. World is created, flood cuts the Grand Canyon, rock magically gets too solid to cut anymore, etc.

Went down the South Kaibab today. Lots of rotten kids wrote their names in the Coconino. They were even text messaging one another: "tired yet?" Next rock: "I'm tired". Next Rock "Still tired." Next rock: "Hmmm." and almost every rock on the way down said, "Turn around now.". I wish they had.

On the way out, a British lady asked Brad if he would walk out with her, so we did. Her daughter was heading down (at 11:30 AM: a bit late) and she turned around just before Ooh Ah, because she wanted to be sure she'd get back out. Not a bad decision. Wish more people would think like that. So we chatted and I showed her some of my secret fossils. A lot of flowers out, including some frail stem mariposa, which only bloom after a pretty wet spring. Cheyeva never flowed this year though, so it wasn't that wet.

2009-05-01T13:01:00.000-07:00

Hiked the Hermit Trail to Santa Maria Spring. Just for a change. Tried to get through the barrier (It's legal: I'm a resident), but when they re-did the road they changed the pass code.

Nice day and not very crowded, but disappointing to see graffiti in the Supai. I am used to, nay, expect to see it in the Coconino, but not this far down. Behold the post of shame:

We erased the stuff in the rocks, naturally, but couldn't get the bozo who carved his name on the rocking chair at the resthouse. I Googled the name though, since it is kind of unusual, and there is a Jake Gerster in Scottsdale. Maybe I'll be able to track him down and carve my name in his car door.

Anyhow, it was a nice day and we met a couple from Alaska with whom we were able to gossip. Saw a backpacking pair one of whom had an arm in a sling. When we came back out, I was going to volunteer to help carry some stuff, but one backpack was abandoned under a tree. Don't know if it was left there to pick up after the walking wounded got out, or just plain abandoned. Didn't see the couple again. Passed two ranger groups, so one assumes if they hiked out, they could have contacted the Green and Gray for help.

2009-04-26T10:35:00.000-07:00

Spent the weekend in an MCC geology class. Climbed Red Butte and learned about the Moenkopi, and then went down Tanner to the Redwall and talked about the supergroup.

I didn't bring my spray bottle, because I figured no one would be crass enough to write their name on a non-maintained trail. Wrong. Dan, Mogo, and alleged friends thought someone would be impressed at the dearing-do, and wrote all over the Supai rocks just before 75-mile saddle. They are gone now. Even without the spray bottle of doom, you cannot prevail against the Graffitinator.

Lots of interesting rocks. I think I found the tracks of a T-rex, even though all those geology instructors say that they came later: honest now: doesn't it look good ;-)? Asked Dr. Bob how this formed. His answer for almost everything: groundwater.

Windy and cool, but last week it was in the 70's on the rim, so I'm glad it was cool whilst on the exposed Coconino slide.

2009-04-17T14:17:00.001-07:00

Went down to Skeleton Point. I thought amplified music was banned inside the Canyon, I'm not sure why I thought so, but twice in the last week I've been subjected to ipods with speakers coming from someone's pack. One the way out we met a young boy carrying two large rocks. I told him, 'If you are thinking of throwing those over the cliff, make sure you hit the guy with the ipod." No, I didn't.

Met the mules going out. One woman was terrified: holding onto the mule's mane like she was going to slip off. I said, "Isn't that Killer? I thought he wasn't allowed to carry people anymore". No, I didn't.

Elaine and Pat, no one cares that you "heart" each other. Elaine: I think you should spray paint that on his car and see if he thinks it is cute.

Kianna, Josh, Max and your little friends, did you really have to write all over EVERY rock at Ooh Ah point? It took me 10 minutes to get rid of it all. Someone must have seen it, but did anyone say anything? Did anyone whap their little fingers with a hiking stick? Did anyone pick up one of the kids and toss them over the side?

No, I really wouldn't do that, but I would tell them to knock it off. And then I would whap their little fingers with a hiking stick.

2009-04-11T13:13:00.000-07:00

When the weather forecast says 80% chance of rain, and snow accumulation of 2 inches, and you hike to Three Mile anyway, you get wet.

It started out really pretty, with the clouds moving around and swirling through the buttes, but then the rain moved in. We ran down to three mile and visited the new bathroom. It is so new there isn't even any graffiti on the doors. How does the old poem go? A man's ambition must be small, to write his name on the outhouse wall?

We then ate a snack in the rest house. A backpacker came in and a lady asked him if there was a bathroom. He said, "I think they are supposed to open one."

I said, "It's open".

He said, "They were building one, I know."

I said, "It's open".

The lady said, "Well, I saw the new building." IT'S OPEN! The invisible woman lives.

A runner on his way down asked if the trail got any less muddy, and I told him, dream on, so he turned around. He was headed for Phantom Ranch and out, but noon is a little late to start if you ask me. Not a good day to be dressed in shorts. I had wool on from the skin out, and I was warm enough until I got to the top and stopped hiking.

Passed a lady coming down who asked if it is really harder coming out. I said, "Not at all. The Park Service just hires me to breathe hard as I climb out to scare people". An inch of new snow on the car when we got out.

2009-04-07T07:16:00.000-07:00

Saturday we were in the Big City to see the boy compete in fencing. He came in third, which he was pretty happy with. Sunday afternoon we then ran down to Skeleton Point, figuring it would be less crowded than the BA.

I would have hated to see the BA. SK was really full. Erased a number of names all the way down, and by golly, AP added his/her name and "AP loves Mom" at Ooh Ah while I was down there. Fast work, you little twerp, but no match for the Graffitinator.

A few couples were asking people on their way out if it is really hard coming out. I noticed that they only asked the ones who looked pretty good: not the ones with their tongues dragging on the ground. I suppose they knew the answer they wanted...

Driving back, three kids dashed in front of the car, so I slowed in case anyone or anything else was going to appear from the woods. A snowball came crashing out of nowhere and hit the car. I slammed on the brakes, Brad jumped out of the car and chased the kids all the way into the campground, yelling "If I get my hands on you, you're dead meat!" I'm sure they didn't expect that. Probably looking for a couch potato who would throw up his hands and say, "Kids these days!". We were going to drive around the campground once, just to shake them up and let them think we were hunting them, but we wanted to get back and get ready for Monday.

2009-04-03T09:07:00.000-07:00

Ran down to mile and a half before we had to take off for a meeting out of town. No one on the trail, period. We have gotten so used to stepping around people and letting people pass (uphill has the right of way!) (until we are going uphill, I notice) that it was a treat to be all alone.

A nice sunset just warming up, and speaking of warming up, there were some people in tee shirts, sitting in their car with the motor running, who would jump out, take a picture, and then jump back in. Grand Canyon sweatshirts are on sale in the store, guys.

Ice is just about gone, and what remains is easily bypassed.

Linda's name was back on the rock at mile and a half, so maybe that was her glaring at me the other day. But I came back, and erased your name again, nyeah, nyeah, nyeah. The revenge of the Graffitinator.

Met four people heading down, and a new used Kleenex in the trail so ONE OF YOU DROPPED IT, I KNOW IT! What is wrong with picking up your stinking Kleenex? Or using a handkerchief? Bio-hazzard on the trail!

2009-03-29T15:34:00.000-07:00

Spent the weekend in the big city doing taxes, but we did get a refund this year. My knee was acting up. I did a couple of day Meet the Canyons for the Field institute, and then hiked Bass Hermit, and then did a Meet the Canyon, and then did an Intro Indian Garden, so could it be, gee, I don't know, OVERUSE??

Anyhow I rested and stretched and iced all weekend and today we hiked to Mile and a Half because next week will be crazy and I don't know when I'll get a workout again. Lots of people before Kolb Seep. Spoke to one young man about throwing rocks, but he apologized and stopped. That's what I like to hear.

Ted and Linda: your names are gone from Mile and a Half. Actually, I commented rather loudly on the fact that I was erasing your names, and added a few insults, and a woman started glaring at me, so one does wonder: was that Linda?

2009-03-29T15:02:00.000-07:00

Took a group down to Indian Gardens with a day hike to Phantom Ranch and back. A very nice group. I always get the good groups. It must be my Canyon Karma rewarding me for all that graffiti removal. Either that, or I am so mean and ornery that everyone is afraid to cause trouble.

There was an earthquake the first night. One could hear it: a deep rumble in the ground with a sound of sloshing water. That is about as good as it gets around here. Also a skunk. We could all smell it, but no one was willing to flash a light about in case we irritated it. One of the fans in the outhouse was broken, and I thought I was gonna die of asphyxiation on the spot. One tends to forget that the dehydrating toilets down there work pretty well until they don't. And no rangers around to complain to.

The Redbud is in bloom. I didn't expect that, and it was a nice bonus. This Redbud is only found in the GC, and it is in bloom maybe a week or so. The campground was full every night. So full, in fact, that a small group had to stay in the large group site both nights. Gee, I would have sacrificed and stayed in the large site if I knew it was required to do so.

They are putting in a new bathroom at Pipe creek Beach, and the copter was bringing supplies in and out. Very windy, so it was tricky. We got too close to the hovering bird, and the ranger yelled, "Get back, get back!", which we did with alacrity. I ain't gonna argue with a bladed object that large.

Gale force winds the second night, but no one blew away. It was supposed to snow, which it did on the North Rim, which made for nice pictures and kept the riffraff off the trail. I didn't take a lot of pictures, and most of those were Redbuds, which tend to all look alike, but I did take movies, so I'll post those.

2009-03-21T15:48:00.000-07:00

Got out of the corridor big time and hiked Bass to Hermit. When we did this hike two years ago we had to share every camp with a group of four guys, a group of three we suspected was an illegal guiding operation, and one illegal who bragged about never getting a permit. This time we were dogged by a group of six who pulled in every night just about dusk.

Going down the Bass worked fine, and there was plenty of water in the "secret" potholes. I say secret because we seem to be the only group that can find them. We loaded up with water there and camped just below. All other groups continued on to the Colorado River which was running brown and nasty.

The West Tonto is a come-and-go trail. Dr. D. and I were trying to remember if the trail was easier to find when the burros were there. Neither of us seem to remember losing it much, but one does tend to remember the past with rosy glasses and all. The burros also made parallel trails and fouled the water, so we don't miss them, but they may have kept the Tonto in better shape. It was easy to lose where it went in and out of canyons and where it crossed the plateaus.

There was water at each of the named canyon except Agate. Sometimes one had to search above the trail, sometimes below, but there was always something. Third night we loaded up with water at Turquoise and waited for our other group. Sure enough they got there about dusk, so we took our water out to the point and dry camped alone. Many mosquitoes, even so far from water.

Boucher was private. Two years ago there was a de-veg crew running around. This year we had a nice site, and a little family came in and moved upstream, and the big group seems to have collapsed as soon as they hit the water, which was about a half mile away from us.

We got to Hermit just in time to snag the best site: the flat one with the overhang. A guy asked if we were staying the night, and we said yes, so he went off to camp illegally on the west side of the creek. Admittedly, one of the three small group sites is pretty slanty, and only one site has shade, but one can sit by the creek until the sun gets low, after all. One does not have to camp illegally.

Wandered about the old Hermit Camp. Both Park Service caches have been broken into. Reported same to the PS when I got out. Bozos think they are doing something clever when they steal the food and water from the ranger caches. Or maybe they are just losers who can't stand leaving well enough alone.

Started out at 5 AM because Dr. D. had to get on the road early. A.B., I saw your name carved into the Redwall, and you now are the recipient of my special Canyon Curse. Every endeavor you attempt will result in woe until you come back and clean off the rock. So there.

Got out in 4 hours, 20 minutes, not bad for such a long trail with big steps. Passed a young couple at the top, and they whispered, "Gee, that old lady is in pretty good shape!". You bet your a**.

2009-03-09T15:09:00.001-07:00

Spent the weekend at Phantom. It snowed on the rim, but it just rained a little on us. Since we were in the cabin, it didn't matter. Erased CL and a couple of other graffiti at the breccia pipe. Hiked to Ribbon Falls on the layover day, and came out in three and a half hours. It irritates me so much when people sign their silly names on the rocks, but I feel a little warm and fuzzy when I see a particularly nasty carving that I got rid of, Matthew 2008 in the Manachaca, and July in the Esplanade.

I tried taking some video with my digital camera, since I am teaching the kids at school to work with same.

2009-03-01T16:07:00.000-08:00

Several weeks ago we noticed a fire scar at Skeleton Point on the South Kaibab. Today we wiped it out. We brought our big packs and garbage bags, with a couple of shovels, and carried out 28 pounds (we weighed it) of charcoal and fire ash. One can still tell where the fire was, but not as easily. After the summer rainy season, there won't be much left.

We also tried out the vinegar on some of the stubborn graffiti that I have been eyeing every day I hike down. July, your heart is gone. Matthew, 2008, you are history. The Graffitinator strikes again.

2009-02-28T14:28:00.000-08:00

Hiked to the Tipoff today. The South Kaibab is almost completely free of ice. Just a couple of patches that are a bit slick but very short.

Quite a few people on the trail. I guess spring has sprung. A number of hapless persons with no water and no food, waving their little flimsy "Grand Canyon Guide" newsletters as a map. We passed one gentleman on the way down, who we then passed again on the way out. He asked, "Couldn't stay at the bottom?" and I said, "Nah, it was boring". So he will probably tell all the sundry that he met someone who thought it was boring. KIDDING, JUST KIDDING.

Met the pack mules in the Bright Angel Shale, and the wrangler told me to keep my skirt from flapping in the wind. Then he told Brad to keep his pants legs from flapping. Then he asked us to lean way back against the wall so nothing was moving. That must have been one nervous mule. Next they'll be approving hikers' clothing before they let us on the trail.

Last time we went through the Redwall we tried vinegar on the graffiti in the limestone. It seems to have worked, because the rocks by the halfway sign were clear of everything we erased. Which is not so say there wasn't new stuff. In fact, MLK wrote right over a spot I had just cleaned off.

Yuki, Miki, Aki and I forget the other name, may your black souls burn in the deepest depths of hell for writing all over the rocks at Poison Point. Your pitiful scribbles, moreover, were no match for the GRAFFITINATOR and her SQUIRT BOTTLE OF DOOM! And you had the wrong date. If you are going to deface a 300 million year old rock, at least get it right.

It was windy as all heck, too. I had to put my hat inside the pack because it kept catching the wind and blowing me off balance.

2009-02-23T07:18:00.000-08:00

Was sick all last week and couldn't work out at all, then spent all weekend in meetings, so I didn't get on the trail until Sunday afternoon. Met a number of hikers coming out, the trail was in pretty lousy shape. One young woman in open-toed sandals was literally crawling out because she could not get traction with her leather-soled shoes. Although one does wonder how she got down as far as she did...

Note to group of young men: PLEASE do not stand at the trail head and scream at your friends at the top of your lungs OVER AND OVER AND OVER. If you must yell, once your compatriots have registered their recognition of your concern about their welfare or your gloating that you are out and they are not, SHUT UP.

At the top a woman asked how the trail was and I told her: sloppy, slippery, muddy, icy, and full of melted mule s**t. She asked, "Then is it still open?"

"It's open all year,unless there is a rock slide".

"Do you really need crampons?"

"I wouldn't go down without them on a bet".

I then advised her to wait until morning and let it freeze. However this morning it was in the 40's so I guess it never did freeze. Maybe it will evaporate?

2009-02-16T16:55:00.000-08:00

Went down to Phoenix to see the Renaissance Faire with the boy. Monday afternoon ran down to Mile and a half. Lots of hikers coming out: the three day weekend, I guess. The trail went from being frozen mud back to packed ice and snow. My instep crampons were just slipping enough to put me off stride. I should have had the yaktracks on under them. Supposed to get another 10 inches tonight. we shall see...

Monday: got a lousy two inches. No snow day.

2009-02-08T13:46:00.000-08:00

Skeleton point on Saturday. Really nice day and almost no one on the trail. HOP, I took your name off the rock. Tough tonails, honey.

To whoever built the illegal fire at Skeleton Point: I hope your house burns down. I lot of people get cold and say they build a fire to survive. This fire was in a windy, exposed location. Whoever built it would have been better off to move into the shelter of a rock. And having personally spent a night around a survival fire (10,000 feet, mid winter, Colorado, 40 feet of snow) I would have been a lot better off with a down jacket, which I never went skiing without after that.

Spent the night at La Posada in Winslow. Very nice hotel, of course it IS a Mary Jane Colter. And a nice State Park at Homolovi ruins. The state wants to close it down. Way to go, guys. Let the locals trash the new visitor center and drive a backhoe right up to the ruins.

2009-02-06T11:00:00.000-08:00

Hiked down to mile and a half before a meeting. The meeting was at 10, so we could actually walk down in the daylight. Nasty glare ice until Kolb seep and little patches beyond down the fault switchbacks. I stopped and put on my crampons at the first tunnel, but Brad had to be stubborn and made it all the way down without. He did put them on to start back up, though.

Met no one. Heard a Canyon Wren. I have only started hearing them in the last couple of weeks. On the way out met one hiker and two groups of mules. Very nice sunrise, though the subtle color doesn't show up in the pictures.

CH is still carved in the Coconino. I've reported it to the Ranger, but I guess they can't find it. I filled it in with some mud.

I remember when I took my Leave No Trace trainer class, I asked my instructor if anyone ever gives him a hard time in class. He said a Boy Scout leader from Utah demanded, "If I don't carve my name on an Indian ruin, how will people know I was there?" What makes him think anyone gives a bleep if he has been there? Wetherill carved his name on ruins he "discovered", even though he was guided to most of them. Rangers won't show these to you unless you insist, and then they make sure no one else sees it. They don't want anyone else thinking that because they drove into the area and walked a whole half mile with a ranger they, too, can carve their name into a 1,000 year old roof beam.

Walked to the post office via the rim trail. I met a guy walking my way from Yavapai, and he asked, "Is there a viewpoint this way?" I said, "There are 200 miles of viewpoints that way".

2009-02-05T15:51:00.001-08:00

2009-01-31T13:39:00.000-08:00

Went down South Kaibab to the Tipoff and out. Trail is almost dry. I could have made the whole thing without crampons, but for the little bit of glare ice on the second switchback, and that could have been bypassed with care. It is nice to walk on a trail as wide as a sidewalk and clear of mud and ice. Passed two other groups on the way down.

Amy, Emily, and Art: trust me: no one cares that you hiked a mile down the trail. So no need to write your name on the rocks.

I bought a new stiffer brush to try on the graffiti at the halfway sign in the Redwall. Limestone is tough, because the scratches are deeper. The new brush almost works. It is obvious that something was written there, and it injures the patina on the rocks, but at least the letters are now illegible. After all, writing on the rocks injures the patina as well. It just breaks my heart when people scratch things into these beautiful rocks. I'll try a little vinegar next: it makes the limestone fizz so it might help get rid of the writings.
The river was green a few days ago and now it is brown. Snow must be melting in the White Mountains, or Utah, or both.

The pack mules came into sight as we were finishing lunch, so we took off to beat them out. They took even more stops than the dude mules. I beat them out handily. Maybe they had a heavy load, or they were training a new mule. Passed another lady in sequined tennis shoes. What are these people thinking?

2009-01-30T08:23:00.000-08:00

Got up at 0:dark thirty to hike before a meeting. We only needed the flashlights until Kolb Seep and could probably have switched them off before that. The trail is still icy, particularly at Heartbreak Hill, and ice under mud thereafter. It is probably pretty sloppy once it gets above freezing.

It was 25 degrees when we left the rim, and my hands are still cold, even after breakfast and several cups of tea. However, in four months it will be too hot to go below the Redwall, so enjoy it while you can, I guess. No wildlife below the rim that we could see, but a couple of nice deer at the West Rim Drive and a herd of elk outside the Backcountry Office.

2009-01-25T14:17:00.000-08:00

The Grandview is icy, the Bright Angel is icky with mule runoff, it is too windy for the South Kaibab, so we hiked to Dripping Springs. No ice except one little stretch just above the Toroweap. No one else on the trail at all. Very nice fossils all along the way.

Coming out from the springs we spottted something blue down in the wash. So we had to backtrack and clamber down to check it out. Thinking: I hope it's not a hiker. It was a 10 gallon water jug. So we packed it out, climbing up the cliffs and scree holding onto it until I could get to a good spot to jam it into my pack. Picked up major karma points today.