On our usual weekend workout hike to Skeleton Point and back, as we were climbing back out, three separate parties asked us if it is really harder to hike uphill.

What exactly does one  say? 

"This is a trick question, right?"

"Why no: the Park Service hires me to pant noisily and sweat profusely as a cautionary tale."

"Don't believe all that propaganda: hiking up is a piece of cake.  In fact, I recommend you do a rim to rim to rim this morning."

I suppose one response would be to stop, regard them in an attitude of disbelief, and ask, "Have you ever in your life hiked uphill before?  In which case, why are you heading down 4800 feet to the River?  Which precludes hiking 4800 feet BACK OUT?"

Ranger call the Grand Canyon the world's biggest Venus Fly Trap.  It is SO easy to wander down.  Not so easy to wander out.  Well, there are those persons who arrive at the bottom totally exhausted, which does make one wonder why they kept going.

Pam Cox, who was Phantom Ranger for many years, used to ask hikers how far they intending to hike down.  Often the response was: "We'll walk until we get tired, and then start out."  What is wrong with this plan?

My BFF, Dan, likes to hike rim to river to rim every time he is in the neighborhood, and usually he cons me into going along with this mad plan.  Last time  I told him I would accompany him to  the Tipoff, and then turn around, because I had to work the following day. 

So down we sauntered, talking and gossiping and catching  up, and, lo and behold, I was at the River.  The Colorado River.  I looked at the Black Bridge and muttered, "Darn.  (I didn't say darn).  I didn't really want to do that.  And there is only one way out now."

If I can get to the bottom without fully thinking about it, what hope is there for someone who has never been to the bottom and out?  Who doesn't even understand that,  yes, hiking out is harder than hiking down.  That's one of the reasons I do it: to keep in shape.  It is one of the reasons people pay through the nose to ride a mule.  It is the reason so many visitors ask why there isn't a gondola, or a cog railway or  an  escalator back out.

Hiking uphill is harder than hiking downhill.  You heard it here first.

We walked along the rim last night and did not hear one word of English.  How come every other country in the world gets long vacations?

Rode out to Shoshone Point this morning, and a paragrine falcon flew within a few feet, then circled overhead.  We have seen a pair of falcons on the South Kaibab for a while, and think they may be nesting.  Maybe this was payback for picking up Skeleton Point yesterday, except it was Brad who actually carried out the yuck.

I thought graffiti artists were low .  This morning at skeleton point I surprised a lady just pulling her pants up ( rather sheepishly) and I half smiled thinking" oh, that must be embarrassing" but then saw that she had actually dumped a big load right in the middle of the viewpoint.  "it is considered more polite to bury that!" I yalled to her retreating back, but she kept going.

just as I am the nemesis of graffiti, so is  Brad the prince of poop. He pulled out gloves a shovel and a bag and cleaned up the mess.  We considerd if it was worth it to chase her down and hand it to her. But declined.  No pictures, but probably just as well.

Once at a ranger program, said ranger asked what we think of when we hear the words “park ranger”?  I yelled out of the darkness, “overeducated and underpaid”.  The ranger doffed her hat and yelled back, “Thank you, Slim!”.

Go online to any hiking chat site and it is said that Rangers just want to keep anyone from having fun.  Park Rangers care about animals and plants more than people.  Rangers spend all their time in offices and don’t appreciate those who are Really Trying to Enjoy the Parks.  

This from the Park Service Website:  The National Park Service preserves unimpaired the natural and cultural resources and values of the national park system for the enjoyment, education, and inspiration of this and future generations. The Park Service cooperates with partners to extend the benefits of natural and cultural resource conservation and outdoor recreation throughout this country and the world.

Preserve unimpaired.  So no gondolas, no condos, no cog railways.  Also no rock bolts, no permanent rock-climbing slings, no hunting.

Rangers want to keep us from having fun?  I have never confronted a person who was throwing rocks over the edge, carving his name on a tree, or cutting switchbacks and, coincidentally, starting rock slides on those below, who has not claimed that he was just “having fun”.  We once spoke rather sternly to some Boy Scouts who were building a concrete monument atop a mountain in the Superstition Wilderness (true!) and were informed that we were stopping some “red-blooded American fun”.  

I once went on a tour which involved flying to Page, trucking to Antelope Canyon, and a flat water river trip.  Participants on the tour spent a lot of time complaining about “#$^%& park rangers and the fact that they were: 

1) trying to eliminate Canyon overflight (not so: just trying to rein them in)

2) interfere with Antelope Canyon tours (not even close: that is the Navajo Nation)

3) not allow day tours on the river below Lee’s Ferry (guilty: no way to get out for at least 89 miles once you leave Lee’s).

At which point the river boat guide asked me what I do for a living, and I said, I work for the Grand Canyon Association.  She then announced, “Hey, this lady works for the Park Service!”.  

Of course, I don’t.  We work in cooperation with same.  But I would be proud to.

It is particularly frustrating to totally clean up a graffiti mess and find another mess waiting a few hours later.

We were hiking down the North Kaibab to the Redwall Bridge and I spent several minutes cleaning up Coconino Overlook.  When we wended our way back up, lo and behold, there was graffiti again!  Names, tic-tac-toe games, and more names.  

I declaimed loudly that a graffitinator’s work is never done and hauled out my scrub brush.  At which point what to my wondering eyes should appear but our new Park Superindent who declaimed, “Oh, that means those kids who just left did this?”

He pulled out an iPhone for pictures, then an NPS radio.  When we reached the top, there was a bus full of kids surrounded by every law enforcement ranger in the park.  

Yes!  Vindicated!  If every rock head who scratched his/her name on the walls was tagged by the LE rangers, I bet the problem would vanish.  

Then the LE rangers asked if I had, indeed, cleaned up Coconino Overlook.  When I modestly admitted yes, it was one of the many services I provide, they genuflected in my presence, because it meant THEY did not have to go down and do it themselves.  

PHantom on an animal with 63 chromosomes

A year ago I took BFF Becky to Phantom on a mule, and I was agreed to do it again with my sister this year. It took a few months on the phone to score two nights at the Ranch. Last year I got the two nights with a month's notice: this year was harder.

To complicate matters, I had to spend the day before teaching at the Guide Training Seminar. I gave my world-famous Mary Colter talk, and since I will use any excuse to dress up, I wore my Mary Colter costume as well. So I got to walk around Grand Canyon Village and the Bright Angel Lodge whilst channeling Mary Elizabeth Jane Colter.

Showed up in the morning at the corral; last year we forgot the mule slickers, so this year I had them in the car the day before. Teri was on duty assigning mules, and she promised to give me the best one. Bebe did turn out to be an excellent mule. The top of the trail was glare ice, and the mules were a bit antsy picking their way down. The riders with us were "experienced" and insisted on riding their mules. One does not ride the Canyon mules: one parks the reins on the mule's neck and goes along where he/she wishes. When one holds the reins, the mule thinks it is supposed to slow down, so their mules were always falling behind: not good. When the mules fall behind, they realize they are not in the herd, and may panic and run to catch up.

Going down with Becky last year, I was pretty well terrified. Of course, it didn't help that Becky and I were discussing what we would do when the mule fell off the edge. I would jump off the mule so it wouldn't land on me: Becky would stay on the mule so it would cushion the fall. Our wrangler was laughing at us so hard, I thought she would fall off her own mule.

This year, it wasn't as scary. Don't know if Bebe was a more secure mule, or if, having done it once, I was more secure.

The layover day we hiked to Ribbon Falls. Suzan wasn't sure she would make it, but she did fine.

On the day out, it was snowing on the South Rim. This was not in the forecast, nor in the plans. I had lots of clothes, but it would have been nice to put on my rain pants BEFORE I started out, and to have my neck gaiter, and my waterproof mittens. I did, however, put on my slicker before I got on the mule. The experienced riders clambered onto their animals, looked at Suzan and me, and asked, "Should we wear our slickers?".

It started snowing in the Inner Gorge. It was amassing drifts at the Tonto. The wind started blowing at Skeleton Point. By the time we got to Cedar Ridge, the wind was gale force. It took off one of the experienced rider's hats. "We don't need to tie them on: they fit fine". By now the wranglers were spooked, and they tied the slow mule behind the lead. Her rider then proclaimed, "Oh! I didn't know we were supposed to keep the mules that close together." Yeah, the wranglers only yelled every few seconds to keep the mules close together.

Mules like to turn their butts to the wind. Coming out in a gale-force wind, this can be a problem. Bebe, stalwart animal that she is, did not, unless the mule in front did, in which case, she obligingly turned her back to the gale as well.

I wasn't even sure Bebe could see in the blowing snow, but I guess she did, since we lived.

Riding down on the mule really hurt my good knee: the bad knee always hurts. Hiking down doesn't hurt my knees that badly. Got a nasty saddle sore,too, even though I wore my padded biking pants. Don't get those hiking.

Note to wranglers: there have never been meteorites in the Grand Canyon. There is no petrified wood in the Inner Gorge. The Anasazi did not plant their corn on a hillside, and carry water in buckets up to the top and let the water run down onto the crops. I'd like to see an Anasazi bucket, come to think of it. The handle would have been hard to sculpt in clay. Do they think no one on these rides ever reads?

The following week I was hiking down the BA, and ran into Teri, who had just sent off another herd of mules and tourons. "How did you like Bebe?", she asked.

"I loved Bebe," I assured her.

"Next time I'll give you another good mule!"

"So, out of curiosity, who gets the bad mules?"

She and K-Bar exchanged a look. "The know-it-alls".

So, since I know nothing, and admit it freely, I guess I'm safe.

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 (note, this has since changed -- no reservation, no stay).

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.