Nice bike ride out to Shoshone Point.  While riding I thought some more about the catered backpacking trips.

I guess these are for those bucket list people who want to hike the Canyon and get it over with.  I mean, no one is going to come back by themselves for another trip and carry fresh salmon, and avocados, and make their own cheese.  I run into people all the time who were on a trip with me and learned enough about backpacking to return on their own.  With dried food.

I remember camping at Bright Angel one night, and the site next to our had all the tent set up, and the cook was getting dinner ready.  At about dusk, a bunch of men came in with day packs.  They had just come from the North Rim, and their camp was set up, dinner was cooking, and all they had to do was sit down and light cigars, which they did.  I'm sure their guide picked up the butts when they were done.

My group was all women, and don't think we didn't make comments about carrying our OWN stuff down. 

I know someone who refers to these trips as "hand holders".  Maybe "hand holders" and "spoon feeders".

I don't know what was going on this morning on the South Kaibab, but every bus dropped off at least a dozen people who, apparently, were heading in and out in the same day.  One group, who kept exhorting one another to "pick up the pace" wanted to know how far it was "to the bar" and decided they would be able to get a beer by 10:30 at the latest.  They are at one of the seven wonders of the world, and a world heritage site, and all they want is a brewski.  Who are these people and who allowed them into the Canyon?

Finished my first fully catered hike.  A very special, once only affair with a chef.  Not only do guiding companies in the Canyon bring and cook all the food, it is fresh.  Eggs and potatoes.  Fresh vegetable pasta.  Zucchini fritters with freshly made ricotta cheese.  Made from fresh, whole milk.  Of course, anything not eaten must be carried out.  Wet.  Heavy. 

I have been berated by clients of these groups that THEY have fresh salmon for dinner, or breast of chicken.  While I have something dry in a bag.  Yeah, but I can come back by myself with my dry stuff in a bag.  Let's see them try a rim to rim on their own with their salmon fillets and whole milk.  It is as though the food is a more valuable experience than the Canyon.  And I bet they can't name the four members of the Supai Group. 

Nice sunrise on the South Kaibab.  Lenticular clouds over the North Rim, and for once I am not up there, in the storm. organizing a group for a rim to rim.

Passed Condor number 113.  He is a six year old, raised by a puppet.  Next on Oprah: raised by puppets.  Are condors who are puppet raised more likely to shoot up a nest site with an AK-47?

Very few hikers on the trail until we started back up.  One runner almost pushed me off, and I was close enough to give him a sharp elbow to the chest, but I resisted.  Barely.  I would have had to administer first aid after I knocked him off the cliff. 

I could have elbowed him and then run, but I don't think I can hide.  A few weeks ago I was called into Ranger Operations.  I wondered, "What did I do now?  That I was caught at?"  The ranger asked if I had been on the BA on August 1, and I said yes, and did I see the mule that went off Cinch Up Corner?  Again, yes. 

I was doing a short hike before meeting a group, and as I stepped off the trail for the Trail Crew Mules, one of them stepped on a rock on the outside of the corner and went off.  I watched for a while to see if they could lure it back onto the trail, which they could not.  It wanted no part of that loose scree right under the edge of the trail.  I finally had to leave to meet my people.

Then I was asked, "Did you wave anything at the mules?"  Absolutely not!  I guess their story is that the mule didn't slip: a hiker scared it.  I didn't notice anyone at the corner, which doesn't mean there wasn't someone there, but it sounded like the mule just stepped off.  So I wrote up an incident report, and asked, "How did you find me?"

Well, someone had mentioned a hiker in a skirt, and Della said, "Oh, I bet that was Slim".  So Della dimed me out, and I guess I can't pull anything in the Canyon now without it getting back to the Authorities.  Which I suppose means I can't accidentally trip up a rude runner. 

How embarrassing is it to fall flat on one's face, and particularly on the South Kaibab?  Where all the grannies take their precious little ones to carve their names at Ooh Ah? 

Of course, this is where Brad fell last week.  The exact spot, in fact.  So one might conceivably blame it on the trail.

This was at "the steps", that really steep section just above Ooh Ah.  It used to be actual steps  composed of water bars, and then the trail crew filled it all in, and then the mules came back, so it is steps again, only with more dust. 

A lot of hikers complain about the mule droppings.  With the reduced number of mules these days (ten a day to Phantom, none to Plateau Point) I don't mind that so much.  It is so dry here that the green stuff tends to dry up and blow away.  It is also fun to watch the young girls squeal when they step in it.  Or near it.  Or within reasonable proximity to it.

What bothers me is said dust.  Not because of what it contains, though as Matt Slater says, it does not do to think about it too much on a really windy day.  But because it makes the trail slick.

The dust covers the rocks, so I can't see them.  When I do see them, there is a thin layer of rounded particles (which will eventually make sandstone) coating a smooth rock.  Can you say "ball bearings"?  In Supai walking back from the village in the dusk and the gloaming I almost turned my ankle several times because of the treacherous rocks hidden under the dust.  I am sure it is a plot by the Havasupai to get back at us for invading their territory. 

Anyhow, down I went, realizing halfway down that I was heading for some very hard rocks, but at least I was falling toward the INSIDE of the trail so I should stop before the bottom of the Coconino.  Bent my fingers back, but no real harm there.  Some nasty scraps on my knee (and don't think about what's in that dust and thence in my wounds).  Mostly damaging to my pride, particularly since I was talking to Bob of the Peregrine Fund and he witnessed the entire debacle.

Of course, had I not been yakking instead of watching my feet, I might not have fallen.  So maybe I'll blame it on him.  Can't be me, after all. 

Yikes, the last day the North rim is open and the trail is full of runners.  One of them was dangling a bunch of bananas from one hand, and when I said, "I hope you will be carrying the peels out", he ignored me.  Then I found one below O'Neil, so I guess not.

Also picked up a goo block.  Can't stop to pick up anything we drop, because it might take 15 seconds off our rim to rim time.

If we have banned plastic water bottles in the Park, why can't we ban Kleenex?  Can't even blame that one on the runners.  Usually it is ladies.  They can't stand for their nose to run, and they won't put up with bandanas or handkerchiefs because they are "unsanitary" so it is blow and throw. 

Also a huge pile of human feces just within sight of the Chimney.  We find a lot of this during running season: coincidence?  If they were serious, like bike riders, they would go in their shorts. 

On a positive note, the sunrise was beautiful and the weather is lovely.  After yesterday's hard rain, the dust was down and the air was clear.

Just finished another rim to rim.  For a change it did not rain at the start, but at the finish.  Anyhow, it wasn't hot in the bottom.

They are trimming trees in Bright Angel Campground, and our group was too slow for them, so they started cutting branches while we were still packing our stuff.  No pressure,eh?

At Indian Garden the last night, a runner came through about three AM.  I guess he was talking into a helmet cam, or maybe just to himself, but he said, "I am now passing through the campground.  Hopefully I am not talking loudly enough to wake anyone."

Hey, you were and you did. 

Many people on the trail today.  I guess because Monday is a holiday, though not for us.  Lots of runners, or at least people running down (which happens to be of the worst things one can do for one's knees).  Time will tell if they run on the way out.

One unfortunate young woman with a huge backpack, a small day pack on her chest, and a tent and sleeping bag dangling from the aforementioned backpack.  Given five minutes I could have whittled her pack down at least 20 pounds.  One could feel sorry for her, except for the almost certainty that she shall abandon a lot of the stuff in the bottom. 

Thought a bit about the runner who beat the old rim-to-rim time.  It was just under four hours, and every time it was beat, the holder of the record, Al Cureton,  would go out and beat it again.  He insists that he is not a runner: just a very fast walker. 

However the record was broken, and both of them were in the newspaper.  Of course, running rim to rim in under four hours means that the runner

a) did not run into a mule train, or if he did, he didn't stop as hikers are supposed to. 

b) did not yield to uphill hikers (though what runners do, really?). 

c) took full advantage of the improved trail.  The North Kaibab used to vanish into a series of beaver dams about 4 miles upstream from Phantom Ranch, and it took even the most dedicated runner at least 10 minutes to thrash a way through.  It was rather amusing to sit beside the ponds and watch a runner confidently vanish into the shrubbery only to emerge, puzzled, and ask, "Isn't this the North Kaibab Trail?" 

A few years back a causeway was installed to protect the beavers, and coincidentally, to subtract about 10 minutes from every runner's time.  So I think Al's record stands, and I think of that every time a runner comes pounding through.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And sometimes you get a rainbow picture.

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.