Blogpost - Sept 24,
2018
FMM: 62,000 steps
As I crawled
into the chilly waters of Bright Angel Creek fully dressed, I heaved a sigh of
relief. Despite a 105 degree day and a
frantic a final hour of searching for cool drinking water (thank you, Linda)
while a fellow hiker (ok, it was Bob) carried my backpack, poles, and me as I
staggered across the final bridge after nine hours and thirty minutes, I had
made it to the bottom of the Grand Canyon.
Yes, indeed. The only problem was
that niggling sign that is posted throughout the the Grand Canyon: “Hiking down
is optional. Hiking up is
mandatory.” But more on that later.
A little over a year ago, my friend Linda announced at bunco
one night that she would like to hike to the bottom of the Grand Canyon and
back up again. That seemed like a fun
and interesting thing to do as I sipped wine and nibbled hors d’ ouerves in comfortable surroundings . Sure.
Why not? I was in. My
husband decided he was, too. And so
began our quest to prove that we weren’t actually old and out of shape.
We were
lucky to get a reservation at Phantom Ranch, the only lodging available at the
bottom of the canyon; it can accommodate fewer than 100 people. Nowadays one has to enter a lottery in order
to get a spot; we were able to secure ours by persistent phone calling exactly
one year in advance.
We started
a training program in January. I joined
a running group and ran a 5K. I ran it
nearly ten minutes slower than I had run the same distance three years before.
That wasn’t too encouraging. Of course, I was carrying a few extra pounds, and
I was without my uber-fit former training partner Bunny. I even joined Weight Watchers.
We spent
June in Germany for a month. We hiked up
the mountainside each week and rode bikes most nights. We were feeling fitter and firmer. Miraculously, a few pounds were disappearing.
Back in
Columbia, MO, Bob, Linda, and I started training on hills several nights a
week. I must admit that Chapel Hill is
decidedly NOT the Grand Canyon; however, Columbians were most impressed when
they learned that we climbed up and down it several times in a row and also
that we even went to the eight floor parking garage downtown to hone our
skills. We walked on the treadmill in
the air -conditioned recreation center and boldly set the
incline at 12%, the steepest incline in the Grand Canyon. We hiked with
temperatures in the 90s , went to state parks and reconnoitered through the woods on the weekends, often
getting quite lost, and practiced carrying our backpacks. Why, I even got a tick bite. I was ready for anything. At the last minute, I purchased a snake bite
kit lest we encounter any rattlers in Arizona. I am woman; hear me scream. And I
was sure I would get the lengthy direction book out and read it carefully if
the kit should be needed.
I also did
what I do best: gathered way too much
information about hiking in the Grand Canyon.
Out most trusted source? You
Tube, of course. We watched GoPro videos
created by fit young hikers who made it to the bottom in two and a half
hours. We carefully observed the trails
and determined that they didn’t seem that bad.
How hard could it be to walk on a few boulders or down a few steps?
Furthermore, no one on the videos – even the jogger – seemed to be scared or
out of breath. Bob announced that it
might take us an extra hour or so, but that we would certainly reach the bottom
of the South Kaibab Trail in four to five hours. Then we would have lots of time to enjoy
ourselves at the bottom.
The day
before our hike, we got our first look at the Grand Canyon not as a natural
wonder, but as a natural adversary. We
listened to a guide pointing and telling two tourists that the green area below
called Indian Gardens was a four and a half hour hike. We could see it with our own eyes; it didn’t
look that far away. Bob looked at me and
whispered, “No way will it take us that long.”
I felt reassured.
Finally, we began our descent down South Kaibab Trail (7.5 miles) at 5:48 a.m. on Saturday, Sept. 8,
2018. One hour later when we still
hadn’t covered quite a mile, we discovered just how long a mile could be. I also learned just how tall those steps are
and just how short my legs are.
When we had
visited the Grand Canyon a few years ago, Bob had purchased the book Over the
Edge: Death in the Grand Canyon. It
contains “gripping accounts of all known fatal mishaps in the most famous of
the World’s Seven Natural Wonders.”
He read it avidly before our trip, and later was able to
recount mishaps that had occurred at nearly every point along our journey. It was a bit unnerving to hear, “this is the
spot where a 35-year-old very fit woman stepped back to let a hiker by and fell
into the canyon. “ Or, “this is where the marathoners got off the trail.” You get the picture? The three of us made a pact that should one
of us fall into the canyon, the other two would make sure that the story got
into the next edition of the book. I promised to make Bob’s story extra gripping.
The temperature at bottom of the canyon is about twenty
degrees warmer than the temperature at the top.
So, as we climbed down, it got hotter and hotter . The day we went, the temperature at the top
was predicted to be 85; the temperature at the bottom reached 105.
We had packed lots of high calorie foods such as Clif bars,
trail mix, peanut butter, etc. By Weight Watchers standards, I had way exceeded
my daily points count before I got to the first mile. I thought I was just fine. We were also drinking lots of water and
electrolytes.
As our journey dragged on hour after hour, we began to
wonder just how long it was really going to take us. We had already exceeded the average descent
time of four to five hours. Bob was reminded of his three knee surgeries, and
began to feel a bit unsteady. Linda was reminded of her previous trip down and
despaired a bit at Skeleton Point. Me?
Linda deemed me “Tough trekkin’ Tizzie ” as I had no real complaints. I seemed to be faring better than my
partners. I wasn’t hungry, thirsty, tired, or overly
hot. At least I didn’t think I was any
of those things. Furthermore, turning back was not really an option.
As the day wore on and the sun beat down, the water in our
water bladders got hotter and hotter. It
wasn’t very refreshing, so I didn’t drink it as often. It was so hot that I didn’t want to eat much,
and I wasn’t hungry. And I hate electrolyte drinks anyway, so I drank what I
thought was the bare minimum of them.
And I keep trekkin’ along.
Finally, we saw the Colorado River, a sign that we were
nearing the bottom. Linda and I were out
in front, and we began to pick up our pace.
We had only a few more steep switchbacks to maneuver. On we went.
The next milestone was the bridge across the river followed by a tunnel
that promised shelter and relief from the heat.
We got inside and sat down. Now we
were just a mile from Phantom Ranch, and that mile was blessedly all flat. I had made it! Or had I?
I suddenly felt very ill.
I was nauseous and light-headed. Bob
and Linda were urging me on as we were, officially, at the bottom. We had just a flat and easy mile to go. I could not be urged along. I was weak, wobbly, and on the verge of
something bad happening. Bob took my
backpack and poles, and helped me along.
He urged me to drink the last of the water, which was hot and made me
feel worse. Linda found some drinking water,
and they deposited me in Bright Angel Creek for a cool down. After about forty-five minutes, I felt a
little better. I had just plain gotten
overheated. I should have rested more,
drunk more, and eaten more. I didn’t
realize that I was getting dehydrated as I felt fine.
We mostly enjoyed our two nights at the bottom of the
canyon. We wandered a very short
distance to some scenic nearby areas.
As we were taking a photo, Bob asked, “I wonder if there’s a name for
this canyon.” Linda’s reply, “Grand?”
Remember that sign about “ hiking up is mandatory”? It ruined Bob’s time at the bottom as he was
worrying about getting me to the top. We
consulted the ranger and several other hikers and came up with a plan. The
most torturous part of the plan was the day before our climb up. Bob determined that I needed to be plied with
constant bottles of flavored electrolyte water.
I hate the stuff. To me, it
tastes like colonoscopy prep drinks.
Most of you readers know what those taste like. Nonetheless, he continuously gave me
never-ending large room-temperature water
bottles filled with the stuff to guard me against the next day’s
depletion. Can I say that it ruined my
day? However, I was at his mercy as I
was now the weak one who might derail our journey. Previously, I had been
worried how I might explain his demise to the kids should his knees give out as
this whole thing was my idea . Turns out
he was worried about explaining my demise to the kids if he failed to deliver
me to the top. Luckily, neither of us
had any explaining to do.
I’m happy to report that the hike up Bright Angel Trail (9.5
miles) occurred without incident. There
was much more shade. The higher we got,
the cooler it got. We took off our
backpacks every thirty minutes and rested, ate, and drank. It only took us nine and a half hours to get
up. Best of all, we didn’t have to write any gripping
tales about each other.
Would I do it again?
Well, it is going to make a great tale at bunco tonight where I am
headed shortly to nibble and sip once again.
Ask me again a year or two when I’ve forgotten the details, and I might
be talked into it. In the meantime, I’m
happy to wear my Phantom Ranch tee shirt and have begun to prepare for a hike
up Taum Sauk, the highest peak in Missouri.
Ok, it’s not really that high, but the book say that it is located in a
real mountain range. I wonder if YouTube
has a video on it.
Marching and parching,
I remain
Tizzie/Tiz/ Tizmom/Liz/Elizabeth/Grandma
Tizzie/Grizzie/Tough trekkin’ Tizzie
