Wednesday
First light is seeping into our tent
when I wake up: I have slept for ten hours! A chorus of birds
welcomes the new morning, and we hear a few human voices as well:
some hikers are on their way early. Soon it becomes clear that these
hikers are mostly those on the other side of the creek, coming down
from Phantom Ranch. Their hike will take them all the way up to the
top today while ours will only be a little less than five miles to
Indian Gardens campground, with an elevation gain of a little over
400m, not quite a third of the whole.
Tentatively we flex our muscles. Oh,
they hurt! Getting up takes some determination, but once we've walked
around for a bit things loosen up. The temperature is very pleasant
here, much warmer than it would be on top. The difference in
temperature between the rim and the valley bottom is about eleven
degrees Celsius, I've heard. It is like coming from the Canadian to
the Mexican border. To me it feels like Spring in Germany, the
trees along the little stream all decked out in tender leaves, others
with thick buds almost ready to burst open.
While we have our breakfast we watch
the sun light up the peaks above us, at first picking out one or the
other, until, not so much longer, the whole western rock face is
aglow. Slowly the light creeps lower, but it will be a long while
until actual sunshine reaches us in our narrow slip of valley. We
walk up to Phantom Ranch to have a look. Cabins and the main building
are neatly fitted into the mountain landscape, inconspicuous yet
inviting. Mules are waiting in the mule corrals, but a group has left
already as well. We pass a deer browsing within a few feet from us,
completely unconcerned with our presence. She just turns her head to
look at us and returns to the job at hand. These are mule deer, as we
find out from a ranger later, much smaller than the ones we see in
north central Alberta. He explains that they have adapted to the hot,
dry conditions: small size is important to shed heat more quickly.
They can weigh up to a hundred pounds less than in cooler climates.
Shortly before nine we have packed our
belongings and are ready to leave. One last look around: no, we have
left nothing; it looks like it did when we arrived. Everything that's
packed in has to be packed out; there are no trash cans, not even in
the washrooms. This system seems to be working: we see very little
trash along the trail, and none this far down where day hikers are
rare.
Leaving the campground we turn to the
right up Bright Angel trail instead of crossing the bridge over the
creek. The Colorado glitters in the sunshine, and soon we cross it
again on a different bridge than the day before.
The trail continues along the river
bank with little change in elevation for the first while.
At times the trail is sandy like an ocean beach. It's a good thing it
isn't windy!
Plant life is quite prolific and varied
so close to the water, with some interesting shapes like this
shaggy-maned specimen. I believe it is a joshua tree.
After about two miles the trail veers
off to the left into a narrow canyon. Now the climb will begin. The
sun hasn't found its way down here yet, and it is pleasantly cool –
perfect hiking temperature. We take off our packs and rest for a bit.
Slowly the path climbs higher, not too
strenuous at first. A small creek trickles down towards the Colorado.
We cross it a few times – no big deal when it is this dry. We see
the traces of flash floods along the vegetation on the banks,
however: it would be scary to be in this narrow gorge when that
happens. Later we find out from a ranger that it only occurs during
thunderstorms and never lasts long, but that people indeed have got
killed in these flash floods.
Now, it is a beautiful hike in a green
spring landscape. Pinion jays and little red finches appear from time
to time looking for food, the first carmine blossoms of Indian
Paintbrush adding colour, willows have leafed out.
Slowly the trail gets steeper, and the
well-known steps have started to reappear. We can feel our muscles
again, though it is much less severe than we had feared. We pause
when we feel the need, take our packs off and rest them on a big rock
while we enjoy the stunning view.
At the end of a rather steep part of
the trail we hear a group of mules approaching. We step to the side
to make room. It is a group of riders receiving instructions about
the steep descent from their leader. Like the rider at the back of
the group he looks like a character from a Western. Maybe that is
part of the job description. We hear him talk about 'Devil's
Corkscrew' and 'Devil's Backbone' – is this what we just tackled? What an apt description! He
also mentions the 'Bathtub', a pool right below us that might be a
little cold to soak in right now, however.
The trail becomes less steep, and I see
a couple of trees – not shrubs, but real trees with fresh green
leaves – a bit higher up. The water in the little creek has made it
possible for them to grow here, a small oasis in this dry and rocky
place. It is even muddy, with puddles covering most of the trail's
width, and small, very soft green leaves cover the hillside beside
it. I discover upright flower stalks clutched by lance-shaped leaves,
topped by a beautiful delicate flower that, though I have never seen
it before, looks very much like an orchid to me. The 'Field Guide to
the Grand Canyon' tells me that these are Giant Helleborines, indeed
members of the orchid family. I had bought the book a couple of days
before at the Hermit's Rest bookstore, as usual eager to have a way
to identify plants and birds of an area I knew little about, but
secretly I had since questioned the wisdom of my decision to add this
rather heavy item to my pack. Now I know why I took it with me.
It is past noon, and the pack feels
heavy. We should likely take a bigger break soon, but a couple of
hikers we encountered told us it was only about a mile to the
campground, and that was a while ago already. The swath of green
along the creek continues to our right, and the variety of plants
grows. We see bigger deciduous trees a bit further up the slightly
widening valley: it can't be far now. I am almost stopped in my
tracks by a cloud of light purple: a tree blooming in the colour of
lilacs, yet with a distinctly tree-like shape. The flowers have a
sweet scent, and bees are busy gathering pollen. I couldn't have
imagined anything like this up here! Later, I find out from the field
guide that this is a Western Redbud, a member of the legume family.
We arrive at a giant cottonwood tree
that stretches its limbs over the trail. We might be close, but I
cannot continue without a rest. My shoulders have tensed up and hurt,
more than any other part of my body. We slip off our packs one more
time and study the tree. Its ridged trunk is so thick that we
couldn't span it if we joined hands. Lightning has blackened one of
the main branches and part of the trunk, yet it looks healthy, and
its leafy crown reaches out towards the creek. How old could it be?
Surely a hundred years or more. Trees wouldn't grow very fast under
these harsh conditions so high up, even with enough water.
It is about a quarter past one when we
arrive at Indian Gardens. We pass the day use area and walk uphill
through the campground to find a spot. There are only fifteen or so
of them here, and it feels quite different than the busy Bright Angel
campground. Trees provide shade, which must make it a haven in the
heat of the summer. We pick the last of the camping spots, bordered
by the Bright Angel trail on one side and the trail leading from
there to the restrooms (right across from our spot) on the other.
Water is close by as well, and we have a magnificent view of the
canyon wall shielding the campground, the very wall we will have to
climb tomorrow.
Pitching the tent is a bit more
difficult here since the sand has been replaced with much harder
ground, but we soon have it set up and everything stowed in its
proper place. Here, too, ammunition boxes serve as food containers.
The picnic table is covered with a roof we wouldn't have needed today
since it is not that hot, but which surely will be appreciated later
in the season. Maples and western redbud trees are planted around the
perimeter of the camp, and agaves and cacti grow close by as well. A
fellow hiker urged us to hike out the mile and a half to 'Sunset
Point' at sundown, and we again lie down for a nap so that we can be
ready for that later.
Sunset will be at about 6:40 pm (no
daylight savings time in Arizona!), and the ranger, who comes by to
check our permit and answer any questions we still might have, tells
us that it is best to be out early to enjoy the full spectrum of
colour changes that comes with it. We leave at a quarter to six and
follow the path he pointed out to us. It leads out to a point high
above the Colorado with a spectacular view of the north wall of the
canyon, the Colorado far down to our feet.
With little change in elevation the
trail meanders along the side of the hill before casting out across
the plateau. Shrubs, agaves, and different cacti grow in profusion,
and huge boulders litter the hillside and the side of the trail. The
plateau is still basked in the low evening light that causes some of
the pear cacti to take on a warm aubergine glow, but the camp is
already in deep shade, and it was cool when we left. Now, in the sun,
we warm up again.
From afar already we watch the play of
light on the mountain across the river. The setting sun brings about
the most incredible changes of colour, and the small group of hikers
gathered at the point stands transfixed, watching in awe. Long after
the sun has set that slow dance of light and shadow continues. Peaks
that have cast shadows on the walls behind them soon are picked out
by another's shadow, red turns to orange, gold to red.
Reluctantly, we turn around to head
back to camp. It is quickly getting darker, but the sandy path across
the plateau is bright enough so that we don't need the headlamp. I am
glad: too quickly this would have destroyed the feeling of magic.
Instead, it intensifies, since now the sky slowly lights up with
stars. So little outside light streams into this remote valley that
there seem to be many more than at home. Familiar constellations
appear: the Big Dipper, Orion, the Seven Sisters, and, finally, I
remember again what I learned last winter: how to find Castor and
Pollux, locked between the Big Dipper and Orion, remember, too, what
I learned at the observatory in Flagstaff a year ago: that there is
something called 'the winter circle', the brightest stars in the
winter sky. Castor and Pollux belong to them, as well as Orion's
Rigel, with Betelgeuse at the centre of the circle, Sirius, and a
couple of others I don't remember.
By the time we reach our tent spot it
is fully dark, and we consume our meal of oriental noodle soup, bread
and cheese, some dried fruit and a cup of tea by the shine of the
headlamp hung on a peg of the shelter. It has been another wonderful
day.
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