The Grandest of Them All
“Don’t get any closer,” my dad warned me as I peered over a rock. Underneath, the ground seemed like it was giving away. The trees at the very bottom of this huge crack in the world seemed so far away from me, as if they had to be viewed under a microscope.
A few rocks tumbled down the steep slope, unstopped by the few small grasses growing on the sheer surface. Jagged cliffs jutted out at random angles and lumps of rock and dirt were thrust out in strange places.
Watching the rocks click and clack against each other before finally rolling over a small bump and flying into nothingness, I reminded myself that here at the Grand Canyon National Park, it wasn’t a place to mess around at. With an accident, I could fall more easily than those rocks.
I unzipped my camera bag, taking out my camera. The vivid sunset in the distance silhouetted the layers and layers of rock, each cascading below the other. Lifting my head, I looked up at the clouds, each one a fire red color, and the utterly flat horizon beyond it.
This morning, I had hiked the South Kaibab Trail, a trail on the eastern portion of the South Rim. It was a trail that many had recommended us to hike, and so, on the crisp Tuesday morning of our trip, we descended into the Grand Canyon.
–
It was seven in the morning, and from our lodge, the sun was hanging over the trees, as if it had just woke up as well. After a quick breakfast, we set off. Outside, the air was cool, barely sixty degrees. I threw on a jacket, savoring the chilly feeling that would quickly change to heat.
As we descended down a steep winding path, I looked beyond the line of trees growing on the edge and towards the other side of the canyon. My dad said that he would one day take me on a hike to the very bottom of the canyon. I looked into this deep trench. It seemed so far away.
Thankfully, we were not going to hike to the other side. Instead, we would be descending down past Ooh Ahh Point (the name prompting me to carry a camera) all the way down to Skeleton Point (the name prompting me to carry loads of water).
Signs along the beginning of this trail warned me that proper hydration was extremely important. “Many strong and healthy people have died. Please stay hydrated,” the sign warned me in six different languages.
Behind the sign, green trees still grew, but looking beyond the small cliff, it thinned out and soon only small bushes and grasses were growing.
The heat was getting more and more excruciating, and I put my hand over my eyes as I looked up towards the sky, the sun a piercing and stunning white.
“Keep your eye on the ground,” my dad warned me once again. He was walking behind me, and always caring for my safety, had decided to hold onto my hand. I looked down, and then realized that indeed, the ground had changed.
Suddenly the path changed from clean dirt with wooden struts to large gaps in the path. I looked down, confused at why it was different. It seemed like the path was being taken apart, but why?
Bricks were being laid down, one by one, by three people kneeling by the path. There was a young girl and two men, all in their college age. The men were chatting, both wearing overalls and a hard hat, as they moved the rocks piled on the side of the road.
But the girl was dripping in sweat, wearing working gloves, and carrying a rock down into the path. As she put it down, she grabbed a sifter and started sifting sand out into cracks.
They were all working hard, but I was shocked at this girl, in her eighteens, working here, on an extremely hot day, to help a trail in the Grand Canyon. Behind the glasses, you could see someone who was hard at work.
All three people were dripping in sweat and working hard, and as they saw us, they moved aside so we could pass.
“Wow,” my dad commented to the girl as we walked by, “you really love nature, don’t you?”
The girl smiled, “yes, of course, this is what I’ve wanted to do my life. Every single person that walks by on a trail I’ve built, you know, it gives me this great feeling.”
My dad chatted with her for fifteen minutes. It turned out she was a volunteer (although paid minimum wage for food), lived in small cabins in the park, and went to school in the University of Flagstaff, Arizona, nearby the Grand Canyon.
And fifteen minutes later, I walked forward, my mouth pursed as I thought about these people: the type of person that would work in record temperatures in the sunlight, for virtually no money, just for the park. Removing the rock particles individually from the crack, she slowly but surely worked. Suddenly, I felt bad for kicking rocks into the cracks in the path.
What the world needs is more of these people, I thought, taking one last look. The Grand Canyon was beautiful, with its huge visuals and stunning size, but with these people, these volunteers, the canyon became alive with people, with motion, and with life.
After thirty minutes of walking, the scenery opened up and the rock moved aside, giving us a beautiful view of the west part of the canyon. The rock was in layers and layers, distorted by the heat. I drank water periodically, making sure not to be dehydrated.
Chatting with my dad, we hiked into the canyon, and five miles and over three hours after we had started, we finally arrived at Skeleton Point.
–
Skeleton Point arrived in an abrupt and awkward fashion. One moment I was starring at my feet, and the next, I was lifting my head, looking at the great canyons, now even closer to me, and below me, Phantom Ranch and the Colorado River, at the very bottom of the canyon, so deep into the canyon, and so tiny from where I was.
I had finally arrived at Skeleton Point, I thought to myself. I sat down on a large rock with some other hikers and admired the view. Together, we shared some trail mix and crackers, chatting about the Grand Canyon.
If I listened closely, I was quite positive that I could hear the rush of the water far below me. If I looked close enough, I was sure I could see the strength of the river rushing over the rapids. I was certain that the river was there, beckoning me in.
I’ll come back, I thought as we began our climb up. I’ll come back.