My feet were dangling over the stone ledge that lined the paved pathway along the southern rim of Grand Canyon. The Bright Angel Trail was on the agenda for the day but it was July, very hot, and almost 5,000 feet down!
My camelback was slung over a shoulder, stuffed with a full bladder of water, two water bottles, gu gels and other snacks.
A group of what I presumed to be other hikers were congregating near the trailhead. I heard one of them say, we have to stay ahead of the mules. “Stay in front of the mules”.
Totally made sense for obvious reasons, but it gave me less time to over-think my decision to get to the bottom and back in one day–one very hot day.
The mules started lining up behind me, and the groups that were congregating made a mad dash to the start of the trail. Doubt was creeping in. I took a moment to over-think my decision making, as I always tend to do.
The guides were lining the mules up. Time to go.
The Bright Angel Trail is 16.3 miles round trip if you take the turn-around at the Colorado River, but if I wanted to cross over the bridge to the Phantom Ranch campsite–why I was thinking this was a good plan, no idea–I was adding on another 2 miles. The mules were organizing. My feet hit the dirt.
The descent to the Colorado River was stunning. The sun was rising, the light was hitting the southwest side of the Canyon in ways that created a stunning color palette of reds, oranges, and greens. I was taking so many pictures with my phone that I didn’t even bother putting it back in my backpack.
I got to the three-mile rest area I had read about and saw many hikers hanging out in the hut. A NPS guide was also hanging out, asking hikers about their plans for the day. I topped off the water bottles and the bladder for my camelback and sat for a minute with other adventure-seekers who were trying to pull the down-and-back foolishness off in a day. Signs are posted EVERYWHERE alerting said adventure seekers against the plan.
I saw the mules rounding one of the many switchbacks and immediately put my feet back on the dirt to stay ahead of them. As the sun rose, so too did the temperature. When I started at roughly 6am, it was in the upper 70s but I knew it would be over 100 degrees at the bottom.
I continued down the switchbacks and the canyon began to open up. I was amazed at how much of the canyon I never saw from the top. I saw a cool plateau in the distance and told myself I would take on the extra mileage to trek out there on the way back. As if.
About four miles in, I passed two runners on their way up. One was wearing a Hoka One One sports bra, and all I could think was, you two started over at the South Kaibab Trail and made it all the way over here, and it’s barely 7am. Turns out (after conferring with a friend and professional runner for Hoka, that was indeed the case). A touch of envy set in at their fitness level. They weren’t even carrying water with them. How was this even possible?
I had music, an audio book, an actual book (no idea), but I was content getting lost in my thoughts–my family, my relationships (one divorce, one very bad dating situation), my plans for the future and my life. I kept trekking down the trail trying to maintain a decent pace while also staying just ahead of the mules. I got to Indian Garden, about 4.5 miles down and again topped off all water, had one of my multiple snacks, and surveyed the situation. If I were going to turn around and head back up, this would be the spot. No shame in that decision. My older daughter had made it to this point by herself just a year earlier. But, my intent was to go to the bottom. Resolve in tact and fueled by one of my three PB&J sandwiches and topped off water, I was ready to go.
As I made my way along even more switchbacks, the canyon began to take on a whole new look and feel. The greens were disappearing and it was much drier. As I looked ahead at the turns and twists, I was so curious about what was around the corner. I continued the analysis of my life and failed relationships. I rehashed conversations I should have had. But with each step, I thought about what it was I was doing–hiking to the bottom of the Grand Canyon alone. I had survived a very sketchy hotel situation in Townsend, about an hour south of GCNP the night before, so surely I could take this on. I had texted my daughters to let them know where I was and what I was doing, so they would at least know where to identify the body (only partially joking). I was still ahead of the mules. Things were going well.
After another hour, I had made it to the bottom–just over 8 miles and the Colorado River was right in front of me. I dropped my gear and headed straight for the water. It wasn’t quite 100 degrees yet, but it was steamy. The rafting groups hadn’t gone by yet. It was me and two other groups of hikers. I kicked off my Merrell hiking boots, peeled off the promised no-blister wool socks and waded into the turquoise water. As I turned around to look up the canyon wall, I couldn’t even see the top. I was almost 5,000 feet down. It was exhilarating.
I wanted to make the trek over to the campground, again, no actual idea what was motivating that decision, so the socks and shoes went back on and I hopped back on the trail to head in that direction. Not unlike climbers who are summiting higher peaks, I had a turn-around time. I had to turn around by 11am so I could make it out before dark. I had read that the descent might be quick but the ascent could take 6 or 7 hours.
The dirt had turned to sand, which made the hiking part even harder, but determination set in. I continued along the Colorado River. I was conferring with my trail map and other notes and realized it was almost 2 miles further to the campground one way, which would be taking on an additional 3.6 miles to my RT total, in the sun, with 5,000 feet to go up. Resolve was waning. I decided to get within eyeshot of the bridge, find a spot to chill and then turn around.
Not too much further ahead, I found my stopping spot. There was no shade in sight, but I did have the river to bring my body temperature down. I sat down on another set of rocks, peeled the shoes and socks off again and plunked my feet in the rushing water. I made quick work of the PB&J, dried apricots, and a gel. At this point, I really couldn’t see much of the canyon at all. I didn’t see a human or mule anywhere. It was truly peaceful and beautiful, at least for a few minutes.
My thoughts quickly turned to the parts of my life that hadn’t gone well–the relationships, things I could have done better in my job, possibly areas where I let my kids down and friendships I had let slide. After 60 seconds of negative reflection, I shifted my thoughts to positive reflection–not too many people would have even started what I had started (yep–I still had to get out of there); not many people would have even thought to have gone on a hiking adventure alone–6 days alone on trail; not too many people would be ok sitting in a restaurant alone, drinking a beer or sipping wine and not feel embarrassed or uncomfortable. So maybe I should start turning my thoughts to positive things–the things I could do, the things I would do, and truly embrace all that was out there. I felt at peace, I felt happy, I felt strong, and I felt brave. I needed the latter two to get back out of there. My turn-around time alarm went off on my watch–time to start moving.
I took a quick assessment of my water situation. I was miles from the Indian Garden stop where I could top off my water and was over-thinking how much I had. I had a slight moment of panic walking back to the Pipe Creek Rest House, where there was no water but it put me back on the trail going up and out. I saw a group of twenty-somethings hanging out near the spot where I originally touched my feet in the water. They had a huge water barrel that some brave soul had carried down. I asked if I could top off my water and they graciously allowed me to do so. I felt better about my water and snack situation, set a self-imposed “you’ll take a sip of water every 10 minutes” goal, and headed out. I set another goal to keep goal #1 for at least an hour.
With the sun shifted almost overhead, the canyon was now awash in tones of copper and brown. I couldn’t see any of the green or the blues the morning light had provided. I decided Linkin Park was in order. Ear buds went in and “In the End” started blaring in my ears. Much needed.
I continued along the countless switchbacks through the lower part of the canyon where it was dry and hot. If a rock ledge happened to leave a shadow of any sort, I found myself huddled in the shade, often with other hikers, trying to bring my body temperature down just a touch. About two miles from the Colorado, I found a very small body of water, what I would normally call “yuck water” to my daughters or my dog, and without shame or remorse, fully immersed myself in it. I was way too hot not to do so. I kept my feet out, but everything else got wet. I emerged from the yuck water covered in unidentifiable green and brown stuff. I truly didn’t care at that point.
Two miles later and I was back at the Indian Gardens rest stop. At this point, I could finally top off my water bottles, which I had obsessed about for the last two hours. I whipped my shirt off and stood under the shower. Let me just say, I was neither the first nor the last person to do this. Also, let me just say, I am also not a stand around in public with just a sports bra on kind of gal (but totally respect those who do and secretly wish it was me); however, I was just too hot. I consumed more water, ate my bag of crackers and Gatorade gels and thought about what was ahead–a solid 2,500 feet of elevation in about 4.5 miles. My motivation was waning, and I no longer wanted to celebrate the moment. I truly just wanted to lie down for a long time. I was scouting the lying down spot while working my way through the gel.
But then I had a thought: I don’t have cell service, I can’t tell my daughters I am just going to lie in the grass for 12 hours, so I won’t be able to “check in” with them later. Would they even remember what I was doing? Questionable. However, on the off-chance they might remember, my feet hit the dirt again before I could over-think that decision.
“Burn It Down” was now blasting through the earbuds, and I found a little more resolve. With each checkpoint reached, I felt stronger, braver, and even more proud of myself. The ascent was no joke. I did pass the trail that went out to the plateau and said, next time. I still had blaring sun beating down and a lot of elevation to go.
As I got to the three-mile rest stop, another NPS ranger was hanging out in the hut. I sat down on another stone ledge to assess what I was sure were multiple blisters that had gotten started despite the promise of that not to happen when I dropped $18 on the socks. I overheard the ranger speaking with someone at the top that another hiker was in need of assistance further down. The hiker was beyond Indian Garden, but the ranger wasn’t sure how far beyond. Another hiker had reported it, seemingly hours ago, after passing the distressed hiker. Where was I went this all went down, I wondered? I was definitely feeling for the stranded hiker in need of medical assistance but knew I needed to get myself going so I wouldn’t be the one in need of medical assistance–this is the one thing both of my daughters worry about when it comes to me. The most random things tend to happen, and I am always getting hurt (more on that later).
As I was trudging up the last three miles, I passed so many hikers who offered words of encouragement–”you are almost there” or “just keep going”. I know each was well intended but it was too much. I turned up the volume of what had shifted to Kayne blaring through my headphones. I passed through the tunnel at the start of the trail and knew the end was in sight, truly in sight. My feet hurt, I was dehydrated, starved and in need of a strong beer. I envisioned each as I slowly drug my feet up the last few switchbacks.
Feet hit concrete. I made it. I sat down on the ledge where I had been about 11 hours ago and reflected on the experience: I was so freaking proud of myself for doing the trail, and I was even more proud of myself for doing it alone. I had spent at least a few hours thinking through all the reasons why being in a relationship was a bad thing (for me) and how I never would have done THIS if I had been in one. I had done a hard thing, and while I had doubt, I also had resolve. It was a good day.
Let me just say that I’ve run many marathons–27 to be exact as well as four ultras. I knew how to be on my feet for very long periods of time, and I knew the importance of hydration and fuel. It was largely the heat. Oh yes, and the elevation. It was a hard thing, and it’s definitely something I’ll continue to be most proud of.
I took the must-do picture of the feet on the trail and tried to calculate how many steps I had to take to get to the beer. It seemed to be manageable. Within 15 minutes, I was holding a beer and an ice cream bar. I don’t know beer but I do know that beer doesn’t pair with ice cream. Didn’t care about that either.
I slowly shuffled along the sidewalk in search of my car. At that point, the details were a little sketchy about where I had left it. I was also in a rental, which complicated the matter exponentially. The rental car was finally located, shoes were finally off, and I started on the snacks I had left in the car.
Sketchy hotel night two, here I come.
TAKE AWAYS: For solo hikes like this one, do your research–definitely read reviews of the trail, trail conditions, what challenges others have experienced, and take it all seriously. Over-prepare (just a little) on the food and drinks. You’d rather come back with some left over than run out. Prepare for blisters–so have extras of things like socks, bandaids, and duct tape (see next post!). Let someone know where you are going and when you start. This may seem a touch over-the-top, but these are the precautions we need to take when doing big things solo:)
Tales from a Solo Girl Traveling the World 