south kalibab: a hike
I pour silky almond milk over the muesli that we’d bought a few days before in a Target in LA. I check my watch and wolf down my breakfast whilst trying to remember where I had put my head torch. We stuff bagels into the backpack, fill up our water bottles and make our way towards the trail head. It was getting close to winter and in places, snow was beginning to fall. My nose and fingers felt numb as we joined a neat line of hikers to begin our descent. The first rays of today’s sun appear and the vast shaded rock slowly turns to blue. to violet. to red.
A mule deer stands silently to the left of the trail. She stares with dark almond eyes, undisturbed as we pass her. Soon it was just the two of us. We descend at a pace, twisting around the curves of the canyon, ducking through tunnels of cool shade whilst a billion years of rock rise up behind us. We pass resthouses and ignore notices from the national park: ‘Do not attempt to walk from the rim to the river and back in one day.’
‘It’ll be fine, it’s December!’ I said unconcerned, as the warming sun contrasts a deepening blue sky with a plateau of burnt orange; we had reached the perfect photo opportunity and a welcome break. Martin sets up the tripod giving instructions so that I was positioned just right in the frame.
‘Down a bit…a little bit further across…OK…stay still’
He rushes to reach me before the timer. A raven swoops close, catching our attention. A group of merry Americans dressed as Santa pass by, handing us mint candy canes. We scramble down from our viewpoint, peeling off layers and hurry on until we enter the Indian Garden. Rustling cottonwood trees appear, shading our path now lined with giant cacti and mesquites. In the distance the sound of a creek and the twittering of sparrows and scrub jays. A welcome cool, calm oasis was now protecting us from the heat of the high sun. For a moment we dream of a lazy afternoon amongst the acacia and later pitching our tent in this sanctuary…
But the cottonwoods quickly disappeared as we carry on along the remaining few miles to the river before finally reaching the depths of the canyon. We eat our bagels on the banks of the roaring Colorado river although we do not stay long. The rim was now 11km away.
The trail soon begins to climb up and up, twisting and turning across the steep edge of the canyon. Beneath us, the river was disappearing. The Tipoff, Skeleton Point, Cedar Ridge. View points I ignore as my mind becomes increasingly concerned with the heaviness in my legs. I pause to catch my breath and wipe away the sweat from my forehead. Red canyon dust had covered our boots and our backpack, our bodies were aching, mouths dry.
Hours later a group of tourists appear wearing bright white trainers, baseball caps and sunglasses. It was no longer just the two of us. We had made it to the rim.
That night, after cool showers and veggie burgers we grab our coats and rush out to a view point behind our cabin. But the sun had already set and we stand, staring into a dark expanse of nothingness feeling completely satisfied.
