Grand Canyon Traverse: Days 6-10

Day 6:

Our pocket for the night left us with some jittery sleep. Nightmares did not inhabit or dwell, although I found a tarantula crawling close by, a scorpion creeping within a few inches of my forearm, and a few black widows hanging nearby on the walls. The mouse did not bother me, though. I did chuckle to myself the tarantula story of Steck's. Thankfully, I did not wake up to something crawling atop the length of my body and waking me up from a sleep. Nonetheless, we were eagerly ready to go.

Our first taste of contouring the Tonto platform ensued. We went from pass and valley style of hiking to a wide open platform that displayed the whole canyon out in front of us. We could see the South Rim up high and away from us. The North Rim remained obstructed from our vision due to the towers, buttes, and temples. Cactus became everywhere, everywhere we stepped, weaved, and walked. Out in the open like this, one gains the gaping perspective of just how deep and wide the Grand Canyon. We made fairly easy work of our 8 miles or so on the Tonto. We had to go way in to the side canyon v-point of the drainage and nearly all the way back out to the river point on the level to go around not only the side canyons but the massive buttes above us. These formations took some time to go around.

We figured out the way down a branch of Clear Creek, our only real challenge of the day. In the main arm of Clear Creek we ran into a gushing torrent of water. The creek flowed profusely down canyon. Cottonwoods lined the lush creek. The creek just emanated an exuberant existence. We found a deep pool fed from a small waterfall. We climbed on in and soaked for a bit in the cool waters. Fuck, I let out a deep breath, one I had been holding in since I left Colorado. I felt like I had been walking the whole time to get to this spot just to start. This, this felt like the beginning. After soaking in the pool for 20 minutes we basked in the remaining sun on the slickrock. What had burnt us was now warming and soothing us. 

We moseyed on to camp. I hiked up the drainage a bit to see more of the flowing water. We were early. We knew we would exit via the North Rim the next day. 23 miles on trail is really no big deal for us. Laying around camp after dinner we had a visit from a mouse,. The mouse would shoot out from the boulder windrow and I would shoo it back in. I did this as the moon rose over Angels Gate. I stayed propped up on my elbows just soaking it all in. Watching the moon rise, I was only broken of this trance when the mouse would start to dart. I played this game for an hour before falling asleep on propped elbows. The moon lit up the cottonwood canopy. I felt rich surrounded by these jewels. Although, I knew we had to get out tomorrow as planned, regardless of the situation, I did not want to leave. I finally felt ready and healthy.

Day 7:

We hiked out on the Clear Creek Trail that connected with the North Kaibab Trail, some 7 miles away. This section of trail is probably the only section of trail of the Grand Canyon Traverse that is maintained. Out of roughly 575 miles, only 7 of those miles are maintained. That is awesome. I knew we had bigger challenges ahead. I knew we had a 10 day wait. I knew I had to use it wisely and rest. The hike out was uneventful, just passing by hordes of tourists and visitors. We popped in our headphones and cruised the way up. Along the way and the ascent up, I felt the determination to return and to be successful. The pool in Clear Creek gave me a chance to wash everything away. I feel the humility of the recent events, of just how lucky I am in so many ways. I will not waste another opportunity.

Day 8:

We are back after a 10 day absence. We left the North Rim and went back down underground. We were absolutely excited. We felt more prepared, more aware, more in tune while also recognizing we just don't know shit about the Grand Canyon. We knew we had to exercise patience. Funny in a way, we aware of being patient in a land of time where time oddly doesn’t exist or is utterly incomprehensible. This notion feels absurd but the notion is so. You can see it in the immense scale of erosion and all the massive exposed layers. You can feel it through the rush of exertion when there’s no need to rush while only one needs to consistent and patient. The ruggedness of the canyon forces one to move slow, to trudge with relevance. One's pace must be of reverence to what is afoot.

After navigating through the minor crowd of hikers heading downhill, we slithered through the Bright Angel campground to pick up the climber trail leading up through the Tapeats layer and unto Utah Flats. The user trail through the Tonto Platform became prominent and made travel across the Mars landscape efficient, Utah Flats looked just like inner Utah near Capitol Reef. After ambling along the user trail for a few miles, we dropped our packs on a ledge and headed down to Phantom Creek to fetch water. After a quick visit to the oasis to fil our capacity in water, we lugged 6 liters each back up 500ft in a mile to our home for the night on our ledge in the Muav. This necessity of work set a tone, as I look back now.

The stars in the black night held our gaze from our perch and entertained us with shooting stars. While the twinkling soothes our spirits, we nestled in for the long night tucked in our small overhang. The creek bellowed below and the abyss all around us rang in its own sinking depths, a low ringing tone of collapsing air. We had a slight overhang above us. The ledges fell off to a steep drop but we had enough space and a cluster of boulders to leverage our confidence from rolling off. I woke up and noticed a bright red bulb in the sky above Orion. I knew it wasn’t Betelgeuse, the red star of Orion’s upper left shoulder. Mars filled me with bewilderment. I had never seen the planet so clearly big and red before. I tried to zoom in my vision to get my imagination way up there in space. Gazing out into the big black abyss was simply majestic, the air so empty in front of us that for a moment I believed I actually was in space. I could, really. Just lay on my back, feel the gravity of the darkness and the sinking cold, the emptiness palpitating, almost throbbing, no silhouettes of towers and monuments, no moon, the stars all around me…and I was floating about in space. What would I be without my childlike imagination?

Day 9:

I woke up in our aerie, a raptor looking out over the canyonlands below. I dreamt of flying to Mars last night on expansive feathery wings. Maybe a condor. I do not know. On the back, the wings flapped and we careened through the canyons that went vertical rather than horizontal. I saw the red star ahead at the end of a black canyon, at the mouth. I woke up in our aerie looking down. Then, I sat up and began breakfast. I could still see Mars over Isis Temple. 

The minor climb up to the Cheops/Isis saddle afforded us unobstructed views of the towers and buttes starting to glow with the sunrise, bringing shape and substance of what had eluded me the night before. The sky gradually went from blue-black to pinks, blues, and purples, and finally to a bright orange. We followed a deer trail that now had cairns every so and often to lead the way. We contoured over into Trinity fairly quickly. We made efficient use of our morning.

Our next hurdle was ruggedly contouring over on the Tonto platform through fields and fields of beaver tail cactus to 94 Mile Canyon. Unbelievable the amount of beavertail cactus. But, we became proficient at the weaving of our bodies and legs through the cactus stands. Katie and I both had had practice last summer in avoiding sagebrush in an absolute sea of sagebrush while on the Great Basin Trail. As we angled deeply into the canyon the heat of the day became persistent, just a scorching drudgery. We worked our way into the canyon to a slope in the Tapeats to reach the creek bed. Almost immediately, we scaled a steep gully in the Tapeats and reached the Tonto with a couple of ledges to jump up onto. 

Then, the heat became oppressive for both of us. Realizing we were going to be short of our campsite goal at Crystal Creek, we decided to take our time and rest in any shade we happened upon. We knew that the descent down to the beach would need care and attention. Doing the descent at sunset just didn’t seem like an achievable proposition. Maybe I was more susceptible to the heat since I had that recent bout of heat exhaustion and hypernatremia. I really plummeted in spirit and rose in lethargy. I succumbed to the heat once again and really slowed down. I became exhausted and nearly consumed all my water. In the last tri-armed drainage we scaled up and over some decent sized ribs gutted by erosion with clean washes below them. I huffed and puffed over each one, my voice becoming raspier after each one. I was ready to plop down. Katie asked if I wanted to stop. We had 15 minutes of daylight left and getting over one last ridge would set us up better for the next morning where we would be at least 2.5 hours and that tough descent from water. We both knew too that the last drainage would have a good camp in the wash. I told her, ‘just go and I’ll follow.’ I rallied myself together and followed her. Halfway up the climb my right thigh began cramping. My fears came back. Not again, I thought. At the top both thighs cramped. About 200ft below I could pick out the slickrock bed we would be sleeping on. I rigidly picked my way down the slope. I just about fell onto my back on the slickrock. I wasn’t as bad as the last time, just felt like a good old fashion bonk. However, this cramping thing is really a concern.

Day 10:

Woke up extremely thirsty. Parched. Confused. Cold, Had some chills. Couldn't heat up. Contoured over a mile to the climbing route in the Tapeats. Somehow we found the ledges and the broken pillar. Slowly we picked our way down. We had to pass down our packs at some spots. Eventually skated down a very steep ravine. And, I swear I saw what the sky was doing around me. I swear. The prettiest of sunrises. Maybe an omen of a storm. Finally at the waters of Crystal Creek. I cupped my hands and slurped multiple times. I am exhausted. So thirsty. The water didn’t taste minerally to me, so I continued throwing handfuls of clear and cold water into my mouth. At the Colorado River the waters ran like a muddy sludge. No way we could drink out of that. We waffled back and forth about some warning we had read about, about Crystal Creek being too minerally. I used my InReach to communicate with Li who found out no warnings as such. We slurped away. I double slurped to booster up my hydration levels.

The climb out through the schist and the Tapeats layer almost killed me. Utter exhaustion swooned over me. My mind went to so many places and my emotions plunged to so many depths. I felt hopeless. I do not know how I got up there. Lactic acid build up is excruciatingly painful. Contoured around the Tonto for about 5 miles...SLOWLY. The heat was there oppressing us as always. Luckily the sun was at our backs. In the Tuna Canyon drainage, we rested in the shade under some Tapeats cliffs. I basically broke down…

No, I did break down. I had to move away from Katie. I had to cry. I felt old. I felt unfit. What was wrong with me? I have been holding on to so much. I have been holding on to so much. I have to doubly write that. My emotional slate has not been cleaned or emptied. It needs to happen now. Inhale quickly twice, breathe out assertively once. Repeat. Repeat until I am calm.

Up the northwest arm we went along a wide wash. We walked unhurriedly as the sun fell behind the massive Redwall formation and the buttes sitting atop. The shade cooled me down. I finally began to cool down. I no longer was drenched in sweat. I plodded along slowly and steadily. I used my whole body. I was torpidly walking. And, we made progress while I didn’t feel too shitty. One 50ft pour off negotiated, then a more complicated one and we found ourselves lined up to take on the final one. The limestone was sharp. Careful placement to not gash the hands or tear clothes or shred gear. At least we had grip on some exposure. Once atop we would be primed for an early morning summit atop the Flint-Tuna Saddle. 

We laid down under a very dark sky. The stars shimmered. We found a semi-flat area atop the Redwall and under a juniper and on some red pebbly dirt. I mulled over the day feeling just utterly exhausted and spent. I did not feel as hopeless as I did earlier. I kept on. Goddammit I am keeping on. Dinner pepped me up and helped me stave off my emotions from the day. The hot liquid filled my belly and soul. I breathed in the cold night air softly. We spoke of the next day and a potential storm brewing. We spoke half-heartedly about making decisions. I just wanted to sleep and not think of anything that night for the first time ever.

Grand Canyon Traverse: Days 1-5

Day 1: 

I am writing the start last. I do not hold the weight anymore. This only means this won't be as raw. I am content in that, too. To push is my immediate nature, the nature that is most on the surface. I have had time to reflect, but, to be honest, I left all that heavy weighted shit there in Rider Canyon. I was completely aware of the 'why' of what happened. I hold no regrets.

I have to start the Grand Canyon Traverse journal somewhere. I promise though, this will get better. Bear through this.

…what a dash. I will forego the timeline of what happened to get to where I got to, the why-for. All I will say is this: I was behind the eight ball before we had even started. I simply took on way too much before this adventure.

Leaving the parking lot at Lees Ferry I felt the heat from the asphalt through my shoes. The balls of my feet were already warm. I shook it off. I was here. I was here now. This was it. This had been a long time in the works. I had drummed a dream, and now I was here drumming. Katie and I scrambled and picked our way along the shoreline of the Colorado River. The avenue of adventure began where the wide canyon walls narrowed. Suddenly, we were underground.

With only one place to go the navigation is fairly straightforward. Follow the rocky shore. The temps are rising. I need to pop an electrolyte and gulp some water. I must stay on top of this. The rocks are reflecting the heat of the sun, absorbing all the scorching heat. I feel it. My skin is blistering with it. I cinch my mouth shut, I breathe through my nose, and lower the brim of my hat. We try to remain cool during the brutal heat. Sometimes the river is right there, the green river. So, we splash ourselves off. 

The canyon walls are modest. The canyon feels like a ramp angling up. The canyon feels small. then, after a couple hours, we are under the Marble Canyon bridge. Hundreds of feet above us the steel structure spans the now towering canyon. The steel curves shadows arcing onto the river below. We hike into an alcove just beneath. Shade is present. I wondered if the people looking over would see us. Scrambling and steep side hilling ensue under the suffocating heat. I see the way through but the work is taxing. We are moving slower than I anticipated. I scan  my GPS track and the terrain in front of me. Something is off. I underestimated the mileage. It is fairly evident. Katie sees this too. We are making significant miles today, yet I feel wrecked. I am feeling the weight of the heat, the ruggedness, the slow moving. I am forcing this.  

No matter what I tried, I simply could not drink enough water for salt I was consuming. I began to cramp in my quads. I wringed my shirt after soaking it in the river. The crusty salt lines melt away into a white creamy liquid squeezing from the shirt. My skin is stained with salt. I feel the salt burning into the creases of my squinting eyes. A little bit more further, We pick our way across boulder fields. Tedious, slow moving ruggedness, clambering up and over and under. 

We fell short of our first camp goal and settled onto the beach of Badger Creek. I was so relieved to make it to camp. I was cramping. When it is really rough hiking, when it is boulder hopping, when it is scrambling, it is incredibly hard to do so when cramping in your quads. We found a sheltered swale between a couple sand dunes, set up a cowboy camp, and headed to the river to cool off. A pall of smoke had snuck into the canyon and began to sink. The smell wasn't overwhelming, just visually a heavy haze just hung low in the canyon. The smoke was from the prescribed burn we had seen up on the Kaibab Plateau a couple days earlier. Either way, a gloomy realism set in. Sitting on my air mattress I fiddled with a toenail that needed to be twisted off. That nail had been bruised for a month or so and all it took was one sweaty day in the Grand Canyon for the nail to be ready to fall off. My feet were raw, my legs continued to cramp, and I laughed nervously. I have been in spots like this before and I have always recovered. So, I didn't fret about my cramping legs. I really fretted, however, the conversation Katie and I had about how we had underestimated the actual hiked miles versus the drawn mileage on the map. We caught on to this  and realized that potentially, if we were this far behind, that we would be short on food. Laying there and fiddling with my toenail, my focus went to conserving food and moving more efficiently. Really, my ego settled on moving faster and further.

I laid down still giddy from finally being out here, still confident about what we could do. I laid down exhausted but feeling upbeat, almost giggling about my condition. Why would I get any worse? My body is used to this. Right? I tore the toenail off. I closed my eyes with incredulity. Tomorrow would be a new day.

Day 2: 

'Sometimes you eat the bear, sometimes the bear eats you.'

Smoke suspended in the warm morning air. A smoky gray cloaked the deep red walls. The canyon was monumentally deep now, the angled ramp gone. Now, the cliffs went straight up. My arches had cramped throughout the night. I could not get those all out body stretches I need without my legs seizing. I drank water through the night. In our favor, we had an angle in the canyon, a yawning bend in the river, that would not see sunlight until late morning. I monitored my water intake and lowered my salt intake. We hiked slowly and intently upon ledges raised above the swift waters. I favored to not hike expeditiously. I tempered my gait and my breath. I kept my emotions at bay.

At lunch, we found shade. A half hour after I needed more shade. We found access to the river and I beelined to it and splashed my face off. I splashed my neck and arms. Salt glistened in the green waters under me, a small milky eddy formed from my dripping salty sweat. I began to become aware how futile it seemed in trying to cool my body off. The effort to do so felt enormous. Katie trudged on enduringly, while I struggled to keep up. I became frought with frustration. Something shifted after lunch. The sunlight hit our side of the canyon. Even the blanket of smoke could not stifle the heat. The rocks radiated the heat immensely. I slowly succumbed more and more to the extreme conditions. My mental resolve melted away. All the recent events coupled with the conditions finally had caught up to me. I began to stagger and sway. I sought shade as often as I could. My breath became shallow and strained. I was failing.

A couple hours went by and we had climbed up onto the Supai shelves a couple hundred feet above the river. We had to climb a crack at one point. In doing so, I expended all my energy. All of it. All of it was gone. Once through the crack my whole body began to seize up periodically. My shoulders, then my quads, my hands and the front of my calves next. Katie shadowed me closely, tailing me like a rudder. I thought at one point she was pacing me in an ultramarathon. I went to the paincave so distinctly I felt I was zoomed right to the High Five 100 mile event a couple summers ago when I was so obliterated I had lost track of self. This makes sense if you have been there. And, I was there. Katie was pacing me. The snapping back from the vision made me realize that I must look like shit.

Shade, I craved shade. Water was inaccessible. I drank as I could. I needed to. The heat beat me down. I sweated profusely. I became confused. I said things without knowing I said them. I thought things not knowing where I was at. I was super nauseous and tried to refrain from vomiting. I knew, however, that I had to keep the legs going. Ask what you can of the body and the body will do what it is asked. Just keep the legs going. In my mind, I became focused on Rider Canyon, but in a tunnel vision kind of way. I harped on this. I was willing to die for this. Katie continued to hover closely. Sometimes I would move consistently. But, I would peter out and look for shade, even the smallest sliver of shade. 

'We should stop and camp here before it gets dark.'

'I can get to Rider, ' I whispered gravelly. I stumbled and staggered, waddling atop the sketchy rocks. I would almost tumble forward to keep the momentum. Keep going...

Finally. I stopped.

'Let's camp please,' I so pained to say. I plopped down on a slabby ledge of red rock. The canyon had cooled enough and I still took off my shirt. I became clammy and chilly. I just laid there with a thousand yard stare. I would shiver trying to regain some warmth. My lips quivered as I tried to hold it all together. Everything felt so lucid yet I felt so empty. I just laid there with my arms splayed. Katie assisted me in making me some Ramen. I craved the salty broth. I just couldn't do it myself. I tried to move and the seizing began. My whole body convulsed painfully. The seizes started at my arches and then went to my calves, my calves to my quads and hamstrings and over to my buttocks. My hands were next and cramped almost palsy like. The cramping went further up to my forearm and triceps and onto my shoulders and neck. I could see the electrical pulses malfunctioning. My body was a chart for wiring and I was misfiring. Finally, the cramping settled in my jaw. I had to sit still. I had to wait these misfirings out. 

I tried to sit up again and my kidney area cramped. I reached back to my lower back. Fuck me, I thought. I was lucid enough to understand what was going on and I had to let it pass. I communicated to Katie what was going on besides the obvious crampings. I knew the soup would help and I slurped that down. I asked Katie to rub my legs to help alleviate the cramping and the pain. I writhed in pain and yelled out through the canyon, my wails echoing throughout. I could not contain my wails as the pain was that intense. We both had to wait this out.

'I don't think I can be in the canyon another day.' 

I squinched my face to refrain from crying. I felt completely exasperated, like my whole damn life was coming to a head. Right here and right now. Yet, I spoke flatly and serious. I knew I couldn't be out there, regardless of how hard that decision would be. I just couldn't risk organ failure, especially under the conditions out there. I needed to get out and to get some recovery. I couldn't put Katie in a compromising position either. I told her she could go on. She refused. We were in this as a team, together.  

I clinched my teeth trying to hold everything together. I was so close to breaking. Katie continued to assist me. I am so grateful for her just being there providing a calmness to the situation. I told her I could walk out of there and pushing the SOS was unnecessary. She agreed. Eventually, my cramps ceased after about an hour of intense anguish and pain. I was finally able to get my bedding ready. I laid on my back with the quilt over me feeling empty and dilapidated as an old wooden shack. Splintered and falling apart, at the whim of the elements, I was an old leaning shack, hollow and lifeless. I fell asleep at various points. I would still cramp at night and I struggled with temperature regulation. I would be shivering one moment, then the next I would be sweating profusely. But, somehow I got through the night. Somehow I got through the night silently. For some odd reason I did not break that night when I clearly and easily should have. I do not have an answer for that. For some reason I held on.

The next morning, we found our way down off the shelves and ledges and into the bed of Rider Canyon. I felt 'okay,' We found some water in potholes and tanked up for the long walk out. For our bailout option, we had a 2 mile hike and scramble out of Rider, then about a 12 mile hike along desert roads to the highway where we could hitch towards Lees Ferry. This meant that we would have to forego about 4 days on our itinerary and we would have to jump back in at the next access point of Nankoweap. But, first we had to get to the damn highway.

I continued to struggle. I still had nausea and still had to fight the vomiting threat. We slowly went along. I just felt like shit. I couldn't believe this was happening. I felt so damn bad for Katie and putting her in this situation. I just wanted to apologize over and over. I just wanted to hug her and cry. The temps, of course, rose as the morning went on. As soon as the sun hit me I fell back into that empty state. I was afflicted with heat. I needed shade to cool off. Of course, I needed the shade immediately even though the high desert had no shade. And, then we found a large upright boulder. I dashed on over and collapsed to the ground. I breathed laboriously and deeply trying to stave off the nausea. I closed my eyes. I needed to get to that highway no matter how impossibly far it felt. I tried standing up about four times in about 30 minutes. Each time I had to go back down. I asked Katie how far we had left. She said 6 miles, or 2 hours. An idea hit me. 'I can zombie walk that,' I thought, 'I just have to wake up.' I figured I only needed 2 liters to make that distance. So, the extra 2 liters was surplus, and cold. So, I dumped it on my head and neck. In an instant, I opened up and felt immediately alert and able.

After a hitch from some friendly college students, I got us a hotel room. I went to a cold dark room while Katie hitched to get her car at Lees Ferry. The next day we drove to the North Rim so I could take a long day off to try and recover. We would start at the Nankoweap trail head the day after. 

Day 3:

I had felt nervous on the drive over. My bladder cramped and I still had kidney pain. I had cooled off a bit and had rehydrated. The nausea was gone and I even regained some color in my face. Did I give myself enough recovery time? Would my body misfire again? Would my kidneys hold up? I had so many nervous questions going into the next leg. I felt sort of ashamed, even guilty. I felt I had taken on too much and in the process had become very unprepared and unfitting to be out here. I more or less cowered in front of Katie. I had not seen myself like that before. I knew for certain she had not either. I couldn't ruin her whole trip. I absolutely could not let her or myself down. I just sunk to lowly places. I was worried. But, I went anyways. Somewhere deep down inside of my being, within the deepest recesses of my soul, I believed I would bounce back. I believed wholeheartedly that I could endure the suffering, that I could push through. In a stubborn sense, I knew no other way. 

We left at dawn from the Nankoweap trail head. The night had seen some thunderstorms, so the morning was cool. We staircased our way down the primitive trail, the spectacular scenery of the inner northeast portion of the Grand Canyon glowed in a refulgent display of light with the rising sun. I felt an uprising within. I still took caution and moved slowly and methodically. 

At Nankoweap Creek, we found a bluff casting a large shadow to sit under and rest. The cottonwoods quavered under a slight breeze. The creek babbled. I gazed around at all the openness of the valley. We were definitely under the North Rim except the rim was pushed back miles from where we sat. We were still 3 miles or so upcanyon from the river. We were in a fault zone. Slanted buttes and massive mesas hung over the river and laid separated from the North Rim by a fault line. In the fault zone a mangled mess of rock and volcanic rock angled on a north and south line splitting the North Rim. Huge valleys ran from the rim to the river holding precious water in flowing creeks. We got up from our break and began the Butte Fault Route.

We navigated up through giant basalt boulders strewn about a flat break on a hogback. The rock changed drastically in color, striations, layering, stacking, you name it, the rock was a kaleidoscope of color and a mosaic of displayed rock. The rock painted an artsy swath in front of us. With this type of terrain being more familiar with us to navigate, me made quick time up and over the first pass. We even took our time but this type of navigation was right in our wheelhouse. 

At Kwagunt Creek, we took another break in the shade and relished in the cool waters of the creek. A small waterfall formed a small pool filled with frogs. The scene felt almost landscaped. We each had our own Zen moment eyeing the frogs stuck to a stick jutting out from the water. The frogs held still and relied on their camouflage of pink dirt. I closed my eyes and listened to the song of water. We, the went for another pass. 

I managed fine yet still had some cramping in the bladder. Yet, we went for another pass. Then another. At the final beneath Kwagunt Butte, the threatening thunderstorm finally showed up. A whipping wind and some lashing rain arrived as soon as we set up our shelters. I laughed in the rain as I pounded in the last stake. I felt good and was having fun. The storm ripped through the pass. Although brief, the wind of the storm tore down Katie's tarp and her trekking pole ripped a hole in the exterior shell. We battened back down the hatches and got her situated right around when the winds had died down. We prepared our dinner in the early evening and observed an electrical storm to the north. White pulsing orbs flashed in the brilliant sky. The heavens would brighten instantaneously and reveal a purple sea within the black mass of towering clouds. 

Observing this electrical storm, I fell into some pondering about everything. I was glad to be here. Glad my bladder did not hurt worse. I felt lucky to be present. We even got further than anticipated. And, to sit up here on this saddle observing the spectacular spectacle of wild nature; I just felt exhilarated. I rocked myself to sleep with my breathing. I focused on that to slow things down. I was still keenly aware I had things to monitor.

Day 4:

My confidence grew throughout the day  as we continued to move quickly. The temps were cooler, we had cloud cover, and plenty of water. We ascended the Horsethief Route and despite the efficiency of movement I still held some discomfort in my bladder. I kept my spirits up even has discomfort led to my left kidney area. I definitely was concerned but not alarmed. I felt I could manage the pain with water. I had to absolutely stay hydrated and needed to flood my kidneys. We ambled down the dry Lava Creek to visit the river. Pools did exist in Lava Creek but the water was undrinkable. At the river we cooled off and felt pretty tickled about revisiting the river under different circumstances. In just one day the terrain became so varied, so vastly different texturally. Lengths at a time moved so expediently while other sections felt utterly impossible. I would look back up and wonder how the hell did someone figure that out. Someone literally had the gumption to just go up some gnarly drainage to see if there was a way through. Oh, the impressive nerve and an even more impressive curiosity. We found ourselves in tight narrows that careened to the Colorado River just after side hilling along slippery and colorful shale slopes. The shale was decorated in rainbow. Just before that we were tumbling and scrambling down a steep ravine and gully dodging house sized boulders. I was so engaged I forgot about my cramping. The scope in size of the landscape is simply baffling. The skies were moody but only enhanced the character of the rock layers. Whether striations, color, feel, and touch the rock changed constantly. On guard, we monitored every single step, for we could not afford a mistake. We are mere specks completely vulnerable to this world of rock and erosion, this world of order and chaos. 

We camped at the lonesome and colorful beach of Carbon Creek. Throughout the night I was mesmerized by the lightning pulsing frequently from miles away up on the Coconino and Kaibab Plateaus. Booming thunder was not present, only the electrical orbs. I drifted into a sleepy thought and thought about my nerve pulses, the twitching spasms spanning throughout my body like an electrical storm. I turned and turned trying to sleep. My kidneys and bladder became too uncomfortable to sleep. I writhed in silent pain, only the lightning orbs keeping me focused. I knew there was a storm in my body and I was not only feeling it, I was observing it.

Day 5:

Day 5 was a stormy day. I had a rough start after hardly sleeping a wink with my cramping. I was a tad more concerned, just not alarmed yet. I knew if I could get through this day that I could manage. We broke our shelters down as some light rain fell. The air was not cold, only damp. We found a small overhang and waited the brief spell of rain to fall. Once the lapse occurred, we found ourselves atop long mesas that had long washes slicing through dividing the terrain. We had to work the terrain at an angle utilizing straight line vectors. We cut across perpendicular to the mesas and had to climb the slopes of the wash directly to attain each mesa. A more consistent rain fell yet I was having a good time. The terrain was wide open and I could create. I could cleave this type of terrain in my sleep.

We descended into Unkar Creek directly where the spring spewed from the rocky wash and slid down some slickrock chutes. The wash up drainage was soothingly wide. We meandered along the bends and followed the path of the past rushing water. The layers shifted from the volcanic tuffs and ash laden flats to the typical Grand Canyon stacked layers. We were back in the world of dark blood red. I felt the warmth of the canyon even as the skies threatened a storm brewing. We had hoped to get over the Freya/Vishnu saddle before the rain came but we fell slightly short. The North Rim hung above us and the temps dropped. The rain fell harder and we found an overhang in the wash. We squished in together a tad cramped and shared the space a tarantula that crawled up the wall. I made sure to notice where the big bugger went. I could see a hairy leg or two just off the tiny precipice beneath the rock where the conglomerate bank met. A few minutes later, the hairy legs were gone. The tarantula must have went to a tiny cavern where water would not flow into.

An hour and a half went by and the rain still persisted. I dozed off slightly and came to and noticed that my bladder and kidneys were no longer painful and cramping. The rain slowly stopped and we exited our slabby hovel. The way up to the saddle remained sticky. We had become concerned during the hour and a half rainstorm that the rock would become too slick to climb. Our concerns diminished as we detoured around our first pour off. We were blessed with cool and cloudy weather. The way up was tricky yet fun. We enjoyed the different type of leg work and got to utilize our hands. So different than the easy travel the past couple days. The views from the top, even with soggy skies, held our gaze. Temples, buttes, and the snaking canyons had me fixated. Wotans Throne had me enthralled. I tried to deduce the shape and contours of this island in the sky. I understood from the map that we would nearly semi-circumambulate the massive mesa. One day, I will try and go for the top of the throne. One day I will.

We descended down from the saddle down a precipitous chute. Full body usage, clambering astraddle minor pour offs, and we were in the zone. I came off of one pour off choked with an ash tree and my focus coupled with my momentum threw me onto a large slab and in one motion dropped down another step and stared down an impassable pour off. A monster of a pour off. I gulped forcing my breath deep into my belly. I, then burped quietly. I scoffed at the sight, my eyes bulging out of my sockets. We scoured the ledges for a way around. We found a couple cairns and rounded a cliff point atop the Muav layer. Once out in the open air, I belched again and released the air into the wide open. We picked our way down some crumbly and chossy slopes beneath the Muav cliff band, almost rock-skiing our way down. Once in Vishnu Creek the going got better. Wide and gaping the wash wiggled, wiggling all the way into tapered slots. Someone must have painted the slots. Maybe Wotan. Or at least placed a mosaic of tiles lining the chutes and slabs, some god-like mason constructing a king-like toilet system. This is Wotans Slot, Wotan Shitting Pot.

I kid. I was mesmerized and feeling playful. The slots felt like a slide. We dodge pools and tried not to get our feet wet. My pain in bladder and kidneys had completely vanished. The pain in my heart felt vanquished, released from my inner squabbles. I felt free, finally damn free. We found the Overhang cave and camped. I listened to our whispering echoes. I listened for the squeaks of the bat. I heard both, but also heard the scurrying of the mouse and saw the webby burrows of black widows suspended on the smooth walls. The pocket of sky above us closed and the darkness set in that I could no longer see the outline of the rim above.

Grand Canyon Traverse: Overview

Quick Numbers of the GCT:

• ~575 miles, 35 days, all on the north side of the river, footsteps connected, in totality.

Description/Planning/Strategy/Challenges:

Katie Gerber and I completed a Grand Canyon Traverse over the Autumn of '22. The GCT is a route spanning the length of the Grand Canyon from Lees Ferry at the eastern end to Pearce Ferry at the western end of the canyon, all on foot, all under the North Rim. We utilized the nearest access road on the north side of the canyon on the western end that terminates at an historic ranch on BLM land at Tassi Ranch. Pearce Ferry is usually the choice taken, but we did not want to stash a PFD to float and swim across the river. 

The route that I had drawn followed various layers, platforms, and levels of the Grand Canyon with all of the track sketched on the north side of the river. Along the route, I wanted to experience a variety of scenery and challenges in the Grand Canyon while not being too technical. With that being said, this route did not have any rappelling involved nor any scaling or climbing above mid 5th class. Nothing really went over 5.2, actually, if we were lucky. We kept the route more in a fashion of one that is hiked and scrambled with some minor rock climbing. We did use a 30 foot webbing on occasion to hoist up or down our packs in certain spots.

I do not know how this route compares to others who have trekked the length of the Grand Canyon. There are literally a million different ways to find a way through. And, literally there are a million ways to get trapped or stuck. I do not think ours even compares in difficulty to Rudow's route. Our skill levels do not have the rappelling aspect or the experience enough to descend some of those crazy hollows I had heard so much about. We come from a long distance hiking world rather than a canyoneering world, to be a little bit more frank. So, the route was geared and organized as such. Our route followed more or less what another adventurer had used, Eagan. Either way, the GCT of whatever description is very, very dangerous and is not to be taken lightly.

The majority of the route is cross-country. Shoot, although some aspects of the Tuckup Trail felt trodden and used, nothing other than the roughly 9 miles on the Clear Creek Trail is maintained. Everything else is cross-country, user trail, climber trail, sheep trail, deer trail, scrambling, scaling, crawling, creek walking, boulder hopping, ledge walking, tight-roping, cliff tip-toeing, chute sliding, and any other form of precarious foot travel.

Besides the method and characteristics of travel, scarcity of water is probably the biggest concern. The Grand Canyon is a desert ecosystem for the most part. One has to be lucky with storms and potholes. One, however, must not rely on that luck. Monsoons rage in August and September yet the higher elevations could see snow during that same timeframe. Spring can be wet yet the potholes can be dry from an arid Winter. Creeks are few and far between, springs even fewer, and although the Colorado River is used at some points, the river can be inaccessible or muddy and silty. Getting creative with water settling and collection is a tool one must know. Long water carries are an every day occurrence.

The timing of such a hike has to be considered carefully. Spring and Autumn are the usual timeframes. I chose Autumn because of the timing with work, adventures, time for planning, and personal life stuff. We had temperatures ranging from in the low 20s to 100 degrees. We had 3 inches of snow fall on us one night, had an atmospheric river drop a deluge from overhead, and had very hot and dry conditions, all at various points and all at times that were relatively close to each other. We needed a wet monsoon season to fill up the potholes. We hoped the weather in late September would be cool. Yet, Mother Nature does not have our itinerary, as my friend Swami says. Luckily for us, late Summer had proven to be a wet time. Late September can still be sweltering in the Marble Canyon in the eastern end and the Lower Granite Gorge of the western end. We sure encountered that terrible heat when we started.

Resupplying at a store is not an option. Maybe the North Rim or South Rim if one chooses to do so. Other than that, food and water caching is a must. Whether driven by in car, hiked in, rafted in, preparation in advance with plenty of time given is needed. We had caches in South Canyon, Thunder River trailhead, and at Toroweap. Even with the cache at Toroweap we still had an 11 day food carry. 

Travel is slow. We learned the hard way. Although I believe my expectations what Katie and I could do, I still underestimated the swiftness of travel. On average, what was drawn on the map was at least 20% less than what was actually hiked. In the planning and preparation process, I thought Katie and I were capable of averaging a 15 miles per day pace. While that is an incredible daily mileage for the terrain and character of the Grand Canyon, I believed with the route designed we could have achieved such a daily pace. That being said, the route dictated our pace and we traveled at a way slower speed than anticipated. Overall, we still nearly averaged that 15mpd pace.

This route, if undertaken, will be a very challenging endeavor. One will be on a true adventure. Research upon research, back up plan after back up plan, whatever you think is kosher just do more, double it in fact; the diligence and preparation of a Grand Canyon Traverse is stupendous. The logistics alone is mind-boggling. This blog is not intended to assist one with hiking the length of the Grand Canyon. After hiking the route and getting to know the intricacies, I realized I didn't know shit about the canyon no matter how much research I had done. I have so much respect and admiration for the folks who have spent a lifetime out there in the Grand Canyon. This route is simply not one to 'plug and place.' I will reiterate that the route is very, very dangerous. I will reiterate you will need to do more research for this than anything you have undertaken before. And, when you feel ready, you still need to do double the research.

Lastly, I will  not be sharing a resource set with anybody. This mainly includes the maps, drawn track or GPS track. I am more than available to assist anyone with preparation or to answer questions about such a route.

Inspiration:

In '13, while on the Hayduke Trail portion of the Vagabond Loop, I met Li on the North Rim. Some friends had put me in contact with him. He hosted me for 2 days. We got to know each other. I had fallen in love with the Grand Canyon via the route of the Hayduke. Li provided me some history of how that route was drawn up through the canyon. Li introduced me to Grand Canyon explorers George Steck and Harvey Butchart. He showed me the books and I began scouring the books there at this house on my days off. Then, he mentioned Rich Rudow, who had thru hiked the Grand Canyon in '12. Needless to say, Li planted a seed in my brain. 

Over the years, I heard about other hikes and continued to read Steck. Some friends who had spent time in the canyon as raft guides led me down a blog path where I found Eagan's. I pondered the route often but felt it was too much to undertake as I just did not have the knowledge enough to hike the Grand Canyon. However, I believed I knew it was possible and I knew I would plan for it eventually. In '19, I began the planning. I felt ready in the physical sense and my hiking and scrambling ability. I also felt ready to absorb the massive amount of information needed to undertake such an adventure. I began planning for an Autumn '20 hike. Sure enough, as everyone knows, the Pandemic hit and I put aside the plans. By early '21, I began the planning for a GCT attempt in the Autumn of '22. Now, as they say, the rest is history.

Intention:

Our intention was to hike from east to west, from Lees Ferry to Tassi Ranch in a continuous fashion. I had sketched an estimated 475 mile route and broke that up into 4 sections. I estimated our daily average to be 15mpd. The first section from Lees Ferry to the North Rim would be the first 10 days, so Marble Canyon and the Northeast portion of the Grand Canyon. Then, Katie had to take 10 days to work guiding hiking groups in West Virginia. This was a planned break. We would then reconvene at the North Rim to finish the last 23 days to Tassi Ranch. The second section would be from the North Rim to the Thunder River trailhead. The third section would be from the Thunder River trailhead to Toroweap. Finally, the fourth section would be from Toroweap to Tassi Ranch. 

For our caching efforts, we hiked in a cache in South Canyon. We utilized the North Rim as a resupply point two different times using Li's apartment. We drove in caches at the Thunder River trailhead and Toroweap. With all that laid out, our 1st leg was from 9/27-10/6 and the 2nd-4th legs were from 10/20-11/10. 

We ended up adding a couple of days on the 2nd-4th legs due to what we had figured out with the pace of travel. We moved way slower than anticipated. We also missed a 4 day stretch in Marble Canyon due to me having a medical bout with hypernatremia and heat exhaustion. This bout was serious enough that we had to leave the canyon. I was in seriously bad shape. You can read about it in the journal entries. We ended up completing that stretch after getting to Tassi Ranch. Although, the route ended up not being continuous, we connected all of our steps and in our eyes completed a thru hike that aligned with our intentions.

We wanted to attempt the GCT in an ultralight trekking style. Our gear had been proven in some of the most harshest environments. We are experts in this style and philosophy. We would also utilize the planned break we had and the caches we planted to re-up, replenish, and repair any gear we were having trouble with or with gear that needed attention. We didn't always follow that rule, in particular with footwear. Sure enough, we both could have used another pair of shoes at the Toroweap cache. All our other lightweight gear handled the harshness fairly well. By far, the biggest strain on gear, other than the wear and tear on our shoes, was to our MLD Exodus 55L frameless backpacks. We wedged and scraped the pack in chimneys, chutes, and atop boulders of various gritty textures. The packs' durability held up supremely, however. I was really impressed when we loaded up the Exodus with 11 days of food and 2 gallons of water. An ultra lightweight pack held strongly with nearly 45lbs! 

Along the lines of the ultralight trekking style was our intention to move swiftly, light and fast. We moved from the first crack to the last strands of daylight every day. We had limited daylight with the Autumn lighting, so we more or less hiked the whole day with 3 small breaks. This is the style we feel the most comfortable with. Maybe to hike the length of the Grand Canyon like this is unprecedented, I am not entirely sure. But, I can probably be sure that not a hiker before had roughly 10-12lb base weights.

Finally, and most importantly, I wanted everything to be self-sufficient. We did not have years of experience on the river or in the canyon. But, we came from a very extensive and experienced background in long distance travel in very tough environments. I do not mean the Triple Crown Trails either. We had extensive lengths of time in very remote places without much of any trail. While clearly I knew this GCT endeavor would be bigger in every way, I still wanted to be entirely self-sufficient. So, this meant we could hike or drive in a cache, but we were trying not to rely on the rafters for support. In the end, we were more or less self-sufficient other than Li picking us up at Tassi Ranch and letting us use his apartment on the North Rim. 

Length: 

Sketched at 475 miles but estimated in earnest at 575 miles. 

The sketched route was considerably lower in mileage than the actual miles walked. The terrain and method of travel became toilsome, extremely so. The sketched route cannot account for all the boulder hopping, climbing, the constant up and down travel over, in, and out of ravines, gullies, canyons, and rocky knobs. The sketched route does not also take into account the constant weaving within and among the fields upon fields of various cacti. It is so hard to communicate clearly the severity of travel and the slowness of movement within the GCT route. The 575 estimated hiked mileage still feels on the conservative side.

Duration:

Anticipated roughly 32 days, finished the route in 35 days.

Hiking dates: 9/27-9/28, 10/1-10/5, 10/19-11/10.

Red Tape and Safety:

Get a permit! The GCNP Backcountry Office is super helpful and will work with you if you have done your due diligence. Albeit the permits in total cost a pretty penny, having the proper permit felt safe most of all. While the process of obtaining a permit can be clunky, usually it is because one does not know the canyon that well. The rangers at the office are super knowledgeable. In fact, some have even thru-hiked the Grand Canyon, as well. Overall, the NPS provides a safety mechanism in an otherwise inaccessible place. Getting a permit for the Grand Canyon is the responsible thing to do.

With that in mind, have your own safety plan. We used a DeLorme InReach with a messaging and SOS subscription and checked in with our support team nightly. Having a plan with the capability to check the weather is crucial. You will not have any cell service, you will be in very remote places without any access to the outside world. All that said, learn the river and how people use the river. I regret not doing this as much as I should have.

In the Grand Canyon, getting in a dangerous spot or being in danger is a legitimate concern. Even when you feel safe you are so far away from anywhere. Seriously. 

Highlights:

So many too list! To preface, this is no doubt absolutely the toughest and most challenging hiking I have ever done while also being the most rewarding experience I have ever had. I had the time of my life through everything. Living second to second, each decision vital to the next decision, each decision with immediate circumstances, the GCT felt like the epitome of adventure. Second to none in my life. This GCT adventure has been the best time of my entire life.

• First and foremost, saying aloud to myself when it was all said and done: I can now say I have walked the length of the entire Grand Canyon. I experienced the best possible adventure I could ever have dreamt. At one point in my journal I texted out: The hardest shit seems impossible. Typing this now, hiking the length of the Grand Canyon feels unbelievable.

• Hiking with Katie. This adventure was a team effort. I have known Katie for about 5 years now. Last year she hiked most of the Great Basin Trail with me. We are so different personality wise yet have similar temperaments. So, we sync up with expectations and balance out our ways of doing things. Order and chaos, pull and push; however we balance each other out we get down to business when we have to. To be honest, I like hiking with her because she likes hiking and pushing the limits as much as I do. Out on the GCT we really flourished in navigating the route. I was normally out front picking out the way and reading the immediate terrain. She was not far behind looking at the bigger picture. We definitely had a co-piloting thing going on and the rhythm we had felt smooth. I know her well enough that we don't have to say much to know what the other person is feeling about a decision.

• The second day and going through the hypernatremia and heat exhaustion. Yes, I know once you read the trial this sentiment seems absurd. But, I think a highlight is also one where one grows and learns rather than just being peachy, scenic, and positive. I learned so much because of that experience. In some way, that severe medical incident prepared me both mentally and physically for the rigors of the Grand Canyon.

• The mountain lion encounter. Like I wrote in the post, an image I will never ever forget is of the mountain lion slinking and lurking away, weaving through the shrubs, her haunches raised and churning, her tail hanging in the air like a rudder in the water, her tail afloat as its own entity; that whole experience with Katie was exhilarating, frightening, crazy, life threatening, scary, exciting, and could have gone in so many directions. We feel very lucky to walk away from that situation unscathed.

• The long nights, the very long nights. Simply stargazing, moongazing, observing the heavens and the world spin slowly by all under the darkest skies I have ever seen; observing the moon cycle over the month, feeling the bright glow of the moon and watching the shadows cast from the brilliant moon; sensing time by the location of Orion in the sky, praying ritualistically to the moon and Orion and Canis Majoris every night; these nights became my religion. I am not one to swoon on prayer and such. I just believe in the power of nature way too much, however, I fell into a religious swoon with these long nights. I succumbed to the darkness and fell in love with the world all over again. I found a faith I had never known because of these long nights, because of these constellations and moon. The cooking of dinner, laying on my back and drifting to sleep while stargazing, waking up throughout the night to have the blanket of the Milky Way above, to wake up with Orion in the same spot on the horizon, to preparing breakfast in the predawn darkness, all of this touched on something primordial, even pagan. I felt to be living life differently, so different than the world outside of where I was living the past month. The Milky Way became the murals and myths, the pages of a great book, all the temples and buttes became the dome inside the place of worship, the canyon walls and cliffs became the holy edifice and the sanctuary, the slabs of rock I slept on became my altar; the Grand Canyon became my church.

• The potholes. I wrote a lot about the potholes, the oracles of the desert. Water falling from the sky and collecting into pockets in the rock, looking for the shimmers, knowing the gleam, then gathering up this water felt so engrained in my DNA, some ancient act of survival. Without these potholes, throughout the whole canyon, the accomplishment would other be impossible.

• The Shamans Panel. My friend Sirena gave me a waypoint for this powerful and cultural site. The colors, the imagery, the spiritual power, the connection with people of the past, the connection with nature, the setting, all of this left me stirring in spirit. I am so grateful for the brief yet powerful time among the ancients.

• The navigating. Yea, this is my favorite thing to do. And, to do it in such a harsh and unforgiving landscape through such inhospitable conditions with so much rock, so much carnivorous and menacing rock, is simply amazing. With every different section I had to learn the nuances of travel within that particular landscape. I had to learn the language of the Grand Canyon all over again. In all my 45 years of life on Earth, I have never been so engaged with one act as I was in navigating the way through the Grand Canyon. Every second of every day. The Grand Canyon holds secrets, a secret language and I am so grateful in learning even a little bit of that special language.

• The utter beauty of the scenery. Jaw dropping at every point. Every night was the best campsite ever. Too many superlatives to go on. Everything about the Grand Canyon is simply incomprehensible and indescribable. From Marble Canyon to the Nankoweap area to the Inner Gorge, from the Kanab Creek area to the Esplanade to the Tuckup area and then onto the Lower Granite Gorge -- nothing but spectacular. 

• Reconnecting with Li. Seeing him at Tassi Ranch brought a huge smile to my face. I knew he understood what we had accomplished the instant we saw him. I cannot thank him enough for all the support and help he so generously provided. I cannot also thank him enough for introducing me to Steck and Butchart. He encouraged a wanderer's curiosity. All these years later, that vagabond has walked the length of the Grand Canyon. Li is a big reason and inspiration for that.

• I could go on an on, on and on...