Grand Canyon Rim to Rim to Rim- Nov. 27th, 2009
47.4 Miles in 21 hours and 44 minutes. Inside the 24 hour mark! Amazing weather, amazing photos. I felt strong all the way through and had no major knee pain. Powered it through the last few miles for the second straight year. Dylan captured the trip best in the trip report below.
I am currently sitting in a coffee shop until a class of mine begins in a couple hours. As I sit, I can feel a constant, stinging pain in my right achilles tendon, and occasionally I have to extend my left leg to keep my left knee loose. Regardless of how much loosening up of the knee I attempt, I know it will take an extra few seconds to begin moving once I stand up and begin my limp. There is only minor soreness across my collar bone, and my back is surprisingly fine. But there is something else going on that I can’t shake. There is a constant recollection of what I just went through; a mental itch that I can’t help but scratch, but I don’t know how to go about appeasing it. Hence, I am writing, hoping that will do it.
And to what do I owe these physical and mental presences? The Grand Canyon. More specifically, the rim to rim to rim hike. If you’re reading this you already know what it is, just over 47 total miles. Starting at the South Rim Bright Angel trail, it descends about 9 miles through Indian Gardens to Phantom Ranch. From there, it’s about 8 miles of rolling and flat canyon through “The Box” to Cottonwood. From there, it’s the final 7-ish miles ascending up to the North Rim. And the kicker is having to go back. And the kicker on top of the original kicker is doing all this in under 24 hours.
I was invited to go along by friends of mine, the Dougherty brothers; Jeremy and Noah. They also convinced another mutual friend to come along; Chris. Between the four of us, we represent a ten year age span. Noah is the youngest at 26, Jeremy at 29, me at 33, and Chris at 37. Jeremy, Noah, and another friend of ours attempted the same hike last winter, and were hit by a severe winter storm by the time they peaked the North rim. Breaking trail, encouragement, and who knows what else got them through it in just over 24 hours. The friend they brought along had some serious challenges along the way, finding the need to stop and rest a mile or so before the North rim. Thankfully he did that and was able to make it back. I am not criticizing him at all, just relaying the story. I won’t get into any more detail than that, because I couldn’t pretend to understand how that felt to any of them. You’ll have to ask those three about the experience. What I do know is that after that, the Dougherty brothers were dead set on getting this challenge under their belt. The friend who went with them last time is a new father, and would not be joining us on the return trip.
This story is going to be written as an invitee. I did nothing to plan the trip. I had Jeremy and Noah tell me everything, from the necessary amount and type of pack, socks, gloves, hats, meals, energy bars, and goo’s (I just cringed at that last word, long story, you’ll see why later). They even planned the practice hikes. I attempted to gain as much insight as possible as to what I was in for, but they could only do so much to explain, and now I understand. I probably understood before we started, but the fact is you have to live it to know it. But if you’re looking for expert advice of how to plan this trip, I am not the guy. If you want to know what it’s like for an amateur like me to go through this, then hopefully this helps a bit. Bottom line is I was along for the ride, and a damn fine ride it was.
As far as agreeing to go along, myself and the brothers probably both knew I would do it, regardless of how hesitant I pretended to be. It’s hard to explain why I agreed, much harder anyway, then it would be to explain why I shouldn’t. For me, I guess it’s just there, the need to get “out there”. It makes no sense, yet something “out there” calls you. And I know that when I’m “out there”, I’m doing something that might be painful, but at the same time healthy, at least mentally. I suppose I kind of feel like a dog in civilization, and this is a chance to be let off the leash. Wow, poetry.
As far as my condition, I am a fairly athletic, 33 year old guy. I’m a little fellow, at 5’7”, 160 pounds. I have a good, natural metabolism, the kind that lets me get away with an unfair amount of neglect. I get antsy sitting around and have always had jobs that require me to be on my feet. I play hockey 2 to 3 times a week, I ride my mountain bike a couple times a month at nearby South Mountain, and I workout fairly regularly, sometimes intensely. Although I may go through the occasional lazy phase, I can only allow them to go on for so long, before I get mad with myself and rekindle the flames of physical activity. I’m just trying to give you an idea of how someone like me reacts to such a physically demanding trip. Before this expedition, I would say that work had been consuming me. A while ago, I was two weeks away from completing P90X, until I tweaked my knee during one of the routines. A week after that, my knee was feeling better, but I came down with a nasty cold that had me wheezing for a good two weeks. I was still making myself skate at least once a week, but I could feel myself getting into a lazy spell. It had probably been a good month since I officially worked out before Jeremy got me off my ass and onto a trail.
To get our feet wet, the four of us did a practice hike through the Phoenix Mountain Preserve around Squaw Peak Mountain a week before the big hike. That was 28 miles of gradual ascents and descents, but mostly rolling desert landscape just to break in and test our equipment and bodies. I will mention here, going back to the guy’s attempt last year, that the friend who had some trouble on the R2R2R did not do a practice hike. I don’t know if that would have changed anything, but facts are facts so take that for what it’s worth. Overall, the practice hike went well. We stopped at 16 miles for a hot meal of freeze dried ready meals, and were back at the truck after 11 hours. I probably consumed a bag of trail mix, a bag of beef jerky, 2 energy bars, an apple, and 6 or 7 goo’s (ulf, there’s that cringe again). I was surprised about how good I felt afterwards, and really started looking forward to the challenge of the R2R2R. I credit most of my well being to the boots. The practice hike was my first time wearing them, and had not so much as a sore spot or blister. This is important, and something I should have remembered during our R2R2R. The next day I did have some soreness in my right Achilles tendon, but nothing too concerning.
So fast forward to Thanksgiving. I’m enjoying dinner with the family and relaxing as much as I can. The next afternoon, I know we’re going to drive up, have a meal, and start hiking. I have to admit I was nervous and a little skeptical about being up for almost 12 hours before staring a 24 hour hike. I figured I would just have to find a way to get over that, and hoped my body would cooperate. But honestly, I wanted to beg and plead with them to start the hike immediately after a sleep. I slept in as much as I could on Friday, and finally woke up about 10:30 am.
We hit the road at 2pm-ish, and arrived at the park with full bellies about 8- 8:30. After parking, changing, and a little stretching, we were at the Bright Angel Trailhead ready to go. We took a group picture, and watched humorously as Chris tried to figure out his camera timer. The fourth time was finally the charm. The flash snapped, we packed in, and got ready. I strapped on the trekking poles, turned toward the canyon, and felt my stomach drop.
It hit me right there, along with a cold, deep wind. I looked out into pitch black. I couldn’t see a thing, but I could sure as hell feel it. I felt the abyss, felt the deepness of it all, like the infinite open spaces were an element all their own. I tried my damndest to comprehend how far we really had to go. It was a strange feeling, sensing the openness of the canyon, almost like vertigo. I had been here before, even hiked down and camped a couple nights. But being there with the pack on, ready to throw myself at the canyon’s mercy, was a different animal. I was wearing 3 layers of dry-fit clothing, a windbreaker jacket, thermal underwear, gloves, neck warmer, hoodie, and a great pair of gore-tex boots. But standing in the face of that monster, I thought I might as well be naked. And it began with the next step.
We all threw down some goo, I started with a double espresso (double caffeine). I found myself going over a mental and physical inventory while on those first few steps. I had already panicked several times prior to this night about how much food and clothing to bring, lying in bed thinking about the perfect balance of energy bars, trail mix and ….yuck…..goo. But this one was different. I was having a conversation with myself about what was to come over the next 47 miles. In the middle of the inventory, I found myself sweating profusely. I stopped five minutes into our hike, and convinced everyone to shed a layer of clothing. I don’t know if we would have just gone on sweating, but when I suggested it and began taking off my pack, everyone seemed more than agreeable. Jeremy even depantsed and removed his thermal underwear. That was lesson number #1- speak up, you’d be surprised how good of an idea you might be holding onto.
The hike continued along with my “inventory”. About ten minutes later (don’t worry, I’m not going to detail every ten minutes over the next 24 hours), I felt a pain in my right achilles tendon, the same area of soreness I felt after our practice hike. It began to throb with every step, increasing in intensity and actually shooting up my right leg, making me stumble slightly. Noah was in front of me, and I expressed my concern about the pain to him. What could he do? I actually considered turning around while I could still make out the top of the trailhead. I thought “I’m one mile into a 47 mile trek, and what kind of idiot am I to put these guys in a position to carry me through this if I couldn’t go any further?” Now what I was probably really thinking was “What the hell am I doing? 47 miles? Really? I should quit now while I can.” Noah gave me what encouragement he could and I trodded along. After the next mile, it loosened up and I eased myself into the task at hand. My first panic attacked proved futile, and I was going to have to get myself through this whether I liked it or not. It was at that point my hike began.
The first rest point was Indian Gardens, we arrived fairly quickly in my opinion, with little or no issues. At one point Noah did make fun of me about something, then immediately fell forward and hit his knee on a rock, cutting it a bit. What did you learn Noah? Jeremy was using his Forerunner to determine our pace, making sure we were keeping above 3 miles an hour. Not expending too much energy on the way there, we bypassed the chance to refill our bladders and proceeded to Phantom Ranch. Right after leaving Indian Gardens, Jeremy decided it would be a good idea to inform myself and Chris about the mountain lion population in the canyon. So naturally, we spent the next 8 hours of darkness scanning the fields with our headlamps around every new bend looking for glowing eyes that would be looking at us as food. Every time we say something, it turned out to be a deer. But there was a scare at one point when we couldn’t confirm it. Noah said “Is it a predator?” Predator. That word spooked me. I know, I’m ranting. But I’m a city boy used to falling asleep to the sound of traffic, and around my neighborhood the only thing that bit were mosquitoes. Not necessarily predator material there. To add insult to injury, Noah and Jeremy would point out every time we were walking through a “perfect ambush spot”. Bastards.
Back to the hike. The hike from Indian Gardens to Phantom Ranch is one of my favorites and mostly a descent, but this time it was dominated by sand the closer you got to the river and all along the bank. It was a break from the impact of the descent, but took a little more effort for the stride. It started feeling like a beach once we could make out the bridge over the Colorado. Nevertheless, we arrived at Phantom Ranch and hit the rest area. Noah and I removed our thermal underwear since we could feel the weight of the sweat saturated pants on our thighs every time we lifted our legs. Everyone refilled our bladders and ate more goo, along with random food including PB&J, etc. We were all feeling great and ready to keep going.
The next leg is “The Box”, which leads to Cottonwood through a series of endless bends and bridges along Bright Angel Creek. About ten minutes in, Chris and I saw something on the trail. He stopped and focused, and I ducked behind him for shelter, because hey, I’m a survivalist. It turned out to be a man wearing running clothes, lying down next to a flashlight and bottle of water. I though “You’re kidding me, we just found a body…not a person…but a body.” Thankfully he woke up as we approached, because I had enough weight on me already without having to carry a corpse up to the North Rim. We made sure he was ok and offered him water and food. He declined, and insisted he was fine. I was skeptical considering how chilly it was already, with a significant drop to 18 expected by sunrise. But we moved on. Several minutes later, his green light was following us about a minute behind. The “canyon madman serial killer” jokes began. Poor Noah was anchoring and was probably at least a little bit expecting a blade to come across his throat at any time.
Chris started leading at a very steady pace, almost 5 miles per hour. I will say here that I did protest the pace a little bit. Let’s go back to the little fellow part. My legs are about 2 ½ feet long, and I’m hiking with nobody shorter than 6 feet. My stride was being maximized at this point, and I thought we were wearing ourselves down for the ascent up the North Rim. But alas, the short dude got over ruled. I could have sworn Chris was almost running. So what did I do? Took another goo, put some Dodo’s on the Zune, and sucked it up. Turns out though, that by the time we reached Cottonwood, we were going about 2 ½ miles an hour. So the way I see it, we could have maintained a pace of about 4 the whole way and saved a little energy, but this is hindsight, and only a possibility. But you should definitely consider this while you’re down there.
I will tell you that I considered “The Box” the easiest part of the hike. You just go over rolling canyons for 8 miles. It does get to you near the end, because it just doesn’t seem to end, and we were getting hungry for our first warm meal. So, 16.9 miles later, we arrived at Cottonwood at about 3:30am, giving us a pace just under 3 miles an hour, including the stops for shedding layers and the refill and Phantom Ranch. One word here; sleep. Being up for 12 hours prior to the hike hit me right there. I closed my eyes and laid down, but the goo kept me from going under. At that point though, your body knows what’s in store, and wouldn’t dare let you fall asleep. So I opened my eyes, and faced the music.
We all had a scrambled egg meal and it was magical. Also, each of us changed socks and liners. It was here I realized my first blunder. As the tape I put on my feet came off with my socks, I had no more duct tape to place on my heel again. I then recalled being at the truck while getting ready. Jeremy told me to wrap a foot of duct tape around the top of my trekking pole because we would not be bringing the roll down with us. Being anxious and full prepared, I blew it off. Now I was in a position where I had to borrow the other guy’s tape. Very selfish; I felt like an ass. Another lesson. Oh well, nothing another goo won’t fix. Down the hatch.
The Green Lantern (my name for the trail sleeping guy) walked up on us again. We asked if he wanted to join us, he grunted something and moved on, only to stop fifty yards up the path alone. Moving along we stopped one more time at Green Lantern, sitting on a bench with his head down. “You going to the North Rim?” Chris asked. “Yeah” the Green Lantern replied, still looking down. “Well you’re more than welcome to join us if you want.” Chris continued. “I think I’m going to take a little break so….. later” the Green Lantern replied. The whole time not so much as looking up at us. I don’t know the etiquette here, but I was annoyed with the guy. Here we are, obviously looking out for a fellow hiker, and he is acting like we’re bugging him. Sorry dude, but remember a couple hours ago when we woke your ass up on the trail, saving you from the mountain lion population? And here you are with a tank top and shorts, one bottle of water, a stupid green light, and an attitude. Whatever, I’m over it…obviously.
Moving on. We are all now donning knit caps, neck warmers, gloves, etc and beginning to climb to the North Rim. The climb is work, no way around it. I remembered to shorten my trekking poles and focused on digging my way up one step at a time, trying to take as much weight off my legs as possible. I found myself leading at a decent pace, in full blown work mode. So fast forward a couple hours. The knit caps are off, along with the wind breakers. We were all down to at most two layers when we could finally make out day break at the distant South Rim. That woke us up a bit, but the hike was getting tougher and tougher. Beginning to wear down, we started getting pace and altitude announcements from Jeremy. That was annoying me a bit, but only because I wanted to know how close we were, not how far. I was getting very hungry, feeling the tank getting empty. I grabbed whatever was closest, which turned out to be Cliff chocolate protein balls and turkey jerky. Let this be a lesson to all of you; jerky and chocolate do not mix, no matter how hungry you are. Puking would have been bad, and I almost did it. I am heaving right now thinking of that…chocolate and jerky…stupid. But it did give me a little fuel. When we finally got the “last mile” notice, I had hope. That turned out to be one very long, cold mile that seemed to take almost an hour. The breaks became pretty regular. We were breaking every mile once leaving Cottonwood, but now we were down to every 10 minutes or so. We started coming across hikers coming down form the North Rim. I tried my best to be courteous, saying hello and smiling, but I eventually stopped and focused on my steps. There is no way around it, some parts of the hike suck. That’s why it’s a challenge, I suppose.
Finally, the peak, the half way point, the North fucking Rim. When we stopped, the cold hit us like a ton of bricks. But we had to eat and drink something. I put down an apple and some jerky, leaving the chocolate alone this time. As cold as I was, I made myself reach into my pack and grab what I thought was my dry change of clothes. Here is another lesson, put some clothes in a dry sack if you’re going in cold weather. The sweat from my back permeated the pack, and my dry clothes were damp…..horrible. I remember looking at my dry sack while packing and deciding to leave it. I pictured it at the very moment, sitting nice, warm, and useless in my hallway closet. Regardless, I figured damp was better than soaked so I changed. I couldn’t sit still any longer and started moving ahead of the guys because I knew I needed heat. My fingers were numb and the trekking poles were not helping. I started thinking about frostbite. Dramatic I’m sure, but I grew up in Michigan, working outside through winters framing homes. I can easily say I never had this type of concern before. I had to take off my gloves and put my hands in my armpits to warm them up, which worked pretty well. Eventually, feeling came back in the form of a burning sensation and I relaxed. Within 10 or 15 minutes, we were low enough and out of the full wind and cold exposure, and started warming up again.
Going down the North Rim we were likes kids in a candy store; giddy, joking, and laughing….minus the candy. The halfway point is a big moment. You can really start counting down the miles. To boot, the sun was up, which gave us another boost of energy, and we didn’t have to face another climb until the end. We were a few miles from another hot meal and I was feeling good.
Heading down the North Rim, I was now an official master of my trekking poles. I was convinced I was doing this entire hike with my arms, saving my knees from the full impact of a five thousand foot descent. And, as 47.7 miles will do, the hike went on. Unfortunately, our giddiness began to wear as we descended, and eventually was gone altogether, replaced by plain old fashioned work. I was ready for a break, when just a few miles ago I was ready to sprint down the canyon. I had a great idea…more goo. There’s a cabin along the way between the North Rim and Cottonwood that offers water. Get some. When we approached the cabin, my bladder was empty. Instead of just filling up, I asked Jeremy how far we had to go. He said just over a mile, and at our pace of just under a 20 minute mile I said to hell with it and moved on. I was in work mode, and even taking off my pack to refill the bladder seemed to distracting. I just wanted to get down, as fast as possible. By the time we were within eyesight of Cottonwood, I was parched.
Finally….Cottonwood. I will spare you the details of the stomach issues I had on the way down and at Cottonwood. I will say that Chris perhaps saved my hike by having some Immodium AD, which at that point tasted better than food. At Cottonwood, we prepared another hot meal; lasagna with meat sauce. Again, magical. Needing to fill my bladder, I was surprised to discover that the only source available at this point was the river. Once again, my city boy instincts kicked in and I thought there was no way possible I could drink water out of a river. Jeremy explained he drank it last year, and it is pure run-off from wherever run-off comes from. So, I made my way over to the river in my bare feet with my bladder. There was a girl there doing some pump thing with her bladder, and some French dudes asking to borrow it to purify their water. I thought that was rude since the same guys just asked us if we had a purifier. We said no (because we didn’t have one), but Jeremy did offer them his last Iodine tablet if they really needed it. They took it. Hearing that conversation, I knew they weren’t going to use tablet, but did they offer it back to him? No. Bad, bad etiquette. Anyway, I worked my way around them and filled my bladder. The water was crystal clear; absolutely spotless. I took a drank and almost weeped. It tasted like the water of the gods; pure, true, natural water. I suddenly laughed at the girl and French dudes for needing to take such an element and add “natural chemicals to it”. Suckers. I was later informed of Beaver Fever. But I’m fine now, and it’s been a few days.
So about to head out through “The Box”, we had a chat. For the last week or so, Noah had been preaching an approach we should all use for the hike; Three, fifteen mile hikes. That’s it. It was a good philosophy. It meant this was the last one, our final stretch, plus two miles. It was close to 11am, and we were wrapping up an hour break, much longer than we had planned. But if you ask me, I thought it was necessary. The guys were a little more concerned with the time than I was. Just getting through this was good enough for me. We discussed our pace and plan over the next 16.9 miles. They decided we needed to get through “The Box” within 2 hours (7.some miles), because the 10 mile ascent from there will be slower, and we couldn’t realistically plan on anything faster than 2 or 2 ½ miles per hour in that stretch. Taking only 10 minute breaks at Phantom Ranch and Indian Garden to refill water, we should be able to finish by 6 or 7pm at the latest. I could live with that, since it wasn’t the excessive 5 mile an hour pace we tried on the way in, but only 4 (big difference, trust me). We agreed and got ready.
So here is where I made my next mistake. To accommodate the pace over the next 2 hours, everyone switched boots. I brought an extra pair with me, which were lighter than the boots I had on. My feet felt fine, sore of course from the 30 previous miles, but pretty good. For some dumbass reason, I switched. Almost instantly, my right Achilles tendon began to get sore and within an hour I felt some friction on my heels and toes. It was nothing serious, but I could feel it. I dropped to the back of the pack and fell behind by a minute or so. I was doing my best, but my stride is only so long, and these guys were moving. Every now and then, one of them would look back, but I would wave them on. I was moving along, enjoying my river water. I decided against goo at this point, wanting to see how much natural energy I had. I also suspected the dozen goo’s had something to do with the “stomach issues”. I put Primus on the Zune, and got to work. Noah moved well ahead of all us, but this guy is a freak, and could have kept that pace up all day if he wanted. Every now and then his trekking poles would be raised in the air and pumped toward the sky, as he energetically embraced the music playing in his headphones. We passed a pair of bighorn sheep, perhaps the most impressive hikers on the planet. Watching them burst up the mountain, you could feel the power in their legs. Absolutely awestruck. Jeremy and Chris were stopping, taking videos and pictures.
But back to me, I started feeling every rock, and the closer we got to Phantom Ranch, the more my left knee would throb. We started passing more people, which was a good distraction. We even passed a group of three 20 something ladies, and I gave them my best smirk and nod. They were already giggling, as they just passed Chris and Jeremy ahead of me. One of them was doing the “How you doin?” in Joey from Friends fashion, aimed at Chris or Jeremy. Considering how they were discussing the men they just passed, I don’t think I made much of an impression at that point. Go on girls, play hard to get.
Phantom Ranch; 10 miles to go. We hit our goal of two hours through “The Box”, so far so good. We refilled the bladders, and chatted with a few campers about the benefits of trekking poles and the difficulty of finding the shut off point for the water spigot. Every single person who tried to refill, would get a high pressure blast as they tried to shut the spigot off, no matter how hard they focused on avoiding it. I could have sat their all day watching people spray themselves. Also at this point, my concern peaked. My left knee was absolutely throbbing and even getting difficult to bend. I had already downed a dozen advils in the last 12 hours, so I was out of luck taking more, unless I wanted to add ulcer to my list of problems. I took off the lighter boots and put the good ones back on. I don’t know for a fact if that’s why I suddenly hurt, but in hindsight I will say one thing; if it isn’t broken, don’t fix it. I now had blisters forming on my heels and toes, my Achilles was acting up, and the knee…oh the knee.
The guys wanted me to lead, not understanding my condition. They said I set a good uphill pace. I thought that might help take my mind off the pain, so I agreed. I got a head start and hoped it would just loosen up. I was wrong. Every time I had to push off that leg or had it bump into a rock or ledge, it would shoot a pain up my leg, causing me to openly moan. I was in a bad way. The guys eventually caught up with me. Chris started sharing my grief, saying his knee was throbbing him too, but mostly going downhill. I gave him what advils I had left and once again fell behind. Jeremy would stay back with me as much as he could, but eventually they were a good 2 tenths of a mile ahead. My goo ban was over, and I put another one down.
By the time I arrived at Indian Gardens I was worried. I would stop and strectch every few minutes but it wasn’t helping. Chris kept asking me how I was, which was starting to bug me. God bless him, the guy is endlessly positive, and I wasn’t so much annoyed with the questioning as I was envious with his ability to maintain such a great vibe through a grueling trek. At one point he said, “Man Dylan, I can always count on you for some bad news.” I heard him loud and clear, and decided I needed to find his vibe. Anyway, I asked them to stop asking me about the knee, it hurt like a bitch, but I had to keep moving. I was dreaming of stopping at the ranger station, offering them money to stay with them and hitch the next mule train. I will mention that at this point I felt wide awake. I mean wide, just woke up from a full night’s sleep awake. Don’t know where it came from, but the guys noticed it too. Hey, whatever works.
The guys were wrapping up their break at the gardens, and I decided I was going to be very slow so got moving ahead of them. That was perhaps the best motivation I had. I didn’t want to let them catch up with me. I started putting more weight on my poles than ever, pushing off my right leg and pulling my left leg behind me. I noticed after a while I wasn’t even bending that leg, and sort of swinging it around like a peg. But I was moving. I finally stopped and stretched, in vain. I look up toward the South Rim, and told myself “There is only one way out of here, one step at a time. It’s going to hurt, but each and every step means I’m closer. So (pardon my language) stop fucking complaining to yourself, and get moving you pussy. Its pain and its not going away. But you’re not getting out of here without dealing with it, and you have to get out of here.” And another goo helped.
I found myself moving along pretty well and realized I couldn’t even see the guys behind me. I was relieved not to be slowing them down. It made me want to move even faster. Every now and then I would hit my left leg against a ledge, or have to push off it, and it would absolutely throb. I would just repeat my mantra, over and over. “You’ll be done eventually. One step at a time. Go.” I started passing a couple people, now that was some confidence. I caught up to cutie who was waiting for her “friend”, because he struggling a bit (her words, not mine). She was cute, with my kind of booty. Before I had a chance to catch myself, I was hitting on her. Here I am, up for 31 hours and hiking for 42 miles, but finding the energy and absolute necessity to talk to this girl. She moved to San Diego from the East coast, but had passed through Phoenix (Our home) at a friend’s house on the way to the canyon. I was going to ask for her number, but knew there wasn’t a pen in sight. I was thinking about using that number as motivation, chanting it over and over as distraction while I hiked. But I refrained, and kept it as a nice conversation. I let her go and said I needed to take a little break. That gave me a nice little boost. I perked up and found a little more strength. Thank you gorgeous, whoever you are.
Ok, the final stretch, less than 4 miles. The guys caught up to me and we were moving as a pack once again. At this point, with the end in sight, we were all struggling. It started getting dark, but I wasn’t about to stop and get my headlamp back out. Jeremy and Noah joined me in negativity. But once again, Chris prevailed, moving along as happy as could be. I want to officially thank him for coming along, as annoyed as I was, he was necessary. This, however, is where you start hitting the proverbial wall. You find yourself looking up, only to find discouragement as the switchbacks and switchbacks and switchbacks reveal themselves by way of hikers and their headlamps far above. To top things off, the wind blew in around each corner; the freezing cold wind blowing on our sweaty, damp bodies. Miserable. But we moved along, having less then 2 miles to go. 2 miles to go. Do you know how great that sounds after starting with 47.6 miles to go? But it was a struggle. I found myself yelling at certain steps I deemed too high to make logical sense. Then there was this stupid pit, and I hollered at it. Noah later told me it was for drainage. Whatever. My left leg was a board by now, unable to bend it at all. Finally, I heard the voice of reason, Chris, tell Jeremy we need to stop at the next tunnel. Easily the best idea of the entire hike….easily. We stopped and I took off my pack without thinking twice. I had enough awareness to pull out my fleece for the first time, but decided getting my headlamp out was too much effort. I was bitching about something, for theatrical effect only. “Can you stop? Nobody wants to hear that.” Jeremy said. “Oh, I don’t care, this isn’t directed at you. All this, this is all for me” I replied, embracing myself. I guess you had to be there, but it was pretty funny. We found ourselves laughing and chatting about all sorts of crap, including the people we passed on the way up, who, considering the declining weather patterns, were heading for certain doom the way they were dressed and equipped. Chris pulled out some almonds, handed them out, and I downed a bag of trail mix like a shot. Can you say second wind? Holy shit. With the trail head in sight, Jeremy took off like a bat out of hell. I heard his voice ahead saying “I’m gonna go get the truck and warm it up.” That was awesome. Noah stayed behind Chris and I, using his light for all three of us and patiently tolerating our old man pains, laughing at our complaints, which at this time were being said on my behalf for the humor effect alone. But damn were we moving. Before we knew it, we had the last straightaway in front of us. Then, 21 hours and 40 minutes after starting, we were done at 6:40 pm.
We found Jeremy at the truck, hopped in, went to check-in, made our dinner reservations, and went back to the room to shower. We talked about all sorts of things, the pain, the fun, the laughs, the goo. We feasted at El Tavar, and found ourselves almost falling asleep every time we blinked. The staff knew what we had done, and tolerated our quirkiness, along with the nearby patrons. I noticed people looking at us curiously, then a staff member would explain to them what we had just done. They would smile at us and go about their business, pretending to understand. I can’t explain how delicious our beers were, how wonderful the slab of cow was, and how comfortable that seat felt. Sleep was not as great as expected, turns out the Dougherty brothers like to turn the heat up at night, which I despise. Noah also wanted to prevent us from sleeping in, mission accomplished. I tossed and turned a little bit, but I was aware that this was better than being in that damn canyon.
The next morning we woke up to a pretty good snowfall. I woke up to a useless left leg and some minor blisters. We compared our bruises and deemed the hike a success. We also discussed goo, very briefly. You know that feeling after a drunken night? You’re hung over as hell, and when you think of the liquor or beer that put you in that shape, your stomach turns and you feel yourself fighting back the yacks. Well we had the same sentiment towards goo. I didn’t want to think of it, and swore it off for the rest of my life. Dramatic, I know. Goo, I love it, but I hate it.
Moving on, we stopped just outside the park for some coffee and a chorizo burrito. Jeremy bought the “Death in the Canyon” book, and we learned in the paper that we had just missed a casualty on our trail by about a half an hour, a faller. What do you do? We climbed back in the truck. Homeward bound; back to our leashes.
We all knew half way into that hike that we would never want or need to do that again. But the absolute second you’re done, it was worth everything; every twinge, every throb of pain, every turn of the stomach. I couldn’t imagine a better group of guys to do that with. In hindsight, we were well prepared. I was proud of myself for bringing extra “aaa” batteries for the headlamps, as Noah and Chris’s ran out at Cottonwood. I also left my extra bladder at the truck, which would have turned out to be useless had I brought it along. I used every article of clothing, including three pairs of socks and liners, a wind breaker, 4 dry-fit long sleeve shirts, 2 short sleeve dry-fit shirts, a pair of thermal bottoms, gloves (for warmth and abrasion), a neck warmer, an ear warmer, a knit cap, and my fleece hoodie. The extra necessities were the trekking poles (vital), mp3 players, duct tape, advils, Immodium AD ( and toilet paper), and silverware (don’t forget the fork and spoon). Jermey and Noah were also equipped with a SPOT device, which allowed us to provide several links to friends and family so they could track us. It is also equipped with emergency buttons for help, and other buttons that allow you to send messages to friends regarding our status along the way. As far as food, I had a good amount. I left still having a bag of jerky, an energy bar, and several goo’s, but I would rather have them and not need them than the other way around. I never did use my sunglasses. The big issue was the boots. Switching them messed me up. I can’t stress enough to acknowledge what is working and what isn’t. Also, go the extra effort when you can. Suck it up and fill the bladder. O another note, during our practice hike I used a day pack, which was packed tightly. I decided to use my multi-day for the R2R2R and have it be perhaps a little heavier, but considerably more comfortable. A good decision in the end, in my opinion.
This wasn’t a hike to enjoy the canyon. This was a challenge, plain and simple. I spent most of my time looking ten feet on front of me. I did make myself stop, look up, and take a long deep breath on several occasions, enjoying the beauty of it all. The canyon is simply the most glorious place I could ever think of, and the next time we go we will enjoy it. We’ll camp, and hike a dozen or so miles at a time, and take many more long, deep breaths.
On the way home, we passed several mountains and discussed other hikes we’d like to do. We started talking about people in general, how they can get trapped in inactivity, becoming dormant and out of shape. We’re not trying to be judgmental, just talking. I’m going to say something here, so I can take credit for it before Jeremy steals it for his website (GetoutGetlost.com, shameless plug…sorry). We were talking about not letting yourself get to that point of no return, and I said “It’s better to play keep up than to play catch up.” How beautiful is that? I know, I know. Here’s a tissue. But it’s true. You CAN get out and get lost (again…shameless), and you should. Your world wasn’t meant to have walls around built around you. Go see what you can find, and before you know it something out there will find you, and you’ll be hooked. Oxygen is a beautiful thing, and I thank the Dougherty brothers and Chris for making me go get my fair share. Sorry for the soap box, I’m done. Go live.
Dylan Bucknavich
And to what do I owe these physical and mental presences? The Grand Canyon. More specifically, the rim to rim to rim hike. If you’re reading this you already know what it is, just over 47 total miles. Starting at the South Rim Bright Angel trail, it descends about 9 miles through Indian Gardens to Phantom Ranch. From there, it’s about 8 miles of rolling and flat canyon through “The Box” to Cottonwood. From there, it’s the final 7-ish miles ascending up to the North Rim. And the kicker is having to go back. And the kicker on top of the original kicker is doing all this in under 24 hours.
I was invited to go along by friends of mine, the Dougherty brothers; Jeremy and Noah. They also convinced another mutual friend to come along; Chris. Between the four of us, we represent a ten year age span. Noah is the youngest at 26, Jeremy at 29, me at 33, and Chris at 37. Jeremy, Noah, and another friend of ours attempted the same hike last winter, and were hit by a severe winter storm by the time they peaked the North rim. Breaking trail, encouragement, and who knows what else got them through it in just over 24 hours. The friend they brought along had some serious challenges along the way, finding the need to stop and rest a mile or so before the North rim. Thankfully he did that and was able to make it back. I am not criticizing him at all, just relaying the story. I won’t get into any more detail than that, because I couldn’t pretend to understand how that felt to any of them. You’ll have to ask those three about the experience. What I do know is that after that, the Dougherty brothers were dead set on getting this challenge under their belt. The friend who went with them last time is a new father, and would not be joining us on the return trip.
This story is going to be written as an invitee. I did nothing to plan the trip. I had Jeremy and Noah tell me everything, from the necessary amount and type of pack, socks, gloves, hats, meals, energy bars, and goo’s (I just cringed at that last word, long story, you’ll see why later). They even planned the practice hikes. I attempted to gain as much insight as possible as to what I was in for, but they could only do so much to explain, and now I understand. I probably understood before we started, but the fact is you have to live it to know it. But if you’re looking for expert advice of how to plan this trip, I am not the guy. If you want to know what it’s like for an amateur like me to go through this, then hopefully this helps a bit. Bottom line is I was along for the ride, and a damn fine ride it was.
As far as agreeing to go along, myself and the brothers probably both knew I would do it, regardless of how hesitant I pretended to be. It’s hard to explain why I agreed, much harder anyway, then it would be to explain why I shouldn’t. For me, I guess it’s just there, the need to get “out there”. It makes no sense, yet something “out there” calls you. And I know that when I’m “out there”, I’m doing something that might be painful, but at the same time healthy, at least mentally. I suppose I kind of feel like a dog in civilization, and this is a chance to be let off the leash. Wow, poetry.
As far as my condition, I am a fairly athletic, 33 year old guy. I’m a little fellow, at 5’7”, 160 pounds. I have a good, natural metabolism, the kind that lets me get away with an unfair amount of neglect. I get antsy sitting around and have always had jobs that require me to be on my feet. I play hockey 2 to 3 times a week, I ride my mountain bike a couple times a month at nearby South Mountain, and I workout fairly regularly, sometimes intensely. Although I may go through the occasional lazy phase, I can only allow them to go on for so long, before I get mad with myself and rekindle the flames of physical activity. I’m just trying to give you an idea of how someone like me reacts to such a physically demanding trip. Before this expedition, I would say that work had been consuming me. A while ago, I was two weeks away from completing P90X, until I tweaked my knee during one of the routines. A week after that, my knee was feeling better, but I came down with a nasty cold that had me wheezing for a good two weeks. I was still making myself skate at least once a week, but I could feel myself getting into a lazy spell. It had probably been a good month since I officially worked out before Jeremy got me off my ass and onto a trail.
To get our feet wet, the four of us did a practice hike through the Phoenix Mountain Preserve around Squaw Peak Mountain a week before the big hike. That was 28 miles of gradual ascents and descents, but mostly rolling desert landscape just to break in and test our equipment and bodies. I will mention here, going back to the guy’s attempt last year, that the friend who had some trouble on the R2R2R did not do a practice hike. I don’t know if that would have changed anything, but facts are facts so take that for what it’s worth. Overall, the practice hike went well. We stopped at 16 miles for a hot meal of freeze dried ready meals, and were back at the truck after 11 hours. I probably consumed a bag of trail mix, a bag of beef jerky, 2 energy bars, an apple, and 6 or 7 goo’s (ulf, there’s that cringe again). I was surprised about how good I felt afterwards, and really started looking forward to the challenge of the R2R2R. I credit most of my well being to the boots. The practice hike was my first time wearing them, and had not so much as a sore spot or blister. This is important, and something I should have remembered during our R2R2R. The next day I did have some soreness in my right Achilles tendon, but nothing too concerning.
So fast forward to Thanksgiving. I’m enjoying dinner with the family and relaxing as much as I can. The next afternoon, I know we’re going to drive up, have a meal, and start hiking. I have to admit I was nervous and a little skeptical about being up for almost 12 hours before staring a 24 hour hike. I figured I would just have to find a way to get over that, and hoped my body would cooperate. But honestly, I wanted to beg and plead with them to start the hike immediately after a sleep. I slept in as much as I could on Friday, and finally woke up about 10:30 am.
We hit the road at 2pm-ish, and arrived at the park with full bellies about 8- 8:30. After parking, changing, and a little stretching, we were at the Bright Angel Trailhead ready to go. We took a group picture, and watched humorously as Chris tried to figure out his camera timer. The fourth time was finally the charm. The flash snapped, we packed in, and got ready. I strapped on the trekking poles, turned toward the canyon, and felt my stomach drop.
It hit me right there, along with a cold, deep wind. I looked out into pitch black. I couldn’t see a thing, but I could sure as hell feel it. I felt the abyss, felt the deepness of it all, like the infinite open spaces were an element all their own. I tried my damndest to comprehend how far we really had to go. It was a strange feeling, sensing the openness of the canyon, almost like vertigo. I had been here before, even hiked down and camped a couple nights. But being there with the pack on, ready to throw myself at the canyon’s mercy, was a different animal. I was wearing 3 layers of dry-fit clothing, a windbreaker jacket, thermal underwear, gloves, neck warmer, hoodie, and a great pair of gore-tex boots. But standing in the face of that monster, I thought I might as well be naked. And it began with the next step.
We all threw down some goo, I started with a double espresso (double caffeine). I found myself going over a mental and physical inventory while on those first few steps. I had already panicked several times prior to this night about how much food and clothing to bring, lying in bed thinking about the perfect balance of energy bars, trail mix and ….yuck…..goo. But this one was different. I was having a conversation with myself about what was to come over the next 47 miles. In the middle of the inventory, I found myself sweating profusely. I stopped five minutes into our hike, and convinced everyone to shed a layer of clothing. I don’t know if we would have just gone on sweating, but when I suggested it and began taking off my pack, everyone seemed more than agreeable. Jeremy even depantsed and removed his thermal underwear. That was lesson number #1- speak up, you’d be surprised how good of an idea you might be holding onto.
The hike continued along with my “inventory”. About ten minutes later (don’t worry, I’m not going to detail every ten minutes over the next 24 hours), I felt a pain in my right achilles tendon, the same area of soreness I felt after our practice hike. It began to throb with every step, increasing in intensity and actually shooting up my right leg, making me stumble slightly. Noah was in front of me, and I expressed my concern about the pain to him. What could he do? I actually considered turning around while I could still make out the top of the trailhead. I thought “I’m one mile into a 47 mile trek, and what kind of idiot am I to put these guys in a position to carry me through this if I couldn’t go any further?” Now what I was probably really thinking was “What the hell am I doing? 47 miles? Really? I should quit now while I can.” Noah gave me what encouragement he could and I trodded along. After the next mile, it loosened up and I eased myself into the task at hand. My first panic attacked proved futile, and I was going to have to get myself through this whether I liked it or not. It was at that point my hike began.
The first rest point was Indian Gardens, we arrived fairly quickly in my opinion, with little or no issues. At one point Noah did make fun of me about something, then immediately fell forward and hit his knee on a rock, cutting it a bit. What did you learn Noah? Jeremy was using his Forerunner to determine our pace, making sure we were keeping above 3 miles an hour. Not expending too much energy on the way there, we bypassed the chance to refill our bladders and proceeded to Phantom Ranch. Right after leaving Indian Gardens, Jeremy decided it would be a good idea to inform myself and Chris about the mountain lion population in the canyon. So naturally, we spent the next 8 hours of darkness scanning the fields with our headlamps around every new bend looking for glowing eyes that would be looking at us as food. Every time we say something, it turned out to be a deer. But there was a scare at one point when we couldn’t confirm it. Noah said “Is it a predator?” Predator. That word spooked me. I know, I’m ranting. But I’m a city boy used to falling asleep to the sound of traffic, and around my neighborhood the only thing that bit were mosquitoes. Not necessarily predator material there. To add insult to injury, Noah and Jeremy would point out every time we were walking through a “perfect ambush spot”. Bastards.
Back to the hike. The hike from Indian Gardens to Phantom Ranch is one of my favorites and mostly a descent, but this time it was dominated by sand the closer you got to the river and all along the bank. It was a break from the impact of the descent, but took a little more effort for the stride. It started feeling like a beach once we could make out the bridge over the Colorado. Nevertheless, we arrived at Phantom Ranch and hit the rest area. Noah and I removed our thermal underwear since we could feel the weight of the sweat saturated pants on our thighs every time we lifted our legs. Everyone refilled our bladders and ate more goo, along with random food including PB&J, etc. We were all feeling great and ready to keep going.
The next leg is “The Box”, which leads to Cottonwood through a series of endless bends and bridges along Bright Angel Creek. About ten minutes in, Chris and I saw something on the trail. He stopped and focused, and I ducked behind him for shelter, because hey, I’m a survivalist. It turned out to be a man wearing running clothes, lying down next to a flashlight and bottle of water. I though “You’re kidding me, we just found a body…not a person…but a body.” Thankfully he woke up as we approached, because I had enough weight on me already without having to carry a corpse up to the North Rim. We made sure he was ok and offered him water and food. He declined, and insisted he was fine. I was skeptical considering how chilly it was already, with a significant drop to 18 expected by sunrise. But we moved on. Several minutes later, his green light was following us about a minute behind. The “canyon madman serial killer” jokes began. Poor Noah was anchoring and was probably at least a little bit expecting a blade to come across his throat at any time.
Chris started leading at a very steady pace, almost 5 miles per hour. I will say here that I did protest the pace a little bit. Let’s go back to the little fellow part. My legs are about 2 ½ feet long, and I’m hiking with nobody shorter than 6 feet. My stride was being maximized at this point, and I thought we were wearing ourselves down for the ascent up the North Rim. But alas, the short dude got over ruled. I could have sworn Chris was almost running. So what did I do? Took another goo, put some Dodo’s on the Zune, and sucked it up. Turns out though, that by the time we reached Cottonwood, we were going about 2 ½ miles an hour. So the way I see it, we could have maintained a pace of about 4 the whole way and saved a little energy, but this is hindsight, and only a possibility. But you should definitely consider this while you’re down there.
I will tell you that I considered “The Box” the easiest part of the hike. You just go over rolling canyons for 8 miles. It does get to you near the end, because it just doesn’t seem to end, and we were getting hungry for our first warm meal. So, 16.9 miles later, we arrived at Cottonwood at about 3:30am, giving us a pace just under 3 miles an hour, including the stops for shedding layers and the refill and Phantom Ranch. One word here; sleep. Being up for 12 hours prior to the hike hit me right there. I closed my eyes and laid down, but the goo kept me from going under. At that point though, your body knows what’s in store, and wouldn’t dare let you fall asleep. So I opened my eyes, and faced the music.
We all had a scrambled egg meal and it was magical. Also, each of us changed socks and liners. It was here I realized my first blunder. As the tape I put on my feet came off with my socks, I had no more duct tape to place on my heel again. I then recalled being at the truck while getting ready. Jeremy told me to wrap a foot of duct tape around the top of my trekking pole because we would not be bringing the roll down with us. Being anxious and full prepared, I blew it off. Now I was in a position where I had to borrow the other guy’s tape. Very selfish; I felt like an ass. Another lesson. Oh well, nothing another goo won’t fix. Down the hatch.
The Green Lantern (my name for the trail sleeping guy) walked up on us again. We asked if he wanted to join us, he grunted something and moved on, only to stop fifty yards up the path alone. Moving along we stopped one more time at Green Lantern, sitting on a bench with his head down. “You going to the North Rim?” Chris asked. “Yeah” the Green Lantern replied, still looking down. “Well you’re more than welcome to join us if you want.” Chris continued. “I think I’m going to take a little break so….. later” the Green Lantern replied. The whole time not so much as looking up at us. I don’t know the etiquette here, but I was annoyed with the guy. Here we are, obviously looking out for a fellow hiker, and he is acting like we’re bugging him. Sorry dude, but remember a couple hours ago when we woke your ass up on the trail, saving you from the mountain lion population? And here you are with a tank top and shorts, one bottle of water, a stupid green light, and an attitude. Whatever, I’m over it…obviously.
Moving on. We are all now donning knit caps, neck warmers, gloves, etc and beginning to climb to the North Rim. The climb is work, no way around it. I remembered to shorten my trekking poles and focused on digging my way up one step at a time, trying to take as much weight off my legs as possible. I found myself leading at a decent pace, in full blown work mode. So fast forward a couple hours. The knit caps are off, along with the wind breakers. We were all down to at most two layers when we could finally make out day break at the distant South Rim. That woke us up a bit, but the hike was getting tougher and tougher. Beginning to wear down, we started getting pace and altitude announcements from Jeremy. That was annoying me a bit, but only because I wanted to know how close we were, not how far. I was getting very hungry, feeling the tank getting empty. I grabbed whatever was closest, which turned out to be Cliff chocolate protein balls and turkey jerky. Let this be a lesson to all of you; jerky and chocolate do not mix, no matter how hungry you are. Puking would have been bad, and I almost did it. I am heaving right now thinking of that…chocolate and jerky…stupid. But it did give me a little fuel. When we finally got the “last mile” notice, I had hope. That turned out to be one very long, cold mile that seemed to take almost an hour. The breaks became pretty regular. We were breaking every mile once leaving Cottonwood, but now we were down to every 10 minutes or so. We started coming across hikers coming down form the North Rim. I tried my best to be courteous, saying hello and smiling, but I eventually stopped and focused on my steps. There is no way around it, some parts of the hike suck. That’s why it’s a challenge, I suppose.
Finally, the peak, the half way point, the North fucking Rim. When we stopped, the cold hit us like a ton of bricks. But we had to eat and drink something. I put down an apple and some jerky, leaving the chocolate alone this time. As cold as I was, I made myself reach into my pack and grab what I thought was my dry change of clothes. Here is another lesson, put some clothes in a dry sack if you’re going in cold weather. The sweat from my back permeated the pack, and my dry clothes were damp…..horrible. I remember looking at my dry sack while packing and deciding to leave it. I pictured it at the very moment, sitting nice, warm, and useless in my hallway closet. Regardless, I figured damp was better than soaked so I changed. I couldn’t sit still any longer and started moving ahead of the guys because I knew I needed heat. My fingers were numb and the trekking poles were not helping. I started thinking about frostbite. Dramatic I’m sure, but I grew up in Michigan, working outside through winters framing homes. I can easily say I never had this type of concern before. I had to take off my gloves and put my hands in my armpits to warm them up, which worked pretty well. Eventually, feeling came back in the form of a burning sensation and I relaxed. Within 10 or 15 minutes, we were low enough and out of the full wind and cold exposure, and started warming up again.
Going down the North Rim we were likes kids in a candy store; giddy, joking, and laughing….minus the candy. The halfway point is a big moment. You can really start counting down the miles. To boot, the sun was up, which gave us another boost of energy, and we didn’t have to face another climb until the end. We were a few miles from another hot meal and I was feeling good.
Heading down the North Rim, I was now an official master of my trekking poles. I was convinced I was doing this entire hike with my arms, saving my knees from the full impact of a five thousand foot descent. And, as 47.7 miles will do, the hike went on. Unfortunately, our giddiness began to wear as we descended, and eventually was gone altogether, replaced by plain old fashioned work. I was ready for a break, when just a few miles ago I was ready to sprint down the canyon. I had a great idea…more goo. There’s a cabin along the way between the North Rim and Cottonwood that offers water. Get some. When we approached the cabin, my bladder was empty. Instead of just filling up, I asked Jeremy how far we had to go. He said just over a mile, and at our pace of just under a 20 minute mile I said to hell with it and moved on. I was in work mode, and even taking off my pack to refill the bladder seemed to distracting. I just wanted to get down, as fast as possible. By the time we were within eyesight of Cottonwood, I was parched.
Finally….Cottonwood. I will spare you the details of the stomach issues I had on the way down and at Cottonwood. I will say that Chris perhaps saved my hike by having some Immodium AD, which at that point tasted better than food. At Cottonwood, we prepared another hot meal; lasagna with meat sauce. Again, magical. Needing to fill my bladder, I was surprised to discover that the only source available at this point was the river. Once again, my city boy instincts kicked in and I thought there was no way possible I could drink water out of a river. Jeremy explained he drank it last year, and it is pure run-off from wherever run-off comes from. So, I made my way over to the river in my bare feet with my bladder. There was a girl there doing some pump thing with her bladder, and some French dudes asking to borrow it to purify their water. I thought that was rude since the same guys just asked us if we had a purifier. We said no (because we didn’t have one), but Jeremy did offer them his last Iodine tablet if they really needed it. They took it. Hearing that conversation, I knew they weren’t going to use tablet, but did they offer it back to him? No. Bad, bad etiquette. Anyway, I worked my way around them and filled my bladder. The water was crystal clear; absolutely spotless. I took a drank and almost weeped. It tasted like the water of the gods; pure, true, natural water. I suddenly laughed at the girl and French dudes for needing to take such an element and add “natural chemicals to it”. Suckers. I was later informed of Beaver Fever. But I’m fine now, and it’s been a few days.
So about to head out through “The Box”, we had a chat. For the last week or so, Noah had been preaching an approach we should all use for the hike; Three, fifteen mile hikes. That’s it. It was a good philosophy. It meant this was the last one, our final stretch, plus two miles. It was close to 11am, and we were wrapping up an hour break, much longer than we had planned. But if you ask me, I thought it was necessary. The guys were a little more concerned with the time than I was. Just getting through this was good enough for me. We discussed our pace and plan over the next 16.9 miles. They decided we needed to get through “The Box” within 2 hours (7.some miles), because the 10 mile ascent from there will be slower, and we couldn’t realistically plan on anything faster than 2 or 2 ½ miles per hour in that stretch. Taking only 10 minute breaks at Phantom Ranch and Indian Garden to refill water, we should be able to finish by 6 or 7pm at the latest. I could live with that, since it wasn’t the excessive 5 mile an hour pace we tried on the way in, but only 4 (big difference, trust me). We agreed and got ready.
So here is where I made my next mistake. To accommodate the pace over the next 2 hours, everyone switched boots. I brought an extra pair with me, which were lighter than the boots I had on. My feet felt fine, sore of course from the 30 previous miles, but pretty good. For some dumbass reason, I switched. Almost instantly, my right Achilles tendon began to get sore and within an hour I felt some friction on my heels and toes. It was nothing serious, but I could feel it. I dropped to the back of the pack and fell behind by a minute or so. I was doing my best, but my stride is only so long, and these guys were moving. Every now and then, one of them would look back, but I would wave them on. I was moving along, enjoying my river water. I decided against goo at this point, wanting to see how much natural energy I had. I also suspected the dozen goo’s had something to do with the “stomach issues”. I put Primus on the Zune, and got to work. Noah moved well ahead of all us, but this guy is a freak, and could have kept that pace up all day if he wanted. Every now and then his trekking poles would be raised in the air and pumped toward the sky, as he energetically embraced the music playing in his headphones. We passed a pair of bighorn sheep, perhaps the most impressive hikers on the planet. Watching them burst up the mountain, you could feel the power in their legs. Absolutely awestruck. Jeremy and Chris were stopping, taking videos and pictures.
But back to me, I started feeling every rock, and the closer we got to Phantom Ranch, the more my left knee would throb. We started passing more people, which was a good distraction. We even passed a group of three 20 something ladies, and I gave them my best smirk and nod. They were already giggling, as they just passed Chris and Jeremy ahead of me. One of them was doing the “How you doin?” in Joey from Friends fashion, aimed at Chris or Jeremy. Considering how they were discussing the men they just passed, I don’t think I made much of an impression at that point. Go on girls, play hard to get.
Phantom Ranch; 10 miles to go. We hit our goal of two hours through “The Box”, so far so good. We refilled the bladders, and chatted with a few campers about the benefits of trekking poles and the difficulty of finding the shut off point for the water spigot. Every single person who tried to refill, would get a high pressure blast as they tried to shut the spigot off, no matter how hard they focused on avoiding it. I could have sat their all day watching people spray themselves. Also at this point, my concern peaked. My left knee was absolutely throbbing and even getting difficult to bend. I had already downed a dozen advils in the last 12 hours, so I was out of luck taking more, unless I wanted to add ulcer to my list of problems. I took off the lighter boots and put the good ones back on. I don’t know for a fact if that’s why I suddenly hurt, but in hindsight I will say one thing; if it isn’t broken, don’t fix it. I now had blisters forming on my heels and toes, my Achilles was acting up, and the knee…oh the knee.
The guys wanted me to lead, not understanding my condition. They said I set a good uphill pace. I thought that might help take my mind off the pain, so I agreed. I got a head start and hoped it would just loosen up. I was wrong. Every time I had to push off that leg or had it bump into a rock or ledge, it would shoot a pain up my leg, causing me to openly moan. I was in a bad way. The guys eventually caught up with me. Chris started sharing my grief, saying his knee was throbbing him too, but mostly going downhill. I gave him what advils I had left and once again fell behind. Jeremy would stay back with me as much as he could, but eventually they were a good 2 tenths of a mile ahead. My goo ban was over, and I put another one down.
By the time I arrived at Indian Gardens I was worried. I would stop and strectch every few minutes but it wasn’t helping. Chris kept asking me how I was, which was starting to bug me. God bless him, the guy is endlessly positive, and I wasn’t so much annoyed with the questioning as I was envious with his ability to maintain such a great vibe through a grueling trek. At one point he said, “Man Dylan, I can always count on you for some bad news.” I heard him loud and clear, and decided I needed to find his vibe. Anyway, I asked them to stop asking me about the knee, it hurt like a bitch, but I had to keep moving. I was dreaming of stopping at the ranger station, offering them money to stay with them and hitch the next mule train. I will mention that at this point I felt wide awake. I mean wide, just woke up from a full night’s sleep awake. Don’t know where it came from, but the guys noticed it too. Hey, whatever works.
The guys were wrapping up their break at the gardens, and I decided I was going to be very slow so got moving ahead of them. That was perhaps the best motivation I had. I didn’t want to let them catch up with me. I started putting more weight on my poles than ever, pushing off my right leg and pulling my left leg behind me. I noticed after a while I wasn’t even bending that leg, and sort of swinging it around like a peg. But I was moving. I finally stopped and stretched, in vain. I look up toward the South Rim, and told myself “There is only one way out of here, one step at a time. It’s going to hurt, but each and every step means I’m closer. So (pardon my language) stop fucking complaining to yourself, and get moving you pussy. Its pain and its not going away. But you’re not getting out of here without dealing with it, and you have to get out of here.” And another goo helped.
I found myself moving along pretty well and realized I couldn’t even see the guys behind me. I was relieved not to be slowing them down. It made me want to move even faster. Every now and then I would hit my left leg against a ledge, or have to push off it, and it would absolutely throb. I would just repeat my mantra, over and over. “You’ll be done eventually. One step at a time. Go.” I started passing a couple people, now that was some confidence. I caught up to cutie who was waiting for her “friend”, because he struggling a bit (her words, not mine). She was cute, with my kind of booty. Before I had a chance to catch myself, I was hitting on her. Here I am, up for 31 hours and hiking for 42 miles, but finding the energy and absolute necessity to talk to this girl. She moved to San Diego from the East coast, but had passed through Phoenix (Our home) at a friend’s house on the way to the canyon. I was going to ask for her number, but knew there wasn’t a pen in sight. I was thinking about using that number as motivation, chanting it over and over as distraction while I hiked. But I refrained, and kept it as a nice conversation. I let her go and said I needed to take a little break. That gave me a nice little boost. I perked up and found a little more strength. Thank you gorgeous, whoever you are.
Ok, the final stretch, less than 4 miles. The guys caught up to me and we were moving as a pack once again. At this point, with the end in sight, we were all struggling. It started getting dark, but I wasn’t about to stop and get my headlamp back out. Jeremy and Noah joined me in negativity. But once again, Chris prevailed, moving along as happy as could be. I want to officially thank him for coming along, as annoyed as I was, he was necessary. This, however, is where you start hitting the proverbial wall. You find yourself looking up, only to find discouragement as the switchbacks and switchbacks and switchbacks reveal themselves by way of hikers and their headlamps far above. To top things off, the wind blew in around each corner; the freezing cold wind blowing on our sweaty, damp bodies. Miserable. But we moved along, having less then 2 miles to go. 2 miles to go. Do you know how great that sounds after starting with 47.6 miles to go? But it was a struggle. I found myself yelling at certain steps I deemed too high to make logical sense. Then there was this stupid pit, and I hollered at it. Noah later told me it was for drainage. Whatever. My left leg was a board by now, unable to bend it at all. Finally, I heard the voice of reason, Chris, tell Jeremy we need to stop at the next tunnel. Easily the best idea of the entire hike….easily. We stopped and I took off my pack without thinking twice. I had enough awareness to pull out my fleece for the first time, but decided getting my headlamp out was too much effort. I was bitching about something, for theatrical effect only. “Can you stop? Nobody wants to hear that.” Jeremy said. “Oh, I don’t care, this isn’t directed at you. All this, this is all for me” I replied, embracing myself. I guess you had to be there, but it was pretty funny. We found ourselves laughing and chatting about all sorts of crap, including the people we passed on the way up, who, considering the declining weather patterns, were heading for certain doom the way they were dressed and equipped. Chris pulled out some almonds, handed them out, and I downed a bag of trail mix like a shot. Can you say second wind? Holy shit. With the trail head in sight, Jeremy took off like a bat out of hell. I heard his voice ahead saying “I’m gonna go get the truck and warm it up.” That was awesome. Noah stayed behind Chris and I, using his light for all three of us and patiently tolerating our old man pains, laughing at our complaints, which at this time were being said on my behalf for the humor effect alone. But damn were we moving. Before we knew it, we had the last straightaway in front of us. Then, 21 hours and 40 minutes after starting, we were done at 6:40 pm.
We found Jeremy at the truck, hopped in, went to check-in, made our dinner reservations, and went back to the room to shower. We talked about all sorts of things, the pain, the fun, the laughs, the goo. We feasted at El Tavar, and found ourselves almost falling asleep every time we blinked. The staff knew what we had done, and tolerated our quirkiness, along with the nearby patrons. I noticed people looking at us curiously, then a staff member would explain to them what we had just done. They would smile at us and go about their business, pretending to understand. I can’t explain how delicious our beers were, how wonderful the slab of cow was, and how comfortable that seat felt. Sleep was not as great as expected, turns out the Dougherty brothers like to turn the heat up at night, which I despise. Noah also wanted to prevent us from sleeping in, mission accomplished. I tossed and turned a little bit, but I was aware that this was better than being in that damn canyon.
The next morning we woke up to a pretty good snowfall. I woke up to a useless left leg and some minor blisters. We compared our bruises and deemed the hike a success. We also discussed goo, very briefly. You know that feeling after a drunken night? You’re hung over as hell, and when you think of the liquor or beer that put you in that shape, your stomach turns and you feel yourself fighting back the yacks. Well we had the same sentiment towards goo. I didn’t want to think of it, and swore it off for the rest of my life. Dramatic, I know. Goo, I love it, but I hate it.
Moving on, we stopped just outside the park for some coffee and a chorizo burrito. Jeremy bought the “Death in the Canyon” book, and we learned in the paper that we had just missed a casualty on our trail by about a half an hour, a faller. What do you do? We climbed back in the truck. Homeward bound; back to our leashes.
We all knew half way into that hike that we would never want or need to do that again. But the absolute second you’re done, it was worth everything; every twinge, every throb of pain, every turn of the stomach. I couldn’t imagine a better group of guys to do that with. In hindsight, we were well prepared. I was proud of myself for bringing extra “aaa” batteries for the headlamps, as Noah and Chris’s ran out at Cottonwood. I also left my extra bladder at the truck, which would have turned out to be useless had I brought it along. I used every article of clothing, including three pairs of socks and liners, a wind breaker, 4 dry-fit long sleeve shirts, 2 short sleeve dry-fit shirts, a pair of thermal bottoms, gloves (for warmth and abrasion), a neck warmer, an ear warmer, a knit cap, and my fleece hoodie. The extra necessities were the trekking poles (vital), mp3 players, duct tape, advils, Immodium AD ( and toilet paper), and silverware (don’t forget the fork and spoon). Jermey and Noah were also equipped with a SPOT device, which allowed us to provide several links to friends and family so they could track us. It is also equipped with emergency buttons for help, and other buttons that allow you to send messages to friends regarding our status along the way. As far as food, I had a good amount. I left still having a bag of jerky, an energy bar, and several goo’s, but I would rather have them and not need them than the other way around. I never did use my sunglasses. The big issue was the boots. Switching them messed me up. I can’t stress enough to acknowledge what is working and what isn’t. Also, go the extra effort when you can. Suck it up and fill the bladder. O another note, during our practice hike I used a day pack, which was packed tightly. I decided to use my multi-day for the R2R2R and have it be perhaps a little heavier, but considerably more comfortable. A good decision in the end, in my opinion.
This wasn’t a hike to enjoy the canyon. This was a challenge, plain and simple. I spent most of my time looking ten feet on front of me. I did make myself stop, look up, and take a long deep breath on several occasions, enjoying the beauty of it all. The canyon is simply the most glorious place I could ever think of, and the next time we go we will enjoy it. We’ll camp, and hike a dozen or so miles at a time, and take many more long, deep breaths.
On the way home, we passed several mountains and discussed other hikes we’d like to do. We started talking about people in general, how they can get trapped in inactivity, becoming dormant and out of shape. We’re not trying to be judgmental, just talking. I’m going to say something here, so I can take credit for it before Jeremy steals it for his website (GetoutGetlost.com, shameless plug…sorry). We were talking about not letting yourself get to that point of no return, and I said “It’s better to play keep up than to play catch up.” How beautiful is that? I know, I know. Here’s a tissue. But it’s true. You CAN get out and get lost (again…shameless), and you should. Your world wasn’t meant to have walls around built around you. Go see what you can find, and before you know it something out there will find you, and you’ll be hooked. Oxygen is a beautiful thing, and I thank the Dougherty brothers and Chris for making me go get my fair share. Sorry for the soap box, I’m done. Go live.
Dylan Bucknavich
