Amy and I returned from our epic 3,500-mile journey through the American Southwest on Friday -- after a full week of backpacking, rock scrambling, snow trekking, and endless driving in the Gleaves’ Camry, we were exhausted, but somehow still in one piece.
January 1:
Our excursion began on the first of the year, an adventuresome start to any decade. We drove the 7+ hour route to my grandparents in Oklahoma straight-through, hoping to steel our nerves (and bladders) for the adventures ahead. (Technically, we had to stop to fill the car up with gas about 20 miles from our destination. Still, no bathroom breaks on a trip like that means something…) We had a great stay in Seminole catching up with the family and sleeping in a cozy bed.
Here we are before departing from the Gleaves' -- nice travel clothes, eh?January 2:
We set out early the next day – hours before dawn – with Flagstaff, AZ in our sights. Heavy, freezing fog surrounded us as we passed through the pan-handle of Texas (see pic below), which looked much more like an icy tundra than the desert, cattle-driving landscape of John Wayne lore. By Amarillo the fog had lifted and Amy was able to complete her first of two driving stints on the trip. (Of the 42 hours of driving—Amy drove a whopping 9 hours)
Here she is popping back a few Twizzler bites – she may or may not also have been dreaming “of orca whales and owls” …
After passing through Albuquerque (and naturally the rest of New Mexico and Arizona), we arrived in Flagstaff just as the was setting behind the San Francisco peaks, as Amy’s stunning photography demonstrates.
Upon arrival, we cast our sleeping bag over our sketchy bed at the Knights Inn and hit the town for the local fare, Beaver Street Brewery’s Wood Fire Pizza.
January 3:
Early the next morning, we set out for the Grand Canyon. However, Due to a last-minute Wal-Mart run, the long approach drive, and general laziness, Amy and I began our trek late in the morning, which put a crunch on our descent. On the bus ride over, we met a charming Italian family (from Canada) who would be our companions on the trail for the next three days – though they were always miles behind. Here we are blissfully at the top the South Kaibab trail. If we only knew then what we know now…
Although rangers recommend descending the South Kaibab trails in all seasons, the snow and ice pack on the shadowy sections during winter make the hike down exceedingly treacherous. Amy and I both fell once, and I slipped another time near a steep edge. That one gave us both a start. Take a look at these slippery switchbacks we had to negotiate for the first mile or so.
After about two miles, our quads were starting to feel the perpetual downward steps. Amy’s shoulders were also growing increasingly sore from the weight of her pack. We moved around weight, but nothing seemed to work; the only solution was to hike down as quickly as possible, get to camp, and throw off those burdensome packs. Still, we took our time and did our best to enjoy the majestic scenery which seemed to change with every step. Here’s a shot of me surveying the Tonto Plateau a little after the half-way point.
After another hour, the Colorado River came into view, causing our hearts to skip a beat. Soon, however, it became apparent that our nearness to the bottom was but an illusion. We still had to dive deep into the inner-canyon, which from the top looks like nothing more than a drainage ditch, but is realized in the canyon as a dauntingly-steep, 1500-foot gorge of solid rock. But, after a few more hours of frustration, we eventually made our way to the historic Black Bridge and crossed the Colorado River, entering Bright Angel Campground, our picturesque home -- for a short while anyway.
That night we had under-cooked spaghetti (my bad), while our friend across the creek had a more organic snack.
January 4:
After spending 15 hours in our tent to shelter from the freezing cold, Amy and I made the last-minute decision to break camp and head half-way out of the canyon to Indian Gardens. Since we were almost out of morning, this was a risky move and our hike would again be on the rush. But judging from our immense soreness from the hike down, we just didn’t think that hiking all 9.5 miles and gaining all 4,400 feet in one day would be a wise endeavor.
So we got approval from the Park Ranger to change our itinerary, and we started our ascent around noon. But we did leave an amazing place behind, as you can see in Amy’s photos.
The 4.7 miles from our campground on the Colorado to the ancient oasis known as Indian Gardens proved to be the most difficult stretch for me, by far. The weight of my pack, my poor conditioning, and the fact that we’d be hiking again the next day seemed to hit me all at once. I never felt like giving up, but a few times I wondered if it might be easier to fall over the side (okay, so that’s an exaggeration). Honestly, though, my attitude suffered greatly during the hike, and I missed out on some of the spectacular scenery that the Bright Angle Trail offers as it dances around a pristine stream, weaves in and out of a tight canyon, and occasionally peeks over the edge into the great expanse of the Grand Canyon.
Here’s a shot of Amy on the way up. I can’t decide which is more impressive: the canyon or her pack…
This is a view looking down on the trail we'd just come up. Funny enough, this is the only picture we took of the Italians. They’re the tiny dots marked with yellow arrows at the bottom of the first image, about to run headlong into to a wall of switchbacks (second pic). Poor guys. We felt most sorry for the father of three who was most likely carrying all the tents, food, and other gear, along with their 6-year-old daughter.
January 5:
We woke up early on a brisk 25-degree morning, eager to get the heck out of the Canyon. Breakfast did nothing to lift our spirits, because after an MSR stove fail, our planned warm Ramen noodle turned into Cliff Bars a-la-mode (by this I mean frozen and rock hard). Breaking camp also proved difficult for our frozen fingers, but we were still able to leave the camp site before 9:00 a.m., hoping to have our hike finished by lunch time.
Early into the climb there was much strife. Amy’s feet and hands were still numb from breaking camp, and I was fighting off the fear that we’d spend the rest of our days in the icy canyon. Still, we pressed ever rimward. This proved to be Amy’s most difficult day, but she persevered remarkably well. We did our best to take frequent breaks and made sure to have quick conversations with down-hikers, allowing frequent respites from the relentless switchbacks and rises.
Here’s a nice view of the snow-covered canyon. The yellow arrows points to Indian Gardens, where we camped half-way up.
And portraits of your weary thorough-farers. (Don't miss the frozen snot)
At long last, we reached the final turn and came upon the Bright Angel trailhead. There was a group of four teenage girls and an elderly couple that seemed to be waiting for us at the top. They clapped as we made our final upward steps, shouting “You did it!” and “Good job!” The reception was probably humble compared to that of climbers returning to Kathmandu from the summit of Everest, but to us it was just as heartwarming. After three days of sore legs, pounding hearts, and frigid nights we were thrilled with our accomplishment, but mainly just glad to be done. The picture below of the victorious duo was taken by the older couple at the top; they seemed proud to share in our moment of glory.
The glow of our achievement was dulled slightly when the car wouldn’t start at the Backcountry office (I forgot to turn off the headlights), but the reluctant ranger eventually gave us a jump. Once our transportation was in proper order, we enjoyed a bountiful victory feast and – drum roll, please – Wendy’s. We then B-lined it to our resort in Sedona where we both took a much-needed shower, devoured an extra-large Hawaiian pizza, and slept in a soft, cozy bed.
January 6:
Sedona deserves at least a week in order to get properly acquainted, but we did our best in a day. After viewing some incredible local art at the Tlaquepaque Gallery Village, we auto-toured much of the city, meandering through the ritzy neighborhoods, admiring the unique architecture, exploring a few forgotten roads, and hitting all the touristy hot-spots.
Take a look at our wacky route (shown in blue-green) through subdivisions and golf resorts in Southern Sedona – we are some strange tourists…
Here’s a shot of an over-the-top pad that deservers a spot on VH1, taken from above at the Chapel of the Holy Cross (CHC = a popular tourist locale in Sedona).
Here’s a rare view of the Red Rocks, taken from a remote road in west Sedona. As this is my only photo worth note from the trip, I will take credit for it.
After a long day in Sedona, we just had to spend some time lounging at the pool...
January 7:
Waking up before the sun, Amy and I braved the mountainous 89A North out of Sedona in complete darkness. It was a bit of a rush, with beautiful stars to guide the way. Just east of Flagstaff, the sun showed it’s face – in a dramatic way.
We ate lunch in Santa Fe at a tourist trap known as the Burrito Co., which is just off the city square on Washington Street. The burrito was good for about two bites, but the service was pushy, impolite, and just poor overall. If you’re ever in Santa Fe, don’t go there. While we were stopped, Amy and I also searched in vain for a pot for our small cactus, Pepe, who we purchased in Sedona. We did actually find a pot we could use. It was 2 inches in diameter, crudely painted, and listed at only $200! But we decided a handmade pinch pot might be a more authentic home for Pepe.
By dinner time we were in Denver with Luke and Amy [Lee]. Luke made cheese bread and roasted a chicken. The fare was much better than that of Santa Fe. After dinner we watched an incredibly disappointing first half of football (the NCAA National Championship) and then popped in Good Will Hunting, one of my personal faves – thanks Brad!
January 8:
On our final day we slept in and paid dearly for it. Gridlock befell Highway 470, so Amy and I relied on our GPS to find a shortcut. Suffice it to say that due human error, machine incompetence, and an act of God (a blinding sun that kept us from seeing the road ahead), it took us much longer to leave the sprawling metropolis of Denver than we’d originally hoped. Snow slowed us down in Kansas City, as did a McDonald’s hot fudge sundae.
Eventually, however, we made it across the long, harrowed I-70, the Oregon Trail of our day. We spent the night in lovely St. Charles, telling our parents stories from our journey South and West, an adventure that will stay with Amy and I forever.
