"What the Hell?!?"
I unzipped the top of my bivvy and turned my headlamp on just in time to see a mouse fall from our food sack to bounce off my bivvy. Looking up, I will never forget what I saw: it was as if the tree we used for the food had grown mice instead of leaves. Everywhere I looked, there were mice of all different shapes and sizes - kangaroo mice with their long tails, pocket mice that zipped and zagged in a blur, mice of all sizes and shapes. Our food sack lub-dubbed like a freakish heart from a Vincent Price film. It seemed that fishing line was only efficient if hung as individual strands, rather than three strands (which, apparently, mice can climb down). I divided the food into three smaller bags and rehung them by single strands before falling back asleep.
5 more minutes, mom.
I won’t go into grisly detail about my feet the following morning. Ignoring the pain, Upper Tapeats is one of the most serine places you could imagine. The creek itself is a small, fast moving, coldwater creek with the walls of the inner canyon hiding it away from the prying eyes of the world. The sandstone walls of Tapeats creek are layered and colored with mineral deposits and the memory of 545 million years (a lot like Lou Kessler).
Tapeats Creek
David and I made our way upstream to fish in the churning waters and small holes of Tapeats Creek. We were soon rewarded. I caught my first-ever trout with a fly rod (and second, and third, and fourth, and so on). The rainbow trout of Tapeats Creek were a fisherman’s dream, having never encountered fishing flies before. These beautiful little trout were hidden in pockets throughout the brook, and suddenly my feet didn’t bother me as much; all the mattered was the bubbling brook and my fly rod cozy between canyon walls.
One of the great things about the rainbow trout David and I were catching in Tapeats Creek was that the fish themselves were an invasive species introduced 60 years ago (decimating the native Humpback Chub population). As such, David and I were able to put aside our normal catch-and-release practices and bring fresh fish back to camp. With a little couscous and butter, it was about the best meal you could imagine
Good.
Better.
That night David and I relaxed under the stars and sipped cask strength whisky (yeow!), more Byass Oloroso and a Nalgene bottle full of:
2000 Taylor Fladgate Vintage Port: The 2000 Gould Campbell was a nice port, but this Taylor Fladgate was a profound wine of great intensity and richness in flavor. While primary, there was still a depth to the fruit that spoke of complexity down the road.
Because David and I took the day to rest and fish, we were now faced with the challenge of combining two days of hiking from our itinerary into one. We would need to hike from Upper Tapeats creek down to Lower Tapeats, join and follow the Colorado river until ending at Deer Creek. It would be quite a task.
There are two ways to get from Upper Tapeats to Lower Tapeats. The left bank and right bank both have trails, though once you commit to a trail, you are stuck on it. Our guidebook and the advice from the ranger was that we stick to the left bank and avoid the unmaintained right bank. However, when we ran across a couple hiking, they told us of a harrowing trip on the left bank, so David and I decided to take the right bank (it turns out that both banks are bad, but the one we chose was much worse). As David and I hiked the right bank, we began to elevate above the creek higher and higher. The trail itself deteriorated and we had to pass bags for climb-downs and climb-ups. My feet were in poor shape, but I was determined to make camp at Deer Creek that night. The trail deterioration continued, and the picture below does little justice to show the type of perilous skree trails we needed to navigate.
You’ve got to be kidding me.
On one such slide I went in front of David and slowly worked my way around a perilous drop. I was doing fine until my fishing pole case snagged an outcropping of rock.
I lost my feet.
I scrabbled, and by the grace of God, was able to cling to the rock in front of me until my feet could find purchase again. There is no noise as horrifying as the clacking sound of loose rocks being kicked into space. David, around the bend behind me, saw nothing but the skree I kicked loose and assumed the worst. Crawling on his hands and knees, David made it past where I had lost my feet and we simply sat for a while to regain equilibrium. The fear and adrenaline rush from the near-fall drained me like the plug being pulled from a washtub. The rest of the day was a blur of pain and exhaustion. When we made it to the Colorado River, David almost spoon fed me lunch to get me going again (thanks, David). David and I made Deer Creek under the cover of night, ten hours after we had begun our hike. While the hike into the Canyon had left me broken physically, this hike decimated me emotionally…
Above Tapeats creek
Colorado River
Zombified
I awoke the next morning with a smile.
Why a smile? Because I knew that today would be my day, today would be uphill.
As David and I prepared to break camp, we were faced with the problem of water. We each carried a gallon of water with our Nalgene bottles, but based on our consumption, we would need more to make it safely out of the Canyon over the next two days. We had no idea if there would still be puddles to filter from left on the Esplanade from the storm, so I had the “brilliant” idea to take our extra generic ziplock bags and fill them full of water. After which, the bags were duct-taped inside our cooking pots and pans. Unfortunately, as it turned out, most of the bags had holes, and those that didn’t did a poor job of keeping a waterproof seal (should have bought ziplock!). We were both fated to have a wet night in our sleeping bags.
Brilliant!
The hike out was everything I had waited for and I took advantage of it. There were some great spots on the way out, like Deer Creek spring which, like Thunder Spring, spouted out of rock face. The hike to Surprise Valley and up to the Esplanade was energized by the knowledge that the hardest parts of our adventure were over. As we were heading uphill, my toes didn’t jam into the front of my boot, and the weight was kept off my blistered heels. I redeemed myself and was proud to come to a halt six hours later at our camp spot on the Esplanade. David and I were even lucky enough to find a little mudhole to replenish our water bottles from. Of course, most of our clothes were soaked from my ill-conceived plan to save water, but that was a small thing compared to what we accomplished.
David behind me hiking more narrows
A little dysentery never hurt anyone.
As I rose the next morning to start our last hike out of the Canyon, I began to ponder the cruel cut of the rocks, arid expanses, and sparse flora and fauna in the Canyon. Animal life was the occasional lizard, while almost all plant life had thorns, prickers or needles of some kind. It was then that I truly understood the Canyon for the first time. The Grand Canyon did not want to be loved as a beauty, the Canyon is a place of respect, awe and appreciation. I had pitted my wills against the force of the Canyon and been humbled physically and emotionally by it. This realization flooded my awareness, and suddenly the parts of me that had been broken were remade stronger, harder. My baptism was one of blood and dirt, but I was renewed.
I attacked the hike out with a purpose, leaving David to follow behind. I spent a moment to reflect on my journey at the top of the North Rim, I’d love to say that it was as spiritual an experience as the morning, but to be honest all I wanted was to sit on the bed of David’s truck without rocks (or worse, cactus needles) gouging into my rear. We made good time, finishing just over four hours of hiking.
Deer Creek Spring
We arrived back to Phoenix late that night. As I took my flight home the next morning, two things stick out in my memory: First, I was amused to see the look on the faces of my fellow passengers as I walked down the aisle of the plane. My scraggly beard, sunburned face, grimy hands, limp, and weary appearance made me someone that everyone was apprehensive about, as if to say, “please Lord, don’t let him sit down next to me.” The other thing I recall was how wonderful it felt, and how thankful I was, for the suddenly bountiful comfort of a coach seat all the way home.
Amy met me at the airport after having fretted over me the whole time I was gone. She was so shocked to see how I looked that she jerked upright - “Joey, you’re so hairy… and skinny!”
A trip like that can do a lot to a person. Both of my toenails would fall off in the weeks to come, and I would lose almost all the skin off my heels to blisters. Even now, my toenails are still one clipping away from being fully healed. When I think back, I remember the generosity of David and his coaching when I was down. I remember the struggle and I remember the accomplishment. I remember the pain and I remember the peace.
I remember the Canyon.
And, like so many moments in my life, wine was there.
Best,
Joe
