The best part of climbing a mountain is when you finally reach the top. You then get to spend hours coming down at an incline that suddenly makes it feel like you’re flying. Seeing things you didn’t before, when you were focused on making it to the summit, feeling a sense of accomplishment and relief at the same time.
Now, picture the opposite order of things and you’ve got a canyon.
Not just any canyon, though, the Grand Canyon. I revisited this place in the fall with most of the friends who were on the trip to Zion, those of us who were still around by our second weekend staying in Arizona.
That weekend in November, revisiting a familiar place in a completely new context, hit me with these moments of such earth shattering clarity and constant reminders of the gratitude I felt to be exactly in that place at that time. It held some of the scariest, hardest hours and it also brought such awe; sometimes there was no distinction between those emotions as they combined together to create the unforgettable experience that was hiking the Grand Canyon.
Familiar Spaces
My grandparents have lived in Arizona for as long as I have been alive. The Grand Canyon is a place that reminds me of my childhood and first plane rides and breaks from school spent in the desert. It reminds me of the awe I first felt upon looking across the rock that had been so deeply carved out by nature itself. It brings back feelings of uncertainty, even fear, as I tried to go down some of the switchbacks years ago with my family, only to decide to keep my grandpa company at the top. The amazement that I couldn’t stop feeling when my mom told me about the people who would hike all the way to the bottom of the canyon. In my mind, camping or staying in the village down there was a feat that only the most impressive of people did, the most adventurous ones.
I couldn’t believe that there were people brave enough or strong enough to get down there deep between the crevices of this place that looked like it might just swallow you whole. I wanted to be like those people while it simultaneously never crossed my mind that this was something I could do, if I wanted to.
Back then, it felt like it must be a totally different world down at the bottom because it was too far, too vast, to comprehend as an eight year old.
Changing Places- Friday
Our ride in the rental van that perfectly seated the six of us ended in Tusayan with frostyccinos and a walk along the South Rim of the Grand Canyon on a Friday afternoon. It was beautiful and felt surreal to be there in this context, watching some of my friends see this wonder of nature for the very first time. I felt a little more grounded after slipping on some ice and remembering that I used to be so afraid of walking too close to the edge, which was pretty much our entire plan for the next day of hiking.
Our goal to be at the canyon for sunset was thwarted when we found ourselves checking in at our lodge and deciding to stay there for a few hours mid-afternoon to work. Some of us ended up napping while others did some last-minute work. I ended up in an Adirondack outside preparing for my biggest presentation in the capstone course, the final class, to my Spanish degree.
As I was sitting right outside of our room at the Yavapai Lodge, this overwhelming sense of awe seemed to wash over me. I was able to fully sink into the fact that I was not only sitting in the crisp cold air watching the beginning of a beautiful sunset but that my friends were all in a room just steps away from the space that I was occupying. That would have been enough on its own, but that wasn’t all that I was thinking about in that moment. I registered so deeply that I was back at the Grand Canyon as an adult, able to be experiencing this new adventure in a familiar place while completing my last domestic semester of school.
I had gone outside hoping that the cold air would help me stay awake and alert as I tried to get through a few chapters of Don Quijote, which I finished just as the sun began to set. The goal had been, of course, to go back out for that sunset but instead we saw it out of the one large window in our room as we all shared the smallest space we had in just under two years. It wasn’t a cabin on a ship, but it was close enough.
That evening, between getting Mexican food from one of the only places open in town and playing multiple rounds of coup, we made sure to call my grandma to sing happy birthday over the speaker of my phone.
The Beauty of It All
As we sat on that hotel room floor using our takeout lids as plates and passing around the chips and salsa, we talked about what the future might look like, once again. The idea that I would move to San Diego after graduation was becoming more of a reality than it had used to be, when it fell into the category of ‘when I eventually’ and the ever-so-common ‘one day’s.
I realized how we are all at this place where we are just on the edge of life as ‘real’ adults, yet in a time that the world is on pause (slow-motion, at least) our plans had all been changing too. My original idea of working in a hostel in Bali and vineyard in Australia were great post-grad backpacking plans, but ones that aren’t even close to feasible at this moment in time.
I’m not mad at this new plan though, to be closer to my friends in a place that already feels like home. The ‘one-day’s are just shifting as we do, finding our way through new plans and opportunities that are not missed, but might be traded for other ones that turn out to be more suited to our lives.
So much is so close: the brink of graduation, finding a job, moving- all quite likely still during a raging pandemic- but for a few minutes I couldn’t help but just stare at the colours fading further below the trees and think about how many things had gone perfectly right for me to be experiencing that exact moment just the way it was.
Sometimes the beauty of life comes out of the most seemingly insignificant things- a last minute prep session for class or six of us all sharing one room, squeezing into two small beds as we had done so many times before.
It came from Sierra and I standing in the pitch black of a windy Arizona night, looking through an app on a phone to differentiate the expanse of stars that were so clear, so bright, and right above us. Maybe even the simplicity of those thirty minutes of solitude that gave all of the small acknowledgments of contentment rise to a more conscious part of my mind.
Sometimes it comes from the big things- like managing to somehow bypass a fear of heights, cliffs, and a hike that was out of my comfort zone in order to fulfill something that I had dreamt of for as long as I can remember. It was a friend literally holding my hand on the icy parts because we had to finish our hike in the dark, us all taking a moment to stare at the stars above while we took a quick break, all hugging and celebrating when we finally made it back to the parking lot hours past sunset.
It was laying three to a bed like we had so many times before, laughing at new inside jokes and then nothing at all, really. It was conquering a fear to accomplish something that may not have been as difficult for the others but was huge for me (and my inner third-grade self.)
An Old Fear Worth Facing- Saturday
On Saturday morning, we got our start at the top of the Grand Canyon at the relatively late hour of 8:30 am. As I mentioned before, the switchbacks have always been daunting to me. Something about the thin trails and the ledges that sharply drop off hundreds of feet into jagged rock really never sat well with me.
The thing is, I’ve never been there when there’s ice. That part was a game changer. Having never hiked in the snow (somehow?) let alone on an icy path that was already dangerous to begin with, I’m sure you can begin to picture my fear. If not, I envy you and your absolute bravery, or maybe obliviousness to that which is risk-filled. For reference, I’m talking the verge of two panic attacks within the first 10 minutes. Yikes.
At the beginning, Dragosh hung back with me, purely being a good friend since he lives in Canada and is more used to the snow and ice than any of us there. Later, as the day warmed up, I found myself bounding, nearly jogging, down the now-wider and less-icy path with Gleb as we reminisced about the adventures our past selves were on exactly 2 years before this. I found myself thinking about how much I loved being in that moment, when the edge of the trail didn’t drop off as sharply and the view was becoming more pronouncedly awe-inducing.
A bit further down, as the path started to level and did not feature any more steep drop-offs, the autumn leaves of the trees we began to walk between signaled once again that we were reaching the bottom.
Around 11:30 am, we took a snack break a bit ‘off the beaten path,’ some might say.
Literally, it was just off the trail in this area with big boulders that were perfect for quickly resting and refueling. The view wasn’t all that bad either, one that made us all realize with great joy that we were getting deeper into the canyon. For somewhere that some of us had only seen from the top, others only from photos, it was so surreal to know that we were surrounded by these structures that we had only seen from a bird’s eye point of view.
After confirming our decision to finish the trek down to the Colorado river, we knew we had to pick up the pace. Cue the running down switchbacks with a suddenly lessened fear of falling, as we focused on our next goal- reaching the bottom of the canyon at a good point in the day.
It was incredible to sit down on a boulder and eat our (slightly soggy, definitely smooshed) sandwiches as we watched the river rush past us. The world was ours and so was that moment. At the same time, we were such small beings in such a large space, experiencing the grandeur of it all.
The bottom of the Grand Canyon. A place I’d only ever imagined as a child carefully exploring the ledge so far up above.
Touching the icy cold Colorado made it feel ever more real.
I’m glad to have that moment at the bottom, eating my hummus and veggie sandwich as the wind blew more sand in my eyes and my friends spread out across the rocks and looked on as a stranger near us got fully immersed and braved the freezing river.
The first part of heading back up was fine, as we all were excited to embark on the journey back to the top. It was quickly followed up by a second where I felt like I needed to catch my breath, during which I told my friends I would catch up shortly.
It was Dragosh again who doubled back to hang with me, as I realized the combination of asthma, chilly air, and being a less experienced hiker was manifesting at quite an inopportune moment.
He and Steven, arguably the best hikers there, ended up hanging back with me and did a great job at not making me feel like a hinderance, even though I have no doubt they would have all been done so so much sooner if I hadn’t been there.
That did, however, prove to be an opportunity for great conversation, too. From the way that this specific period of time and way of coexisting would never be re-created to ways of seeing the world, we took that time to really reconnect.
When the sun set, it set quick. The streaks of pink that bounced across the sky and into the canyon itself were ever so fleeting, and night settled in on us like the too-early end of a story that nobody was ready for. The stars that blanketed the sky were among the brightest I’d ever seen, rivaling those from some of the moments of my life that rank up there among the best of them.
I was reminded time and time again how great my friends are, when I would apologize for my lack of agility, or lung capacity, or anything of the sort. Each time anything happened or I felt like I was being a nuisance, I was met with nothing but patience and kindness. After coming across a couple getting into an argument near the top of the canyon after dark, I was instantly made that much more grateful that I was with people who wouldn’t treat me like that. The fact that none of us get frustrated, but instead deal with whatever situation arises speaks to just how well we have been able to work together in a form of flexibility that is so important.
Once the sun was down, there was suddenly nothing to rush for because there was no more clock to beat. The only concern was taking care to step in the right spots and find proper footing on the ice that was beginning to reappear in sheets as we approached the highest, iciest, steepest, and darkest point of the entire hike.
Our breaks changed from standing and talking for a moment to sitting near the canyon wall and just staring at the stars, so bright and unobscured by moonlight that may have typically stolen the show. We looked upward at the light in the sky, as we stood just a few steps back from the darkness of the abyss.
It was such an odd feeling to be reminded how small we are in the scheme of even something like that, let alone the whole world or anything else.
Once, I was beginning to feel a bit overwhelmed by the dark and the depth and the ice that surrounded me. At that exact moment, two hikers passed us on the trail blaring It Wasn’t Me by Shaggy.
Our ‘friendship song’ (who knows why) from back when we all studied abroad together. It was perfect.
I turned to Dragosh and we decided that whatever version of angels or fate or divine intervention exist, that moment had fallen at just the right time and brought the burst of energy needed to chill out and finish the thing.
On Top of the World
The funny thing about our minds is that, upon completion of something scary, escaping a daunting situation, making it through a tough moment, we almost immediately lessen the struggle.
I told Dragosh on the very final stretch that, when we got to the top, I would be like, ‘Oh it wasn’t even that bad!’ It was partially a joke, but I also know that a strength of ours is lessening pain from our memory.
I knew then that I would keep the good and the beauty of that experience but I also don’t want to forget telling him that I had never been so scared in my entire life, noting that it overshadowed an incident in India when we all genuinely feared for our lives.
That was the level of terrified that I was to be hiking in the dark, on ice, after 8 hours of going. As much of a joke as it had been, a small part of me felt the negative aspects of the experience beginning their first shifts into the back of my mind. The elation of being back at the top flooded in and so, gone was the worry and exhaustion and sheer terror that had been a part of my emotional palette that day.
Somehow, getting back to our car and walking the short 5 minutes across the pavement was the thing that really felt like a lot. We had done it, but there was just this little stretch left and it was easy enough to feel just slightly taunting. So close, but so far.
We got into the car at 7:30 pm which meant that it had been dark for a solid 2 hours of that hike and brought our total time for the day up to 11 hours in the canyon.
Dinner was vitamin water from a gas station, thanks to limited options and the exhaustion of the day setting in.
Memories Worth Chasing-Sunday
That Sunday was, in a word, warm. Not only from the trees of Sedona as they filtered the golden sunlight through our car windows but also in the way that the air was literally warm, surrounding us as we sat outside and ate lunch in town.
It was the conversations about holidays and traditions during the morning, turned into English classes and books from the formative years of our childhoods that were discussed on the dark ride back to Lake Havasu.
The combination of all of these factors perfectly merged past and present and showed how we became those six people enjoying that relaxing, gorgeous fall day. Sunday combined old and new in a way that felt nostalgic as you were in it, like you knew that it wouldn’t be easily forgotten. At least for me, that is.
After marveling at yesterday’s trek from the lookout up top at Mather Point, we headed to another place that reminds me of childhood and happy memories- Sedona.
The last time I was there I was eight and the main attraction for us back then was Slide Rock which, though literally dampened by a rainy day, was exciting and a great way to really get grounded in the beauty of the area.
Gleb, who has been much more recently than I, showed us the places that he used to come to in college. Again, two sides to the same coin. The way in the past and more recent, nature and the town within it, that whole duality sort of thing.
We got to Sedona officially around 2:30 and when we got out of the car it was so funny because we were all pretty stiff and it was just 6 young, fit-looking people absolutely hobbling around. We went to Chipotle instead of some other ‘authentic Sedona place’ because it sounded so good and most of us hadn’t really even eaten more than what we physically needed the day before, especially since we skipped dinner.
Between the galleries and beautiful mountains that acted as a backdrop to the main part of town, it was a very peaceful afternoon.
Our time in Sedona was short-lived, but couldn’t end before we went to a shop that Gleb recommended for all of our olive oil, liquor, and fancy vinegar needs. The plaza that held the shop, Spirits and Spice, became an arena for Omar and Steven to play a made-up game of skipping rocks across the asphalt and seeing who could get them closest to the building.
That same plaza had painted angel wings, which I was promptly made to stand in front of for a photo after admitting that morning in the car my childhood yearly Christmas wish to Santa- to have fairy wings.
As we drove back, Sierra’s podcasts mixed with our conversations about our favourite books and movies, from childhood and beyond. It’s so interesting to me to have conversations like that and hear more about how we all did such similar things but also to learn such big parts of what developed us all before we all had the growth together like we did.
Dinner was picked up to go for one of maybe three times while we were staying at our Lake Havasu home base, and we all ate before a call with Hanna and Jenna to plan our next weekend trip which would put us all in the same place yet again.
More on our Joshua Tree weekend adventure later, though.
Leave a Reply