So. Here I am. There I was. 3 hours deep into the descent of my unprovoked, unplanned hike to go touch the waters in the Colorado River deep within the Grand Canyon with no back up plan, no phone lifeline, and nothing waiting for me to come back to. Looking back, I feel mighty silly about the whole debacle. Truth be told, I was not all gung-ho about the whole thing. After the whole sign debacle, I did weigh the possibilities. I did factor in that I was very much in physical shape. I did have the experience of hiking up the mountains. I did factor in that I only had a measly lunch fit for a picnic for a toddler. Sure my phone was dead but I was still very much in ship shape to tackle this mountain. I enjoyed my lovely hike down, taking in all the views, the sights, the “oohs” and the “ahhhs”. I met a handful of other hikers on my way down and it was lovely seeing who is out here in this desolated place in the middle of winter and they proved useful by telling me what time it was so I could keep track of how much day light I have still. There was a Dutch couple I stumbled on in a cottage. They taught me how to say hi and bye in Dutch. They were nice.
On the 6th hour of my hike I could finally hear the distant rumbles of the river. There I set my gear down, sat and ate. I’d like to say I spent that hour of rest in a blissful state of mind, sat atop my rocky throne. I’d like to write how I let the melody of the rushing river sooth me to a peaceful slumber. I’d like to say I spent the rest of my day there lounging and enjoying the cold crisp waters. I’d like to write about how I dined at a five-star restaurant all you can eat buffet at the bottom of that canyon. I’d like to write about how a helicopter was waiting for me to air-lift me safely and swiftly back to my van. Out of this big hole and crack in the planet I’ve put myself into. Out of this mess I’ve trapped myself into.
I was on a mission and I accomplished it splendidly. I proved the sign wrong. I had no trouble reaching the bottom and here I stood victorious for all to see. Here I stood at the bottom of the grand canyon with no awaiting applause, no helicopter or elevator out, no medal or cookie for my grand achievement of winning against the blasted sign. Here I just finished my provisions for the “chill, easy” hike I did not plan.
The peanut butter sandwich? Devoured. The apple? Long gone. I was left with an unopened pack of UBE OTAP crackers. Here I stood restlessly dreading the fact that I have hiked down and now I must hike back up.
I knew I had no choice. I had no plans on staying the night. I had no equipment. No phone. No tent. No food. No shelter. Worst yet, the overnight temperatures in winter reaches way below freezing. I had limited day time, limited stamina, and limited food. It was the easiest decision I’ve ever made. It was just a matter of which leg takes a step first and which follows.
Hiking up mountains is suffering. You put your body in such physical strains walking up the paths. Every individual muscle works together to propel you forward. Your lungs. Your Heart. Your Skin. Everything runs over drive.
Your patience is also tested as you are only going as fast as you can physically muster. and with the physical limits of half-a-meter gaits, and miles and miles and miles of trail to go, patience is key. Perseverance is tried just as much; that ahead of all the suffering there is more suffering to be had and still to trudge on due to the sole fact that survival hangs on the balance.
There is a moment during my travels that I take a step back and laugh. Laugh at the absurdity of my current situation. “How the fuck did I get here?” I often ask myself. This moment finally hits me when I am on my way back up the canyon. This moment is jumping to the side and making way in a tight riverside gulley for a pack of mules that are bringing tools, equipment, provisions, food, water and a pair of ranger-cowboys leading their way. The moment hits me again when I stop for my scheduled 5 minute sit-down break every hour of my hike; as I ration a single strand of the UBE crackers designated for that hour. Every hour it was that. An hour of suffering up the canyon rewarded by a 5 minute break and a flake of crackers. A 5 minute look at both the Grand Canyon unfolding itself in front of me and a deeper look within me to find the strength to keep going. An even deeper look to find what the hell went wrong in my being that got me to this point. Every hour for the next eight hours I was able to muster up and keep climbing. I was tested physically, mentally and spiritually. To this day, when times are hard, I revisit this experience. There was a fire in me that kept me going no matter what. That told me it was worth going through all this suffering. It told me that at the top of this blasted damned canyon there was salvation. Something awaited me. I remembered something very important. Something WAS waiting for me up there. To be more specific, it was in the parking lot. In my car. Deep within my refrigerator. I had remembered I had bought something in Flagstaff Arizona. Something that I needed. Something that I bought in that Little America gas stop. It was fried chicken.
This is what pushed me. It was no longer the cold. It was no longer the views. No longer the yearning for an adventure. Not even the stupid sign. It was my hunger.
I look up and still yet to see even a slight hint of the top? “Fried Chicken, Almost There”
Feet cramping and muscles screaming for mercy? “Fried Chicken, Almost There”
Sunlight disappearing due to the looming storm clouds above? “Fried Chicken, Almost There.”
Stomach empty, head full of regrets and intrusive thoughts? “Fried Chicken, Almost there.”
Clothing soaked with earlier sweat now flash frozen due to sub-zero temperatures in higher elevations? “Fried Chicken, Almost There”
Mini life crisis and second guessing every decision in my life especially the one that got me in this mess? “Fried Chicken, Almost There.”
“Fried Chicken, Almost There”
This was my mantra. For the latter half of my ascent back up the Grand Canyon, this phrase was the sole reason that pushed me. All the problems in the world disappeared with a single phrase in mind. A single belief that my salvation, a pack of frozen day-old fried chicken, awaits me at the end of my journey.
There in the winter of February 2022, sun well below the horizon, with my hiking poles in hand, ice crampons on my feet and hunger on my mind I conquered the Grand Canyon. The time was 8pm. I could not even sit still for a second on my ascent and take in the dancing shadows of the Tall giants as the sun sets in the distance. I could not even listen to the choir my body and the canyon are orchestrating together perfectly. I was too busy thinking about the fried chicken. Too busy lying to my legs. Telling them “its just one more step” I was hungry going in the canyon and starving coming out. I had my fill.
It was the best Fried Chicken I have ever had.
Travellers Pursuits 