Hill and Dale: Solo Backpacking Grand Canyon Rim-to-Rim-to-Rim: Day 6

I woke just before before sunup this morning. Dressed in the dark in my tent, stumbled up to the Phoenix composting john, and only then did I turn on my red camp headlamp. I found out later I probably should have had the light on when I dressed.

I’m really looking forward to my morning coffee, a primary reason I love camping, and set about making it. I brought my feather-weight MSR PocketRocket stove on this trip. This tiny stove is less than half the weight of my MSR Whisperlite International I take on bike tours, and also boils water in half the time—under 2 minutes. Good, because I can’t wait. Breakfast is a Clif Bar, so that’s simple enough.

Juan and Richard left before the sun was completely up, shortly after 5:30. Today’s mileage is the least of the trip so far at 4.5 miles, but the elevation gain of 3,300 feet will be the most I’ve shlepped my big bag up this trip. But I did more climbing at higher elevation during my trip in Colorado last August, a three-day trip that took place entirely between eight and twelve thousand feet. So I wasn’t too worried. The one thing I am “worried” about is my mileage. Based on my my total thus far, the 4.5 miles to the trailhead will leave me just short of sixty miles for the week. 60 is a nice round number for 6 days of hiking. And with no more side trip hikes between here and the Rim, I guess I’ll be forever stuck at 59.5 miles.

I left Indian Garden around 6:30. I could have kicked myself for not arranging lunch with Juan and Richard at Bright Angel Lodge, but thought perhaps I could catch them on the way up. Just outside Indian Garden I stopped to take this panorama shot.

After hiking a further 20 minutes, I was wondering why I was struggling a bit. That is when it really hit me how much hiking poles help you when you’re backpacking. Simultaneously dawning on me was the fact I left my hiking poles behind and would have to hike back to get them. In my mind, I could see them propped against the picnic table as I always do. Turns out, I left them almost a mile back, leaning against the fence just outside the campground, where I’d stopped to take a panorama pic. I was reminded of the famous Chinese idiom, 塞翁失马 (sàiwēngshīmǎ): Who's to say it's bad luck or Blessing in disguise. Sure, I have to hike back a couple of miles to retrieve my poles, but now I will certainly top 60 miles for the 6 days. Forty minutes later, I had my poles and I was past the point where I realized I’d forgot them in the first place. All was well in my little world.

Close-up from the above panorama, bottom right corner. Note hiking poles.

I did see several California Condors riding the thermals high overhead. Unfortunately, they were well beyond the range of my iPhone 13 Mini.

Nary a soul at 3-Mile Resthouse.

The petroglyphs between 1 ½-Mile RestHouse and the 2-mile mark.

I didn’t see Juan or Richard at the 3-Mile Resthouse, but I did catch up to them at the 1 ½- Mile Resthouse. And we agreed to meet for lunch at 11:30 at Bright Angel Lodge.

Paula and Bruce from Yuma, Arizona.

Also at 1 ½-Mile Resthouse were Paula and Bruce, whom I invited to rest with me in the shade by the water spigot. Paula and Bruce are from Yuma, Arizona and I met them briefly at Indian Garden where they were camping for two days while taking short side trips on the Tonto Platform. I had hoped to chat them up in camp, but they were gone especially early this morning. Bruce is originally from Tucson, Arizona and we had a lot to talk about the hundreds of hikes in the five mountain ranges surrounding that city. Bruce and Paula have been hiking in the Grand Canyon for decades and have hiked pretty much every major trail and most of the minor ones. They agree with me about the the glut of day hikers swarming around these easily accessed places like Indian Garden, especially overrun since the pandemic. They long for the sixties and seventies when visitors were relatively sparser as were the regulations. But when I agree and suggest that perhaps we need to start permitting all hikers into the Canyon, they demur. On the one hand, they are old-school conservatives who value their “freedom” to hike when and where they choose; on the other hand, they also clearly love and respect the very landscape a permitting system would help protect. In any event, good on you two septuagenarians for continuing to get out there to hike; you’re an inspiration.

The boots reveal the coat of dirt that is less visible on

the rest of me.

I got to the Rim around 10:30, and checked in with the folks at Bright Angel Lodge registration desk, which also handles Thunderbird Lodge reservations. I was told I could start the check-in process at noon and then get into my room when the cleaning was finished, probably around 2:00.

I waited near the top for Richard and Juan, and whose heads popped up above the rim a short while later. We hopped the Blue bus for Parking lot D to drop off our backpacks, and for me to grab my overnight bag, then drove back over to the Bright Angel parking lot to grab the last spot. We got on the wait-list for Fred Harvey Burger and landed a table fifteen minutes later in the Tavern, thankfully well away from other paying guests, who might be put off especially by me, shower-less for six days (although I had taken several dips in Bright Angel Creek) and dusty from today's hike.

At Fred Harvey Tavern, I ordered a Beyond Burger with cheese and fries, and a massive lunch salad of romaine lettuce, roasted beets, carrots, and sunflower seeds. I devoured everything, washing it all down with a Tower Station IPA from Mother Road Brewing Company in Flagstaff. The salad made my week, but was that beer good. Sweet Richard, flexing his inner mensch, sprang for the whole shebang.

I got into my room by 2:00, showered the Coconino sandstone and Redwall limestone dust off my body, then took a two-mile hike over to the Market and back to grab a couple beers for tonight and some road food for tomorrow’s trip to Moab.

A better view of my post-hike dishevelment. Note the

skipped shirt button from dressing in the dark

this morning.

Writing these last few prosaic paragraphs makes me realize my week of poetry is over. Six days and sixty-one miles through perhaps the planet’s most stunning landscape. I can’t say it changed me, except for maybe losing a little weight, but I am glad I got to experience it while still physically able, and while the climate still allows.