In seven days he did toil over the land, and the length of his toil was lo some 80 odd miles. And on the eighth day he rested, and did not a cotton - pickin’ thing.
I'm at the North Rim of the Grand Canyon, getting reacquainted with my hind end as a seat instead of as a joint for the legs to swivel back and forward on. It serves this new purpose quite well! Last night, after an 18 mile day that ended up closer to 25 miles, the longest day so far, I stuffed my face in true hiker fashion. Tourists, on seeing my glee at pushing an enormous sandwich in my mouth, would turn from their path and enter the deli that provided these goods, commenting to me or their partner that, “well he sure seems to like it, maybe it's good?”
The privations of living on liquid breakfasts, rectangular lunch bars, and powdered dinners makes the simple delights of deli food and cold beer seem altogether glamorous and divine. Add that to the tally on the plus side for “why the torture?” that the body asks oh, about every 10 minutes while hobbling down the path when three days of water are hung upon the back.
Seems each time I set out for a little adventure, a large part of the impetus is a romantic notion of the lessons to be imparted by nature (see the last post, written by an unreasonably cloud-headed young sap, to see an example of some of this brand of clap-trap). So often, the primary lesson nature has for me is far less romantic: human, you are weak, and here's an ass whupping just in case you still thought otherwise.
Yet, even in this the lessons are rife. I gain humility by throwing my body out on the trail and having it served back up in aching pieces. I gain clarity by distilling solitary thoughts through the filter of pain management. And I wouldn't have it any other way.
So, enough about this creature, let me recount about the other creatures. Despite a nearly absolute absence of water, the wildlife abounds. Avian life is everywhere. Blue jays screech screech, at me or each other or something else? Little woodpeckers tap tap tap before chirruping to a mate and fluttering upside down on a branch high above to peer at the interloper laying beneath its dinner. Condors swoop in groups across the thermals, displaying their flapping goblets and red beaks, wondering maybe this walker will become a treat, as he wobbles along in the heat. A hawk flew over with a tail clutched in its talons, but the big bushy tailed Kaibab squirrel was a meal beyond this predator's grasp, and it fell with a resounding thud some forty feet from me. A reasonable explanation follows: this bird of prey dropped the weighty meal instead of landing near the strange man. But, the preferred reason says this bird soared over to offer the man a hawk delicacy.
Looking at all those descriptions with this wee human placed in their midst, perhaps more humility training is in order. Have no fear, more follows. Tomorrow morn I'll descend 14.5 miles and something like 5000 feet, to spend the night at the canyon’s depth. The following day I'll ascend nearly that same elevation over 9.5 miles to reach the South Rim. After that, more walking southward.
Other items of note include: owl hoots and coyote yips, heard in the night from my cowboy camp of just me on a sheet of tyvek without a tent; surprised Kaibab deer bounding like pronghorn away into the woods; squirrels and birds chiding me for my presence in their land; and kind humans wiling to let a stinky hiker in to their immaculate cars for a ride to a source to fill his water vessels.
Until the next post, hope all is well out there in the rest of the world and thanks for reading.
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