I wake up as the sun streams into the tent, allowing myself extra time to rest. There are no new bites on my body and the tent is bone dry. I’m so grateful for my stone bench and soft, juniper needles site.
The forest continues in warm sun and a gentle breeze. I hardly need to drink anything because I barely work to propel my body forward. I think about this being Lent and my being out in the desert (so to speak, now that I’m in Northern Arizona and the saguaro have disappeared)
The popular image of Lent is about giving something up, but that’s an over simplification of the journey, on invests in of imitating Christ tempted in the desert. My temptations usually have to do with toxic patterns, like blaming myself for other people’s bad behavior rather than recognizing the behavior for what it is and ensuring I erect healthy boundaries.
In Flagstaff, a man at the hotel befriended me, only to pull away and offer up a kind of self-serving sanctimony when I asked for the smallest bit of help. It really hurt my feelings until I realized he could never be a true friend.
Here, it feels peaceful in the dappled morning light still casting an orange glow. I need these easy days, where the miles just disappear as I walk and sing. I don’t feel there’s any hurry now and laugh remembering my Grand Teton Crest hike when I told backpackers I was going for my SKT, the Slowest Known Time.
It was frenetic in Flagstaff but I’m proud I pulled it off on my own visiting the doctor, then picking up four different kinds of meds including permethrin to spread over my entire body and a strong antihistamine that brought down the swelling but knocked me out completely.
I struggled for hours to dry my washed quilt, with all the feathers pushed into the wrong chambers. I texted Hammock Gear over and over, giving up on the painstaking task, and planning to buy or rent a bag. That was until someone suggested a repair person named Santo at Snow Mountain River who ripped open the seams and shoved the feathers where they belonged before sewing it back together.
All these errands were close by if I had a car, but required walking since I wasn’t getting any help. (One old shrew at the hotel whom I asked for a ride snapped at me, “Isn’t there Uber?” Yes, if I want to spend that much for every errand, but sheesh, you can’t just drive me two miles?! Remember it takes nearly an hour to walk two miles especially carrying a wet sleeping bag.)
Still, I explored downtown and the college campus. I resupplied, ate at a brewery, and met the couple who ultimately helped me in the end – and all done with independent and dramatic flair in flip flops. I wouldn’t ho do far to say I enjoyed Flagstaff, but I found enjoyable parts.
The wind through juniper has a special sound. The trail makes a slow ascent to a large metal tank with “Russell” scrawled on it. I have a snack but I walk on to a big muddy pond for water and lunch. It filters well as I lean on my backpack against a tree in the wind. I spy several horses wander by above in the trees. Are they wild?
As I walk on, I see bones of a large animal picked clean. I also see the rim of the Grand Canyon coming into view, one long strip of red and brown stone above pine forest. It’s so awe-inspiring, I feel giddy. The trail winds around the edge of a rim, and even dives steeply down and then out of a ravine for no known purpose. Bicyclists are told to dismount here and I wonder if the trail builder thought I might be getting bored with all this flat walking and need a shake up.
But the landscape itself is changing as I follow the edge looking down at a meadow far below with the painted desert beyond. My undulating trail is speckled with hundreds of spring beauties in white and pink.
I leave the trail and head straight up to another wildlife tank. It’s brilliant how they collect snow on a corrugated surface that melts into large containers underground. A small overflow contains clear water with a bit of graceful green plants reaching towards the surface.
I fill up and eat as Elliot arrives, a Quebecois section hiker. He rented snow shoes in Flagstaff for Mount Humphries then hitched back to return them. He also hiked the Te Araroa and we share a few stories before I head on.
He never catches me and I’m certain he follows the road rather than this undulating trail in the woods with only fleeting glimpses of the canyon’s fanciful rock. I feel so happy and right with the world in this moment, I sing Mahler’s Ging heut morgen ubers feld, my most favorite walking song.
I stop at the side of the trail looking out at the pink dusty desert beyond when two bikers show up. Jeff and Holly or Freako and Turbo ask about my hike and how I’m doing. I mention I plan to camp just ahead and they tell me they will too and ride off, only to turn around and ask if they can get me anything at the store.
Chips and beer!
What kind of amazing people do things like that? Keepers, I say, keepers. I am so touched especially after the bed bug ordeal. It’s still a few more miles and I lose sight of the canyon walls. Several helicopters zoom overhead. Tours? Heading home? A backpacker passes me. He asks if we’ve met and I realize it’s “You’re so mean” or Freak of Nature from the ride into Pine. He’s hiking back from the South Rim and mentions hurrying to avoid the bad weather.
I wander through the interpretive nature walk with about 20 signs describing the devastation of dwarf mistletoe. The Kaibab is comin’ for ya, dwarf MT. I also call the park to try and secure a permit to camp in the canyon. The ranger tells me he thinks the Arizona forests are boring as hell.
But it’s the bad weather coming that sticks in my mind as I arrive at the tower and climb up for a fabulous view of the canyon beyond the forest. When I turn around, I look back to the San Francisco Peaks I left two days ago.
There’s no sign of Jeff and Holly but another group comes by. Tami, Michelle, John, Kristen, Mark, Eric are all flabbergasted I’m walking so far and immediately invite to camp and eat dinner with them. How is it some people just naturally reach out and are generous? I tell them what I really need is a ride in the morning to get a permit to camp in the canyon, already fairly certain I won’t waste my precious life on yet another long day in ponderosa pine and no views.
John immediately volunteers. It’s getting late for me, so I set near their group of large RV’s and enjoy sitting in a chair. Tami hands me a beer, Michelle some pretzels and Kristen cooks up pasta as we all pull out our phones to scan the weather.
Oh dear. I have a whole new set of problems. The temperatures are going to drop into the teens in three days – and I do not have the proper gear. I call Richard and discuss possibilities with my new friends. Go ahead or wait it out?
Another challenge – and yet, there’s an outfitter in Grand Canyon Village. Maybe I can make this work after all.
Stay tuned!
