I get up early, hoping I can get there in time to not worry about the heat. On the way into the park, I see a sign for elk crossing. There are always signs to warn you about local wildlife in parks, but rarely do they show up. In this case, be warned, there are elk at Grand Canyon National Park:
Almost immediately, I see a group of at least 10 grazing right at the edge of the road. I pull over to get my camera, and a couple are spooked and start to move away, but the majority of them don't give a single care: they're here, they're elk, get used to it. I don't take more than a couple pictures because I've already spooked them a little so I wanna leave, plus it's hard to get the entire herd in a picture, and each one on its own pretty much looks like all the others, but over the rest of the day I probably see around 30 elk total.
Arriving at the Visitors Center, I ask the Park Ranger which of the two trails I should take:
"Between South Kaibab and Bright Angel-"
"-South Kaibab."
"Okay."
I feel lucky at this point; he confirmed my pronouncing it "kay-bab" rather than "kuh-bob", like the meat stick, a choice I'd made only a minute earlier.
"Are you here alone?"
"Yeah."
"Okay, well Bright Angel is gonna be a lot more crowded with families and kids, and for my money personally, Bright Angel looks just as good seeing it from the other side of the canyon."
So, at the Ranger's suggestion, I head to South Kaibab.
Most the trails, if not all, you can't take your car to; you have to take a shuttle. You can also walk, but I'm about to walk 6 miles. I don't wanna hike to get to my hike. So I take the orange shuttle to the trailhead.
The furthest area to reach on this trail, according to all the maps I've read, is Skeleton Point - that's what takes 6 miles round trip to get to. The Canyon trails are tricky though, because they start downhill. All the other trails I've taken so far begin uphill. When you start uphill, it's easy to determine when you need to turn around: if you run halfway out of survival supplies, such as water, food, toilet paper, etc., it's a safe time to turn back. But in the Grand Canyon, where they stress so harshly about the dangers of heat and dehydration, you've got no idea when it's too dangerous to continue. Waiting until you're halfway through your supplies is dangerous: you need more going up than you do going down. The only up side to this is you'll be lighter on supplies going uphill than you were going down, but that's not much of a trade off. While researching the trip, I read several times to expect it to take 2 times as long to get up the canyon as it took you to get down, so I decide turning around when I'm 1/3 out of water is best.
Now, I'm fully planned and prepared. I trek into my first view of one of America's most highly renowned landmarks...
Ehhhh, it's okay. I'm sure it'll get better further down.
Before I can hike a hundred yards, I'm greeted by a pleasant surprise. It's something I wanted to see but wasn't sure I'd get the opportunity to:
It's a mule tour. I'd first heard of the mule tours in a Ron White standup special. Next, in Moab, when Alex and Jazz told us a trail they took had mule feces all over it that wrecked the ambiance involved with visiting the Grand Canyon. I took a look at the prices because I wanted to be a part of what appears to be great American history in the making: riding an animal that shits all over National Park trails. If I did that, I'd get called a cretin and kicked out. So this, I assume, is the next best thing. The price was too high though, so I had to settle with getting a picture. And yes, it's true, they do poop on the trail, but it luckily seems mostly limited to just the beginning switchbacks, so you don't have to deal with it too long.
Headed further, I pass a man in a big red coat with a huge camera and harness attached to his chest to hold it up. I started my hike with a jacket since it was cold but take it off here, starting to get hotter the further I hike. "You've got the right idea, lightening up," he says as I pass. I only mention him because he'll come back in the story later.
The first official destination on South Kaibab is Ooh Aah Point; talk about a point that's high on itself. The point is .9 miles down the trail and, again, just alright.
Further down, I really do start to get some fair pictures:
But that's all they are, is just fair. They aren't great, not fantastic, just fair. Nothing I'm seeing is breathtaking, and I think it goes beyond being a Park snob (though I am): it's just not that grand. That's right, I said it. It's an okay canyon, let's rename it that. But mostly, it's just vast, empty space at this point. So much of it is washed away that it doesn't even look like a canyon, it just looks like a bunch of hills. Maybe that's the problem: it's so canyon-ed out, it doesn't even look like a canyon anymore. It's TOO grand. Let's call it the Too Grand Canyon; that'll get people's attention, and it won't be false advertising like it is now.
Continuing down, it's hard for me to find something I haven't already taken a picture of since you can see everything from everywhere in the Too Grand Canyon, but still I try.
After 1.5 miles, you reach Cedar Ridge, which is basically a rest stop: there's a bathroom and you can sit down without being in hikers' ways. At 3 miles, you reach Skeleton Point:
It's here I thought I would be at the river, but I'm not. In fact, not only is the view kind of uneventful, but I can't even see the river. All the information I read about South Kaibab said Skeleton Point was the farthest destination and the trail went to the river. Putting two and two together, I figured Skeleton Point was at the river, but apparently not. Even researching it now, I can't figure out exactly how far the river is along the South Kaibab point, but my best guess from what I've read, along with the elevation I appeared to be at when reaching Skeleton Point, is you have to intercept Bright Angel and travel a total of 7 miles down. While 7 miles down is fine with me, it's the 7 miles up I worry about, so I take the advice of the words printed on everything in this park and turn around here rather than going to the river. Before doing so though, I overhear a hiking guide tell her group how Skeleton Point got its name. Before the canyon was a park, there were a lot more animals along this trail. They'd be running towards skeleton point and think the land across from it (pictured above) was part of the land they were running on and would end up falling into the canyon, so the area below used to be littered with skeletons. I can't help but think, "Stupid animals." Then again, that's almost exactly how I broke my jaw in high school: "Stupid Kobie."
On the way up, a squirrel reveals himself to me; another picture for my wild creatures collection. He wasn't the most friendly, but he didn't seem scared either. Like the crows, he's probably used to people throwing food to him.
I get back to the top of the trail and onto the shuttle when it arrives. There are a few more stops before getting back to the Visitors Center though. On one of them, we pick up the man in the big red jacket. He still has his camera attached and sits down across from me.
"Hey, how far did you make it?"
"I got to Skeleton Point."
He looks shocked.
"Oh man, you went the whole 6 miles!"
"Yep. Where'd you go?"
"I went down to [I'm thinking he said Cedar Ridge]."
"Cool. Did you come here after that?"
"Yeah."
"Is this a trailhead or an observation point?"
"Observation point."
I forget exactly how it came up in our conversation, but I learned he came here from Las Vegas.
"Cool, that's where I'm headed next. You live there?"
"No, I'm from Atlanta."
"Atlanta? Georgia?"
"Yeah."
"South Carolina!"
"No way!"
I later found out the man's name was Jared ("Like the jeweler," he says), and he was here on vacation from his job in IT. He's been trying to make photography his hobby, hence the enormous camera and equipment. He'd flown in to Vegas to take pictures there, now was here, and next was headed to Zion, which we talked a little about, but Jared's questions weren't exactly my expertise.
"Which way did you enter the park from?"
"I don't really know."
"Do you remember which road you took?"
"No, not really, I just put it in GPS and go."
At first, I thought he was trying to find the most efficient route, but the more we talked, it seemed like he was trying to find the best place to take pictures. I take pictures for fun as well, like for this blog, but Jared REALLY likes taking pictures. He was asking me if I knew what time the sunset was happening tonight (no) or where the best place might be to see it from (no). He also had a mass of papers and maps showing the sort of views he wanted to get pictures of. I had no idea where any of them were at, but I looked at them and agreed,
"Those are the types of places I want to see, too. I have an image in my mind when I think of the Grand Canyon and I haven't been able to find it yet."
So we went together to the Visitors Center to ask where all the good views were. The same man I talked to earlier pointed out 3 or 4 observation points he thought were the best and most photographed. So Jared and I continued the day together, taking pictures at all the best observation points. And after seeing the majority of them, he and I agreed, this place is overrated. That's right, Jared agrees the Grand Canyon is not all it's cracked up to be.
"I mean it's just so big. There's only so many cliffs you can look at before they all start to look the same."
"Looks like somebody just copy-pasted the whole thing."
*We both laugh at the tech humor. Nobody else around us does.*
The pictures I got from the observation posts were better than what I got on the hike, but still nothing like what I expected:
Near the end of the day, the shuttle drivers start telling you when the sunset will be. The last observation spot we go to ends up being at the Visitors Center, but the shuttle to get to the spot Jared wants to take sunset pictures from requires getting off one shuttle and onto another, so he decides to grab his car and drive to the exchange shuttle first. I didn't even realize you could drive that close until he pulled up in his car while I was putting my bookbag up and asked if I was going. I didn't intend on staying until then, but it took so long to see all the observation posts, I might as well now, so I tell him I'll see him there.
After putting everything up, I drive my car to where I think the exchange shuttle is...and end up being quite a bit off. I hadn't driven this far into the park yet, so I was a bit lost. It took longer than expected to find the spot but I finally did, and the bus was pulling up right as I walked to the stop...and drove right past. I thought I saw a sign when approaching but hoped it was wrong: "Last bus leaves at 6:10". It was about 6:20. Looking at a map, it's only .3 miles to the next point, that's not bad. Then the next point is .4...and then...hmm...it's about 2 miles to the spot and the sunset is starting any minute now. There's no reason to waste my energy.
So I sit at the bus stop and take a couple shots of what a sunset looks like from there. None were particularly great, but one came out alright:
Buses still come around to drop people off, so I wait a few stops to see if Jared gets off. I did tell the guy I'd meet him there, and I don't want him to think I'm a liar. But he doesn't get off, so I head out. So Jared, if you're out there, I hope you got good shots of the sunset, buddy!
Leaving the park, I have a look at my next few destinations. One is Route 66, and the others are all in Las Vegas. Las Vegas is another place that's high up on the list of places I've been looking forward to. I think Las Vegas is one of those spots every American without a heart condition has to go at some point in their life, so I'd really like to have at least a day to plan ahead. There's a city just before the I-40 exit to Las Vegas called Kingman, Arizona. It's got a rest area 30 minutes away and is 2 hours from Las Vegas, so I'll head there for tonight and tomorrow.
On the way there, I start to notice something in the sky. It's become a clear night, the moon is only about a quarter full, I'm just out of the park, and it's so far away from the city I can see a lot more stars than usual. This is something the park talked about on their site. It's so far from man made light, especially in the canyon, you see a lot more stars than you could in most places. My dad once told me about being somewhere, I think it was Oklahoma or Kansas, and it was so out in the middle of nowhere the sky lit up with stars. Loving space, ever since then I've wanted to find some place out in the middle of nowhere to see that. When I was going through the Oklahoma/northern Texas area, I looked up to see a lot of stars, so I took a random exit at one point, drove onto a dirt road for a bit, and looked up. The interstate was still in site, so it wasn't what I was looking for, but there were a lot more stars even by that interstate than anywhere I've ever been in Aiken. So seeing the same thing happening here but better, I think about finding a side road. Instead, I decide to hit my next destination: Route 66.
When thinking of Route 66, I think of an out in the middle of nowhere road, long since abandoned. I used to think that was a cool idea. Then I hit 20 of those roads driving from Texas to Arizona and found out how awful they are. The area of Route 66 I wanted to drive is on the way from Grand Canyon to Kingman, so I can take that drive tonight. I won't see any of the surrounding land, but pfft, like I care about that anymore.
I fill up on gas beforehand (as is tradition on these roads) and about 30 minutes in find what appears to be absolutely nothing with a nice dirt turnout leading into it. Right as I pull over, I see headlights show up in my rear view mirror from as far back as possible. Luckily, once on the turnout, tall grass blocks them. I lean my seat back, open the moonroof, and wait for my eyes to adjust. And bam.
It's very gradual, but once you see them, you realize what a small, pointless being you are in the universe. We are surrounded by billions of giant fireballs, each with the power to melt our planet in an instance, and you're upset your coffee maker broke. Be happy a solar flare hasn't raged through your backyard. And while it's all very overwhelming and somewhat intimidating, it's still one of the most enjoyable things I've ever seen: I can understand why my dad recalled it even so long after.
While I'm enjoying the stars, I can't help but notice the headlights that were behind me still haven't passed. They're still there, I can see them when I lift my head. And I see other lights coming from the grass. It's at this point I'll point out I'm beside some type of farm. I can tell because I stuck my head out the moon roof a couple times and every time heard, "moooo," out in the wilderness. I don't think there's a lot of wild cows around here, so it's probably a farm. I wonder if the lights are coming from a farmer now. Maybe they saw me pull over. I wait, and the lights just keep changing in strange ways. They disappear, they reappear, sometimes there's more, sometimes less, they change speeds. It's now I think to myself, "This is why people think they see aliens all the time." I'm sure there's logical explanations to these lights, but when you're in the middle of a field, in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by space, you start to think they might be coming to probe you. The lights in the grass end up being a train though and the headlights do end up being a car, but the car was so far out, and this road is so long, it took them about 20 minutes from the time I pulled over to the time they drove past me.
I watch space a bit longer and finally leave. It was the best sight I've seen of the stars before, but I'd still like to find somewhere even better. My best chance of getting that is probably to camp in one of the National Parks. Oh, and in case any of you wondered, I did try to take pictures for you. I even altered settings on my camera for it, but it just didn't pick up the light well enough.
I head past Kingman to arrive at the Rest Area. I don't talk a lot about Rest Areas, unless they're inhabited by drug dealers of course, but it's very interesting to see the different ways they're built. The things that vary the most are sinks. Everybody has different sinks, and it's amazing how much you can screw one up. You would think we've been making them a while, so we'd have the perfect sink by now, but we still manage to make some stupid mistakes. The sinks of the westbound Kingman Rest Area are in a class of their own though. They're so bad, they manage to be amazing. It's a hilarious failure of sink engineering. It looks like somebody attempted to make a sink that cuts off on its own, similar to one of those push button sinks that you push, and it lifts up after a few seconds, and you have to push again. Except instead of a button, they put a stick in the spout of the faucet. To get the sink to let water out, you have to hold the stick in any direction. So anything you want to do with this sink involves having a stick in the way you have to keep held. This isn't too bad for doing something like rinsing your toothbrush or getting a sip of water. But for washing your hands, the primary use of a sink, you're expected to...hold the stick with one hand while the other hand scrubs itself? I'm still not sure what I'm expected to do. They ran out of soap and I have sanitizer, so I didn't get very many privileged chances to try, but between the stars and the world's worst sink, I end the night with a smile on my face.
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