Grand Canyon North Rim Campground, May 25.
from Cottonwood campground, mile705.2, 4059 ft, to North Kaibab Trailhead, 712.4, 8230. Walked 7.2 miles, ascent 4170.
Dear Trail Friends,
This morning’s hike was about as good as it gets in this life. I started out just after 3:30am so I again was able to walk through and witness the ‘miracle of morning’ - the world and I emerging out of darkness into light.
I had the pleasant surprise of finding not only that my feet held up well, but that the new way I had trained myself to walk ( toes first - my bodyworker Rick had pointed out that walking heel first can be inefficient for uphill walking, and I found it was true, though it was also exhausting to try to learn a new pattern) gave me more strength and endurance.
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I wrote those first two paragraphs yesterday (May 25) but found I lacked the energy to continue. Now I am at North Kaibab Lodge, which is 18 miles north. I booked a reservation here, and arranged to have my resupply box sent here, not realizing how far away it was (and that they did not provide a shuttle) - and definitely not realizing that the campground near the trailhead had beautiful walk-in tent sites for hikers -$3 per night for seniors with golden pass - and WiFi at the general store. As it turns out ( to my complete shock) there is no guest WiFi here and of course no cell coverage (Verizon people got coverage intermittently in the Canyon and along the Rim and I was really regretting our choice of AT&T, which I often do on the trail) so I don’t know how long it will be before I can upload this. It totally depends on cell coverage along the trail - which isn’t likely in these sparsely populated areas. I am so glad I found one little spot of coverage and got three days of posts uploaded.
Photo 1 is my tentsite last night and photo 2 is the view a few steps from my “front door.” Unfortunately I set up my tent to take advantage of the view, which meant the open part of my tent faced the boisterous evening wind on the Rim, which kept flinging fistfuls of red canyon dust into my tent.
I had planned to wake up this morning at 5:30am. I had learned from the Kaibab lodge folks that the trans canyon shuttle (the 200+ mile route between north rim and south rim) was usually willing, when not full, to give folks a lift the 18 miles north to Kaibab Lodge. The trans canyon shuttle website said there were only two shuttles a day, 7am and 2pm, so I thought I had better try for the first one. If I had cell coverage I would have phoned to see if they were likely to have space and to find out if the shuttle would be at the campground or at the lodge (about a mile and a half away). Of course I overslept, woke up at 6:15 and rushed to pack up and take down my tent. When I got to the general store a little after 6;45 I saw a van pulling away. I ran after it, chased it to the registration desk, only to find it was the wrong van (a north rim van that provided employee transportation) - but I asked if he could give me a ride to the lodge (since the trans canyon shuttle was not at the store I figured it would be at the lodge - and the driver confirmed he had seen it there). The driver didn’t know if we could make it on time ( he had to pick up and drop off employees first) but agreed to give me a ride. Just in time, we pulled up at the trans canyon shuttles, and they did have space. The drivers called their dispatcher and asked what to charge and he said “ just a tip - but if it’s a big one I want to do the driving myself.” So I got my ride (since the rim to rim ride costs 90, I guessed that 20 would be a generous tip, and given that I had no smaller bills it seemed like the perfect amount. ) I reached Kaibab Lodge (we even saw a herd of bison on the way) and my resupply box had arrived safely (thanks to Peter McC and Mary Ann for sending it - thank you.)
I treated myself to a bacon, egg, refried potato breakfast this morning. I am now sitting at a restaurant table here at Kaibab Lodge in the sun. After the super heat on the canyon floor and even at the top on the hike up, last night was cool enough to use my sleeping bag and to need to wear my jacket this morning.
Back to yesterday’s walk up to the North Rim. I think the real thrill for me was the grace of those “here I am” moments when I feel so wide-eyed and aware of my own presence and that of the world around me. It’s a grateful, peaceful feeling. No resistance, no struggle, no insistence that I or the world should be different than it is. I don’t know why I so seldom experience this deep peace and contentment in the presence of people. I think part of practicing social skills should be looking for the exceptions - noticing the moments when I do. What first comes to mind is Quaker silent worship - and it explains why my connection with Quakers is so important to me. Having said that, another example would be moments in Catholic mass, especially communion, and the sacraments, especially - now what’s the word? - confession, absolution, penance?
Those of you who read my blog from the Wonderland trail may remember the sublime (and also ridiculous) moment when I asked a fellow hiker who happened also to be a catholic priest if he could grant me absolution - there, in the presence of that great and beautiful mountain - for all of my sins. I had tears pouring down my cheeks. He gently said that it would would be a little unusual - perhaps I would want to say a little about my sins? I told him, sobbing and gasping, that I had failed to love the people I loved skillfully, that I had hurt them and let them down. (I’m getting teary just retelling the story). “I am sure you are forgiven” he said - which seemed to me an adroit balancing act on the tight wire, between not violating church authority (of course he couldn’t grant absolution in this unorthodox setting) and not being insensitive the moral imperative of compassion in that place and that moment.
As I write about wanting forgiveness for unskillful loving, I think about Ribbon Falls - that sacred Zuni site representing the emergence of the people out of darkness into light. That darkness, that place where they could not see each other - and as a result they would step on, spit on, and defecate on one another - that’s what I’d call unskillful loving.
I like the idea of this as a pilgrimage out of darkness into light, and I also like the reminder that it’s a daily pilgrimage, a miraculous emergence (bringing to
mind “a miracle everyday as the dawn” - which is a quote either from one of my own poems or someone else’s, I have no idea which, and at this moment it occurs to me that it doesn’t really matter which it is) - a pilgrimage that can and needs to take place again and again and again.
This morning after arriving here at Kaibab Lodge and feeling too low energy to unpack my supply box and repack my pack, I wandered around the lodge store and come across a children’s book (let’s call this photo 2.5 because I’m sticking it in here late and that way I don’t have to go through the blog and re-number all the photographs - probably nobody even cares about them being numbered anyway besides me. It gives me the illusion of order and control.)
With beautiful illustrations and simple poetic language, it retells a Navajo myth. (Now I don’t know if it’s told by a real Navajo or if it is part of the Anglo theft/appropriation of Native American culture. So read on, as I write on, at the risk of being politically incorrect. Don’t you wish there were one set of rules that we could follow and feel secure we would do no harm? Read on.). The little book describes First Woman, in the beginning, wanting to write down the Laws for the people so they would understand them. She thought of writing them in the sands, or in the water, but they were too shifting. Finally she decided to write them in the sky as stars. She began to place her jewels in the sky making a careful design that all people would be able to read and understand, so they would know the Laws and could teach them to their children. Then Coyote came along and asked what she was doing. When she told him, he wanted to help her, and she agreed. But Coyote grew impatient. He wanted to be finished. There were so many jewels to set in the sky and the design was so subtle and complex. It would take forever to put every single star in its place. So Cayote took the blanket of star-jewels, and shook it so hard that he hurled all of them, all at once, randomly into the sky. First Woman was shocked and upset - but what was done could not be undone. And ever since then, people, when they look up into the sky and try to read the laws, know confusion.
I like that story. A simple story that helps me look at the wars between religions, the transient nature of scientific truths, with almost calm acceptance. What’s done cannot be undone. I’ve always liked coyote the trickster figure who seems to bring blessings inextricably mixed up with curses. I relate him to Raven, the Pacific Northwest trickster figure who tricks an old man into letting him open the series of nested boxes within which light is hidden (in the smallest innermost one), so when Raven (disguised as the old man’s beloved grandchild) gets to the final box, he grabs the light, steals it, and creates the universe as we know it. Funny how it parallels the Zuni story of Ripple Falls. There were a lot of ravens sailing around that Grand Canyon box of light - almost as good at stealing food as the squirrels.
Theft is an interesting concept. “Property is theft” some famous anarchist (maybe Bakunin?) said. No internet so I can’t google it. The white folks believed in property and stole the land the native people lived on, without the idea of ownership. I wonder if it really makes sense to own land - or for that matter, stories. But what has been done cannot be undone.
I found the Coyote story oddly soothing this morning. My own mistake - bringing myself at great expense (the shuttle both ways plus the room totaling over $150 compared to $3 for a more convenient and beautiful tent site with easy access to WiFi and even cell phone coverage a half hour walk away) seemed just another case of “what’s done cannot be undone” - of my partaking in the sacramental confusion of a world in which it is normal to be confused. (What I mean by sacrament here is just a ritual or a story or a mind state that manages to connect individual experience to a larger pattern.)
And I have yet to tell you about yesterday’s walk. What can I say? It was “a miracle everyday as the dawn” to walk through darkness into light again in that truly amazing canyon (photo 3).
The walk was beautiful - a constantly changing panorama that made me acutely aware of the shapes of the spaces I was surrounded by. Photo 4 is some scenes along the way.
As I began to approach the north rim, there was more green, and more and more trees. The trees cast a spell for me, especially when I rest and watch the leaves dance in the wind and shimmer in the sun (as in my rest stop in the upper left of photo 5). They seem to create the “Here I am” trance and make me more appreciative of the rock colors and shapes, the geological layers, and the billions of years of time passing that the layers “record.”
Photo 6 shows me at the top, feeling proud and grateful that I accomplished the walk.
I asked a day hiker if she would take my photo. We got to talking and I learned she had extensive neuropathy from chemotherapy (she was a colon cancer survivor) but that she refused to let it stop her from hiking - though it certainly slowed her down and made hiking more difficult. It was interesting for me to be reminded for the second time on this walk of cancer, and it also reminded me (again) that injury and illness can happen at any time to anyone - and that my health and ability are not to be taken for granted. They are themselves a “miracle everyday as the dawn.” It also reminded me of people who are gone: my sister in law Linda, my mother, former clients Caroline and John (who honored me by allowing me to be present at their deaths), and of my experience facilitating support groups of cancer patients/survivors at The Wellness Community. I remembered how the discussions of the difficulties, the fearsome and painful aspects of the disease would begin to feel like a huge weight, growing heavier and heavier, in the middle of the room and then someone would crack a joke and the laughter, there in the midst of the tears, would brighten and lighten the room. Humor for sure can be a way of emergence from darkness. Another miracle everyday as the dawn. I began to trust that humor to come along when we needed it, and not to fear the weight in the room or to imagine that I as group leader should or could lift it. I would just trust that the love and laughter would emerge. And they did.
Maybe that’s part of what the Ribbon Falls pilgrimage is for me. Trusting in emergence - not as something I can force or control, not as something that happens once and for all - but as something that does happen. Again and again and again.
Sigh. So may I end with one last photo of the view from the small spot near the Grand Canyon North Rim Lodge where I found good cell service? Do you see that off-white, semi-flat round rock in the lower center, beyond some foreground branches and logs? I watched people climb up there and stand up, their arms open and the whole backdrop of the canyon all around them. I thought of coming back later with Barry and asking him to take a picture of me there. But we can’t change what’s done (or for that matter what’s not done) so will you please join me in imagining me (and you) standing there, arms stretched open, feeling both proud and fragile, trusting emergence, against the backdrop of this huge mysterious Canyon that is such an eloquent reminder that life and the world are bigger and more beautiful than we are.
Okay. That was meant to be my crescendo and dramatic ending, but, guess what? I left out the poop report. That’s right - after being so totally free of poop problems for nearly two years (since learning to drink aloe juice) I wasn’t even worried enough to pack pads or extra toilet paper. ) I was not expecting this. Picture me walking up the canyon having this great experience but having to poop. Bad. Worried not just about poopy pants, but wet poop dripping down my legs (you get the picture, and even the scent) and looking, on a trail that consisted mostly of vertical cliffs and steep drop-offs, for places where I could leave the trail, dig a discrete cat hole, and drop my pants fast. I actually (talk about everyday miracles) found such places twice. Between them and a toilet just before I left, one st Suspi tunnel (maybe 3/4 of the way up) and one just after I arrived, I never actually experienced a poop meltdown. But it was profound for me to realize that it might happen, that there was really nothing I could do about it, and ultimately it would be okay if it did. Not what I wanted but - as they used to say when I worked in the Wellness Community about the small problems that used to overwhelm them with stress, about which cancer (and the struggle to stay alive in the face of what were at the time truly painful and devastating treatments) had given them a fresh perspective on - “It’s not cancer.” All sorts of things that would have been Big Stuff in the past became small stuff not worth sweating after living with cancer.
Now it really is time to end - maybe not with a roar, but a chuckle. Thank you so much for being there. I get so much more out of these walks because of writing the blogs and imagining your attentive and supportive presence. Enjoy your own walk through life - let me know (if you want to) what the blog stirs up for you - and I will see you on the trail tomorrow as we head north for the Utah border.
