Tuesday, July 18, 2000 | 9:34 a.m.
Susan Snyder's column appears Tuesdays and Sundays. Reach her at [email protected] or 259-4082.
A rim-to-rim hike in Grand Canyon National Park is 23 miles long, with elevation gains and losses of more than 10,000 feet.
It ain't for sissies -- especially in July when it's hotter than Satan's armpits. Water and planning don't guarantee success. They up the odds.
Our 17-member group stacked the odds with packs and plans to hike it in two days. "Jim" relied more on luck. We passed him on the North Kaibab Trail as we headed down -- didn't catch his last name or hometown, but his mental state was clear.
He was hiking rim-to-rim-to-rim in 24 hours. That's crossing the canyon twice, covering 40-some miles of some of the most unforgiving terrain Mother Nature offers.
Regardless of how he felt inside, he looked like a maniac outside.
Two 20-ounce water bottles wobbled in a grimy fanny pack as if he were stepping out for a jaunt on a suburban greenbelt. Something resembling dried blood encircled his sun-scorched lips.
His eyes looked glazed. He left the South Rim at midnight. His flashlight didn't quite light the steep descent, resulting in an oopsy-daisy -- ON THE RIM OF THE GRAND CANYON.
He said he was fine (though we doubted it six different ways) and he staggered on.
So did we. One foot in front of the other, we dropped from cool pine forests into the depths of one of the world's natural wonders. We roamed across searing open swaths, splashed through bubbling beaver streams and meandered among head-high grass.
The immense stone cathedral closed ever higher around us. The only human sounds were ours. It felt like the center of the earth.
At long last Phantom Ranch peeked from the trees ahead. Camping, schmamping! Camp your own dumb self! After 14 miles I want sheets, a shower and a cantina.
And next time I want a bottom bunk. The beds were designed by the Swiss Family Robinson. The three-rung ladders, none of which came within a foot of the floor, were attached only at the top. One step up had me swingin' like Count Basie.
Jim the Hyper Hiker stumbled into the ranch just before dinner. He had no reservations, water or food and needed to call his wife.
He didn't have a credit card for the single, card-only phone. He didn't know the phone number for his wife's lodge. Best as we could figure, the only thing he was prepared to do was collapse.
Ranch staffers broke the rules and gave him a sandwich, and he managed to leave a message for his wife. He said he'd be back by midnight and to cancel the room in Las Vegas. Shoot, she was probably already shoving life insurance money into a slot machine.
Then he took off again. We hoped he wouldn't take another header in the dark. We hoped rangers found him before vultures did. We hoped we survived the 9.2-mile death march out.
We never heard any more about Jim. He likely made it in spite of his decisions.
Later, as we sat on the South Rim and our legs turned to wood, I thought about the Jims of the world. Guess some people need to conquer Mother Nature. Others are content simply to be humbled by her.
Arrogance drives one approach. Humility drives the other.
And one of them ain't for sissies.
archive
