GRAND CANYON NATIONAL PARK October 2024
LEANING-IN IN THE GRAND CANYON
The Russian Saga
In between downward glances to carefully study the rough trail before each foot plant, I looked up to see an apparent accident scene on the trail’s edge. In moments, I would be arriving at Cedar Ridge, a popular destination and convergence zone on the heavily traveled S Kaibab Trail. Cedar Ridge is an important reference point for tourists and hikers alike because it has one of 2 sets of pit toilets on the 7-mile-long trail linking the South Rim and the Colorado River.
My quick survey from afar suggested it was a stable situation. One person was reclining on a backpack, face up, and there were 6-8 people milling around, but without a sense of urgency. The lanky, oddly dressed man I’d seen at the same junction the day before was standing at the bottom of the cluster looking out-of-place and only loosely associated with the group. When I approached the scene, I noticed the supine woman was conscious and not bleeding, which fit with my earlier observation of it not being a crisis situation.
LEANING-IN IN THE GRAND CANYON
The Russian Saga
In between downward glances to carefully study the rough trail before each foot plant, I looked up to see an apparent accident scene on the trail’s edge. In moments, I would be arriving at Cedar Ridge, a popular destination and convergence zone on the heavily traveled S Kaibab Trail. Cedar Ridge is an important reference point for tourists and hikers alike because it has one of 2 sets of pit toilets on the 7-mile-long trail linking the South Rim and the Colorado River.
My quick survey from afar suggested it was a stable situation. One person was reclining on a backpack, face up, and there were 6-8 people milling around, but without a sense of urgency. The lanky, oddly dressed man I’d seen at the same junction the day before was standing at the bottom of the cluster looking out-of-place and only loosely associated with the group. When I approached the scene, I noticed the supine woman was conscious and not bleeding, which fit with my earlier observation of it not being a crisis situation.
“Ah, to be surefooted like the Big Horn sheep!”
Little did I know then that the group was very eager to have Bill’s help, so much so that the sullen young man had spun around, stood in the middle of the trail, and waited for Bill. “You’re a doctor, aren’t you?” were the first words out of his mouth when he saw Bill carefully descending the trail.
Bill was flabbergasted, as was I when Bill shared their encounter with me: both my intuition and little joke had worked, and the hiker pegged Bill right away as the man he was looking for. When we debriefed later, we realized Bill would have been easy to spot with the clue I’d left behind: it was only 7:30 am, so there were only a few people on the trail; the hiker would be looking for an older man who was likely fit and alone, probably in sun-shielding attire; which would narrow the small pool to about 10%.
A 53-year-old backpacker had slid on the red, pee-gravel-like surface of the steep trail and snapped her ankle in the first hour of her multi-day trip. Stacy was a nurse and had made her own diagnosis based on the abnormal position of her foot and sight of a bone fragment under her skin while she was still on the ground. Her foot now was nicely elevated on another pack and someone had contacted the Park Service for help by the time we each arrived separately. Bill was told one ranger was hiking up from Phantom Ranch and another was hiking down from the Rim, because there were 2 casualties, not just one.
Isa was a 33-year-old Texan through hiker crossing Cedar Ridge on his way to the S Rim who had taken charge of Stacy’s care; he was the seated hiker who had been the target of my little joke about Bill. We later learned he had taken a wilderness medicine course in the last year so he could self-treat on solo, long distance backpack trips, but he was now in charge of 2 medical emergencies, one of them for 14 hours, the other for minutes, and was relieved to have Bill’s support.
The S Kaibab Trail above Cedar Ridge.
Stacy clearly took comfort from being tended by a medical professional and Bill was ample with his reassurance. Though attentive, neither Bill nor I heard her male companion say a peep and his apparent lack of confidence in assisting with her care likely accentuated Stacy’s relief from Bill’s presence and words. Isa latter confided in Bill that she seemed much more reassured by Bill comments than his own, even though Isa’s care had been spot-on.
As an “after care comment,” Bill highly recommended to Stacy that she buy ankle splints like he wore to support her ankles. His braces allow full forward and back ankle flexion, which is critical for surviving the steep S Kaibab Trail, but limit side-to-side motion to prevent injuries. He reasoned that along with the break, she’d likely overstretched her ankle ligaments, which would make her vulnerable to another ankle injury in the future. He lamented to me that, given the amount of pain she was in, she wouldn’t remember the advice, but I suggested that his information might counter real-time rumination’s like: “How will I ever be able to hike again…?” And maybe her silent partner would remember….
I had continued my hike a bit below Cedar Ridge as I had planned and Bill and I eventually reconnected at the scene, which was when I saw Isa for the second time, who was taking a break from caregiving under a scraggly scrub oak tree. Isa, his hiking partner Jocelyn, and Andrew, a hiker that they had picked up while en route to Mexico on the Arizona Trail from Utah where it traverses the Grand Canyon, had inadvertently become first responders together.
Isa recounted how the day before, their group of 3 hiked down from the N Rim into the 109° heat of Phantom Ranch where they lolled in the creek and the Colorado River all day to cope with the extreme temperatures. About 3 pm, they slowly began to hike out of the sizzling canyon to the S Rim. Two hours later, around 5 pm, they spotted the scantly clad fashionista guy I had seen earlier that day, motionless and in a fetal position on a large, flat rock in the scorching afternoon sun.
Their first thought was that the spindly man of their decade was high on drugs. Conflicted about the wisdom of approaching him, Isa proceeded cautiously. The man initially shooed him away but Isa persisted, offering him water. The man greedily chugged Isa’s precious water and promptly puked it all out. Luckily for the man, Isa recognized the puking response as one of dehydration and not lack of gratitude and he became more insistent on rendering aid. Isa spread his minimalist sleep mat on the trail and the man immediately lunged at it, then passed out.
The Arizona Trail trio with the Russian tourist.
The Arizona Trail trio had taken turns tending to the Russian man, who spoke little English, where he laid until about 10 pm, when they decided they must move off the trail to a makeshift campsite. Surprisingly unsympathetic passing hikers had complained they’d parked in the middle of the trail, forcing them to walk in the rocks to get around the 4-some. Desert hikers themselves, they knew that about 3 am there would be a fresh onslaught of speeding hikers and trail runners. For 5 hours, they’d off and on given the man a bottle cap full of water and corralled him when he was coherent enough to take to the trail alone without a light.
Alexander had hiked to a high point several times during the night to connect with the Park Service using his Garmin satellite receiver, like we both carry. Early on, the Park Service informed them that they were on their own in caring for the dehydrated man overnight, that there had been so many emergencies during the day due to the extreme heat that they couldn’t respond to them all. The Park Service had been forced to abandon distressed hikers and the group’s conclusion was that this man would have died without their help.
The trio camped with the man who had no food, no water, no warm clothing, no gear, and no charge on his phone, using up their water to cool him and then giving him their sleep mats and bags to keep him warm through the night. On one of his treks to a prominence where Alexander obtained internet connection, he was able to download a Russian translator app that occasionally worked to aid communication with the sometimes-delirious man and to be directed to a nearby Park Service emergency water cache where they helped themselves to 2 of the 4 gallons of water.
Perhaps the Park Services’s ammo box the trio raided for water.
The 4-some planted themselves on the trail edge with Stacy and waited for a dual rescue after a second rescue request call was made with Alexander’s Garmin on Stacy’s behalf. We found them shortly after the second call had been made. The three-some was in good spirits but stressed, sleep deprived, out of food, and exhausted from the heat and uncertainty of how to care for his man they’d kept safe through the night.
The best sense the rescuers could make of the Russian’s story was that he was a model for a cologne company who would be driving to San Diego when he exited the Canyon to fly to New York for a photo shoot. He told other stories, some of which made less sense, but they no longer cared what the truth was. They felt that delirium and reality had become intertwined for the man and he didn’t have clue about his near-death experience; though committed to his wellbeing, they were quite ready to be rid of him.
Sensing Bill’s help was no longer needed and knowing the group’s resolve to transfer Stacy’s care directly to the Park Service, we headed out a few minutes before the ranger from Phantom Ranch arrived. But Bill then backtracked to tell the group one more thing about Stacy’s care when the ranger hiking from Phantom Ranch was on the scene. The ranger had made the call for a chopper rescue of Stacy and cleared the Russian to hike out. The only thing the Russian was certain about when the ranger arrived was that he didn’t want to hike out alone—he wanted to go with the trio.
Presumably a water cache brought in for the mules this super-hot fall.
We were delighted when we crested the S Rim to see Isa was calling hotels looking for a place to stay. Unfortunately, nothing was available on the Rim or within the the park, but he found a motel room in the nearby community of Tusayan, which was on the Arizona Trail. We were just in time for him to hand us his phone and pick up the tab on the room, simplifying the transaction. We were immensely pleased that their sacrifices from the night before would be somewhat countered by sleeping in beds in an air-conditioned room after hot showers and the Russian was out of their hair.
While Isa was on hold for a room reservation, we learned the first ranger to arrive at Stacy’s accident scene was furious to see the Russian, a man she had told to turn around and hike back to the Rim the day before. The following day, we were able to text the trio after we spoke with another ranger who had offered to fill the Russian’s empty S. Pellegrino glass water bottle but he had refused since she didn’t have sparkling water!
Other Arizona Trail enthusiasts portaging their bikes through the Park (as required by the Park Service).
A ranger, who was one of several rangers who had direct contact with the Russian man, echoed our sentiments about the many wonderful, committed Grand Canyon hikers who take responsibility for the collective well being of all the people on the trails. We were immediately touched by the uniqueness of this sense of reciprocity within the trail culture when we started hiking inside the canyon years ago and began taking contributing to it seriously. That culture is part of what spurs so many to push their edges athletically: the sense of community makes it safer to dare to do more than one would otherwise do when on the inner corridor trails because you know you are not alone.
The Russian tourist saga also underscored how self-absorbed hikers put themselves and others at risk by not following the guidance and help from the rangers and official trail volunteers. The Russian dude put the Arizona Trail hikers in peril by depleting their water, their food, and their physical and emotional reserves when they were already heat stressed. Luckily for the trio, the Park Service unexpectedly directed them to a water stash, Stacy with the broken ankle invited them to raid the snack stash in her pack to fuel the last mile and a half of their hike to the Rim with the Russian, and we guaranteed them a good night’s sleep in beds in an air-conditioned room that night; all of which was a product of the supportive community.
A tip from the rangers on the Bright Angel trail which, unlike the S Kaibab Trail, had running water.
THE EXTREME HEAT
Different Activities
Our usual 6-weeks spent in the Grand Canyon and Flagstaff, AZ in October and into November were shaped more by the extreme heat in the region this year than by our anticipated hiking conquests, or even our life-shattering medical problems that had begun for Bill in June.
From my hospital bed on September 4th, 2 days after returning from Italy and a day after having had my 3 pm ischemic stroke, I declared “We’ll stick to the itinerary though the activities may change.” Ten days after I was released from the hospital, we hit the road for the SW with our hastily packed trailer in tow.
The week consumed by driving was grueling for my brain injured from both the stroke and prescribed statins, but it was worth the daily exhaustion and distress to dump our fractured souls in a place that pushed our “Go” buttons. If we had stayed in the calm comfort of our apartment, we would have been immersed in only our glum new realities whereas being in a favorite playground challenged us to engage.
Experiencing the most satisfying new activity in the Grand Canyon this season for me occurred when I impulsively launched for a 4:30 am walk on the S Rim 2 hours before sunrise, without breakfast, on our first morning. Our usual early start time was 6:30 am, with breakfast in our bellies. But when the alarm sounded at 4 am, I checked the air quality app and bad air was headed our way. My mind and body desperately needed the rehab challenges of long walks and hunkering down in the trailer cozied up to our air purifier was wildly unappealing.
The unexpected, lightning-fast start to our day was especially harsh for Bill, who like many, treasures a gentle entry back to reality fortified by a cup or 2 of coffee. But the logic was compelling: the prize would be capturing the predicted short window of clean air on day when it was expected to turn toxic in a few hours. Since the temperatures were running 20° or more above average in the Grand Canyon, the jackrabbit start also allowed us to complete our miles for the day while avoiding being in the 90° heat.
Headlamps dotting the S Kaibab Trail about 5 am.
Another bonus was that, even though we had walked the S Rim Trail countless times in the years we’d stayed in the park, it was totally novel by headlamp. On our first morning, a Saturday, we were stunned to look into the canyon and see 30 or more hikers with headlamps descending our beloved S Kaibab trail without us. We’d done it many times and had planned to be among them twice in the next 8 days but the heat wave and our health problems rendered us observers. We had only twinges of regret mixed in with the immense delight from seeing the spectacle from afar instead of being on the trail eating their dust in the dark.
The high desert landscape cut through by the asphalt S Rim Trail was amazing when seen by headlamp. The small, white boulders lining the trail popped when illuminated and were in stark contrast to the desert grays and muted greens of the low scrub trees and hardened vegetation. Even the familiar shapes of sword-like yuccas drew a startle response when spotlighted. Though not polite to mention, since the Grand Canyon is a “Pay to play” venue, none of the unexpected forms that emerged from shining our lights into the dark were homeless people. Here, unlike at home, I could safely walk alone in the pitch dark at 4:30 am without any regrettable encounters or needing to make a sudden detour around a new sidewalk encampment.
About an hour into our walk, we were buzzed by the minimally-clad trail runners, either chattering in packs or solo. In another half hour, a few fellow walkers in the dark would be seen, followed by dedicated sunrise watchers fiercely clutching their paper cups filled with take-out coffee. By sunrise, there were dozens of tourists milling about, some shamelessly still in their PJ’s with fleece blankets over their heads, with a few brisk walkers militantly cutting between them. By the time we returned to our trailer from our 9-mile walk, our puff jackets, beanies, heavy gloves, and headlamps were tucked away in our light duty packs and we were uncomfortably warm in our multiple base layers while anticipating a triumphant breakfast.
With each successive outing, we learned which were the trophy places to be on the Rim during which phases of sunrise, with the 45” before the official sunrise being the best show, if you were in the right place. I delighted myself by playing a few minutes of the soundtrack “Sprach Zarathustra” from “2001: A Space Odyssey” from a favorite perch, though the sun breaking the horizon never sequenced perfectly with the dramatic music.
Sharing sunrise with the crowds at a handy viewpoint.
Our wings were severely clipped this season at the Grand Canyon, forcing us to settle for abbreviated experiences on the trails. We were quite the pair. Unlike me, Bill still had full access to his fitness, except when he didn’t. Like in Italy during the summer, he could be steaming along, then get stopped in his tracks by his heart’s electrical system malfunctions. Some days when going uphill, he spent more time resting than walking and was shown-up by the slow, wobbling, stroke victim barely successfully self-rescuing from her near-falls with her hiking poles. Logical conversations like “What should we do, what will become of us?” morphed into taunts and there was nothing to do but keep going, so we did.
The pitiful numbers on our annual spreadsheet reported weekly miles accumulated for me in September as “1, 9, 4” but in October, they read 42 to 66. My weekly elevation gains for September were ‘’0”, whereas in October, they ranged from 6,000 to 10,000’. Bill’s weekly stats were more erratic than mine because he was trying to crack the uncrackable code for regulating his output to avoid abject failure of his heart.
In contrast to Bill, I could keep moving, though painfully slowly because of sapped energy, poor balance, constant dizziness, and reduced mobility. Daily walking was a huge time suck for me and I did little else in my day, every day. Even months later, I hadn’t put away all my belongings that had been thrown into the trailer because walking and doing my daily, self-selected, rehab exercises consumed all my time, energy, and focus.
Then, one day, the time had come: I took a deep breath, paused, and canceled our cherished N Rim lodging reservations. They were essential for us to have to hike between the Rims on 2 different pairs of October dates, but we would not be making those hikes this year. Almost a $1000 in deposits were on the line with these hard-won bookings and I dared not miss the deadline to cancel due to sentimentality.
We soothed our bruised egos and broken hearts from not being well enough to hike between the Rims in 2024 with the knowledge that it was wildly unsafe, especially for “the elderly” in the extreme heat. Our ailing bodies had forced a prudent decision to avoid spending hours in over 100° temperatures at Phantom Ranch’s elevation, temperatures that persisted for weeks. We did what we could, were grateful for it, and savored being with part of our pack on the higher, cooler elevations of the trails even though we were low performers this season.
The S Kaibab at sunrise with a few descending hikers with headlamps.
“Brutal, just brutal” was the description from a woman who had spent the night at Bright Angel Campground at the Colorado River. She had hiked down from the North Rim, like the Arizona Trail trio had, and like them, had spent the day in the river to survive the extreme heat. Unlike them, she had camped for the night but got no sleep because of the lingering heat. Out of frustration, and to limit her time for the day in the highest temperatures, she began hiking out a 3 am.
That same morning, I spoke with a cheery, less-inexperienced couple going down the Bright Angel Trail to spend the night in the same campground and his retort was “We’ll be fine since it is only going to be 70°.” I knew I wouldn’t be fine in a tent shelter sufficient to protect me from the bugs, scorpions, and snakes in those temperatures and, being from Illinois, I doubted that they would be as comfy as he anticipated. And those refreshing 70° temperatures he was anticipating would likely only occur during the couple of hours before sunrise after a stuffy, sleepless night.
There were about 2 weeks of daily highs over 100° at Phantom Ranch that October, with the temperatures exceeding those in Palm Springs on some days, and there was no shortage of trail talk about coping with the heat and of those who had failed to do so.
We were incredibly lucky with the unusual heat wave in the Grand Canyon this year. Coincidentally, the cumbersome Trailer Village reservation process had resulted in our reservations being a nightmare for the check-in clerk. He could barely cope with them because I had a separate reservation for almost every night of our 2-week stay. I suspect if I hadn’t cultivated a relationship with un-resilient Daniel over the years, he would have thrown me out of the office because of his overwhelming frustration with the unavoidable mess. He instructed me to answer other campers’ questions as they came into the tiny office so he could concentrate on our booking.
Our beloved travel trailer tucked in the shade of the oak trees.
I always strive to avoid those depressingly dark sites which render our solar panels useless if there was a power outage, but given the extreme heat, it was a trophy space that likely kept our trailer 10° cooler each day. It was enough cooler that we only had to run our deafening AC a few hours a day and park was quiet enough this year to sleep with the windows open.
Daily, the park service posted forecast lows of 46° at night, but the lowest we saw on our rig’s monitor was 66°. Incredibly, the low temperature for the nights at Phantom Ranch and the South Rim about 4500’ above it, were the identical. The 20° temperature difference truism between the 2 elevations had been shattered by climate change this October.
More importantly, we were exceedingly lucky with the air quality the entire fall. Poor air quality, especially from the more toxic PM2.5’s, continues to play havoc with my lungs even weeks after the air clears. I’d arrived at the Grand Canyon with a truly portable AQI monitor and a battery operated, vented mask with hopes of breathing filtered air while hiking in pollution. Incredibly, each day I set out on the paved Rim Trail or the trails leading to the river with my new arsenal and each day, I returned without having used them. Even on our first morning when we scooted out at 4:30 am to avoid the toxic plume headed our way, it never arrived. Over and over again, we were spared wildfire smoke blown in from around Flagstaff and air pollution wafting from LA while in the Grand Canyon and in Flagstaff.
Nothing shouts “Palm Springs” like Marilyn does.
In late October, the itinerary planned a year ago finally snapped under the pressure of our medical issues. We were booked for 2 weeks in the mountains above Palm Springs in the middle of November for our annual “peak bagging season,” even though neither of us was capable of 18-mile hikes to 10,500 or 11,500’. But while we’d been at the Grand Canyon, Bill’s cardiologist changed his November 7 appointment to October 24 and Bill made a rushed, 2-night excursion to Palm Springs to be seen.
Bill was immediately scheduled for the first of too many appointments beginning on November 5th to assess if he was having Afib or not. We left the Grand Canyon a day early and arrived in Palm Springs the day before his first of many appointments which, on his busiest week, included 9 appointments with 4 in one day! The elusive heart problem that had been on his radar for more than 12 years suddenly took control of both of our lives and is still the main character!
We’ll meet up with you at that next stop, Palm Springs, for an update on our rapidly changing lives!