19 - The Beer Chugging Champion of the Grand Canyon

              After leaving Las Vegas, Bruce and I arrived at Grand Canyon Village at 9 PM.

              We went to a nearly abandoned bar and went into the adjoining rec center. We played some pinball, a little ping-pong, and I played chess with a guy named Mark and got whupped, but he told me about some cool hikes we could take the next day. We camped out on a cold, clear night in Mather Campground, for free.

              Looking back on the entire 1978 journey, Bruce and I skipped over so many National Parks and other natural sites with nary a mention, including Glacier, Yosemite, the Redwoods, and Joshua Tree. Fortunately, we visited Yellowstone and the Grand Canyon; but it was apparent we did not have a plan on entering either. For example, we did not even start thinking about hiking the Canyon until we awoke.

              Decided on descending the South Kaibab trail, go along the Colorado River, and up the Bright Angel Trail, about 16 miles and 12 hours. [Actually closer to 18 miles.] We left at about noon after stocking up on Gatorade, juice and food, emptying our backpacks of everything else. 

              Bruce recalls, and I vaguely do, that the “juice” was V-8, and we also had beer, which we were drinking when we began our descent at noon. Someone coming up the trail said, “That’s great!” We agreed it was amazing to hike this incredible landmark. He replied, “No, I meant that beer you have!"

Great!

Not so great.

              From there, more sketchy references that leave me scratching my head to this day:

             
              Downhill and windy through brush and muleshit, past muletrains, Uncle Skippy and his three girlfriends, down to the river at a leisurely pace, 10 miles later [probably 8.5] by 5 PM. Bruce tried to go swimming, he wanted to go across, but the river was icy.

Colorado River, 1978. Note below how muddier it was in 2018.

              Grand Canyon is unique among long hikes because the descent comes first. Do not think that it is easy because it is downhill. The challenge is the footing, as the path is not at all groomed. No more than a few hundred yards are relatively firm. The rest is fraught with loose rocks, embedded boulders, foot-high stone walls placed in random places (presumably for water diversion), brick pavers, railroad ties at regular intervals to create the illusion of steps, metal spikes sticking treacherously out of the ground where some of those ties used to be, cables and waterlines popping up unexpectedly, several creek crossings, a stretch of loose sand, and - of course - ubiquitous piles of mule shit and puddles of mule piss, that are not always distinguishable from the actual mud and water puddles that appear at regular intervals. Hiking the Grand Canyon may also include long waits for mule trains. The mules often stop for several minutes, for no discernible reason except to deal with whatever mulish psychological issues they may have.

              After a five-hour descent, we made it to the river, and soon began our way up, a climb of over one mile (5280 feet) over the next 9 miles or so. Our knees were already wrecked and our bodies worn, with the hardest work yet to come. 

              We started up and hit Indian Gardens [still 4.9 miles from the South Rim] at dusk where we met up with three other guys. We went up more or less together, stopping to rest, drinking water, leading with the flashlight until they passed us with 1 ½ miles to go when I laid down on the path. Still, we made it to Bright Angel Lodge by 9 PM, three hours better than average, on an all-day hike that most people we met were amazed we attempted all at once. The last few hours were lighted by a brilliant full moon that gave spectacular contours to the sheer cliffs of the Canyon.

              When I look back at that journal, bearing in mind what I told you about the state of the path, I’m agog that we traveled the last five miles in the dark, despite the full moon. I do remember the joy of nearing the top. With the moon beaming on us, Bruce and I put our arms around each other, singing “Show Me the Way to Go Home,” in one of the most unforgettable experiences of my life.

              That song, by the way, was a bit of an inside joke. We learned it from the movie “Jaws.” After the boat crew thought it was clear of the threat, they were drinking and singing in this classic scene, until the shark rudely interrupted:

Show me the way to go home, I'm tired and I want to go to bed

I had a little drink about an hour ago, and it's gone straight to my head!

              However, hiking the Grand Canyon to the river and back in one day, even under these incredible circumstances, was nothing compared to my next accomplishment:

              We went into Bright Angel Lodge, had candy and pop, ate, and drank decent piña coladas while a cool lady guitarist and singer entertained with Linda Ronstadt, Joni Mitchell, and John Prine. During an interlude, a self-assured guy (Tim from Farmington NM) got up on stage, took the mike, and challenged anyone in the audience to a beer chugging contest. I went up with two other guys, the timer started us, and I won. Tim bought me a drink and told me he hadn’t lost in four months.

              After all that, we were beat. We slept in the car.

              There is a cliché that for certain beautiful things, “pictures can’t do it justice.” I believe that is true of the Grand Canyon. It is not just a sight; it is a complete mind-body experience. Every switchback, every movement of the sun (or moon), provides a new vista. The transition from the cooler forest at the rim, to the desert at the river where the Pueblo people eked out a living, is profound. The tricky breezes, curling around the canyon walls, the vastness and the silence, are all experiences that do not fully translate to a photo. With that caveat, even a 1978 Kodak Instamatic (above) or an iPhone 10 (below) can give you this:

  
               I was both excited and apprehensive about retracing this route in 2018, which I planned to coincide with the full “Hunter’s Moon” on October 24. But no matter how much confidence I may have had, I was 40 years older, and didn’t have a hiking buddy. Given that when I was 21 years old I needed to lie down on the path to rest, I wasn’t sure how I would do this time around.

Bruce today, wearing a 1978 Grand Canyon souvenir.

              I camped the night before in Mather again (not free, but only $18) under a waxing nearly full moon, and could barely sleep. I awoke at 4:30, under a starry but chilly 38° sky, and wondered how I would pass the time until 9 AM, my projected starting time that would allow me plenty of daylight and still have me finishing under the full moon. I ate cold oatmeal and granola at the campsite and drove to Bright Angel, where I planned to catch a bus to the South Kaibab trail, so that when I finished, my car would be waiting for me.

              I killed time until 6 when I went to the Yavapai Lodge and had a second breakfast, this time hot oatmeal and lots of hot coffee. I went outside and it was still pretty cold. Other assembled hikers had on coats, hats, gloves, and scarves. I was wearing jeans and a hoodie, but puzzled because the forecast was for a high of over 70°, so I asked a ranger his advice. He reminded me I was hiking into desert and that the sun would warm the Canyon soon enough. I went back to the car and put on shorts and a tank top, grabbed a stick I’d found on a previous hike, and filled my backpack with the days’ provisions: two quarts each of Gatorade and water, two king-sized Payday bars, some dates, a banana (which turned into mush before I could eat it), and a small packet of almond butter. Here I am ready to go:

              I was about to catch the bus to the South Kaibab trailhead when my phone rang. Annoyed, I recognized the number as an opposing counsel I was expecting a call from. I’ve done a pretty good job of deferring my obligations, but this was one I needed to deal with, so I took the call. As expected, this particular attorney proved to be extremely dick-like, which spoiled my mood, and also caused me to miss a bus. 

              I finally got to South Kaibab at 8:30 AM. My goal was to finish reasonably close to 1978’s nine-hour time, and get in just after sunset, for the 6:11 PM moonrise. I began with about fifteen or so of my fellow bus passengers, including six German youth with boundless energy I tried to keep pace with as the day went on. We were all giddy and took photos of each other with our phones, and hit the trails. Some were going as far as I was, or further. (Three runners passed me, headed to the north rim and back, a 47 mile trip!) Others would turn sooner, so the crowd thinned out quickly.

              One cannot begin a Grand Canyon hike without frequent stops for photos. One’s energy and emotion is high. It’s a beautiful feeling, and I hope that everyone reading this has a chance to experience it sometime. Perhaps capitalizing on this reality, the first vista point descending from South Kaibab is called “Ooh Aah Point.”

From National Geographic.

              My adrenaline carried me to the river in less than four hours, well ahead of my pace with Bruce. But I paid for it on the way back, looking forward to the occasional “rest stops” (pit toilets, sometimes with benches). Some call the last three miles the “Devil’s Corkscrew,” with steep and relentless switchbacks. I chatted occasionally with other hikers, including two women around my age from Grand Rapids who were hiking from the North Rim also in one day, about 25 miles (I saw one using an oxygen inhaler at one point). I actually got briefly lost on the way up, wasting 15 minutes when I got off the path after a rest stop. I am reasonably sure, and quite hopeful, that it wasn’t due to delirium.

              No laying down on the path this time. I passed the last mile with a friendly couple from Rapid City, South Dakota, and soon the Bright Angel Lodge appeared in front of us. It was just around the 5:41 sunset, half an hour before the moonrise, and only about ten minutes slower than 1978. No regrets on not hiking up in the dark, as I had forgotten a flashlight and my phone was about dead. And I still got to experience the glorious full moon shortly afterwards.

              I hobbled into the Lodge for a good local stout and listened to the guitarist, a male this time, but playing roughly the same genre of music as the 1978 guitarist, including Gordon Lightfoot and Harry Chapin. I contemplated throwing down the gauntlet and issuing a challenge to my beer chugging title. I looked around and counted around 9 people; and even though it’s been a while since I’ve chugged a beer, I smugly decided I could kick all of their collective asses, and did not need to formally defend my title. 

              Seeing those ultra-runners along my hike, and other day hikers going further than I was, was a sober reminder that in most endeavors, somebody is always going to be faster, or better. Except for one thing: I will always be the beer chugging champion of the Grand Canyon.

           Next: Navajo Nation to Arches National Park.