Wrecked Knees and Lungs in the Grand Canyon
The Grand Canyon, if you’ve not yet witnessed, is massive.
As a child, my mom would scold me for using the word ‘awesome’ in incorrect contexts. “That’s not awesome, the Grand Canyon is awesome,” she would sternly remind me. As annoying as hearing that was, she was right. The Canyon, far more than anywhere else I’ve been, makes me realize how small and brief each person is, and how stunning our planet can be.
Searching for another epic lung-scorcher that we could fit into our weekend availability, I stumbled across the highly-recommended trail linkup of the South Kaibab and Bright Angel Trails, near the South Rim of the park. With decent snowfall still in the upper rim, Kait and I headed out for the Canyon on the Friday of MLK weekend, excited for the lack of crowds on the actual trails.
To be frank, my dedication to cardio is less-than admirable in my post-collegiate life. Still, I consistently look for the ‘difficult’ or ‘very difficult’ hikes, knowing that more pain usually means more gain (views and elevation included) in the wilderness. Despite this, I usually accomplish everything I set out to do and come out in fairly decent condition.
With that warning, the South Kaibab/Bright Angel loop was by far the most difficult trek I’ve ever done, an excruciatingly painful 15.7 miles that I’m still semi-surprised we made it out of. Some of the difficulties are personal (more on that in a moment) but, before go any further, do NOT attempt this hike if you are not in good endurance shape and experienced in hiking/camping.
Unfortunately for us, the Rangers you can speak to over the phone at the South Rim are used to dealing with tourists who wander off down the Canyon trails on 100°+ days and suffer heat stroke, so they apparently over-exaggerate how brutal the conditions are going to be.
To make matters worse, as we drove through the night (most of my trips depart Friday around 11pm so we can start hiking at sunrise), Kait started to cough and be nauseous. Throughout the seven hour drive, she got sicker and sicker, but we pressed on at her insistence. Hopefully, the fresh air and moving around would shake whatever bug she was close to succumbing to.
We ended up bringing an overabundance of winter clothing and water due to the warnings of ‘near-zero’ temperatures and blinding winds, as well as the Ranger forgetting that running water is readily available in the campsites at the bottom of the canyon. This weight, coupled with torn-up knees from Muay Thai training, led me to hike a majority of the way down in my socks, as I could barely put pressure on my knees without feeling like someone was stabbing them. My beloved Vasque boots, perfect for snow hiking, further destroyed my knees with their rigid support system.
The first hour or so of the trail was both mind-blowing and pleasant. The remaining inch or two of snow on the trail made for easy walking with crampons; we rocketed down the first 2.5 miles while drinking in the views. Only after we got past the snows and into the dry canyon desert did it become apparent that my knees were not going to last.
Close to the ‘false bottom’ of the Canyon — the massive, greenish sprawl of land that appears to be the pit of the Grand Canyon but is actually only the halfway mark — I couldn’t walk any further. Ripping off my boots, I doubled my socks and proceeded to limp barefoot the remaining 3 miles to the riverbed. Even with the consistently sharp gravel on the trail, the lack of boots allowed me to cushion the impact and control my foot placement.
By the time we reached the bottom floor and crossed the Colorado River, it was very apparent to this hobbling, barefoot boyfriend that Kait’s bug turned in a full-blown, gnarly cold/flu. We spent the afternoon and evening trying to recover and hydrate, enviously watching rafters travel down the Colorado River and enjoying conversation with several senior hikers who were on their bi-annual traverse of the Canyon.
The campsites at the bottom of the Grand Canyon are surprisingly nice, with running water and functioning restrooms. Also, this part of the Canyon is ‘dark skies friendly,’ so we went to bed early and stared up at the unending sky. It is truly rare to be in pure darkness, and the calmness that the darkness brings is indescribable.
Next morning, the ascent to the Canyon rim was, as suspected, absolutely excruciating. (Luckily, my knees did not hurt walking uphill due to lessened gravitational impact.) We set out on the Bright Angel Trail early in the morning, and managed to finish the 7 miler in just under seven hours.
Despite Kait’s illness and my knees, we soldiered on, out of the surprisingly warm canyon bottom and back up into frigid temperatures. Along our way, we passed numerous workers rebuilding washed-out places on the trail and made friends with a startled sheep.
The last mile or so we encountered multiple tourists (several in business-casual wear) slipping and sliding down the icy trails. I then realized why the Rangers were so overzealous in warning me about the difficulty of the trails; people can be exceedingly unintelligent when it comes to nature.
Exhausted, sick and stumbling, we came out to beautiful views at the top of Bright Angel. As usual, the thoughts I have along the trail of ‘why did I do this to myself’ and ‘I’m never hiking again’ subsided after an hour or so, leaving me with fond memories, amazing pics and foot bruises to ensure that I will return to the Canyon someday soon for a rim-to-rim hike.
