Hayduke walking the Grand Canyon trail

There it was, before us: the descent into the Grand Canyon. The end of our leisurely days of walking in Hayduke. But also: the end of the cold nights of last week. Here in the North Rim, we had been freezing in our tents for the last couple of nights, waking up to frozen water bottles and our feet full of water filters and power banks. Wrapped in down, hot water bottles at our feet, but still shivering and struggling to fall asleep. As you may have read in my previous post, Spreadsheet, one of my previous walking companions, had joined me for a stretch on this unforgiving trail, and my solitary days of walking on Hayduke were now officially over.

The night before had been especially terrible. The gusts of wind forced us to look for a sheltered place on a closed dirt road, setting up our tents behind some trees to prevent the wind from blowing us away and freezing to death. Now, we were about to descend the Nankoweap Trail toward the Grand Canyon, and as hard as it was to believe, the next night would be warm and comfortable, although daytime temperatures would rise to over 100°F.

Down into the Canyon

The Hayduke Trail split from the Arizona Trail a few miles back, and we were about to descend to the Colorado River at Nankoweap, rock hopping along the river to just before the Little Colorado River. Hitchhike across the Colorado on a raft, then cross Little Colorado (LCR), find the Beamer Trail, and hike for days on and off trails until we reach Horseshoe Mesa, where Analog and Manatee, two other former PCT tram members, would join us for the next section.

The next section would take us from Horseshoe Mesa to the South Rim for a resupply and zero, then a Rim to Rim hike back to the North Rim. There I would say goodbye to my fellow hikers, but for me it would not be the end of this hike. I would still have another two weeks after that. Going down to Point Sublime, Muav Saddle, then returning to the Grand Canyon through Swamp Canyon, Tapeats Creek and Thunder River, ending at Deer Creek Falls. Then some more rock hopping along the river, up to Kanab Creek. The route then leaves the Grand Canyon for the last time, as it follows Kanab Creek to Hack Canyon, along the journey through Arizona, passing through Colorado City and continuing to end in Zion National Park. There were still many highlights to come, but I didn’t have time to think about them now.

A hiker’s route is never easy

A huge giant loop through the Canyon, ending almost at the point where it had started about a week before. Looking at the map, the route doesn’t make sense. However, looking at the landscape while you are on that route makes all the sense in the world. Yes, hiking the Grand Canyon is difficult. Especially the off-trail sections. Very hard. But it is also magnificent, amazing, overwhelming, incredibly impressive and full of quiet solitude.

In my opinion, the quote from Kevin Fedarko’s latest book ‘A walk in the park‘ keeps coming up every time I remember my days hiking in the Grand Canyon. In it, he describes his encounter with some hikers there while working as a river guide:

«I never forgot the look in his eyes. It was like nothing I had seen on the faces of the boatmen I worked with, even on our hardest days: a mixture of misery, fatigue and defeat, plus something that looked strangely like euphoria. I had no idea what to make of that look, but it suggested to me that the world of cliffs and ledges was considerably less pleasant, much more confusing and perhaps as magnificent as anything on the river.»

If you haven’t read this book yet, be sure to put it on your list, it’s a great read. And I can’t help but agree with your assessment of what it’s like to be a hiker in this environment.

View from Nankoweap Barns

The Nankoweap Trail

When Spreadsheet and I reached the river, it felt like a homecoming. The Nankoweap Trail, supposedly the most difficult named trail in the Canyon, was very kind to us and a real joy to behold. Several times, the trail seemed to almost disappear into the rocks, clinging to its contours in a way that makes you wonder how they built this thing. A fairly short stretch of steep, crumbly slope served to keep us alert, but even that was soon behind us.

And upon reaching the clear, flowing Nankoweap Creek and its beautiful shady banks, we relaxed and enjoyed the coolness of the water and the shade. Our day got even better when, after marveling at the Nankoweap Barns, we arrived at Nankoweap Campground and found it occupied. The rafters who were already there welcomed us with open arms when we tried to pass by their camp. In no time we were fed, watered and questioned about our itinerary. Their hospitality made our day even more perfect. And when we found a nice sandy shore where we could lay our heads, with the warm sand beneath me hugging me, I exhaled and fell asleep under a starry night sky, feeling like all was right in the world.

Rock jumping along the river banks

Punishment

However, we would soon be dragged back into the harsh reality of hiking in this environment. The next day was brutal. We left early, eager to cover the miles before the sun tried to burn us alive. Following the game trails along the river, we soon found ourselves rock hopping and hiking. The inevitable arrival of the sun quickly ensured our state of dehydrated misery, scratched, exhausted, burned and increasingly desperate for some shade. However, we wanted to be in the best spot to hitchhike across the river at lunchtime, to increase our chances of finding a rafting group willing to transport us across the river. And so we move forward. Far beyond our limits, as we would discover later.

The progress was so slow that we did not reach the mooring place until 2 in the afternoon, and we could only hope that it was not too late. We were both exhausted and dehydrated. We hadn’t taken the time to rest for more than ten or fifteen minutes, and the relentless heat had ensured that no matter how much we drank, it was never enough. I felt dry and feverish, and there was nowhere to rest in the shade where we could simultaneously see the river and the rafting groups on it. Here, finally, the river was within reach and I plunged into the deliciously cold water. We sat in the sun and splashed ourselves with water, watching as the blue ribbon of Colorado remained empty of the ponds we had so hoped to see.

Hiking the Grand Canyon with my tram members, who had come from all over the country to accompany me on this crazy adventure.

Crossing the Colorado

Almost two hours passed, but we finally saw blue dots appear on the horizon. Breathing a sigh of relief, we relaxed a bit and around 4pm received a lift and a cold drink from a group of slightly inebriated Kiwis. The day was far from over, however, as we would still need to cross the LCR and cover a few miles on the trail, if we had a chance of making it to Horseshoe Mesa in time. The CSF was a muddy brown color, a far cry from the milky white I had seen the last time I visited. When we managed to find a good place to cross it, I ended up sinking up to my knees in the sticky, slippery gray mud of the opposite banks, struggling to get one leg out only for the other to get stuck. The mud tried to swallow my shoes, my poles, myself, but I fought and won. Smelling like swamp monsters, but triumphant and undeterred, we headed toward the Beamer Trail.

As night fell over the Canyon, we found ourselves high above the river, contemplating the small specks that represented the rafting groups on the banks of the river. The rafts that represented the easy life, where you just had to float, marvel, eat, drink and enjoy. But up here I felt part of the unforgiving terrain, especially having fought against it and succeeded. We not only enjoyed the Canyon, we felt it. We live it. It tore our skin and tried to eat us alive, but we were still here, and tomorrow… tomorrow things would be better again. Good?

The pleasures of hiking

One of the best things hiking has given me is the opportunity to meet so many different types of people. People I probably would never have met in «real» life, let alone be my friend. The love of hiking you share with anyone creates a quick and easy bond that can soon surpass any bonds you may have with even your closest friends back home. The same goes for the people I proudly call members of my tram. If we had met somewhere else, I can probably safely say that we would never have become friends. Each of us is very different and yet it works when we are on the road. I learned their quirks and they learned all of mine, and we accepted those differences. Each of us has a superpower and, when we combine them, we are unbeatable. Slow, perhaps, but unbeatable nonetheless. We’ll get there when we get there, but we’ll get there! And as any hiker knows: it’s not about speed anyway.

The spreadsheet is the planner, as its trail name gives away, and it will draw my attention to things I had never considered in my rush to get out. I see a mention of a steep wall, followed by a crumbling downhill slope that we’ll encounter sometime in the next few days, and I figure I’ll figure out how to handle them once I get there. The spreadsheet will tell me the exact estimated time we should get there, then pull up three different descriptions of the obstacles downloaded to your phone, along with instructions on the best routes and pictures to clarify those routes.

Navigating the tricky downward slope mentioned above… Photo credit: Jeanette Miranda

And when we finally arrive together at Horseshoe Mesa, there are two more members of my tribe awaiting our arrival. I asked them all months ago if they were up for a crazy adventure, but I never expected them to lead my call. Yet here they are, coming from all over the country to tackle some of the toughest terrain imaginable, fresh out of offices and work life, with no trails, but with unwavering willpower and a determination to keep going, no matter what. It is a brief reunion, but happy and very welcome. Analog, the conscience of our group, and Manatee, the official photographer of our antics. Together, we tackled the hike from Horseshoe Mesa to the South Rim. The final ascent to the South Rim via the South Kaibab Trail is especially grueling due to the scorching heat, but our reward comes in the form of food and rest in the South Rim Village. Once we reach the North Rim, I’ll be dropped off again and continue on to the final section of my Hayduke. Two more weeks until Zion, two more weeks until I can say: It is done.

Do you want to read what happened before? Find my other articles on the Hayduke Trail here. And if you’re curious about the latest leg of my walk, subscribe to receive an update as soon as a new article is published online.