I peered over the edge of the cliff and immediately felt a wave of nausea sweep over me. I closed my eyes and swallowed hard. The low fence that had been installed by the parks department for my safety did little to quell my fear. The crowd of people surrounding me at the canyon’s edge seemed to be unaffected by the daunting views. Many of them leaned against the treacherous looking fence or worse yet climbed up on nearby rocks to get the perfect selfie.
The Grand Canyon has been on my list of things to see for as long as I can remember. Now that I was finally here and looking across the dizzying landscape, I began to wonder why I hadn’t settled for the colorful postcard at the visitor’s center instead.
We had come here to do some hiking despite my fear of heights and there would be no turning back now. We stepped onto the dusty, rocky path that would lead us approximately 1200 feet down the Bright Angel Trail. In my Columbia hiking pants and boots and a North Face backpack, I certainly looked the part of the confident hiker. I started to feel a little better about the whole endeavor. I was beginning to get a feel for the canyon and had even looked off into the distance while sipping water from my backpack. I was pretty certain that REI would be contacting me soon to model for their ads.
My husband nudged me out of my daydream to start the descent. I quickly found myself weaving in and out of people coming up and down the trail. I found out that the traffic on the trail is much like road traffic so at times you must walk on the right side or the outside of the trail. This is the side closest to the edge. When this happened I kept my eyes glued to the ground and avoided looking into the canyon. My husband looked at me nervously and asked if I was ok but I just waved my hand to assure him that I was fine and up to the challenge.
Then I found out there was mule traffic as well. Yes, I said mule traffic. And the mules have the right of way. If you happen upon them you will see why. These huge, powerful animals leave little room for anything but themselves on the trail. At one point we pressed ourselves to the side of a cliff to allow these massive animals to pass. A line of at least a dozen mules loaded with gear quickly plodded past. I was transported back to the old west as the cowboy riding the lead mule offered us a friendly “howdy” as he lead his team on the narrow trail.
After hiking a little over an hour it was time to make the slow ascent back to the top of the canyon. It wasn’t long before my carefully considered Columbia outfit was sweaty and covered in dust. My backpack felt like it had been packed with rocks and my lungs felt like they would collapse in the thin air. Each step toward the top was grueling. My legs screamed for me to stop. It would take twice as long to go up as it had to come down. I began to realize why it was called the Bright Angel Trail. I figured I was going to see angels right before I died in the canyon.
Eventually, exhausted and dust-covered, we reached the top. I decided it was time to make good use of the buses that circled the park. We hopped on the orange line and headed back to the visitor’s center where I bought a pack of postcards and called it a day.
