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| Josh rode Fooler, I rode Sheldon, Kinley rode Maude, and Knox rode Mable. |
If you haven't yet read my last post about preparing for this trip down the canyon, start here. And, I'm giving you fair warning: this post is lengthy. I'll forgive you for reading it in chunks.
Getting the
Boyd train rolling – everyone dressed, packed, fed, car packed, and checked out
- by 5:40 am is no easy task. So as we
bustled along the deserted South Rim Trail on our way to the corral for our
mule ride down into the canyon hauling our clear plastic bags full of gear, our
canteens filled with water, and our yellow rain jackets, it was no surprise
that Knox and I couldn’t keep up with the pace set by Josh and Kinley’s long
legs. We eventually told them to go on
ahead to prevent the mule train from leaving without us. I finally ended up carrying my bag and Knox’s
since the many items dangling from his neck – a canteen, a back-up camera in
case our other one malfunctioned or was dropped, sunglasses, a hat on a string,
a bandanna to keep the dust out of his nose, a blubandoo cooling neck wrap, and
binoculars – prevented him from making much progress.
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| Note all the things hanging from Knox's neck. |
When we arrived
at the corral at the top of Bright Angel Trail, rim-to-rim hikers were just
beginning to emerge from pre-dawn ascents from the canyon floor. Looking around, the group of ten assembled would-be
mule riders included a couple in their 60s, a grandfather with his teenage
grandson, a couple who appeared to be in their late 70s, and us. John, the
manager of the mule trip operation, was ready to begin his 45-minute safety
talk. He told us that they usually
didn’t start this journey until 7:30, but the extreme heat conditions had
forced them to change departure time to get us off the trail before the real
heat set in. He also said he was going
to cram our safety talk into about 15 minutes so we could get going. There was a real sense of urgency in his
voice.
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| John gives us the rished version of his safety talk. |
Things he
said next that made me feel like maybe this whole mule trip thing was a stupid
idea:
- ·
People
have been fainting from the heat while up
on the mules all week.
- ·
Serious
injury or death is possible.
- ·
Halfway
down, every rider must dismount and wet themselves fully with a hose to prevent
heat exhaustion.
- ·
If
the group isn’t forcing the mules to travel nose to rump all the way down and
back up, the chances of disaster increase drastically.
- ·
Most
groups don’t make their mules travel nose to rump in spite of the wranglers’
continued insistence.
- ·
It’s
a rough ride, rocky and dusty and sometimes frightening.
- ·
You
will be sore.
- ·
If
you back out now, you get all of your money back; if you wait until the point
of no return (a rock tunnel at the beginning of the trail) to back out, you
don’t get back a dime.
It was at
this point that the teenaged boy backed out.
The safety talk had effectively scared the bejeezus out of him, and his
poor grandfather was going to have to do the trip alone. We Boyds were all avoiding eye contact with
each other (afraid that one look would cause one of the four of us to back out)
while simultaneously wondering if this kid was the only one of us with any
sense. We stared ahead, wide-eyed and
silent.
Our gear was
taken and loaded into saddlebags on the mules, and then John assigned each of
us to the beast that would be our mode of transportation for the next two
days. He joked that the people with the
best smiles would get the best mules.
You’d better believe I turned on the Southern charm and flashed my
pearly whites wishing in vain that I had been born with dimples to seal the
deal.
I’m not sure
if my dimpleless grin worked or not, but John told me I’d be on Sheldon, a
medium-sized bay who eyed me warily as I hopped up on his back and settled into
the saddle. I hadn’t ridden a horse in
years even though I grew up showing American Quarter Horses, and I couldn’t
remember ever having ridden mule in my life.
The animals I had learned to ride on knew how to neck rein meaning that
the rider doesn’t pull on the reins to turn the horse; you simply lay the reins
on the side of the horse’s neck opposite the direction you want her to
turn. But these mules plow reined. That means you actually pull the reins in the
direction you want the mule to go. While
that may seem easier to someone who’s never ridden, it was really hard for me
to get used to. Luckily, John told us
that reins wouldn’t be needed at all to turn the mules on the switchbacks of
the trail; they were completely accustomed to following each other and turning
at the right time on their own. I gazed
at the dusty ground framed through Sheldon’s big ears and tried to reassure
myself that this creature who was responsible for safely transporting me to the
canyon floor and back was sure-footed and experienced at doing his job.
John
introduced the wranglers who’d be our guides on the trip, two twenty-something
girls named Alicia and Alex. I had been
watching them tack up the mules, and they clearly knew what they were
doing. They adjusted stirrups for
guests, discussed with John the order in which we’d be riding, and handed each
of us a “motivator” for our mule. This
was a small piece of braided leather with a loop to fit over our wrists. We were instructed to motivate our mules with
a quick swat to the hind quarters to encourage them to stay nose to rump
because, “A tight group is a safe group.”
John had us repeat that mantra several times together to be sure we got
it while I tried not to think about what might happen if the rider of the mule
in front of mine refused to do any motivating, leaving a dangerous gap that I
could do nothing about. I decided right
then and there that Sheldon was going to get himself plenty motivated so that
any gaps in our little line would not be because of my mule.
John told
Knox that his mule was going to get to carry the US Mail bag down into the
canyon, and Knox was excited to get to carry on the tradition of his
mail-carrier great-great uncle, Wilburn Empson.
Then, we were off. Alicia went
first followed by Knox riding Mable, Kinley on Maude, Sheldon and me, Josh on
Fooler, the couple in their 60s, the older couple, and then the grandfather. Wrangler Alex brought up the rear. Hikers coming off the trail had assembled to
watch us mount up, and the crowd split to let us get on the trail. Sheldon plodded along behind the other three
mules needing no motivation at all.
Hikers took pictures of us.
Little children pointed and grinned at us. I hadn’t expected to be taken home in so many
people’s vacation photos, and I jokingly asked one family to email me a copy of
the picture they took of us.
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| John hands the mail bag to Knox to carry on his mule. |
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| The official US mail bag for Phantom Ranch |
I smiled and
waved and tried to look completely calm, but in reality, I was incredibly
anxious. I couldn’t see Knox or Kinley’s
faces, and I was too scared to turn around to see how Josh was doing. I was thinking about how much trepidation I
felt in spite of the years I had spent riding horses, and that made me
increasingly nervous for the rest of my family.
What were they feeling? Were they
wishing they could turn back? We hadn’t
passed through the tunnel-of-no-return yet, so it wasn’t too late to back
out.
We passed
signs written in several languages warning hikers of the dangers of hiking the
canyon, of taking too little water, and of the signs of heat exhaustion. Other signs displayed what became our mantra,
“Down is optional; up is mandatory.”
Reading the signs was not helping my nerves. And then we hit the first real switchback of
the trail. Alicia told the hikers coming
toward us to hug the mountain and stay put until we passed. They looked at her warily but complied. Alicia rounded the corner followed by Knox
and Kinley. As they passed beneath me, I
could see that their faces appeared relatively calm. Alicia rode with her torso completely rotated
so that she could watch each of us and make sure we were ok, completely
trusting her mule to follow the path on his own.
As Sheldon
stepped toward the edge of the 2-foot-wide path, his head went out over the
canyon. And out. And out.
He wasn’t turning. I felt as if
we were about to go over the cliff together, ending my two-day journey significantly
earlier than I had planned. At the last
second, he turned back toward the mountain, right behind Kinley’s mule. It seemed like a crisis, but it was just a
perception problem. I hadn’t thought
about the way a mule’s body works. Its
feet are located under its back, not under its neck. Of course the neck would extend over the
canyon at every turn. The front hooves
are actually a good 3 feet from the head on a mule! Sheldon wasn’t going over the canyon; just
his head was! And, apparently, I was
going to need to get used to that going-over-the-canyon feeling at every
switchback pretty quickly. We were
approaching the tunnel-of-no-return.
Kinley and
Knox followed Alicia through with no hesitation, so Josh and I went through,
too. We were in it for the long
haul. And a long haul it was. 6 ½ hours down and 5 hours up the next day.
After the
first 15 minutes, Sheldon decided he needed to check to see if I was
serious. He started lagging behind
enough that I could see the trail between his head and Kinley’s mule. I motivated him a few times, and he got the
message. For the rest of the two days, a
half-hearted swat that actually hit the saddle bags instead of his rump was
enough to get him going. Most of the
time, just seeing me raise the motivator (or sometimes just feeling me change
the reins in my hands) was enough to let him know he needed to catch up.
Staying nose
to rump is important because when the mules realize they have fallen behind,
they know they need to catch up. In
order to do that, they break into a trot.
You DO NOT want your mule trotting on a steep switchback trail littered
with rocks and hikers. So you motivate
that mule to keep up in the first place.
If you’re squeamish about motivating your mule, do not take this trip.
If your mule doesn’t keep up, all the mules behind you can’t keep
up. And once your mule decides to catch
up on his own, you and all the other people on mules behind you will start
trotting down a trail with grade as much as 15.7%. Imagine trotting around a rocky mountain
corner with your mule’s head going out over the canyon as he turns. You don’t want that. I promise.
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| Our first rest stop for the mules |
After
several minutes, Alicia pulled her mule to a stop. All the other mules automatically pulled in
beside hers with their rumps to the mountain and their heads out over the
canyon. John had told us that it was
very important to make a tight pack as we stopped and to be sure that the mules
could see down into the canyon so that they could see where not to go. We let the mules rest, and Alicia talked to
us about what to expect next. Coming up
would be Echo Corner, Battleship Butte, and “Oh, Jesus” Corner, so named
because of how frightening it is. Our
rest stop was just about five minutes long, and then we were off again.
It was
interesting to me that we saw the same hikers over and over again throughout
the morning. We would pass them on the
trail, and then they would pass us as we let the mules rest. We’d pass them again, and the pattern would
repeat. One Asian gentleman who was
hiking alone smiled, waved, and spoke to us each time we passed, and he took
several pictures of our little group.
Pretty soon,
I could feel nature calling. Alicia said
that a stop at Indian Garden was about an hour away and that there would be restrooms
there. I knew an hour was too long, so
at the next rest stop for the mules, I told her I wasn’t the least bit
squeamish about going right there in broad daylight on the trail. The trail is only 2-3 feet wide, and there is
little vegetation, but I thought I’d just kind of go around the next
switchback, suck it up, and do my thing.
Alicia looked at me skeptically, but I hopped down and skittered off
before she could stop me. The great
thing about these mules is that you can walk behind them without any fear of
them kicking you as a horse would. So I
walked behind Alicia, Kinley, and Knox’s mules and found a decent spot to squat. Mid-business, here came the Asian
gentleman. The smile on his kind face
was quickly replaced with horror. Being
mid-business, I couldn’t move, so I just apologized profusely and finished
up. He walked on, clearly scarred for
life. We passed him several more times
that morning, and he never spoke or made eye contact again. Bless his heart. He’ll have a good story to tell when he gets
home.
I mounted
up, and on we went. Behind me, Alex
shook her head and said, “That’s my kind of woman.” I’ll admit, I was proud.
By 9:10, we
arrived at Indian Garden. Lush
vegetation and gurgling streams replaced the dry and dusty landscape, and the
trail flattened out and widened significantly.
We saw a ranger station and a shelter along with restrooms, a horse
trough, benches, and a water spigot where several hikers were drinking deeply
and refilling their ubiquitous Camelbacks.
We had been on the trail for about 2 hours and 40 minutes by this
time. We weren’t hungry, but this was
our lunch stop. Alicia and Alex tied up
the mules, and we got off. We all went
to the restrooms, refilled our canteens at the spigot, and picked up our boxed
lunches from Alex and Alicia.
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| At the water station at Indian Garden, tired hikers sat for a rest while the mule riders filled their bottles. |
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| Lunch at Indian Garden |
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| The mules rested while we ate. |
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| The lunch was larger and plentiful. |
The lunches
were huge; each contained a large sandwich, chips or pretzels, an apple, a
cookie, an energy drink, a bag of baby carrots, and trail mix. Alicia told us we only had 20 minutes to eat
them because we needed to get back on the trail in order to get to Phantom
Ranch before the hottest part of the day.
Knowing that Knox is the slowest eater on the planet, I immediately
implemented “lunch triage” with him – fresh items first, packaged items last
since they could be saved for later. The
rest of us wolfed down as much as we could, and after 15 minutes, Alicia told
us to finish up. Apples and carrots
could be fed to the mules if we couldn’t eat them. Unopened packaged food could be placed in
bear-proof boxes to be picked up by staff later. Everything else had to be put
into trash bags that the mules would carry or placed into our own pockets to be
eaten later.
Pesky
squirrels hovered nearby hoping that we would drop a crumb or two since they
had been trained by previous hikers to expect human handouts. Signs everywhere instructed guests not to
feed the wildlife, but it seems that not everyone understood the damage done
when wild animals are trained to expect human food.
I couldn’t
finish nearly all of my food that quickly, so I fed the rest of my apple to
Sheldon hoping to engender some goodwill from my four-footed friend. Just as Sheldon grabbed the last bits of
apple from my hand and replaced them with a generous amount of mule slobber, I
realized that we weren’t going to be leaving any time soon.
It seemed
that another of our compatriots was regretting the trip. Remember the couple that I assumed was in
their late 70s? Well, it turns out that
the gentleman was 80! Doing this mule
ride had been on his bucket list for years, and he’d lost 40 pounds in the last
year to be able to do it. But what he
didn’t admit at check-in was that he also had some nerve issues with his spine
that caused severe shoulder pain. He’d had
two epidurals recently to try to mitigate the situation, but the two hours on
the mule that morning had seriously aggravated the problem. He wasn’t going to be able to get back on his
mule.
Alicia asked
his wife if she wanted to continue with us on her own, but she insisted that
she would stay with her husband. Alicia
advised the man to lie down on a bench, and his wife started fanning him in the
heat and bringing wet cloths to cool him down.
He was pale, weak, and sweating profusely. Then Alicia asked him if he would be able to
ride a mule back up to the top or if he could walk. We could all predict the answer to those
questions. There was no way that man was
going anywhere on a mule, and he certainly couldn’t go anywhere on his
own. But “down is optional; up is
mandatory,” so Alicia told him that she would radio for a helicopter to come
and fly him out at no charge to him. Can you believe that? No charge!
I was stunned, but this is evidently a relatively common occurrence in
the canyon. And it was clear that this
was the only option for this couple.
Alicia
radioed the ranger on duty at the Indian Garden station, and we all waited
anxiously for her to arrive. In the 25
minutes that followed, even Knox would have had time to finish his lunch. But, of course, we had all thrown or packed
away our uneaten items before we knew what was about to happen. Instead, we spent our time resting in the
shade and dunking our arms in the trough water to cool down as the temperature
climbed 15 degrees to 100°F.
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| No caption necessary |
Through all
the stress, radioing, waiting, paperwork, and worry, Alicia and Alex remained
completely calm and professional. They
reassured the man that he was making the right decision since the trail got
more difficult after Indian Garden. They
cared for the mules and made plans for how to deal with the two riderless
animals we’d now have in our parade down the steep trail. (Obviously, we couldn’t just leave them at
Indian Garden, and the animals certainly weren’t getting on a helicopter for a
ride back to the stable.) They reminded
us to drink extra water and wet down any clothing we could to stay cool.
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| While waiting for the details to be worked out for the helicopter rescue, we took a family picture with our sleeves soaked with mule trough water. |
We soon
learned that this was only Alex’s second trip down the canyon. What a way to start a new career! It was going to be her responsibility to lead
the two mules as she brought up the rear of our little band that was growing
steadily smaller, and Alicia spent some time giving her pointers and instructions
for how to deal with the animals who would be unaccustomed to making the trip
without riders. Both women were
unflappable under pressure and made us all feel as comfortable as
possible. If they were scared, they
never showed it at all.
We didn’t
wait for the helicopter. Once all the
plans were made, Alicia left the ranger in charge and led us off further into
the canyon. What had started as a group
of ten guests was now seven. I felt as
though I were living in an Agatha Christie novel. As our mules carried us away all in a line,
we said silent prayers both for the man and his wife and for the rest of us.
The next two
and a half hours were a blur of cliffs, switchbacks, dust, and sweat. We let the mules rest several times, and we
were instructed to drink deeply from our canteens at each rest. Eventually, the mighty, green waters of the
Colorado River came into view far below us.
Yellow rafts, presumably filled with paddling thrill-seekers, appeared as
tiny specks in the distance. I began to
imagine the cooling effects of the cold water rushing by, and the powerful
river seemed to taunt me. Hot, weary,
and now sore from gripping the mule with my legs, I began to daydream about
what a dip in the river would feel like.
Of course, that only made matters worse.
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| See those tiny yellow dots in the river? They're six-man rafts. That shows you how far away we are from the river. |
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| The view from our mules |
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| Evidence that I didn't always motivate my mule to stay right behind Kinley |
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| The nearer we got to the river, the hotter it seemed. |
Soon we
rounded a corner that was the scariest yet.
It was a sheer 200 foot drop-off, with the rocks and rapids of the
Colorado raging below. I reminded myself
that Sheldon was sure footed and had traveled this trail may times before. And I reminded Sheldon that I’d given him my
apple. We made it around the corner
unscathed, and I didn’t begrudge giving up that apple one bit.
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| Possibly the scariest corner of all was this one. You can see a tiny speck of yellow in the river. That's a raft full of people. |
Six hours
into the trip, we came to a suspension bridge spanning the Colorado. Alicia informed us that we would be crossing
the bridge on our mules and that we would need to be especially careful to keep
our mules nose to rump. Trotting on the
bridge to catch up would mean that the bridge would begin to swing. Neither mules nor humans would enjoy crossing
a swinging bridge suspended 70 feet above the wild Colorado River. I kept
Sheldon so close that Kinley’s mule kicked at him a couple of times. But I preferred that to the alternative.
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| This is a view of the bridge we crossed as seen from the Phantom Ranch sided of the river. |
As Sheldon
and I crossed the bridge (which, incidentally, was built in 1928), I began to
think about all the different ways I had exhibited faith that day. I had faith in John to choose the right mule
for me. I had faith in Alicia and Alex
to safely guide me and my family down into the canyon. I had faith that the volunteers who maintain
the narrow trail had placed rocks strategically to reinforce the unstable
areas. I had faith in the people who
built that suspension bridge 89 years earlier.
I had faith in the structural engineers who (I assume?!) check the
bridge periodically to ensure that it is safe to cross. I had faith that Sheldon wasn’t going to dump
me over a cliff. I had faith in the tack
that kept my saddle attached to my mule.
So much faith.
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| Crossing the bridge |
And I wasn’t
alone! Ten people every day – even
Christmas Day –make this trip. They have
to have faith in all the same things I did.
Things we can’t know for sure but that we’re willing to put our trust in
anyway. And yet, faith in Christ as
Savior is so difficult for some. I
continued to reflect on these thoughts for the remainder of the trip.
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| We were so happy to see this sign! |
Within 30
minutes of crossing the bridge we had arrived at Phantom Ranch, a veritable
oasis in the rugged landscape. It was
built in 1922 0f wood and native stone and can only be reached by foot, by raft
on the Colorado River, or by mule. We
plodded past the camping area that lined Phantom Creek, feeling grateful that
our 6 ½ hours on a mule was not about to be followed by a night sleeping on the
rocky ground and looking forward to a post-ride dip in the creek since the
temperature on the canyon floor was now 116°F.
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| Yep. That really does say to expect a high of 116. |
We rode the
mules into the stone and wood corral, and Alex and Alicia hitched them to the
rails while we dismounted. Saddle sore
and stiff, we each waddled over to a covered area where one of the staff
members brought us all cold lemonade and literally hosed us all down with cold
water. He gave us instructions about
showers and meals, and then handed over the keys to our little cabins. We were thrilled to learn that not only did
our cabins have electricity, a toilet, and a sink but also AIR CONDITIONING! Never did we imagine that a place so remote
would have such relative luxury. We
grabbed our bags of belongings which were now just as dust-covered as we were
and headed to the welcome cool air or our cabins.
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| Our little cabin was very comfortable in spite of the extreme heat. |
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| Knox sits on his bunk in our cabin. |
We quickly
changed into swimsuits and walked to the nearby creek. The cold water was a welcome respite from the
heat, but the shallow depth and rocky creek bottom made it hard to sit or
walk. We cooled off for twenty minutes
or so and then Josh took the kids to the nearby ranger station to get their
special Junior Ranger booklets for Phantom Ranch. Very few kids ever earn this badge because of
the remote location, and the kids were excited to work toward the special
rattlesnake patch. We had discovered
that poor Knox had actual saddle sores, so he certainly deserved some sort of
recognition for his experience.
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| Kinley cools off in rocky Phantom Creek. |
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| Josh and Knox made their way to the bench in the creek. |
After the
kids finished the activities for their badges, we felt like we should be
exploring the trails in the area, but we were so zapped from the heat and the
ride down that we just collapsed on our bunkbeds for a nap. Later we showered in the (super clean!) bath
houses, and the kids had an informative chat with the ranger who happily swore
them in as Junior Rangers.
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| The ranger swore them in after they finished their booklets. |
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| They earned the coveted rattlesnake patch! |
Dinner was
served promptly at 5:00, and we had sprung for the famous steak dinners instead
of the cheaper stew option. Everything
was served family style, and we devoured it all hastily. I marveled at the supplies that must be
brought down daily to keep just the kitchen stocked; imagine all that lettuce
and beef coming down on mules in the heat every single day! And there would be bacon, eggs, and pancakes
the next morning, too! How in the world
did those eggs make it down the canyon on mules without becoming omelets on the
trail? I have no idea, but I’m grateful
to whomever is responsible for taking care of those details.
After
cleaning up the dinner mess, the canteen opened again from 8:00-10:00 to allow
guests to buy postcards, play games, or have a beer with fellow
adventurers. We wrote several postcards
each, added the “carried by mule from the bottom of the Grand Canyon” stamp,
and placed them into the mailbox to be hauled up the next morning. Then we played a few rounds of Bananagrams
before heading to bed.
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| Knox stamps a postcard with the signature Phantom Ranch seal. |
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| The canteen had limited hours, but it was a nice cool place to write postcards and play games. |
Breakfast
was plentiful, delicious, and served at 6:30 sharp the next morning. Kinley was asked to ring the dinner bell, and
the caretaker told her without irony that she did an exceptional job. Evidently, both Susan Sarandon and Oprah
Winfrey have rung that bell, and Kinley’s skills outshone theirs. Teddy Roosevelt stayed at Phantom Ranch in
1913, but his bell-ringing skills weren’t divulged to us.
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| Kinley got to ring the breakfast bell. |
As we
contemplated another day of riding, Knox was dreading sitting on his saddle
sores for the return trip, and the rest of us weren’t looking forward to the
aches in our knees and ankles from gripping the mules with our legs. Of course, while going up we wouldn’t be
leaning back as we had on the way down and our weight would be distributed
differently. We hoped that the
difference would be enough to not aggravate our existing muscle aches further.
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| Alicia (left) and Alex (right) were wonderful wranglers! |
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| Knox and Mable carried the mail back up the next day, too! |
By 7:30 we
were mounted up and on our way back up the canyon, this time via the South
Kaibab Trail. Knox would once again be
carrying the mail pouch, this time with postcards we had written ourselves inside.
Alicia told us that we would be making stops much more frequently today to give
the mules plenty of rest. I thought
again about how “up is mandatory” and reflected once more on the faith I had in
Sheldon, Alicia, Alex, and the countless volunteers who keep the trail
passable. This wasn’t a blind
faith. It was an intentional faith. I was well aware that Sheldon wasn’t
infallible. He stumbled several times,
in fact. There were places that the
trail clearly needed maintenance, and there was evidence of ongoing maintenance
projects in some places. But I made a
conscious choice to have faith in man and in beast in spite of my fears. As we lumbered along, I considered the similarities
of this faith to my faith in Christ.
There are countless parts of the story of Jesus that seem impossible,
and yet I intentionally choose to believe anyway. That’s what faith is. Riding a mule in the Grand Canyon gives you
lots of time for quiet reflection, I suppose.
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| Josh and Fooler with a beautiful canyon view |
Lunch isn’t
provided on the way up, but we did get to dismount and walk around a couple of
times. Alicia continued to tell us
stories on the way up, and our mules needed a bit more motivation to keep up
with each other. We were sore and hot,
but we tried to embrace the experience and enjoy the view.
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| This mule train carries all of the supplies for Phantom Ranch. |
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| These switchbacks are known and the red and whites because of the colors of the soil. |
After a stop
at Cedar Ridge, the crowds began to thicken and we could tell that we must be
nearing the top. The train of pack mules
that traverses the trail every day carrying supplies passed us at one point,
and a few minutes later it began to rain lightly. Most of us were thrilled with the cooling
effects of the rain and cloud cover, but Knox, of course, insisted on putting
on his yellow raincoat. The rain was
short-lived, and at about 1:00, we crested the top of the trail and made our
way to the hitching posts. We had made
it! We waited for Alicia and Alex to tie
up the mules and then hopped off for the final time.
I thanked
Sheldon and gave him a loving pat before saying goodbye to the other members of
our group. I thanked Alicia and Alex for
handling all the stress so beautifully and for taking such great care of us,
and Josh tipped them before saying goodbye and boarding the shuttle that would
take us back to Bright Angel Lodge. As
we trundled along, I thought about how “up” may be mandatory but faith is
not.
I was grateful for both.
|
| The view from atop Fooler |
