Grand Canyon, Rim to Rim to Rim
The Canyon. Where to begin?
Almost a year ago, on the heels of an adventure-packed girls trip to Moab, we started thinking about 2010. I'd read a report on uber talented, local ultra runner Devon Crosby-Helms's blog about a girls weekend running the Grand Canyon, rim to rim to rim. Setting aside the fact that Devon is a championship runner, with sponsors and course records, legs a mile long and maybe 5% body fat, I found kindred spirits in Dana and Kara who jumped on my bandwagon of ignorant enthusiasm. Devon did it in 12 hours, our friend Rick - he of the steely legs and multiple 100 mile finishes - did it in 14; we were going for 16.
There are times when planning for a long awaited event, a challenge, a trip, an adventure - when wide-eyed optimism makes you starry-eyed with anticipation and excitement. You talk training, preparation, interim goals, expectations. Over emails, dinners, runs, texts. You plan flights, outfits, food, rentals. You ponder what-ifs, best cases and contingency strategies. You manage injuries, colds, work, relationships. And then the day arrives when you're off and everything you've done to get there is out on the table, for better or for worse, and all you have left is hope and determination.
And so it was that the 3 of us lined up at the Bright Angel trailhead on the South Rim at 3:20am Saturday morning with garbage bags pulled over our bodies and packs under a mild but steady rain and cool temps of 48 degrees. Within the first mile we met a hiker just returning from his own R2R2R and within the second mile, we were passed by a trail running couple from Seattle. We were already getting passed. At 4 in the morning. What the hell?
We moved with caution down a somewhat technical descent, with roots and rocks and ill-spaced steps that didn't allow for much of a rhythm. We slowed for bathroom breaks and wardrobe adjustments, for pictures and video. And just as the sky began to lighten and we switched our headlamps off, the Colorado River came into view and the canyon opened up, stretched out in a sepia tone of monochromatic color. Enlivened by the light and scenery, we opened up our stride and continued on over gentle singletrack winding along the canyon wall to the suspension bridge over the river and our first checkpoint for mileage and time.
Dropping 4400 feet over 9 miles we'd set a blistering pace, crossing the Colorado River into Phantom Ranch in a cool 3 hours. We were on target for a 21-hour day. Just a hair off our 16-hour prediction.
And so with our hydration packs refilled, pausing a minute to chat with a trio of boys running the R3 from Boulder, we headed out to cover the next 13 miles to the top of the North Kaibob trail a little quicker. We were all in good spirits, legs strong, nutrition dialed in. I'd set my watch to go off every 30 minutes so that we were all cognizant of eating and getting in the 200-300 calories an hour our bodies could absorb. The trail wound steadily upwards along Bright Angel Creek, all runnable, all beautiful, tucked deep inside the canyon walls for the first 6 or so miles, then opening up to stacked peaks and wide plateaus, the landmarks we'd tried to identify the day before on our reconnaissance tour of the rim.
The last 4.5 miles shot some 3600 feet upwards reducing us to fast then not-so-fast hiking. We'd managed to make some gains on our time and were feeling pretty good as we focused on reaching the North Rim and our halfway point. We were staying together for the most part, taking endless pictures, eating, drinking, following our plan. The colors had changed - red and gold aspens hugged the trail while the ground turned to a rich muddy red, wet from the rain. The higher we got, the wetter and denser the air grew, until we couldn't see the top anymore and had to keep hoping that the next switchback would be the last.
Low point #1: Over the last 3 miles there was some mild confusion: of the remaining mileage, the remaining elevation and the remaining time it would take to reach the top. Maybe it was fatigue, Gu-overload or just wild wishful thinking that the top was right around each corner. It started with the Seattle couple, already heading back down, who paused long enough to say "Nice job, you're almost there." Sweet, almost there. Until I learned that "almost there" means different things to different people. To me, it means you've got like 5-10 minutes and you're done. You're there. To Seattle it meant you've got another 1-2 hours. To the woman in her late 60's with the bad back who was making her way down with great care, "almost there" meant another 50 minutes. To the guys from Boulder heading down "almost there" meant another 30 minutes. Almost there was never almost there until I heard a car, realized the road was just above at the trailhead and almost there became actually there. 22 miles and 9 hours down. We were halfway.
We celebrated our landmark halfway point with jerky, cheese and crackers (7-11 goodness!), and scones with hazelnut almond butter. But it was cold, we were at 8200 feet in dense, wet clouds and we had a long way back. It was hard to imagine all that lay ahead of us but as always the phrase came back to mind, What the mind can conceive, the body can achieve. Game on.
We covered the next 6 miles back down into Cottonwood campground quickly, light on our feet, running, laughing, rejuvenated. Our bodies felt good if not tired. We passed a group of R3 boys from Indiana making the last push to the top, passed a bunch of hikers who gave us shouts of encouragement and awe at our adventure. Interacting with others on the trail gave us small boosts of energy, a break in the pattern, a few exchanged words. No names, just locations - Seattle, Boulder, Salt Lake, San Francisco. One woman took my picture. The Boulder boys invited us out for steaks.
A few blisters started to crop up for Kara and me, a little chafing, but otherwise we were still dialed in on food, water and perserverance. At one point Kara said we "only had 18 more miles to go" to which Dana and I could only reply "not helpful".
We continued down through Bright Angel Canyon for another 7 miles focusing on getting to Phantom Ranch, the last landmark of our downhill. The clouds were parting over the South Rim and so we ran with the sun on our faces, the colors transforming along the plateaus in the new light. But our legs were moving slower, our walk breaks more frequent. Taking advice from Yariv, I'd saved my caffeinated Gu's for the last 1/3 of the day and tapped into one around mile 27, giving me a fifth gear that jump-started my legs. Dana called it my "fuck you" gear as in "fuck you trail, I own you."
We regrouped at Phantom to refill water, eat and listen to Dana read a poem about strong women while she presented gooey Japanese candy bars as a surprise at Mile 33. While I could barely stand up and was in my dark, quiet place wondering how the hell we'd climb back up those last 9 miles, it was a relatively light moment, thoughtful and fun enough to make us smile and then break into fits of laughter as we limped the first 300 yards trying to loosen up our joints.
At this point we were almost light-headed with fatigue, with muscle soreness, with disgust for the countless Gu's and Power Bars we'd been eating all day. We shuffled along gingerly, laughing ridiculously at the most absurd things, at our Golden Girls pace, our foul stench; we debated if this was, in fact, the hardest thing any of us had ever done. It had been 15 hours. For the record, I was the first to say yes with Kara agreeing in quick succession. Dana had to consider it longer, contemplating the effort of steady run/walking vs an all out triathlon effort. Finally, she agreed.
Our legs slowly started to loosen up and we shuffle-jogged with slightly more vim and vigor along the last of the Colorado River. Mottled clouds filled the sky and as daylight began to fade, at the same location where it first appeared, small traces of pink appeared in the sky. It was our parting shot before we veered southeast, away from the river and into the darkness.
Low point #2: It took awhile to reach the next landmark, the campground at Indian Garden. It was 4.5 miles in and by now we were mostly walking. The trail was getting steeper, with more rocks and large roots to navigate. We were delirious with exhaustion, talking nonsense. It was all glutes as we tried to stay on our feet without falling or tripping. After what seemed like hours, we reached a marked restroom that said we were 3 miles out. We'd hoped for better - a 2 mile marker, perhaps. At our current pace we were still 90 minutes out.
But a fullish moon was rising, the reason we'd picked this weekend in the first place, and as we stopped to look back every so often, it finally appeared between clusters of clouds, casting shadows of light across the ridges around us. Our full moon sighting, at last.
With everything closed in the Canyon, we made our way back to the Yavapai Lodge to a gift basket waiting from Brian, and Dana's mom, that provided our dinner, our first breakfast and an ice bucket for my feet. It wasn't the beer and pizza I'd envisioned but it was good enough. 18 hour finishers can't be choosy. We crashed hard, legs twitchy, stomachs half empty, on tender hips and backs and shoulders.
3 girls, 20 lbs of food, 18 hours, 44 miles, 4 blisters, 10,000 feet of elevation gain, 10,000 feet of elevation loss, 1 poem and 410 photos.
Almost a year ago, on the heels of an adventure-packed girls trip to Moab, we started thinking about 2010. I'd read a report on uber talented, local ultra runner Devon Crosby-Helms's blog about a girls weekend running the Grand Canyon, rim to rim to rim. Setting aside the fact that Devon is a championship runner, with sponsors and course records, legs a mile long and maybe 5% body fat, I found kindred spirits in Dana and Kara who jumped on my bandwagon of ignorant enthusiasm. Devon did it in 12 hours, our friend Rick - he of the steely legs and multiple 100 mile finishes - did it in 14; we were going for 16. There are times when planning for a long awaited event, a challenge, a trip, an adventure - when wide-eyed optimism makes you starry-eyed with anticipation and excitement. You talk training, preparation, interim goals, expectations. Over emails, dinners, runs, texts. You plan flights, outfits, food, rentals. You ponder what-ifs, best cases and contingency strategies. You manage injuries, colds, work, relationships. And then the day arrives when you're off and everything you've done to get there is out on the table, for better or for worse, and all you have left is hope and determination.And so it was that the 3 of us lined up at the Bright Angel trailhead on the South Rim at 3:20am Saturday morning with garbage bags pulled over our bodies and packs under a mild but steady rain and cool temps of 48 degrees. Within the first mile we met a hiker just returning from his own R2R2R and within the second mile, we were passed by a trail running couple from Seattle. We were already getting passed. At 4 in the morning. What the hell?We moved with caution down a somewhat technical descent, with roots and rocks and ill-spaced steps that didn't allow for much of a rhythm. We slowed for bathroom breaks and wardrobe adjustments, for pictures and video. And just as the sky began to lighten and we switched our headlamps off, the Colorado River came into view and the canyon opened up, stretched out in a sepia tone of monochromatic color. Enlivened by the light and scenery, we opened up our stride and continued on over gentle singletrack winding along the canyon wall to the suspension bridge over the river and our first checkpoint for mileage and time.Dropping 4400 feet over 9 miles we'd set a blistering pace, crossing the Colorado River into Phantom Ranch in a cool 3 hours. We were on target for a 21-hour day. Just a hair off our 16-hour prediction. And so with our hydration packs refilled, pausing a minute to chat with a trio of boys running the R3 from Boulder, we headed out to cover the next 13 miles to the top of the North Kaibob trail a little quicker. We were all in good spirits, legs strong, nutrition dialed in. I'd set my watch to go off every 30 minutes so that we were all cognizant of eating and getting in the 200-300 calories an hour our bodies could absorb. The trail wound steadily upwards along Bright Angel Creek, all runnable, all beautiful, tucked deep inside the canyon walls for the first 6 or so miles, then opening up to stacked peaks and wide plateaus, the landmarks we'd tried to identify the day before on our reconnaissance tour of the rim. The last 4.5 miles shot some 3600 feet upwards reducing us to fast then not-so-fast hiking. We'd managed to make some gains on our time and were feeling pretty good as we focused on reaching the North Rim and our halfway point. We were staying together for the most part, taking endless pictures, eating, drinking, following our plan. The colors had changed - red and gold aspens hugged the trail while the ground turned to a rich muddy red, wet from the rain. The higher we got, the wetter and denser the air grew, until we couldn't see the top anymore and had to keep hoping that the next switchback would be the last. Low point #1: Over the last 3 miles there was some mild confusion: of the remaining mileage, the remaining elevation and the remaining time it would take to reach the top. Maybe it was fatigue, Gu-overload or just wild wishful thinking that the top was right around each corner. It started with the Seattle couple, already heading back down, who paused long enough to say "Nice job, you're almost there." Sweet, almost there. Until I learned that "almost there" means different things to different people. To me, it means you've got like 5-10 minutes and you're done. You're there. To Seattle it meant you've got another 1-2 hours. To the woman in her late 60's with the bad back who was making her way down with great care, "almost there" meant another 50 minutes. To the guys from Boulder heading down "almost there" meant another 30 minutes. Almost there was never almost there until I heard a car, realized the road was just above at the trailhead and almost there became actually there. 22 miles and 9 hours down. We were halfway.We celebrated our landmark halfway point with jerky, cheese and crackers (7-11 goodness!), and scones with hazelnut almond butter. But it was cold, we were at 8200 feet in dense, wet clouds and we had a long way back. It was hard to imagine all that lay ahead of us but as always the phrase came back to mind, What the mind can conceive, the body can achieve. Game on. We covered the next 6 miles back down into Cottonwood campground quickly, light on our feet, running, laughing, rejuvenated. Our bodies felt good if not tired. We passed a group of R3 boys from Indiana making the last push to the top, passed a bunch of hikers who gave us shouts of encouragement and awe at our adventure. Interacting with others on the trail gave us small boosts of energy, a break in the pattern, a few exchanged words. No names, just locations - Seattle, Boulder, Salt Lake, San Francisco. One woman took my picture. The Boulder boys invited us out for steaks. A few blisters started to crop up for Kara and me, a little chafing, but otherwise we were still dialed in on food, water and perserverance. At one point Kara said we "only had 18 more miles to go" to which Dana and I could only reply "not helpful". We continued down through Bright Angel Canyon for another 7 miles focusing on getting to Phantom Ranch, the last landmark of our downhill. The clouds were parting over the South Rim and so we ran with the sun on our faces, the colors transforming along the plateaus in the new light. But our legs were moving slower, our walk breaks more frequent. Taking advice from Yariv, I'd saved my caffeinated Gu's for the last 1/3 of the day and tapped into one around mile 27, giving me a fifth gear that jump-started my legs. Dana called it my "fuck you" gear as in "fuck you trail, I own you." We regrouped at Phantom to refill water, eat and listen to Dana read a poem about strong women while she presented gooey Japanese candy bars as a surprise at Mile 33. While I could barely stand up and was in my dark, quiet place wondering how the hell we'd climb back up those last 9 miles, it was a relatively light moment, thoughtful and fun enough to make us smile and then break into fits of laughter as we limped the first 300 yards trying to loosen up our joints. At this point we were almost light-headed with fatigue, with muscle soreness, with disgust for the countless Gu's and Power Bars we'd been eating all day. We shuffled along gingerly, laughing ridiculously at the most absurd things, at our Golden Girls pace, our foul stench; we debated if this was, in fact, the hardest thing any of us had ever done. It had been 15 hours. For the record, I was the first to say yes with Kara agreeing in quick succession. Dana had to consider it longer, contemplating the effort of steady run/walking vs an all out triathlon effort. Finally, she agreed. Our legs slowly started to loosen up and we shuffle-jogged with slightly more vim and vigor along the last of the Colorado River. Mottled clouds filled the sky and as daylight began to fade, at the same location where it first appeared, small traces of pink appeared in the sky. It was our parting shot before we veered southeast, away from the river and into the darkness. Low point #2: It took awhile to reach the next landmark, the campground at Indian Garden. It was 4.5 miles in and by now we were mostly walking. The trail was getting steeper, with more rocks and large roots to navigate. We were delirious with exhaustion, talking nonsense. It was all glutes as we tried to stay on our feet without falling or tripping. After what seemed like hours, we reached a marked restroom that said we were 3 miles out. We'd hoped for better - a 2 mile marker, perhaps. At our current pace we were still 90 minutes out. But a fullish moon was rising, the reason we'd picked this weekend in the first place, and as we stopped to look back every so often, it finally appeared between clusters of clouds, casting shadows of light across the ridges around us. Our full moon sighting, at last.I popped another caffeinated Gu and took off. I'd been wobbling around the trail, half stepping over roots, bumping into Kara, not moving fast enough to maintain strong forward momentum, moving just slow enough to be dangerous and lazy on my feet. Like that I was back in my fifth gear, fast-hiking up the steep switchbacks, the lights around the trailhead seemingly so far away, breathing hard, starving but unable to choke down another synthetic food item.
It was 9:20 when I hit the parking lot with Dana and Kara not too far behind me. Stopping long enough to group hug and take some pics, we looked at each other with huge grins and a sense of incredulity before ducking into the car to warm up and chow down.
With everything closed in the Canyon, we made our way back to the Yavapai Lodge to a gift basket waiting from Brian, and Dana's mom, that provided our dinner, our first breakfast and an ice bucket for my feet. It wasn't the beer and pizza I'd envisioned but it was good enough. 18 hour finishers can't be choosy. We crashed hard, legs twitchy, stomachs half empty, on tender hips and backs and shoulders.As we considered our adventure the next day, while we could only note a few shared low points, we marveled at all the highs and the succesful synergy of our trio over a long, epic and challenging day. We'd done everything we could according to plan and 18 hours was what the fates had in store for us. Looking out over the gorge as we snapped pics in our hard-earned R2R2R shirts, it was almost hard to believe how far we'd gone and how steep we'd climbed.
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