cape royal and beyond

Last Sunday I finally made the 23 mile scenic drive out to Cape Royal, North Rim tourist destination extraodinaire. I wanted to do it all--I had been here for over 2 months but had yet to make the trip that I would suggest to our guests.

I headed out with Eric and Nate, watching the pink, purple, yellow, red, and blue wildflowers pass by as we drove on the winding road. Our first stop was at the Cape Final trailhead--a short trail, just 2 miles out, which I had heard a lot of great things about. The thermometer on my car crept up to 98 degrees and we slathered ourselves with sunscreen before heading out. The trail goes through the forest, and there are a few side-trails where you can stop to look out over the canyon and into the Painted Desert. Closer to the rim it become rockier and the prickly pear are more numerous and there are less trees to find comfort from the heat of the sun. Finally the trail rises up and there is a sign with an arrow denoting that this rocky ledge over there is Cape Final. Standing on the rocks, there are U.S.G.S. markers from the early 1900s, and the view of the Canyon is breathtaking.

Eric and Nate hiking the last bit up to Cape Final.

From there we drove the last couple miles to Cape Royal, where the trails are paved and only about a quarter-mile long. But the views here are also beautiful--no where else in the world is the Colorado River framed by a hole in a rock, named "Angel's Window." We walked on top of the thin ledge of rock making up the top of the famous window. Although I was happy there were railings keeping me from teetering over the edge, it reminded me of just how many people come out to this point every year.

View of the Grand Canyon from Cape Royal.

This is not "off the beaten path" in any way. It used to be, when Major John Wesley Powell made his infamous river trip through the canyon in 1869. It is difficult to both preserve a place and to make it available to the general public. Happily, the North Rim is still too far secluded to become as developed and visited as the South Rim. I can still pretend that I am alone on these trails, not all, but some.
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I have made some changes here. I am no longer a host in the dining room. Instead, I am the first female in years (at least 3) to work at the service station. For a slight-very slight- pay raise, I now pump gas, wash windshields, fill the air in tires, and rent out bicycles. Oh, and I also have plenty of down time after finishing my sidework to enjoy my book.
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On one of my last nights hosting, we had a rainstorm over the canyon and the rim. The rain misted down as the sun began to set. As the rain lifted and clouds began to part around the sun on the horizon, a rainbow formed just beyond the rim. I ran outside, it was a slow night, and gazed as the rainbow grew brighter. It arched over the rim and was lost behind the trees and I went back to work. There was chaos in the dining room, everyone was out of their seats and rushing to the windows or up the stairs to go outside and take pictures. I called tabled to seat, but no one came, no one wanted to leave the impressive sight. I ran out again, this time farther to the beginning of the short trail to Bright Angel Point. What I saw brought tears to my eyes, I had never seen such a beautiful sight--a complete arch, a double rainbow, both ends reaching into the canyon. Guests recognized me and I replied, "I really should get back to work." "But this is why you are here," one woman said. "I will vouch for you. Enjoy it." And I did.

View of the rainbow from the East Veranda (I borrowed a co-workers camera to get this).

When I went back to the host stand, dining room was still a mess, and people still weren't coming when called. The rainbow faded and I finished out the night with spirits lifted, my heart light. This is why I am here.

the 4th and so on

It's easy to fall into a pattern here--work at 2pm, off at 10pm, sleep until 10am where all you have time to do is toss in a load of laundry, eat, and get ready to head back into work. I have fallen into this pattern the last couple weeks and it has been keeping me from enjoying to outdoors and, well, blogging. I have clearly been slacking.

For the Fourth of July, a group of 8 of us from the North Rim drove about 7 hours to Telluride, CO, a winter ski destination, where we met up with a group from Flagstaff. We left on the 3rd, after the community cookout, and arrived at a campground a national forest at about 4am (very vague details, I know).

We headed into town in time to see the end of the parade and to see 3 F16's flyby, the second looking like it was going to hit the canyon wall before spiraling up. We spent the afternoon in the town park, enjoying local brews and playing volleyball. That evening, there was a fireworks display, shot off from the park and watched by thousands from the park. Telluride is in a box canyon, so the fireworks can't really be shot off from a safe distance. Instead, we lay on blankets and stared straight up to watch them explode. After an exceptionally large one, ash would fall on us and we shielded our eyes.

After exploring town a bit the next day, we started to drive back to the North Rim. On the way, we stopped at Mesa Verde National Park and acted as true tourists, visiting each pulloff from the main road. We saw ruins of communities built by the Ancestral Puebloans from A.D. 600 to A.D. 1300. The buildings are amazing--from the rim, the canyon walls drop down and towns are built of stone in alcoves above another drop to the canyon floor. How did the Ancestral Puebloans build these structures and then live there?

Ancestral Pueblo ruins at Mesa Verde National Park

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This past month, the wildflowers have bloomed here on the rim. I don't know what they are called, but we have fields full of fragrant, blue-purple (periwinkle) flowers dotted with tall stems holding white 3-pedaled flowers.

Spending a morning with the wildflowers.

And the last few days have been hot and humid. The sky opened up and it rained a bit Thursday night, but not enough to clear up the clouds and damp air. In the next couple of weeks we will be hitting monsoon season. Yes, we have monsoons here at the Grand Canyon. I am looking forward to a different type of fireworks--lightening displays over the canyon.

(P.S. Mike in HR says hello.)

Water in the Canyon

This past Friday, Eric and I headed into the canyon mid-morning. We lucked out with some clouds and a few rain sprinkles here and there as we descended 4000 feet and 7 miles on the North Kaibab trail. Without the clouds, it would have easily reached 110 degrees with very little shade to break the heat. Instead, I thanked the clouds for shielding us from the harsh rays.

On the North Kaibab Trail between Cottonwood and Ribbon Falls.

We hiked fast to Cottonwood Campground, the only place to stay the night between the North Rim and Phantom Ranch at the Colorado River. Camp was set up just in time for a heavy rainstorm. When we saw blue skies headed our way we set out another 2 miles to Ribbon Falls. It was an oasis like that of Rivendale in the Lord of the Rings (ahem, nerdy reference)—the waterfall cascading over rocks covered in green moss, the stream gently carving rock, creating life for canyon plants.

Eric standing at the base of Ribbon Falls.

After minor exploring of the side canyon and waterfall, we hiked back to the campsite before dark, meeting three guys from Brooklyn who were taking their yearly summer trip to the National Parks.

We awoke early the next morning as the sun made its way into the canyon and packed up camp to hike to Roaring Springs, about 2 miles up the North Kaibab toward the North Rim. After bushwhacking and stream crossing we found a shaded spot near water on which to spend the heat of the day. The water was ice cold, and my feet turned numb in seconds. It was impossible to submerge for more than 2 seconds, the air was pushed from my lungs and my brain froze. But, on a sunny day in the canyon, the water was a nice break, although very temporary. And the shade made all the difference. We had a relaxing afternoon of playing cards, Sudoku, and napping. Once the sun dipped behind the canyon walls to the West, we began our hike out.

View of Roaring Springs from the North Kaibab Trail.

We hiked the last 5 miles, 5200 feet in elevation, with the steepest switchbacks on the trail, in record time. It helped that the sun was setting, the moon was rising, and the temperature quickly dropped without clouds to insulate the desert air. As night descended, we noticed neon yellow specs on the edge of the trail. Turning on my headlamp, we discovered they were bioluminescent worms—in the canyon this far away from water? In the desert? The mystery of their origins and their place in this hot, dry ecosystem remains.

My legs are sore, but my passion for the outdoors is satisfied for the time being. The canyon walls are impressively massive, recording millions of years of history in their sediment. Every step I took was a year in time, the prehistoric to the present. I probably won't make it into the canyon again for awhile since the heat of summer is here.