Day 38, Part 2. Friday April 7. Mile 482.2, elev. 7148, to Mile 502.7, elev. 6853. Walked 20.5 miles, 2048 ft up, 2340 ft down. Total grade 213.6 ft/mile.
I was amazed to find the trail so easy and began to imagine "what if?" I could hike the present section in 3 more days instead of 4, and leave the next day for the hike into Flagstaff, and then shuttle to the Grand Canyon and go through the complicated and time-consuming process of applying for a last minute camping permit (this usually requires a delay of 2-3 days alas) and hike down to the bottom, then up to the broken bridge on the way to the Zuni people's sacred site, Ribbon Falls. And then back to the rim. And then, this was a new idea, do the section between Grand Canyon and Flagstaff southbound (backwards). I got very excited realizing there was a slim (very slim) chance I might complete my whole hike.
Obviously I can't go to Ribbon Falls. And given the uncertainty of delays, it makes sense to skip to the Grand Canyon. But the new idea of hiking as much as I can of the skipped section backwards excites me.
It is so interesting how much joy and energy I get from having goals and from competing with my plans to see if I can outdo myself. Today I didn't feel as slow and weak as I have most days. Partly that was the trail. But it may also have been me. I was thinking about the walk down into the canyon I never took with my father. I injured my toe (got a hammertoe) trying to train for that hike, and while convalescing from hammertoe surgery, I made the decision to become a therapist. I was trying to get pregnant but beginning to realize I might not be successful. A special friend, a younger woman I had a protective big sister sort of relationship with, had died of undiagnosable illness and I had adopted her puppy. I sensed that technical writing did not bring me into intimate service of other human beings (that was something I experienced in my friendship with her) and that my creative writing (which I saw as my true vocation) was not likely to be of much service to others and I was not likely to become a mother. Becoming a therapist was a way to enter into intimate service of others. It was very successful at doing that, only I never succeeded at practicing service with detachment and was often heartbroken at how little I (and they) could do to relieve peoples' suffering.
So maybe my pilgrimage to the broken bridge is partly about that. Accepting that there is a fundamentally tragic aspect of experience that cannot be fixed. I thought about that a lot today. I thought about the lecture Chris will be giving this weekend and how she ends with the fact that the Athenians - who came and sat together and witnessed these incredibly powerful tragic plays about the conflicts between and within us that cannot be resolved - would usually see a comedy following a tragedy. As if to remind us, Chris said, that tragedy is not the only story.
There is something fundamentally comic about the way I push myself to make miles and to set goals and accomplish or surpass them. There is something silly and outrageous about how I cannot give up that urge.
So today I think to myself: if I could do 20 miles today and tomorrow, I would only have 12 left Sunday and I might be able to get there before the restaurant closes (it is open only on weekends in this off season and closes Sundays at 3 pm.) The possibility of a hot meal totally mobilized me and I hiked 20 miles (the ease of the terrain was certainly a player in this comedy - I was less exhausted by 20 of these miles than 15 of the typically steep and loose rocky miles.
But as my 20 miles approached I started to worry about a tentsite. The surroundings were open and windy and felt unsheltered. More important, the ground was hard and full of rocks and not suitable for a tent (though it was flat.) photo 6 shows the surroundings as I started to search.
Then, perhaps to add to the comic side of things, the trail reverted to the usual for he Arizona trail - lots and lots of rocks big and little that one must clamber over and around. So of course it became slow. Imagine my relief when I found a flat spot without too many rocks (and with a little more sense of shelter) where I could pitch my tent. Photo 7 is a view of my tent from a nearby log where I ate my dinner.
That tent sure looks tiny alongside those trees.
I'm going to go to sleep now. If I am lucky in terms of physical health and energy - and the quality of the trail - I may hike another 20 miles tomorrow. That would mean not only a chance at a hot Sunday meal, but a very slim chance that I might complete the hike as planned - with some comic substitutions ( like Flagstaff to the Grand Canyon hiked backwards) and the fundamental tragic one (the broken bridge over Bright Angel Creek substituted for Ribbon Falls, the place where the people emerged from darkness into light.)
Thank you for putting up with me. See you on the trail tomorrow.
I laughed.
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