Day 39, part 2. Saturday April 8. Mile 502.7, elev. 6853. to Mile 524.8, elev. 7716. Walked 22.1 miles (plus 2 extra miles when I got confused on the trail and went the wrong way for 1 mile before I realized what happened.) 2077 ft up, 1235 ft down. Total grade 150 ft/mi.
The drama continued.
The trail was full of puddles and mud and stepping around and through without getting shoes, socks and feet soaked was a major challenge. Photo 5 shows a puddle (one of the easier ones to navigate but picturesque I thought).
There were even a few patches of snow to walk through (photo 6).
There were worries about finding a tentsite where the ground was not soggy and soaked. All in all, a fairly exciting day. And crowned with this beautiful sunset (when I did find an acceptable site).
For the first time, I sat outside my tent eating my meal while the sky darkened (and my water filtered). My fingers got numb but it was sure a treat to watch the sky change and the stars come out.
I couldn't quite fit these into the narrative but there were some lovely new flowers today (photo 8).
Enough beauty, peace and drama for one day. Tomorrow ten miles of trail and, more importantly, a bath, laundromat (clean clothes) and two hot cooked meals. Paradise. (Do I hike to relish the wilderness, or for the joy I get from civilization when I visit it sparingly? Or as Chrissy would say, for both one and the other.)
I thought a lot about broken bridges today. My parents divorce. The broken stepfamilies (the discontinued relationships with step siblings). All the relationships that have been discontinued. Friendships, family, dreams/passions (like revolution, literature, mathematics, science, writing great fiction , writing great poetry - whatever great is.)
I also did a lot of thinking about my father and that hike I didn't take with him into the Grand Canyon more than 30 years ago. And how that led to a different "hike" together - my going through the masters program he founded (based on the experience - not the academic subject - of diversity) and getting to know him as a person in his own life (not just my father) and the rich friendship that grew out of that. I thought about all the broken bridges in therapy practice. Unfinished relationships. Clients' dreams (and my dreams for them) that did not come true. Such a big part of life, the broken bridges. It seems fitting for a pilgrimage. I hope I get to go there.
The bridge that is broken (on the trail to Ribbon Falls, my original pilgrimage goal) is over Bright Angel creek. I don't know the history of that name. But Bright Angel associates (for me) to Gabriel and all those annunciation paintings I do love. To the myth of the god-mystery becoming incarnate in a human being, and the myth of redemption. So perhaps fitting that the broken bridge over Bright Angel creek has become the obstacle to, that is now the destination of, my pilgrimage.
Blessings. Thank you for walking with me through the beauty and the angst and the drama and, I hope, to the broken bridge.
Oh my gosh. I almost forgot to tell you. I saw elk today. Not one or two quietly grazing . A herd of them running across the trail. It was very exciting. It made me wonder what it would have been like when there were buffalo here, to see them run, to witness the presence of such a profoundly non-human other. Thst was this morning. Later in the day a group of three also ran across the trail. Reveries about speed, excitement, competition (even with oneself). Recalled as a young girl, loving horses, writing stories either about wild horses or race horses. As if competition is one of the compensations of civilization. If one can't run free, one can run competitively. Ironic that out here on the trail counting the miles, working on our speed, becomes important to so many of us.
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