When you go to bed at 9:30 p.m MST (1:30 EDT), then you’re apt to wake at 5:00 a.m. and encounter the sun.

The wifi here is incredibly slim and slow—the notebook in our room describes it as “variable”—which is not surprising, since we’re so remote that everything here has to be trucked in from somewhere else. (In the early days, they had to ship in water.) I have taken to prepping the photos for these posts at the end of the day and then let the laptop grind away trying to upload them overnight. Even then, the connection is spotty. Thank you for bearing with me.

You will see lots of plants today, because I like plants. I’d love to take a botanical tour of the area: names, uses, weirdnesses. Amazingly, the park does not have such a thing. I should retire here and volunteer, after learning the plants, of course.

First up, a thistle in near bloom:

Then this plant:

Close up you can see that it flowers, and then the flowers explode into these little Truffula trees:

They are quite beautiful.

Our main adventure today was to hop on the shuttle that goes out to Hermit’s Rest, the farthest outpost of most tourists. (Trails of course go on forever.) Regular traffic is not allowed out on this road, although you can bike it.

Have a map:

That’s the whole South Rim. Zoom in:

The shuttle stops at a series of lookout points along the way, which are also connected by hiking paths. That’s on the way out; the shuttle stops at only three stops coming back in, so if you’ve decided to hike it and then want to give up, you’ve got to struggle on to one of the pickup points to get back.

Here was our first view, from Trailview Overlook:

That’s the entire Village across the way.

Here’s the Bright Angel Trail zigzagging its way down. It was full of hikers and mule trains and, we heard later, at least one elk making his way up against the flow of traffic.

The Bright Angel Trail is a monster, a 70-mile hike from rim to rim. The Lovely First Wife did go down the first little bit for her morning walk, but it was the coming back up that confirmed our belief that the Bright Angel Trail is best admired from afar.

We continued our trek west. Maricopa Point:

More flowers. I like the way these little asters’ centers turned from yellow to maroon as they matured.

This is sage.

Ignoring the cicada, what interested me here was the belated realization that I was looking at the plant used to make smudge sticks for us hippies to use. I think I had not seen the plant when it was sending up these shoots, which are the part used to make the smudge. When I rubbed one, it gave off that wonderful incense smell.

Unidentified flower:

This was our first view of the canyon that did not include the parts we’re used to seeing, i.e., we had traveled outside the boundaries of the familiar.

Here’s a random shot.

You are less than 100 feet from the rim of the Grand Canyon. Look again. This is one of the remarkable things about the place: you can’t see the canyon until you are literally at the edge. It’s not like the beach, where you can catch glimpses of it between buildings or watch it get closer as you drive to your condo. It’s just not there—until it is.

More sage:

Since it’s a federal offense to take plants, animals, or animals from the park, I would never even think of plucking a couple of sprigs. How dare you suggest such a thing!

At Powell Point, there was what appeared to be a pagan altar where tree-hugging liberals sacrifice conservative babies. You know how we do.

Upon closer inspection, however, it turned out to be a monument honoring Major John Wesley Powell, the one-armed Union officer who led the expedition to explore the entire canyon in 1869. If you haven’t ever learned his story, take the time to find a video about the expedition. It’s pretty hair-raising.

More canyon. Always more canyon. This shot is of the Battleship, where the California condors nest. You can often see them riding the currents below you. Only once have I seen one above me.

Obligatory ‘where the sidewalk ends’ photo:

We walked the first three or four stations. Views as always were spectacular.

If you look carefully here, you’ll see one of my lizard friends. He was closer but scurried before I could get my phone out.

Here’s an incredible view of the great lower plateau with the river’s gash in the middle of the canyon:

And a broader shot:

Finally, after hopping back on the shuttle, we made it to Hermit’s Rest, one of the original buildings designed by Mary Colter.

It may astonish you to know that although the Canyon was made a National Park in 1919, it had been an extremely popular tourist destination for years before that. A couple of entrepreneurs built hotels, enticed the Acheson, Topeka & Santa Fe Railroad (along with their restaurateur Fred Harvey (and his Harvey Girls)) to build a line straight into the area, and here we are.

Hermit’s Rest was built as a daytrip in the 1920s; you’d pile into the wagon and get taken out along the rim to this place, where you were served a meal in splendid isolation. You could then go even further to a campground if you liked.

Nowadays, Hermit’s Rest is a gift shop and snack bar. (You can still keep hiking if you like.)

Back in the Village, we opted for the “soda fountain” in the rear of Bright Angel Lodge, sitting on the stone wall at the rim to dine al fresco.

Later in the day, we saw this sign:

It was merely the most extreme of the signs warning us not to indulge the squirrels (although the one defining the beasts as carriers of plague was pretty stern).

So here is one of them.

Here’s another trying to eat my Lovely First Wife.

She was completely unaware she was about to be devoured. I shooed it away, but it was persistent.

Pro tip: If you blow in its little face, it will finally take the hint and go away.

At 2:15 there was a demonstration of Navajo music and dance outside of Hopi House, next to El Tovar. We went early to wander through Hopi House, designed by Mary Colter as a display/gift shop for Native American crafts. It was a replica/homage to Hopi dwellings (in stark contrast to El Tovar’s ‘rustic chic’) and it’s still a gift shop.

Upstairs is an odd little room, blocked off from entry, a Hopi “altar room.” You can peer into it; accompanying signage identifies its history (a white missionary collected and preserved native artifacts) but gives no clue as to what kind of “altar” it was, i.e., neither the kinds of rituals performed there nor the psychoactive substances that might be involved.

The Navajo demonstration was a sensitive blend of education and gentle reminder of American history vs. native history. (It was also a clever mix of entertainment and prompts for tips.) The narrator/singer/drummer’s father was a Code Talker during WWII, so the patriotic material was unforced; the narrator sang “The Star-Spangled Banner” in Navajo, quite well.

One of the prayers he sang, once he translated for us, turned out to be a Navajo song I have in my Book of the Labyrinth, with the recurring phrase “I will walk in beauty.”

His son and grandson danced a couple of dances. And then the son danced a hoop dance. Oh my. Here’s the first hoop:

In and out, up and down, he finessed that hoop over, under, around, and through his body in ways I cannot begin to describe. And then he started picking up the other hoops, one after another, slipping in and out of all of them, linking them with his body until he had all eight woven into a bloom or globe around his head. I have no photos of all this because I was too entranced. You’ll have to come see it yourself.

Afterwards, we decided to hop on the Blue Route shuttle and just ride the whole loop. We saw a great deal of the park’s infrastructure that unless you know where to look—or even what to look for—you’d miss it entirely.

We hopped out at the main Visitor’s Center, did some shopping at the Conservancy store, then went on up to Mather’s Point to—what else?—see the Canyon. It was shortly before sunset…

…and the Canyon was as usual unbelievably gorgeous.

Then, back on the shuttle to a lovely dinner at the Arizona Room, the nice steakhouse on one end of Bright Angel Lodge.

Another beautiful day at the Grand Canyon, topped off with a clear, brisk night and more stars than you need to keep from going insane at the grandeur of it all.

The flight to Phoenix was uneventful—my Lovely First Wife booked us first class seats! She was a little miffed when I dashed to the restroom before boarding, since it meant we were among the last of first class to board, and the whole point was to be one of those smug bastards already seated in our leg-roomy seats while the peasants file grimly past. I assured her there were plenty of peasants still to board.

Phoenix is a lovely little airport, not hard to negotiate. We got our rental car and headed north to Flagstaff.

Flagstaff is much as we left it a couple of years ago, with the Hotel Monte Vista right where we left it.

We ate at Bun Huggers, a burger place I knew about only because when I dropped my cello off for inspection at Vinylite downtown on Thursday, one of the guys there said he had lived in Flagstaff and helped build it. (The Newnan Vortex™ strikes again.) The burgers were good. We recommend it.

Of course we went shopping: we bought chains for the silver pendants I made at Backstreet and a couple of books. All our favorite shops were still there, and I was sore pressed not to buy more sound makers from the shop full of singing bowls and things.

I loved this idea: the city has recycling…

…but look how they label the trash side:

You are committing to putting more stuff in the landfill. That’s a commitment none of us think about, is it?

The drive to the Canyon from Flagstaff is lovely, of course.

We passed on through Tusuyan, where we usually stay, and sailed through the park gate: lifelong Senior passes are the bomb. Once inside, we were almost immediately stopped by an ELKJAM!

These four were insouciant punk youngsters who were completely unconcerned that a) they were stopping traffic as they munched on grass next to the road; and b) they had their own crossing guard (a volunteer in a neon vest, whose picture we failed to get).

We checked in at the Bright Angel Lodge.

We lucked out and found a parking spot near our cabin, and as soon as I got out of the car, there it was, you guys.

My Lovely First Wife turned around, and I was gone. I had to go over to the rim. The effect is immediate: the sense of awe overwhelms you—you breathe more deeply—the immense complexity of the view has you in its grip.

We found our cabin, Cabin 6170.

It’s in a cluster of about a dozen cabins. Ours has its own bath, which apparently makes us royalty. Well, among the Bright Angel folk; real royalty stays at El Tovar up the road. When I booked this trip, there were rooms available at El Tovar, but none had windows overlooking the Canyon. I opted for the cabin. Also, it’s not air-conditioned, but does have a ceiling fan.

Soon we were back out at the rim.

See that last view? Look at this map.

See the little orange blob, where You Are? That’s the area of the Canyon you are seeing. THAT’S HOW BIG THIS PLACE IS, KENNETH.

For dinner we opted for snacks/drinks at the cocktail bar at Bright Angel. (That’s a Pomegranate Manhattan, which was more like a Cosmopolitan than not. A bit sweet.)

Then back out for a walk.

This is the centennial of the park, and the Park Service has done some improvements since we were here two years ago. One of these is the Walk Through Time, a look at the geology timeline of the canyon. Every meter or so there’s a little brass ring, indicating a million years of time. At the Village end of the trail, you start over 1,800 million years ago, and eventually you end up at the geology museum at the other end. (I think maybe you’re supposed to start there and work your way back in time.)

They have examples of rocks along the path, often tied to the view.

Every ten meters you get an update of how far back you’ve gone.

This particular rock demonstrates the immense pressure the rocks underwent during one period: that squiggly line was once a level layer of sedimentary rock.

Dead tree.

And then…

Sunset at the Canyon is one of the reasons you go there. We weren’t expecting a lot of this one, since there was a cloudbank, but one of the lessons of the Canyon is that you don’t just snap the photo and walk away to the next thing.

You wait.

You watch.

And then the sky turns to fire.

While below, the canyon begins to sink into monochromatic darkness.

And we’re off again!^[1]

This time we’re headed back out to Arizona to spend a week at the Grand Canyon, my second favorite place on the planet. (My first favorite is my labyrinth, of course.)

This will be our third trip to the Canyon and will be the longest time we’ve spent there, as well as being the first time we’ve stayed inside the park. This time we’re going because my very short bucket list includes watching a thunderstorm roll in over the Canyon while sipping a cocktail.^[2]

We’re at the ATL, an hour before the flight leaves. Already it’s been an experience: when my bin came out of the security machine my hat was in someone else’s bin, and one of my shoes was four bins behind, all by itself. I’ve trained myself to bring a ziplock bag to put all my pocket stuff in, but I had to scramble because, mirabile dictu, even though PreCheck had failed to come through again, a line opened up right in front of me and I zoomed right into the bin area.

So I was flustered with the shoe and then with discovering that my little magnet thing that holds my glasses was missing, i.e., I had failed to remember to look for it since it didn’t get put into the ziplock bag.

Also my laptop.

Yep, I made it to the gate and sat down to write this blog post, only to discover I had no laptop. Somehow TSA had separated all my earthly possessions from the one bin and scattered them to and fro.

As it happened, it was no huge deal to get back to security to retrieve it. I mean, I did have to ask directions from no fewer than three people, but apparently this happens enough that everyone knows the drill. When I finally made it back to the main checkpoint, my laptop was sitting safe and secure at a desk you’ve probably never even noticed. I was asked to log in, and that was that.

Now to bear the unbearable miracle that is modern transcontinental flight. Next stop: Phoenix.

—————
^[1] This is your customary warning that we leave the house fully protected. I always have to mention this since my Lovely First Wife insists that both readers of this blog are hardened burglars. You know who you are.

^[2] You probably will need to keep that in mind as we mosey through the week.