Yes, It Was Grand

 Grand Canyon

I could have sworn the Grand Canyon sat in the middle of a desert.  You wouldn’t really see it as you drove towards it.  Maybe a slight disturbance in the light or a shimmer in the air above it being the only indication you were approaching.  Much like that gorge in Taos only on a bigger scale. But it’s not.  At least not at the South Rim.

You climb steadily upwards to an altitude of 7,000 feet.  All you can see is trees.  The National Park itself is a maze of narrow twisty roads through more trees with a surprising number of buildings tucked in amongst them.  It all felt rather claustrophobic even with the pretty snow that had fallen during the night.  

The Grand Canyon is somewhere to the right, apparently.

We first had to get settled in the RV park so it was late afternoon by the time we finally got to the Rim.  Perhaps they designed it this way. You can’t really see anything until you’ve parked and walked right up to the edge.  The ultimate Big Reveal.

It’s everything you think it will be - and then some.  It’s almost impossible to get your head around the sheer magnificence of it all so I wisely concentrated instead on my fear of heights and the knowledge that at any minute I could slip on the icy path and hurtle down into that rocky vastness.  Or Dan could.  Or, God forbid, the dogs could.

People fall to their deaths at the Grand Canyon all the time.  They also conk out on the so-called Bright Angel trail - a narrow path hacked into the side of those sheer cliffs with NO handrails that descends nearly 5,000 feet.  The famous mules of the Grand Canyon have never lost a rider in all the years - over a hundred now - they’ve been carting people up and down this perilous trail.  Yes, well.

We were asked the way to Bright Angel trail by a group of older tourists who were gingerly picking their way over the icy path, equipped with a hiking pole each and brand new sneakers.  I hope we convinced them to settle for a nice hot chocolate by the fire instead.

In the early 1900s the enterprising Kolb brothers set up a photography studio so they could cash in on the tourist trade that was just beginning.  The studio was perched - literally - at the head of Bright Angel trail and added on to over the years.  During renovations not that long ago it was discovered that the building was not in any way actually anchored to the rock it was built on.  It was just plonked down at the edge of a 5,000ft cliff.  

And there it is in all its terrifying perilous proximity.

        

The start of the Bright Angel Trail just to the left of the studio.

It’s a museum and gallery and of course Dan wanted to go.  We’d been assured by the charming Superintendent himself that the building was now fully secured so we picked our way carefully over the still icy path. I was going to wait outside but the cold got to me so in I went, staying as far from the windows as possible.  It was fascinating.  Those brothers were quite remarkable and innovative.  No doubt some people would call them daredevils. I doubt their mother did.  They shot the first moving images of a trip down the Colorado River in 1911 and traveled the country to promote the marvels of the Grand Canyon.  Emery lived in the studio until his death in 1976.

 

Equally impressive was Mary Colter, the architect who designed a rival photographic studio in 1914, as well as several other unusual and beautiful buildings at the Canyon.  For a woman to be commissioned at that time was remarkable enough, but the building she designed is unlike anything else.  And you can be sure it was firmly attached to the rock it was built on.

In 1914

Apart from the cold -  it got down to 7 F one night (that’s -14 C to the rest of the world) - and the fact that I had my eyes tightly closed for much of the time when I wasn’t negotiating perilous icy paths, I enjoyed the Grand Canyon. Covid willing, if Hilary makes it here for Christmas we’ll be seeing it again.  I doubt it’s something you can ever tire of.