The Start: Getting to the North Rim

The alarm clock starts the day at 4am. After a hot shower, I slather myself with 50-rated sunblock, and put on my running clothes. I double check my pack, which I had carefully packed the night before.

Not one cubic inch of space to spare, and the zipper barely closes. Most important is the 70 oz bladder, full of blueberry pomegranate GU brew, as well as a tube of Nuun tablets, for making more electrolyte fluid throughout the day, when we will refill at water stops. I estimate that 70 oz will easily get me to Phantom Ranch at the river, 14.4 miles from the trailhead, because I've run up to 16 miles before on about 50 oz.

At the bottom of the bladder compartment of my Nathan pack is a small first aid kit, including a roll of medical tape, two tablets each of ibuprofen and Tylenol, a whistle, a compass, band aids, and 20 feet of duct tape, as well as a space blanket. A headlamp is tucked at the bottom as well, which seems like overkill, given that our projected time of finish is approximately 4-5pm, and sunset won't be until 7:23. In other pockets, there are 4 Luna bars, one Cliff bar, and 4 Gu's; a snack pack of peanut butter crackers, and 2 string cheeses. The key to the rental car, a credit card, my ID, and some emergency cash is stashed in there as well.

Finally, I have my inhaler, my iPhone, a small tube of sunblock for reapplying halfway through, a small map of the canyon, and a ziplock Baggie in case I needed to keep my phone dry. All together, I estimate the pack weighs about 7 pounds. I have a stack of 3 extra Luna bars I am planning to eat for breakfast in the shuttle on the way around the rim. I tuck a 3.4oz Moutain Hardwear wind jacket into the bungee on the outside of the pack, put on my hat and my sunglasses, and am ready to go at 4:45am.

I see the headlights of Cory, Kerry, and Tina's rental truck pull up outside of my room and I climb in. Everyone is wide awake with excitement. Kerry and I get out in front of hotel registration to wait for the shuttle driver and Tina and Cory drive onwards, to drop Cory off at the South Kaibab trailhead in time to beat the mule train, which takes off down from the rim toward Phantom Ranch at sunrise (5:23 today). Cory is going to run Rim to Rim to Rim (R2R2R), and we will meet him on the North Rim and run back with him.

The moon is bright and full and we can see an elk with a full antler rack placidly eating grass on the lawn outside the hotel lobby. Our driver, named Kent (complete with cowboy hat, cowboy boots, and Wranglers), meets us and we drive off towards the North Rim in his burgundy Impala for a 4 hour drive.

We learn that Kent, who has a 20 acre ranch outside of Flagstaff, worked for UPS for 32 years, raises horses, hounds, chickens, and guinea hens. He has three ex-wives, all nurses, and his current girlfriend has an affinity for chihuahuas. He tells us of the time he caught a potential thief trying to break into his truck, at which point he 'racked' his 12-gauge shotgun in front of the guy and the guy took off running, so scared that he fell three times as he high-tailed it out of there. At this point, I realize there is a very high likelihood that there is a firearm in the vehicle at this very moment, possibly even on Kent himself, as Kerry points out later. This is Arizona, after all.

We arrive at the North Rim at 9:00. Kent takes a picture of me and Kerry in front of the North Kaibab trail head sign, and we thank him and say goodbye.

Leaving the North Rim - North Kaibab Trail - mile 0 - elevation 8200 ft

The air is cool and piney and the sun is bright. Although you know you are standing on the edge of a cliff at 8200 feet, with the Colorado River 5700 feet and 14.4 trail miles below you, the trailhead is heavily forested and the trail bends just after the take off, such that you can't see any of the immensity before you, which is good. It seems as if, perhaps, you are just headed off on a small hike through the trees.

Kerry and I decide to start off at 9:30, thinking we will run into Cory coming up the trail after a short while. The trail is sandy and steep, with steps every so often, and many switchbacks, so that even though we are going downhill, the pace is hindered. We stop to take pictures every so often, and pass many hikers on our way to the first waypoint, the Supai Tunnel at 1.7 miles and 1,440 feet down from the rim.

A few switchbacks down from the tunnel, we see two runners hard-hiking towards us. The man and woman ask us with worry on their faces if there is water at the North Rim. They are doing the double-crossing today and are nearly out of water after coming up hard from the river below. We reassure them that the water is turned on, and I offer them some of mine if they need some now. They decline and push on upwards. We wish them luck and tell them they are looking strong.

We see two other R2R2R runners coming up and one tells us Cory is not far behind. We then see him hard-hiking towards us. He tells us he has come this far in 4:40, moving forward hard the whole time, but that he is not feeling well. He sits for a minute but then stands back up and leans over the edge and pukes.

We debate his options. He can hike up to the N Rim and catch a commercial shuttle to the S Rim that is scheduled to arrive at 2p, and consider R2R a good enough victory, or he can turn around here with us and do a nearly-complete R2R2R. The full double-crossing is out for the day. I am skeptical that he can do 21 more miles, given that he is exhausted and vomiting already, but he and Kerry point out that he felt like this at the 40 mile point of the Bighorn 100 miler, and recovered and finished strong. He decides to turn around and head back with us.

As we take off running again, the views constantly change, as the trail switchbacks and curves around the base of towering cliff walls. I am surprised to see that the dry, barren rock you see in panoramic pictures is actually verdant and alive, up close at a human scale. There are waterfalls, trees, and flowers. Large black birds circle lazily overhead (vultures or condors?) and jet contrails make stark white lines across an otherwise blue sky.

Before long, we are at the Pump House Rest Station, 5.4 miles from the rim, and 3,640 feet below it. The air is noticeably warmer and I am surprised to see that as we arrive, I drink the last of the fluid from my hydration pack. I have been thirstier than I expected, due to the elevation, the warmth, and the sun. It seems that water needs in 50 degree Seattle rain do not translate here.

I refill my pack from the water spigot and put 3 Nuun tablets in it to dissolve. Full-strength according to the package directions would be 4 tabs, but I worry the concentrated flavor won't go down as easy, and I have other sources for sugar and salt in my pack. I am committing a trail running sin: I have not actually used Nuun tabs before today, so I am fervently hoping it is functionally identical to the Gu brew powder, which I was afraid would be difficult to measure on the trail and might spill in my pack.

While we are there in the cool shade, I soak my shirt and hat in water as my friend Sam, who has run R2R2R, recommended (Respect The Sun, he warned me in an email a few weeks before). We get impressed approval from the hikers resting there, and then head off again.

Cottonwood Campground - mile 8.4 - elevation 4100 ft

We make it to Cottonwood Campground, which sounds like it ought to be nice and shady, but isn't. We spot the tube of salt tabs Cory dropped accidentally on his way through this morning and he puts it back in his pack. I again soak my shirt and hat, which had dried quickly after leaving the Pump House.

Cory has started to cramp in his lower extremities and as he takes off a shoe to get the rocks out, he gets a wicked calf cramp that requires Kerry to help him work it out. He has really not been able to keep any liquid in for a few miles now and is not feeling as good. The trail is starting to flatten out, the air, while heavier in oxygen, is also hotter and the canyon is wider here with little shade. We try to continue running, but Cory is starting to have to walk and even sit more frequently. I am feeling surprisingly good, considering the heat, the sun, and the downhill pounding, and I find myself getting too far ahead several times and then finding a tiny patch of shade to wait for them.

As I wait, I appreciate the desert canyon flora, which has changed over our descent from pine to cactus and desert sage. There are prickly pear cacti, which are about a foot tall, and have brilliant fuchsia or yellow flowers blooming from the top of each spiny leaf. I realize that the dirt beneath our feet has also changed, from pale tan sand at the top of the rim, through red sand near the pump house, to pale tan again, as we have descended through millions of years of geology.

The Box

We wind our way along the Bright Angel creek now, with huge red-rock cliffs on either side of us providing some shade. There is something for nearly every sense. For the eyes, there is the red of the rocks, the green of the lush grasses beside the stream, and the blue of the stream and the sky. For the nose, there is the smell of hot desert sage. For the ears, there is the rushing stream, the crunch of our footfalls on the trail, and the chirping birds in the bushes. Finally, there is the heat on your skin from the sun, mixed with the much-needed cooling breeze blowing through the canyon.

I am reminded of Zion National Park in this stretch, except in Zion, this view is given to you, free of effort, by shuttle bus; in the Grand Canyon, the only way to see it is to earn it with your own sweat and effort. I think of the trip I took to Zion with my mother and sister 13 years ago, and I think about how much Mom would appreciate all this beauty, and I become overwhelmed with wanting her to be there to share it with me.

Along this stretch, while Cory sits and tries yet again to get fluids to stay down (he has now vomited many times), the man and woman who asked us about water on the N Rim pass us. They have run 32 miles so far, and they are booking it, looking really strong. We cheer and clap for them as they pass. They see Cory sitting down and ask if he's ok. At this point, he still says yes. That will change.

We continue onwards, and it seems like Phantom Ranch and the promise of their famous lemonade must be just around the next cliff bend, but it never is. As the air gets hotter still, I am starting to feel the first signs of fatigue, including a headache setting in.

Phantom Ranch - mile 14.4 - elevation 2500 ft

After what seems like forever, we finally see the wooden sign for Phamtom Ranch and the stand of cottonwood trees surrounding it. We are 14 miles and 5800 feet down from where we started, and it's above 90 degrees. It's also 2pm, which means it took 4.5 hours to get down, or 50% longer than anticipated. My water bladder is also empty again, the Nuun tabs thankfully causing no barrier to me staying hydrated.

I have a significant headache by this point, but I self-assess for other signs of exhaustion/heat-stroke/dehydration, and find none, so I chalk it up to the glaring sun and the heat, and I take two extra-strength Tylenol. I use the restroom, which has a hand-painted mule on the wall, telling you in a cutesy rhyme that you need to pack out all your trash. It gives me a chuckle: something along the lines of, "your trash you be takin', so my back won't be breakin'." I reapply sunblock to my arms and face, but the amount of salt on my skin makes rubbing it on feel like sandpaper.

Inside the canteen, there is air conditioning! We sit at the family-style tables with other hikers and have some lemonade. It is as good as they say. Cory drinks two 16oz cups of it and keeps it down. I watch with amusement two men flirting with a group of four women at the next table. The men seem to be trying to impress the women with their hiking experience. I overhear the women, who stayed at the ranch overnight, tell them they have paid in advance to have the mules pack out their stuff in the morning, rather than carry it back up to the South Rim themselves. As I am starting to feel condescending towards them, I remember that they are fit enough to get down and back out on their own two feet, with or without their stuff, which is commendable, and it is still early enough in my own journey that it may well be that I get packed out on a mule before I am done.

The River

After refilling my 70oz pack for the third time (again with 3 Nuun tabs instead of 4), and again soaking my shirt and hat, we start out, but not before watching a mule train return into camp. It's 2:35pm. My headache is gone and I am feeling refreshed. Cory feels stronger and starts to run, but the second step causes shooting pain in his plantar fascia and he is again reduced to a walk, and this time tells us he won’t be running any more of the remaining distance. We realize that we still have 5 miles to go before we get to where Tina will be waiting for us, and we are long-overdue. Tina was going to hike down Bright Angel from the South Rim and wait for us at Indian Gardens campground, which is roughly halfway between the South Rim and the river, and then hike back up with us, to motivate us. At the rate we are going, we won't make it there for hours and we know she will probably be worried already. We decide that since I am feeling strong, I should go ahead, and Kerry will stay with Cory and follow behind.

I start off running, and it feels good, despite the fact that 14.4 miles is near the limit of what I usually run. The sight of the Colorado River is like a postcard coming to life: winding green water, slicing through red and peach-colored rock cliffs. The long silver bridge spanning it is a stark contrast of man's engineering vs nature. A river raft carrying 10 passengers goes by me and they wave at me cheerfully from way down below. I smile and wave back and then run across the bridge. The metal grating sheets clatter under my feet but I remind myself that it holds several mules at once every day, so one of me should be no problem. Kerry, who is not good with heights, tells me later that she had to hold on to the sides and not look down.

Firmly onto the South Rim side, I feel a huge milestone has been passed as I start up the Bright Angel Trail along the river towards the River Resthouse. Only 9.5 miles and 4300 vertical feet between me and the South Rim. The stretch between the river and the Resthouse is listed as 1.5 miles, 0 feet elevation gain, but I quickly realized this is misleading, as the trail starts out climbing up a hillside along the river, in full baking sun, and the trail is deep, soft sand. Quickly slowing to a hike, I still manage to go quickly enough to pass by several other hikers. At 1.5 miles I see the Resthouse, with hikers laughing in the shade of its porch, but I do not stop.

About a half mile after this, my headache returns despite the tylenol I took at Phantom Ranch, and I am starting to feel fatigue setting in. More worrisome than this, though, is that I notice my fingers are starting to become noticeably swollen, which is a sign of hyponatremia. I am regretting not putting in the full number of Nuun tabs, and also wish I had some of the salt tablets that Kerry and Cory are carrying. The solution is more salt, less water, so I eat a Gu and, counterintuitive as it seems, I stop drinking any of my under-saturated fluid for a while.

I also come upon a stream crossing at this point, and I remember a Runner's World article about a runner who was attempting R2R2R and nearly collapsed at the second river crossing, until submerging in the cold river water saved him. I also remember that keeping your core temperature from rising prolongs your endurance ability, so I chuck off my pack and lie down, fully soaking myself hat-to-shoes in the stream. It is cold, and the stones under me are flat, and I lie there with my eyes closed, feeling better by the minute. I wonder what I look like: Dead? Blissful? Crazy?

After I lie there long enough that I am actually starting to feel a little bit cold, I get up, dripping, and march onwards and upwards. I hard-hike up switchback after switchback, and at the top of a cliff, I look back down below me, covering at least a mile of switch-backing trail, hoping to see Kerry and Cory, but to no avail: they haven't even gotten to the start of the switchbacks yet. I am worried by this, but my task is to get to Tina, so I keep going.





Indian Gardens - mile 18.6 - elevation 3800 ft

After an hour and 45 minutes of hard hiking since Phantom Ranch, I come into Indian Gardens at 4:35pm. Tina is watching the trail and instantly smiles with obvious relief when she sees me. She had gotten there early and has been waiting for 6 and a half hours. She gives me a banana, which has potassium, and I eat it gratefully. I fill up my water bladder yet again, and this time I put the full number of tabs to dissolve in it. I fill Tina in on Cory's troubles and we wait in the shade on benches, surrounded by green tree foliage and above that, pink and red cliff walls. We ask hikers as they come through if they've seen Kerry and Cory and they say yes: maybe 45 minutes back, then later another one estimates 30 minutes back. Tina and I talk and catch up, and my hands go back to normal. The sun dips behind the cliffs and although the thermometer at the camp says 82 degrees, we start to feel chilly. After I've been there an hour, we see Kerry and Cory come into camp. It is good to see them. After we regroup we start out, 4.6 miles and 3000 feet to go, but only 2 hours of daylight left. Cory starts out in front, saying "Relentless Forward Progress," another ultra-runner's mantra, but has to sit down and again vomits. Kerry, patient and loving as ever, again encourages him to eat calories, drink more Gatorade. He tries. Progress from this point is slow, as Cory is starting to hurt all over: his intercostal muscles hurt when he breathes and his abdominal muscles hurt from all the vomiting, in addition to the expected pain from having gone 40 miles to this point, much of it without adequate hydration. The view, though, is breathtaking. In front of us is a nearly 180 degree panorama of 3000 feet of vertical amphitheater of vermillion, pink, and cream-striped cliffs interspersed with bands of dark green vegetation. The sun is behind the cliff so the air is cool and birds have begun their songs in earnest. We pass a deer munching leaves right next to the trail. I hike with my face uplifted, taking it all in. At four miles below the rim, we start to get the tiniest amount of cell signal, and a text comes through from Joe: “you okay?” I am able to text back that yes, I’m doing well, and that Cory is not, and that it will be a while yet. As a group, the four of us have settled into a pattern: we hike a couple of switchbacks, then wait as Cory sits down and tries not to vomit, with varying success.. Kerry remembers he has hiking poles tucked in his pack, so she takes them out and hands them to Cory, to help him make the climb easier. We all agree he should also let us carry his pack the rest of the way, but he refuses. We are just below the 3 mile resthouse at this point, and it’s 6:45. Although the sun has been behind the cliffs above us for over an hour, the official sunset is not until 7:23, and it won’t be fully dark for about another half hour after that. At our current pace, we will need at least 2 more hours to finish, and I am nervous about hiking up switchbacks in the dark. My headache is gone, I’m feeling stronger than I ever expected to after 20.5 miles, and I am getting anxious to finish before dark. The others, sensing my impatience, free me to go ahead without them. I feel guilty about this, and also wonder if I should stay for support, but Kerry and Tina are both doctors, same as I am, and I don’t feel I’m helping at this point. I figure if I hike hard I can make the last 3 miles and 2000 feet in an hour. I dig my headlamp out of my pack and give it to Tina to give to Kerry, since Cory left his in the truck at the start (the pre-dawn was light enough to not need it) and Kerry didn’t bring hers for what was supposed to be an entirely daylight adventure. I tell them I’ll wait for them at the Bright Angel Bar and start hiking up. I pass many hikers who had hiked down from the South Rim earlier and are heading back up. They are all looking tired at this point, and many are stopped along the trail as I pass. The sun sets and the sky turns pink and the canyon behind me looks like it does in all the photographs: red and pink and purple, with all the spires and cliffs in sharp relief due to the deepening shadows. I can make out the area of the North RIm where Kerry and I started out hours ago (ages ago?) this morning and I am immensely proud of what I have done today, and moved by the beauty I am seeing. With about half of a mile to go, I begin to get really, really tired and I notice my hands are starting to swell again. I sit down for a minute on a rock, but it feels too good, to the point I entertain the thought of lying down for just a little nap. This thought startles me back into action: I must reach the top before it gets dark, and I also know I need more calories and more salt, but the thought of another Gu is not pleasant. I eat one anyway, because I have to.

The South Rim - mile 23.5 - elevation 6800 ft Just when the light is about to completely fade into night, I round a switchback and see across from me one of the Rim buildings with lights on. I am so relieved I start to cry. I nearly start to run and finish the last two switchbacks quickly. I pop out on top at 8:02pm, 10 and a half hours after I started, where the last of the tourists are walking back to their cars after watching the sunset fade. I’m hoping it’s dark enough that they can’t see that I’m crying. I take a picture of the trailhead sign for closure, and get out my phone and call Joe, and then my parents, and tell them I made it.

Afterwards I find the Bright Angel Bar inside the lodge and find a table tucked into the corner of the bar. A cowboy is playing the blues on a steel guitar and from the sound of the conversation, he knows a lot of the crowd. I feel like an alien, walking in covered in red dirt, salt, sun block, and still wearing my sweaty running clothes, but our hotel is a mile down the road and I’m hungry and thirsty. I wash down a black bean and chicken quesadilla with a cold Fat Tire ale and I am enjoying listening to the live music and the conversation. Kerry, Tina, and Cory arrive in the bar at 9:50pm. It was a team effort to get Cory to the top. Kerry tells me that near the 1.5 mile Resthouse, Cory lay down on the trail and she thought they were going to have to use the emergency phone box at that point to have someone come get him. She even checked his pulse to reassure herself that it was not thready. They inched their way along after that, using two headlamps between the three of them to see in the dark. They said that after dark, scorpions come out on the trail to eat insects. I’m glad I missed that: scorpions in the dark weren’t even on my list of things I needed to worry about. They also said that as late and dark as it was, they could look down into the canyon and see headlamps bobbing way down below them, indicating others would be even later coming up. Cory admits later that he actually thought he might die out there. I think that thought crossed all of our minds at some point as the afternoon wore on. At what point do you insist on calling for help? At what point do you tell someone who has run 100 mile races before that they are past the point of safety and it’s time to get help, no matter how awkward or inconvenient? I wonder what I would do if I were the one in Cory’s position: would I insist on finishing, no matter how long it took, or would I sit down and wait for search and rescue? What I am certain of is this: Cory is tough, and so is the Canyon; I am glad he made it out safely on his own two feet, and I am sure he will return to have his day here in the future. I went to the Grand Canyon with plans to run across it in one day. I wanted to finish, and I wanted to do it safely. I wanted to see beauty in nature. I wanted to have an adventure with friends. I got all of that. And I want to do it again.

At this point, the vegetation starts to change back to trees and more lush greenery, and a stream appears alongside the trail to keep me company with its noise. I hear the roaring of machinery from around a curve only to find that it is a waterfall bursting through rocks, falling onto bigger rocks which have been hollowed out over time to form large pools. If they weren't a treacherous climb below me, I would be tempted to have a bath like a birdie.