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| Photo credit Eugene Burroughs via Grand Canyon Association |
A Story From the Life of Kay G.
Ghostwritten by her family friend, Savannah S.
Paint in the Canyon
I’ve heard the term for awhile now, “the Grand Canyon Shuffle”. It’s what the folks out here use to refer to how you walk after coming up out of the canyon. I knew that going on this hike would be tough, but last week, when Judy asked if I wanted to go with her and the others, I hadn’t expected this.
“We’re about five minutes from the top.” Judy calls from the front.
The light is dying and I feel I could collapse from the strain on my knees and ankles. At least I don’t have blisters.
I stop, pulling my water bottle from my backpack and raising it to my lips, taking in a refreshing gulp of water. As I return the bottle to its spot in my pack, a glint of color catches my eye and I turn to look over the area.
The sunlight shimmers off the surrounding rock formations, casting a gentle, orange glow on the rugged stone. The sun is hidden behind the rim of the canyon and I can see every detail illuminated by the glow and the shadows it creates.
The dimming light casts long shadows on the barren landscape. A few tree branches reach out to touch the dying sun as it dips below the canyon’s rim. Hardly a soul in sight, I can see the path we’d been hiking up on for the last nine hours, but the thought of all the hard work it took to get to this point doesn’t seem quite as painful.
I forget the strain in my knees and ankles from hiking almost nine miles in a day. The fact that I’m exhausted brushes over my consciousness as I stare out at the display before me.
None of the ache or the pain can be as important as what I can see right before my eyes.
This is something you don’t get to see everyday. The soft oranges fade slowly into gentle blues and purples. The shadows grow longer and longer, reaching farther and farther, deeper and deeper into the canyon.
I glance up and down the path; Ann struggles a few minutes behind the rest of us while Judy, Jane and Isadora pull up the front of our line. How is it possible that I’m able to have this moment to myself? A moment where the aches don’t seem as painful and instead I get to be here. Here, at the edge of a steep drop to the bottom of a canyon where the rocks are painted in water colors and where you can feel pain straining on your entire body but somehow feel as if you could walk another mile.
A faint rustle as the wind flows through the desert plants; a slight echo of my friends hiking. How can such a massive place be so beautifully silent?
I pull my eyes away from the canyon’s masterpiece, slowly continuing up the path once more. The trailhead sign slowly comes into my view and I’m relieved to be back on the surface.
We struggle to walk the few yards to the food hall and I feel the full meaning of “the Grand Canyon Shuffle”.
In a few minutes, I’ve returned to the start of our journey. I remember the strain on my muscles and joints, the euphoria from a few moments before quickly loses itself on me as I stumble onto the level ground. I feel like I could fall over but I’m glad I don’t.
I might not have expected how hard this hike would be for me, but it was worth it. If for nothing else that I was able to see the Canyon painted like that.
