It rang three times before he picked up. “Hello.”
“Brother Sam?”
“Well. If it’s not my good-for-nothing brother, who almost never calls me.”
Ah, Sam. He’s always on my case. “You’re getting more like our daddy every day.” I considered this an accusation. Sam didn’t.
“That ain’t all bad, you know. What’s up?
“I want you to do something for me.”
“Why didn’t I know that already? Do I need to sit down?”
“I want you to walk with me.”
There was silence on the other end.
Yeah. I thought we both needed to take a walk. What I had in mind was not some small walk in the woods, mind you. I wanted to walk across the Grand Canyon. It remained for me to cajole, beg, and threaten my brother. Finally, I promised to send him my first born if he said no. He relented.
It took us nine months to get ready, but we did. We started the walk with a sense of excitement. Because the scenery was so spectacular, we had to concentrate to watch our steps as we began. It was a temptation to just stumble along with our eyes on the crags and buttresses, but one look over the edge of the trail reminded us of what was at stake if we fell. It took all of one day to walk down to the Phantom Ranch.
We were refreshed after the first night at the Ranch. It was with high spirits that we began the second day. The Canyon had a surprise along the floor. Who would have guessed that there would be a section of the trail that went through a wet area, growing canes taller than our heads and surrounded by cottonwood trees? This section enchanted us.
At about a mile and a half from the second night’s camp, the trail split. There was a side trail and a sign at the fork. Only three words and two arrows were on the sign: “North Rim” on the top line and “Fall” on the bottom line.
“Let’s go to the falls.”
“You think we have time?”
“I figure it’s a mile and a half to camp, and it’s only midafternoon. If we don’t find it in a half hour, we’ll turn back.”
“There’s no damn waterfall in the Grand Canyon.”
“Then, somebody made a big effort to fool us.”
Sam grumbled, but he’s always grumbling.
We were about twenty minutes up the side trail when we came to a log bridge. With so much water flowing in this side canyon, there had to be a waterfall.
We heard it before we saw it. With each turn of the canyon, the roar got louder. As we approached the cascade, a breeze picked up. All the foliage under the fall was wet with windblown mist. The swirling air swept in from the heated dry canyon and got caught in the constant chaos caused by cold water tumbling through hot air. The wind tossed the edges of the falling water back upward. The resulting mist changed the hot desert floor for a hundred yards downstream. It was a cool, damp, and curious ecological habitat, a strange place to be found down on this desert floor.
I dropped my backpack and pulled the t-shirt over my head.
“You going in?”
“Don’t you want a shower before camp?”
“Yeah, but I don’t want to walk in wet pants back to the trail and up to the camp.”
“Me neither,” I responded as I started to unzip the fly of my pants.
“Are you crazy? What if a park ranger comes up here?”
“If it’s a woman, she’s in trouble,” I responded.
“If it’s a woman, she’ll be in trouble because she won’t be able to stop laughing,” he smiled and started to unbuckle his belt.
The waterfall was glorious. All the hot drudgery of two days flushed down the stream. I raised my arms and let the water cascade over the dirt and sweat and accumulations of society. I have no idea how long we stood there. If the water had not been so cold, maybe we would never have left.
But it was and we did.
Another day’s climb took us to the North Rim. When we checked in for our room, the guy at the desk asked if we had hiked over. Proudly, we told him yes. He congratulated us and seemed ready to swap hiking stories.
Yeah, we were proud. The next day, we sat around sipping a beer or two and listening to the high-heeled tourists who thought they were looking at the Grand Canyon. We felt so superior.
It was not even dawn of the second morning on the North Rim when we got up. The dining room had not opened yet, but with some monetary persuasion, we were able to get two bowls of instant oatmeal, some orange juice, and coffee out of the staff’s pot. Then we were off.
At about noon, we reached the campground where we had stayed three nights earlier. As we were eating lunch, two dusty looking young women approached us.
“Are you going to Phantom Ranch?”
“Yeah. We have a reservation there,” I responded, wondering what was up.
“We will carry your packs to there for food,” one of them said in a European accent.
I laughed. I was not sure where this could lead, but we really didn’t need all the stuff we had.
“Look, we’ll carry our packs, but you can have our extra food.”
The girls looked at each other and smiled. Sam had a curious look on his face.
“No, Sam. Really.” I started dumping my pack. “Keep only your trail mix, Sam. I’ll save supplies for tomorrow’s lunch.”
He shook his head but started laying out food. The girls were happy. Our packs were lighter and, consequently, we were happy. If the women had any other intentions for their evenings at Phantom Ranch, at least now it could be on a full stomach.
That last night at Phantom Ranch was not so peaceful. Sleeping in the men’s cabin was what you would expect: a chorus of sleeping noises. I heard Sam mutter some time in the middle of the night that we would have been better to join the young folks sleeping on the sandy beaches down by the river.
The next morning, we didn’t rush. There was a reluctance to cross the swinging bridge over the Colorado River. That crossing would be the beginning of the end of our walk.
About three fifths of the way from the river to the rim, there is an area that is a favorite destination for day hikers to come down for a look at the upper canyon. It is a place for those hiking from the river to stop for a break.
I got out my portable cooking stove and started to heat water.
“What are you heating water for?” Sam asked.
“Oatmeal. That’s what I saved for lunch.”
“Oatmeal? We had oatmeal both mornings at the Phantom Ranch. We had oatmeal that morning in the campground. We had oatmeal the last morning on the North Rim.” His voice was now raised. “You had me give away my dried ham, packaged cheese, and bread so that I could have oatmeal?”
I handed him his bowl.
He stood up and held out his bowl to the other surprised hikers. “Would anyone like to swap a bowl of my brother’s oatmeal for a ham and cheese sandwich?” He called out like a barker for merchandise. “Hot oatmeal! Who wants to swap for hot oatmeal?”
“Sam. Sam! You are scaring the other hikers.”
Grumbling, he sat and, picking up his spoon, put two spoons of oatmeal into his mouth and smiled at me with his mouth full. “This is what the mules eat when they come down.”
“People are looking, Brother Sam.”
He was still complaining as we washed up the bowls and spoon. “Look, it’s gone. I have no more. But you, my little brother, are going to have to beg for some of my M&M’s as we walk out.”
I’d like to say that we charged up the remaining climb. It would be a lie. The climb to the top of the South Rim in the middle of the day was hard. From time to time, we stopped to rest. Finally, we would look at each other, nod, and start out again, taking it as it came.
I won the toss for the first shower after we checked in at the Grand Canyon Lodge. The Lodge must have had a big tank of hot water, for I ran the shower until I felt really clean. Clean underwear, clean socks, clean shirt, clean pants: all had been left in the car at the start of our walk. Now, they felt good.
“You’re not shaving before dinner?” Sam asked.
“Nope. They should be proud to have a fine-looking man like me eating in their dining room.”
“A fine-looking man, with a beard coming in grey.”
“If you don’t like to see a grey beard, you’d better shave. And, by the way, the hair on your chest is grey!”
He laughed as he looked in the mirror. “Hang around, Little Brother. You are not far behind.”
I heard the shower door close and a sigh as the warm water gave him that same feeling of relaxation that it had given me. I yelled that I would have a seat for us in the restaurant, to come on down after he was dressed.
It cost me a fifteen dollar tip up front to get us a seat by the window. I ordered dinner for both of us and that cost me another thirty. I had already finished a beer when Sam sat down across from me.
“Hey, how’d you get these seats?”
“Money.”
He smiled. The waiter set a beer beside him. He looked up startled, and then looked over at me.
“Thanks.”
“I’ve ordered dinner for both of us.”
“Well, Little Brother. I’m not used to being handled so well.”
I pointed out a light in the distance. The waiter was putting my salad before me as I gave Sam the binoculars and told him the light was on the North Rim. He was shifting the glasses around, trying to locate the light across the canyon when the waiter put the bowl in front of him. As he handed the binoculars back to me, he looked down at his plate. I should have brought a camera to record the startled look. He looked at me and fell back in his chair, roaring with laughter.
A bowl of oatmeal, topped with whipped cream and a strawberry was sitting in front of him. I couldn’t help it. I was laughing, too. People around us turned to look, but there was nothing to say.
We couldn’t have said it if there had been.
Finally, I signaled to the waiter. He was grinning from ear to ear when he came and replaced the cereal bowl with a tossed salad. Later he brought the main course. I thought we both deserved steak and potatoes after the long walk. That’s what I’d ordered for us. That, and a good red wine. I did let Sam pick up the tab. I mean, after all, getting the meal started had already cost me as much as I usually pay for a dinner for two.
It was a good walk. Brother Sam and I still tell stories about it. Sometimes, we tell truthful stories. What did it cost? Some money, sure ‘nuff. It cost some time and more than a little sunburn. What did we get? Well, maybe we found that there is more to life than our professional duties. More important, it provides a ready answer to the request from grandchildren to tell one more time about walking across the Grand Canyon.