“You’re not serious, are you?” my husband, Omar asked, his voice frantic, when I told him about my desire to hike down the canyon.
“I’m serious. I have to do it, even if it’s only once.” Omar lowered his head: he knew I wouldn’t change my mind.
Soon after, we boarded the shuttle from the "Mather Lodge" campground on the south rim of the Grand Canyon National park in Arizona. I made my decision--I’ll let the Bright Angel trail take me down into the canyon empire.
Our bus approached near the Bright Angel trailhead.
I was worried. I never hiked on any trail in my entire life on a mountain or in a canyon while growing up in the flat delta of Bangladesh. How would my unaccustomed limbs react? Should I do it? I struggled with indecision. At last, I stepped out of the bus and walked to the trail head.
I stood there, staring at the vista expanding eternally in front of my eyes. I believed that my eyes, given a thousand years to view this panorama, would still not be able to see it all.
“I can’t leave – no I simply can’t leave,” I whispered. I looked up: a black raven flew over into the canyons. I felt a sudden urge to hike down. Taste of freedom is out there.
Little had I known that my inexperience in hiking would keep me blissfully unaware of the hardship that lay ahead? “Aren’t you coming?” I asked Omar.
“As I said, I’m not crazy, you dragged me into this trip against my wishes. I don’t care what happens to you. Go on your own,” he replied aloud, he clenched his jaws, and hit the railing with his closed fist.
I stared at him, a few seconds passed by, I turned around. Nature is my power, t need anyone or anything. I took one more look at Omar, left him standing on the rim, and began my hike from the south rim.
My companions—a wide Mexican hat on my head and a large bottle of water in my hand. The width of the trail assured safety when I looked down; at its narrowest the width was three to four feet and at its widest was five feet. Oh, it’s easy. Hiking toward gravity didn’t need much effort on my part.
I can do it, I can. I continued my hike.
The hiking trail was nestled among tall Pondurosa pines. I walked under an arch and again under a second arch. As I came out on the other side, bushy plants replaced the tall trees. I continued on the zigzag trail; my eyes taking in the canyon’s million formations and their brilliant color at every corner.
The shapes changed from triangular to oval to square and to many other irregular shapes as I went down the trail. The entire canyon to me looked like a 3-D puzzle— I remembered spending hours at home solving puzzles. Compared to that, Grand Canyon, perhaps, could never be solved.
The temperature started to rise on my way down. A deep red replaced the whiteness of the ground I saw near the top of the rim. America's treasure truly lies in its unique natural beauty.
The gravity pulled me down and I almost ran on the trail. There were mule and human footprints on the ground that whispered years of passage through the hearts of this canyon. Bright Angel Trail was a favorite to numerous hikers of all ages.
An older couple stopped beside me. “Oh! We hiked down the trail to the bottom in our younger years and now we came back to do it again,” the woman said.
Her husband looked at me. “Where’re you from?” he asked. I knew he noticed my surprise at each scenery.
“From Bangladesh,” I replied.
He smiled, “Isn’t it hard for you to hike?”
I nodded with a smile, “But I want to experience this.”
They both smiled back and continued their hike.
I wondered how this trail conceals years of precious reminiscences of its visitors. I became sad. Where was Omar? He’s so distant and different from me. Here I was hiking on my own while he chose to stay on the rim.
***
The National Park system provided great conveniences in the form of fresh drinking water and rest area facilities throughout the long Bright Angel trail. I passed by the first rest area and filled my water bottle.
I advanced toward the second rest area and gazed up at the rim—the tourists looked like minuscule ants. My heart jumped out, Wow! I truly trekked down such a distance! I was proud. The half-way point of the trail, known as the Indian Garden, was visible from where I stood. I looked at my watch. It was around 10:45 a.m.
The canyon landscape lay all around—yellow morning light was getting brighter on the surfaces as noon approached. I watched the play of light and shade while I continued hiking. I looked around—there was no one near me. I stopped and stood there in silence. A few seconds passed by, “Oh! mighty canyon—I’m so happy to be …” I screamed aloud, then put my hand on my mouth before I could finish.. The sound of my own voice surprised me.
My heart wanted to go further: I dared not. The prior warning of my fellow traveler’s about the strenuous hike up cautioned me. I put one foot forward and then turned around: I began my way hiking back at 11:00 a.m.
Oh! my God! I never thought this would be so hard, the grueling pain in my limbs increased with every step up: I felt like dragging a ton of bricks tied to my body. I stopped several times to rest and to drink water from my bottle. In spite of my body screaming with agony, my heart was satisfied—for I knew, there was nothing in the world I would have traded the experience with.
I continued my hike slowly…then stopped… then again continued. Oh! no, I am moving at the pace of older couples.
Another couple stopped by. “It’s ok if you get tired, it’s a hard hike up—but you’ll get there,” the woman said.
I only managed a smile and a whisper of thank you.
No, I can’t do it! I stopped and took a deep breath and then continued. I could hear my limbs scream with pain, I forced one foot after another. I couldn’t look at my watch—afraid that I would know how slowly I was moving. I ignored the pain and continued hiking up.
I didn’t know for how long I dragged my body against gravity, I stopped to drink water, and looked up. “Isn’t that the rim?” I said aloud.
“It is,” someone answered from behind.
“Oh! God saved me!” I whispered.
I reached the South Rim surface at 2:30p.m.
I knew I would forever treasure: the sights that my eyes viewed, the pain my limbs endured, and the joy my heart experienced. Even though I was not able to hike all the way to the bottom, I was content: for I had indeed become a part of the canyon canvas.
Omar was not at the rim to greet me. He came back a few minutes later.
He was clearly irritated by my delay. “You and your stupid hiking!” he said loudly.
As many times before, I ignored his comment and managed,“Thank you for waiting.”
