The tradition

When I tell friends I'm heading to Arizona to hike across the Grand Canyon, I've heard the response, "Didn't you do that last year?"

"Well, yes," I'd answer. "I do this most every year."

"Why?"

"I go there with my dad. We hike together."

"Don't you and your dad want to do something different one of these years?"

"Well, no. It wouldn't be the same. Rim-to-rim is the tradition."

 Tradition is an interesting concept, isn't it? Repeating the same activities, year after year, generation after generation. Tradition has perpetuated things nobody likes, such as fruit cake and Black Friday, but it also generates a sense of familial belonging and stability. One could argue that the best traditions combine the warm fuzzies of familiarity with elements of awe and wonder. Fall Grand Canyon is top shelf in this regard.

 I'm not sure my dad was setting out to create a tradition when he invited me to join him and a group of family friends for my first rim-to-rim hike in October 2004. Among this group was a guy my age who was something of a childhood nemesis when we were classmates at Sprucewood Elementary School. He would openly mock me for being bad at the team sports were were compelled to play together in gym, and I would quietly seethe about it and then scrawl his name in my Trapper Keeper with "I hate" in bold letters on top. By my mid-20s, these playground events no longer had any meaning, but it's funny how the emotions stay fresh long after the context has faded. I was a little bit mortified when I found out he was going to hike with us.

 At the time I hadn't yet ventured into endurance sports, and had real and strong doubts about my ability to crank out a 24-mile hike with 6,000 feet of climbing that was all at the end, in 100-degree temperatures. Dad had been training hard all summer. My life was in a bit of disarray, and I was at the highest weight I've ever been. Even without admitting to my dad just how inadequate my preparations had been, he reminded me about the terrible ramifications — the "mule of shame" — if I couldn't haul myself out of the canyon. It's funny how far determination can take a person. With the dark shadows of my nonathletic childhood trailing me, there was no way I was going to let myself fail this time. When I set foot on the South Rim at the end of a tough but incredible day, I couldn't help but wonder — what other "really hard" things were within my reach?

 Completing a difficult challenge is always rewarding, but what really made that first trip special was spending that time with my dad. We're both verbally reserved, and I think we both struggle with interpersonal communication. The stunning expanse of the Grand Canyon can only open hearts and minds. As I sloughed off childhood hurt, I opened up to my dad about some of my current struggles. I told him I was interviewing for a job and considering relocating to Idaho Falls, by myself, which is something I hadn't even yet admitted to my boyfriend at the time. Looking up from the depths of the canyon, I could visualize the chasms I'd created in my life. I resolved to pursue more openness, less stagnation.

Life didn't really become less volatile as I decided to stay with the boyfriend and move to Alaska the following year. I moved 3,000 miles away and started a new job just one month before the trip, but I wasn't about to pass up another Grand Canyon hike with my dad. It continued that way for years, even as my life lurched and shifted directions with the wind. Fall Grand Canyon was one anchor of familiarity that helped keep me from going completely adrift. All the years I was in Alaska, I never went home for Christmas, but I was back in Utah every year for Fall Grand Canyon. It's my favorite tradition.

Now it's been a few years since I've been back, at least to the depths of the canyon. In 2013, a government shutdown prevented us from entering the national park. In 2014, I'd torn a ligament in my knee and couldn't hike, so instead did the drive-around with my mom, who joins every year to support the crossing. This year, my dad proposed a rim-to-rim-to-rim, hiking north to south one day and then back, south to north, the next. I suppose one might argue that a true R2R2R must be done in a day, so this is more like a back-to-back R2R. I'd still never completed the out-and-back, and was excited to see the canyon from both directions in the same weekend.

 Dad always invites his hiking buddies, and this year we were joined by his friend Raj. Another friend, Tom, was forced by injury to decline at the last minute. When Tom found out that the weather forecast called for temperatures in the 100s that weekend, he said to my dad in a prophetic tone: "May you rise like a golden biscuit from the oven floor to the canyon rim." We got a lot of laughs out of that statement. Dad immortalized Tom's words on the message board at the Manzanita rest area on the North Kaibab Trail.

 Another tradition of Fall Grand Canyon is the side-trip to Ribbon Falls for a snack and a light shower. The canyon had already cranked on the oven, so it's a welcome respite.

 Looking through Ribbon Falls toward the canyon. I have no doubt I've posted a set of very similar photographs on my blog before. I don't care; this is my blog.

We crossed the Colorado River on the "Silver Bridge," which leads to the Bright Angel Trail. There's another pedestrian bridge across the river just a quarter mile away. The "Black Bridge" leads to the South Kaibab Trail, which is shorter but has no water sources along its length, making for a tough climb when temperatures are in the 90s. Besides these two bridges, the only span across the Grand Canyon is the Navajo Bridge on U.S. Route 89A at Lee's Ferry. (The Glen Canyon and Hoover Dam bridges are technically outside the canyon.) This is why my mother has to drive for four hours just to link up a 24-mile hike. (Thanks, Mom!) One of my favorite rim-to-rim accounts, from another family who has this annual tradition, is by a woman who accidentally took a different bridge than her companions in 2012. I was telling my dad about this hilarious blog post, so here's the link: Rim-to-Rim, A Tragecomedy.

 The classic trail sign at Indian Gardens, warning people not to descend any further lest they become thirsty and dizzy and die. Although temperatures didn't quite reach the forecasted 100s, I thought it was plenty hot on this day, and this is about the point where I ran out of ice. (I always haul a ton of ice on hot-weather outings, if I can. Worth it.)

 Evening light and dusty haze on the South Rim. Hiking into the canyon is a worthwhile experience, but you really can't beat the views from just a few meters off the main road.

 We were up bright and early the following morning to hike the South Kaibab Trail back into the canyon. Dad had some foot pain — I offered up Beat's magic lube as a remedy — and otherwise wasn't worse for the wear on the second day.

 Raj decided he wanted to try running rim to rim, so it was just me and Dad on Saturday. At the trailhead, we were approached by a group of volunteers from the University of New Mexico who were conducting a study of rim-to-rim hikers and runners. They were gathering data such as before and after body weight, blood oxygen levels, water intake, and calorie consumption, in an effort to gain more insight into hyponatremia and other maladies that make hikers and runners ill. We agreed, but ten minutes of questioning threw off our purposeful schedule, and we ended up behind both a full bus of people and a mule train. Doh.

 The South Kaibab switchbacks. Similar to the Bright Angel and North Kaibab Trails, this trail is an engineering marvel and a thing of beauty, turning rather rugged and exposed terrain into an easy walk. It gets a little crowded sometimes, but I don't think anyone can complain about such a unique opportunity.

 We took a leisurely break at Phantom Ranch for a morning "lemmy" (a glass of iced lemonade. These were one dollar on my first rim-to-rim hike, and now cost three dollars.) I purchased two more refills of just ice to top off my three-liter bladder. We took another break for lunch at Cottonwood Campground, collecting our trash in a plastic bag for the study. (I ate two fruit snacks, one granola bar, one pita bread with Nutella, 10 ounces of lemonade, three ounces of saltine crackers, three ounces of tuna, and a handful of nuts for our S-N hike. Plus about 3 liters of water, total.) I thought about the ways this journey has changed for me since 2004. It's no longer this arduous, intimidating thing — actually, it's become rather relaxing, strolling through this gorgeous canyon on such a well-built, nicely graded trail. Sure, there's a 6,000-foot climb, but only one. It's so ingrained into my muscle memory that my legs no longer become tired or sore. I'm not trying to brag by calling the rim-to-rim hike easy, just making a personal observation about the ways perspectives change with experience. And still this is every bit as enjoyable, every bit as incredible, and still something I'd love to do again and again.

 It's also interesting to observe how strong my dad has become. He's always been strong, but he seems to only get stronger. I almost forget that he's 62 years old — out on the trail we're so evenly matched that my youth and even my ultra-running experience don't give me much of an advantage. We kept a steady, fast pace on the 4,000-foot, five-mile climb from Manzanita rest area to the rim, enough so that we passed a few trail runners who we watched fly past us earlier. Dad jokes about his senior citizen status, but it's not too much of a stretch to imagine us doing this together 15 years from now, when I'm the age Dad was when we first started our Fall Grand Canyon tradition, and Dad is nearing 80.

It's a beautiful dream. I hope it comes true.