Never the Same Sunset Twice at The Grand Canyon

Stepping into an oil painting and surviving, despite being an idiot

Photo by the author with his own family in 2018 — thirty years after “The Westward Excursion of 1988”

Date 14: July 6, 1988 Ash Fork, Arizona to Grand Canyon National Park

A foul stench hung in the air — like raw sewage. But the day looked promising with clear skies and moderate temperatures.

By 9 o’clock, we departed the raw sewage of that forgettable KOA and traveled eighty miles to the South Gate of the Grand Canyon.

Due to road work, a long line of cars waited at the gate. Construction crews walked around. I was playing air guitar and singing “Help” from The Beatles with gusto with the windows open.

An older construction worker asked, “Are you okay? Do you need help?”

I laughed. I was singing The Beatles. Did she know The Beatles? She just crunched with gusto on her golden delicious apple and left with her flag to direct the mass of tourists.

The Colorado River winds through The Grand Canyon in 2018 — thirty years later. Photo by the author.

The entrance fee gave access to God for seven days

We searched for Mather Campground. The Grand Canyon was the only national park that required reservations — by 10 o’clock — forget about securing a site. After waiting in line, we looked for a site located in the first loop.

The campground was lovely — clean and well-kept with huge pull through campsites. God, I love pull-through sites! The bathhouse was a good walk away. But walking makes people hardy, right, especially when needing to poop at two in the morning!

After a grilled cheese and a potato chip yum yum yum lunch, we headed to the Visitor Center. The parking lot was full. We had to wait until another car pulled out. It was a good thing that I practiced Parking Lot Karma — an easy concept to practice, but difficult to master. Concentrate the mind not on Om — or any Sacred Word — but on “empty spaces.” One must empty the mind of all thought — and center one’s Chi in the Center of a Lotus Flower of the Eternal Void. This mind energy will soon release an impediment — a car — a sibling — and open space.

Within minutes of Deep Parking Lot Karma Transcendental Meditation, a space opened up.

I opened my eyes. “You see,” I said, “I have powers.”

There were few crowds in December of 2018. We hit a blizzard through Flagstaff. Photo by author.

The summer crowds amazed me

We hadn’t run into any crowds during the trip — with the possible exception of Yellowstone and Old Faithful.

The Visitor Center at The Grand Canyon was similar to other ones at National Parks — the light, mud-brown bricks on the outside, brown carpeting on the inside, displays, exhibits, a mini-movie, ranger programs in ranger brown.

Have I ever met a ranger I didn’t like? How many professions can claim that? Everyone I met was kind and courteous and polite. After all, even though it is their job to inform and direct and keep the masses safe every day, I can imagine a few from this mass can be a tad irritating.

Their knowledge of nature and the history and the environment impressed me with every national park. Their knowledge and insight become your knowledge and insight. How much do they get paid? Well — not enough.

“The Company” of Wally Chapstick — Dave, Noelle, and The Mom. Photo by ‘egoless’ author.

One visitor center had a “Please Touch Exhibit”

There were animal teeth and bones and animal skins. I searched for a full-size replica of a Native American Woman in traditional clothing to “touch,” but as The Rolling Stones sing, “You can’t always get what you want,” especially if you’re some oversexed-thought-teenage-punk from New Jersey.

I wanted to stand as an Exhibit with a sign: “Please Touch Wally Chapstick.”

An outside display featured the actual boats that first successfully navigated the ferocious Colorado River. This was under John Wesley Powell. I guess he must have been a True Dude — like me. The miniature boats shocked me — all made out of wood. This was prior to Hoover Dam. He must have been a Major Dude — Powell not the Hoover Vacuum Cleaner — to dare such an expedition in a wooden bathtub through Class 10 rapids!

A ten-minute movie revealed the geology of the Grand Canyon.

Part of the Bright Angel Trail in The Grand Canyon. Photo by the author in 1988.

Now it was time to explore for ourselves

Each person, of course, feels different things when viewing The Grand Canyon. Do you feel insignificant? Do you see the hand of God or the chisel of the river? What about the markers of time in the rock? Do you think about the grain of sand in your timeline?

Approaching the outer rim, I prepared myself — mentally — for such existential questions. What was I to feel? The movies and films and pictures cannot prepare anyone for The First Sight.

“Awesome beauty” seems cliche. Had I walked into an oil painting? The dimensions are beyond human scale — almost like the universe within other universes. The iron railing was my sole protector between me and infinite space.

From rim to rim, the distance ranges from 18 miles to 600 feet. The canyon is one mile deep. Its length exceeds 270 miles. But those are mere numbers. It takes much longer than a mile to get to the bottom.

Can one even describe in words the colors and the depths of the Grand Canyon? Do painters and photographers have similar problems? Maybe a poet would have better freedom and range.

Perhaps Thomas Moran has the best interpretation, credited with the first attempt to capture the experience. But the “mental picture” one carries for life is the best remembrance. Wherever I am, and no matter how old, there is a cloud casting a shadow over that steel-gray outcropping, or there is a ray of sun spotlighting that lone hawk against the orange-yellow-red stones, the color-changing like a color-wheel sundial.

Each layer of rock has its own story — and long before any humans came to tamper with its design and install iron railings. The canyon was like pages in the story of the planet — some novel written in a secret language.

We glance through page after page, but do we really understand the tale — and a tale by far that is not finished. Perhaps the Native Americans understood this tale. Or the early Spaniards. No, no — not the white man. Surely not. Perhaps the tale will be finished when our sun burns out and becomes a mere dwarf star — not even big enough to Supernova and form a Black Hole.

Oh well!

Sister Noelle and Brother Dave share the precipice. Photo by Wally Chapstick.

We walked along a paved path along a short portion of the South Rim

The Grand Canyon has thousands of steps that gradually lead to the Colorado River. Each section of the canyon is different. Many areas had sheer drops of several hundred feet or more. In the middle of the canyon, mountain ranges reached up to one mile in height and huge plateaus spanned across the canyon.

I laughed when I thought of Chuck in Las Vegas in the whirlpool who stated that the “Grand Canyon was only a big hole.”

Photo by the author, over thirty years later at The Grand Canyon in 2018.

At several points, I took pictures in an effort to capture this universe

Geographic wonders, however, are difficult to photograph. The Grand Canyon is like photographing the Western sky at night. While gazing at pictures, now, it is difficult to appreciate such grandeur.

The walk was easy and scenic. So much vegetation around the rims of the canyon surprised me. I had envisioned the canyon in the midst of a great desert; the desert environment, however, existed inside the canyon — cactus and rattlesnakes and lizards and temperatures reaching 110°.

That was the norm.

The Mom was uneasy when Dave and I peered over the edge of a cliff.

“Get back from there,” she called.

Anyway, I never did anything during the trip which would endanger my life.

Not yet.

As we continued the rim trail, we came to an area known as Grandeur Point. The section was treeless — jetting out into the canyon. Standing upon the edge, I spotted Bright Angel Trail.

Most who hike the canyon take that trail. It is easily navigated, but difficult to climb in parts. Mule rides also take the Bright Angel Trail. The Bowne Family had been discussing hiking the trail earlier tomorrow morning — at least to the mile and a half rest house.

I then proceeded to be a regular hard-headed ass. I wanted to go further. This was, after all, Wally Chapstick — The Dude of Dudes — The Slayer of Windmills — the Doer of Deeds.

Well, if I had my way, I would have attempted the hike to the bottom. I would have also failed, got lost, forced to sleep in the desert for a night without proper supplies and equipment, and died either from heat exhaustion, a rattlesnake bite, or wounded pride.

Hiking to the Colorado River from the South Rim is eight miles of switch-back trails. Unlike mountain climbing, the hard part is that the end — and those eight miles back — uphill. And the oxygen is not sea-level oxygen either.

I could barely see the famous brown Colorado River weaving its way through the canyon. The river had carved its own little gorge of 100 of 1500 ft vertical inside the Grand Canyon itself — a steep canyon within the canyon.

Was Wally Chapstick ready for an adventure of a sixteen mile hike in desert conditions in mountainous conditions?

Every overlook showed new perspectives

At Yavapai Point, a geology museum characterized all the geographic formations inside the canyon. Various mountaintops, named Krishna Shrine, Vishnu Temple, Cheops Pyramid, Tower of Ra, Buddha Temple, to name just a few.

How were these formations named? I knew one thing — surely not by a Christian Missionary. Or the peaks and buttes would be called Peter’s Pedestal, Matthew’s Mountain, and the Plateau of Philemon.

All names were derived from Eastern religions — Buddhism and Hinduism. And throw in Egyptian and Greek mythology.

What amazed me even more were the altitudes of those “natural” temples and internal mountains, ranging from 5500 ft 8000 ft — higher than most peaks back east. After long swallows of water, we spotted a ranger followed by a large group

We stopped. We listened. Was this lecture worth joining? Yes, dear reader.

It all concerned the creation of the Grand Canyon. It was quite fascinating. The ranger described how turbulent plates in the earth rubbed together and caused sections to push upward, creating a mountain range. Sounded sexy, right?

As millions of years passed, the elements began to tear away at the terrain. However, the main carving agent has been the powerful Colorado River. Since the Dawn of Time, this Mighty River has done a beautiful job, shaping and molding the Grand Canyon.

The river rushes through the canyon at speeds of 20 miles an hour at an elevation of 1580 feet. It will continue to reshape the terrain until the river reaches sea level.

The ranger described the various rocks at each level and stated the different colors are formed by the varying degrees of light from the sun.

Her informative lecture lasted under an hour. Oh, I love smart women in uniform.

Sunset over the Grand Canyon in 1988. Photo by The Mom.

It was getting late in the afternoon

The Mom soon prepared dinner. The weather was beautiful all day and continued through early evening. Dave and I looked over the literature while Noelle remained a nuisance — about what, I recall not.

I was interested in the trails. All I wanted were trails. Hiking was the only thing on my mind. In one day, I wanted to explore the entire Grand Canyon.

During dinner, the conversation led to the hike. The Mom stated firmly that she was not going to allow “David and me to go off half-cocked on our own.”

What if we went fully cocked? Do I do half-measures?

I persisted in my ego-driven efforts. Wally Chapstick, after all, is rather egotistical. I tried every possible method to get my way, persuading Dave to agree with me, placing guilt trips, and stating over and over again my intentions.

Now that I look back over these words, I understand I was an ass — or like one of those donkeys or burrows on the trail. I recall one of my first books was about a burrow on the Bright Angel Trail. It must have influenced me!

However, if you told me, then, I was an ass, I would have punched you in the face. (At least, I would never punch The Mom).

Once I get something in my head, it is very hard to get rid of it.

(For the true story of this episode with Wally Chapstick and his Quest, see this essay published many years later. It won the New Jersey Wordsmith Competition. It’s now called The Beautiful Irony of Glass Shattered.)

An hour after dinner, we drove back to Yavapai Point to view the fantastic sunset. Eager photographers waited for the exact moment — for the best photo. I waited until the fiery colors of the setting sun rested like a canister of Orange Tang on the western horizon. Rays scattered about the canyon — creating millions of various shades and colors.

I heard that no one will never see the same sunrise or sunset. Each one is unique.

The Grand Canyon in the Winter of 2018. Photo by the author.

After the sun finally faded, we headed for a campfire program

Would it have been better if I hadn’t gone? Yes, dear reader.

A lovely ranger described the week she hiked the canyon with her fortunate husband. Just what I wanted to hear! A woman enjoying a week-long hike with her lover! She had slides of the scenery and described the methods they used to survive in the desert environment.

The program was well written and presented. Did I fall in love with her? Yes — dear reader, at least with her narrative and her passion.

Walking back to the Family Truckster, my heart raced with actually entering the canyon’s heart. We went to bed, deciding on an early start to hike “a portion” of Bright Angel Trail.

Wally Chapstick, now ‘mature’ and married, with daughter Nancy and wife Mary Jane. Daughter Madeline was driving back to Jersey after her internship in Phoenix with her boyfriend, Brian. Photo by the author.