A Mom Saves Her Son From a Horrible Death on Bright Angel Trail

Wally Chapstick learns a difficult lesson in The Grand Canyon

Day 15: July 7, 1988 Grand Canyon National Park

It was early.

I pushed the sexy park ranger dream into my subconscious. Before “The Company” was up, I went to the campground bath house.

While I was excited about the hike, I knew it would not satisfy my need for adventure. After a breakfast of cold cereal, we headed to Bright Angel Lodge. The day was lovely. The sun was bright, the air cool.

David’s canteen and my camera case hung around my neck.

The smell told us the direction — the smell of the mules, ready with their pale riders. Riding a mule to the bottom of the canyon? Who were they? The Brady Bunch Kids?

The trail followed along the side of the cliff

The first five hundred feet or so, at two points, the trail tunnels under the rock. The drop was sheer — one hundred feet or so.

As we descended into the canyon, it seemed strange. The canyon communicated a new language. It opened new aspects — the terrain changed quickly as we climbed down.

There was little shade. The sand was rough and brittle. Thousands of Kaibab ground squirrels begged for food. We were warned, however, never to feed wild animals. They would unlearn their instincts.

I would tease the dumb but overly demoniac squirrels by picking up small pebbles as if morsels of food, and then throw them to the side. Yes, quite mature! They scurried to find food of rock.

“That is so cruel,” my mom said.

Was I actually helping? If I throw rocks, they believe it to be food. Then they will equate human food as invaluable. Over time, they will not beg for food. The Mom pondered my specious reasoning.

As the sun climbed, the heat within the canyon concentrated

We searched for an overhanging tree for shade. I passed around the water canteen. We sat and relaxed. A lizard crossed the trail and dodged into the underbrush.

Huge birds of prey, circling overhead, found refuge in crevices along the cliffs. There was little breeze. The air was dry. But I would take dry, clean air over polluted and humid air back East.

After a quick rest, we started out. A mountain goat meandered past us. The path was steeper, more difficult, switching back and forth.

Venturing further into the canyon’s guts, we rounded a corner and found a heart of trees. At that point, our hike stopped. Damn!

We had reached a mile and a half rest house

The Mom and Noelle did not want to go any further. We still had the more difficult climb back. We filled our canteens, cooled off with water.

I handed Dave his canteen. He would stay with The Mom and Noelle. He’s that kind of guy — nice. They were going to take a while. I wandered ahead, examining everything.

Was I thinking of that awful Chicago song from 1982 — “Even family needs a holiday, far away, from each other?” Was it family or lovers?

A curious rock I placed in my case. Not sure that was legal. What was the age of the rock? Just think if I was at the bottom! Are the rocks as old as the earth? The universe?

How did this all come to Be? All the Matter in the Universe?

Several times I took a rest underneath some shade

I waited for the others.

After ten minutes, I continued. Was I tired? Thirsty? No, not really. Curiosity got the best of me. I made sure, however, not to wander for fear of slipping off the edge or getting lost.

In my mind, I wanted to go further, but I knew The Mom would never allow that. I would have to wait for that hike.

I can’t have everything I want, but that phrase “anything worth wanting is worth waiting for” can make Wally Chapstick go bonkers when applied to women.

Take it from me. I know.

(For the backstory 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.)

The sun was now beating hard

Sweat droplets swam down my face. Did I feel like an egg on a skillet over a high flame? Yes, dear reader. A sheltered alcove offered needed shade.

My lips were dry, but I was not thirsty.

I was near the top; however, I held up and waited. How far behind were they? Closing my eyes, I rested against the rocks — my thoughts wandering — images penetrating with quickness.

I didn’t have time to fully process the messages

I thought about my friends and family back in New Jersey. Wasn’t I just fortunate enough to be here? So what about hiking to the bottom and dying an early death!

I envisioned the routines of home — waking up, showering, working, eating dinner, relaxing in front of the television.

Repeat. Repeat. Repeat. Then — die.

So many days — filled with routine chores — like a rut. One day bleeds into another. A carbon copy. Can such routine not lead to boredom and depression?

Is it just human nature to follow the grooves of the daily grind?

All around me, animals were about — searching for food, playing a game of tag, and none of those animals were cursed with pondering such thoughts. They just exist.

An eagle against the blue sky was imprinted upon my soul against a passive white cloud that seemed frozen. Rock formations appeared as ancient temples and shrines. At that moment, I uttered an unusual prayer and declared that some god must have had something to do with all of this — even me. Is the universe just a giant accident? Or is it ever unfolding?

Ten minutes passed

A few hikers passed me. Did they look at me as if I was some weirdo? I suppose a person may seem peculiar when the hand of God has just touched you. My messiah complex was short lived. It wasn’t God that touched me — just some crummy lizard that fell on my shoulder. Seriously!

Was that lizard the manifestation of Lucifer?

I was nearly at the top. I looked down. The others lagged far behind. They must’ve rested at least three or four times. What other mom would agree to hike into the heat? What mother would take her family on a three week tour at thirty nine of the United States?

I smiled as I said to myself, “I love you, mom.”

I waited at the top of the rim by the mule stables for nearly twenty minutes

The others wandered around the corner. Needless to say, The Mom was angry. Why did I shoot ahead? Why didn’t I stay with them?

She had good reason to be mad. She was right. I admitted that.

“Aren’t you thirsty?”

“Not really, Mom,” I replied.

“You could’ve dehydrated out there without that water,” she said firmly as she tossed me the canteen.

I didn’t wanna argue so I kept my mouth shut.

I took the canteen. I poured the water over my face, moistened my lips, and then guzzled the rest of the canteen down my gullet.

We had a hearty lunch of soup and sandwiches. After camper cleanup, Dave and I rested underneath the tall shade of an oak tree. I caught up with some needed writing.

We walked a short distance to the bus stop. It was packed. We found a seat and proceeded down the one-way road along the West Rim. The first stop was Trail View overlook. We pushed our way to the door and exited the shuttle.

The view was lovely. We could now see the western portion with better views of the muddy Colorado River.

Even a mile up, I witnessed the whiteness of the rapids. It has been called one of the most dangerous rivers in the world — and the best to white water raft.

It was late in the afternoon and the sun was beginning to set

The air was cooler, the sky less bright. Many shades and new colors were discovered and hidden images were formed by the redirection of light.

The Grand Canyon was indeed mysterious.

The next shuttle arrived ten minutes later. It was even more crowded than the last one. Was much kicking, biting and pushing done to gain a seat?

Alas, yes, dear reader!

I never realized before how badly some people can smell. Then again, I was never that intimate with someone’s armpit. Anyway. We skipped the next pull overs and waited until Maricopa Point.

Once again, the view provided a panoramic kaleidoscope, a vision of color a— like peering through a prism. The colors seemed extracted from the soul of the land.

The Grand Canyon, however, has an evil feel, too. Dangerous and dark, and unyielding to incautious visitors. How many die here? Accidents? Falls? Even the walls are anchored in the security of the shadows.

The Canyon is a Land of Contrast.

The shuttle took us past the Powell Memorial and proceeded to Hopi Point. After deliberation, we left the tram and walked the rim trail.

An alligator head was fashioned in the rock. Later, I learned that it was it’s official name.

The great sculptures of the world could take a lesson from Nature!

The last stop was Hermit’s Rest

Here, the park provided restrooms with drinking water and a gift shop. The views interested me more. From here I caught the best view of the Colorado River. It lizarded back-and-forth between the boulders.

The Lore of the River was calling me!

But alas! What shall be my answer? Oh well, the burden of wanting is so heavy — and yet — though my hour of departure is near, destiny may call me back to hike to the bottom.

The ride back took forever. A large woman next to me had little things nestled in her hair. I wanted to tweezer those things out! The people in front of me were some religious group. What tongues were they talking anyway? If that was the English of King James and Shakespeare, it didn’t make any sense — logical sense.

The camper was a welcome sign of relief

For an hour I drifted off, thinking of that sexy rafting ranger woman.

However, The Mom woke me. She was preparing dinner. I thought, “Hey, The Mom needs a break. I’ll cook dinner tonight!”

Needless to say, The Mom loved the idea. I made fantastic spaghetti with spicy meat sauce.

Later that night we decided against the campfire program and voted to play Trivia Pursuit. We also decided to leave the Grand Canyon in the morning for an extra night in Colorado.*

*The real reason, dear reader, is that I was driving The Mom crazy about the hike. She had enough. Was I too old to act this way? Yes. Sorry, Mom.

Thank you, Masterpiece, for publishing 45 of my essays. More adventures coming! Look for these stories on The Masterpiece:

• Day 10: Taming the Snake: Nothing is Better Than Nature’s Rollercoaster
• Day 11: Swimming in a Lake of Death, and Other Such Unseemly Things in Utah
• Day 12: Stripping with the Family and Chuck in Las Vegas
• Day 13: Humans May Create Beauty, but Will Never Equal the Handiwork of Nature
• Day 14: Never the Same Sunset Twice at The Grand Canyon