We did it!

Sunrise at our final campsite

One year ago today, Jeff and I woke up at our final campsite in the Grapevine area of the Grand Canyon simultaneously a bit sad, nostalgic, and elated that our 5 month backpacking trip was coming to an end.

The night before, I cried when I woke to a clear, beautiful setting with the pure black of looming canyon walls blocking and juxtaposing innumerable incredibly crisp stars above.  No man-made sounds reached my ears, just the sounds of tiny bats*, insects, and wind.  Having lived for six years in New York City, on or near Broadway, it wasn't lost on me how remarkable it is to sleep without the sounds of sirens, motorcycles, exhaust fans, planes... and  I didn't know when I would be granted such a night again.  The next day we would be hiking up out of the South Rim of the Grand Canyon to be surrounded by thousands of tourists who might never think to leave the comfort of their cars or the paved sidewalks above.

Waking again at sunrise, I felt renewed and excited.  Having pushed my body to its utter maximum for five long months, I was thrilled to think of days of rest and recuperation rather than more 20 mile days. For the previous three months, I had pains in my hip sockets that ached like a poked bruise with each step I took.  Jeff, being a good person and an excellent boyfriend, was understandably concerned for my health and worried that this trip would do lasting physical harm to me.  Many days when I woke up and hobbled around waiting for my ibuprofen to kick in, he would try to convince me that my wellbeing was more important than this trip, and I would stubbornly keep moving forward exclaiming/muttering in a run-on that we were going to fucking finish this because I'm not likely going to quit my job and to go on a 2,500 mile walk again and I am going to finish what we started especially if we made it this far already. But I ached with every step of 1,500 miles and if/when I clumsily tripped on a root or a rock or unexpectedly flat surfaces, my hips screamed with fiery pain.  So the prospect of as much rest as I wanted as soon as we knocked out the last 11 or so miles filled me with happy anticipation. 

An even greater factor in my high spirits that morning was the pride of accomplishing something that Jeff and I worked so hard on day in and day out for months.  The five months leading up to the trip were full of gear reviews and purchases, physical training, and meticulous planning of our route and supplies--on top of our more-than-full-time jobs and regularly scheduled programming.  Of course, the five months of the trip were full of unimaginable and nearly indescribable challenges and joys and mundane moments.  Jeff's biggest challenge was getting up everyday to do the same thing that we had been doing: hiking.  My obstinacy proved helpful in the latter half in combating this.  My biggest challenge, even considering my physical debilitation, was also a mental one.  I often felt oppressed by an unfortunate androgyny.  The logistics of a long-distance through hike preclude frequent showers, scented products, and other grooming activities that were strangely important in an urban setting.  The fact that I wore a tan button down shirt, no girly colors and no makeup; had short hair, a less than busty profile, and 'natural'/overgrown eyebrows meant I was mistaken for a man several times.  For these reasons I felt like I failed at being a girl, but I also failed at being a boy because I couldn't hike as fast as Jeff or carry as much of our shared food and gear. We had one notable tiff about a month in because I smelled so terrible that Jeff had to leave the tent to eat breakfast comfortably. My body had yet to determine how to clean itself with minimal showers (it did eventually).   Thankfully, as would happen repeatedly throughout the trip, the mood lightened as we hiked through beautiful places and Jeff assured me that I was a necessary part and partner in this trip.  For both of us, the satisfaction of overcoming challenges large and small to end up in the Grand Canyon--truly one of the most beautiful and awe-inspiring places in the world as well as home to some crazy hard hiking--rendered us downright giddy on our final few miles.

As anticipated, we started seeing dozens more people as we approached the corridor (where most people hike and where nice things like toilets with doors and reliable, potable water can be found) and had more awkward conversations and misunderstandings than we ever could want.  On our final day, climbing 3,260 feet in just over four miles on the South Kaibab Trail (7 previous miles on the Tonto Trail), we generally encountered warmly dressed dayhikers strolling down from the rim with cameras but no food or water.  We were half-running up the crazy switchbacks and laughing maniacally, sweating profusely in our tiny running shorts and button-down shirts with the sleeves rolled up.  There were some backpackers mixed through, with way more stuff than I would ever want to carry, and they assumed that like them we were doing a rim-to-rim hike in the corridor since our packs were relatively small and we wore trailrunners, not boots.  Those that spoke to me were surprised to find out that we spent a week in the canyon, and not in the corridor excepting the last few minutes.  We didn't bother to mention that the week in the canyon was the cap of a five month trip from the Canadian border of Montana.  The only other visitors we told were the two nice ladies who had the great fortune of being at the trailhead atop the rim when we sprinted up together and jumped and danced around exclaiming with glee that we did it!  We hiked here from Montana!  They congratulated us, took our picture, and told us we must be two of the fittest people in America.

So happy on the South Rim of the Grand Canyon

Tonight we celebrated the anniversary of our last day hiking the most epic trip we will probably ever undertake by turning off the lights in our apartment, putting on our headlamps and cooking a typical trail dinner of spinach-potato burritos.  For the first two-thirds of our trip, we picked up our supplies on a roughly weekly basis through packages Jeff's mom sent to us at rural post offices care of general delivery.  Tortillas were in each box or purchased at tiny grocery stores.  They were a fairly heavy food choice to carry for their caloric value, but made up for their weight in our minds with the increased portability and less messy meals.  Spinach-potato burritos were filled with freeze-dried spinach, freeze-dried sour cream powder, freeze-dried monterey jack cheese, mashed potato flakes, and copious hot sauce.  We boiled water in our little titanium pot--on the gas stove tonight, on our beer can stove with denatured alcohol on the trail, rehydrated our fillings in our little tups, spread the goods on the tortillas with our sporks, and doused liberally with hot sauce.  We ate our meal on the floor in our living room by the dim, garish light of our headlamps once again happy, nostalgic and proud that we did it.

And spinach-potato burritos are still tasty.

* Yes, tiny bats.