An update to an earlier entry.
If you read these blogs faithfully (although I’m not sure why you would), you may recall my “Too Old for a Helicopter Ride?” rant about two weeks ago. This is an update to that saga.
When I received the letter starting “Due to the age of our members…”, I was outraged. I mean that in the real sense of the word. It ticked me off that someone in Texas should play “daddy” to some retirees at a park in Arizona.
I wrote a letter to the editor of the Wickenburg Sun. It was printed in yesterday’s edition.
So far, I’ve received about eight comments from people who have read it. Two of them live in North Ranch, where folks are “too old” to enjoy helicopter rides (according to the President of their Association, not me). One of those people actually looked up my phone number in the phone book and called me.
All comments were in the same vein: how could he write something like that? Aren’t these people able to make their own decision about what they’re too old for? Besides, a helicopter ride sounds like fun.
Some comments showed disbelief. One person actually wanted to see the letter. I’ll bring him a copy this week.
I’m sure I’ll get some comments from people who aren’t happy about my letter to the editor. I always do. There’s always someone out there who misses the point entirely. In this case, someone will probably think I’m attacking North Ranch, rather than the sorry attitude of the man in Texas who makes all the decisions.
Perhaps Bud Carr will call. What will I say? Nothing. I’ve said it all. Besides, it’s a waste of time to talk to someone with a closed mind, and I’ve got a sneaking suspicion that his is as closed as a steel trap.
We’d done it before, perhaps ten years ago. It had been a Christmas present for Mike. A two-night mule trip to Phantom Ranch at the bottom of the Grand Canyon. This time, we did it with John and Lorna, two friends of ours from Maine. The Grand Canyon’s mule operators have, during the high season, 160 mules on hand to take riders or supplies into and out of the canyon. In late February, there are several dozen. We turned up at the “round corral” at 8 AM as instructed, wearing our outfitter-supplied yellow rain slickers. The temperature was in the 20s (F, of course) and we were shivering as we waited. There were about 12 of us going down that day, but eight were doing the day trip to Plateau Point, which looks out over the Inner Gorge not far from Indian Gardens. That’s about a 3-hour ride (each way). Our ride would be 4-1/2 hours, taking the Bright Angel Trail all the way down to the river.
All the time, we were heading down into the canyon, on a trail that was about six feet wide in most places. Near the top — perhaps the first 30 minutes of the ride — there was ice on the trail and you had to just hope your mule was surefooted enough to cross it safely. It turns out that the mules wear special winter shoes that help grip that ice. Further down into the canyon, the ice was melting and running off from the top, making tiny streams and waterfalls. Everything was wet and alive. And the view was great. Mules are not afraid of heights and they seem to like to prove this. They often walk on the outside edge of the trail, sometimes only inches from a sheer cliff. This did not bother me much on the way down, but, for some reason, freaked me out a bit on the way back up. (Go figure.) My mule’s name was Bumpy because he was. But his name could also have been Muddy, Dirty, or Filthy. He obviously liked rolling in the mud of the mule enclosure and the wranglers didn’t think it was worth brushing all that mud off his neck, legs, and lower body. His saddle was quite uncomfortable and seemed to have seams running right under my butt. Of course, those could have been the seams of my underwear against a rock-hard seat as I bumped down the trail.
We rode for another hour or so after that, finally reaching the pair of bridges that cross the Colorado to Bright Angel Canyon. The first bridge, a silver-colored suspension bridge, was for foot traffic only, so we added an extra 20 minutes to our ride getting to the black bridge of the Kaibab Trail, about a half-mile upriver. We had to ride through a low tunnel in the rock wall to get to the bridge. From there, it was only 20 minutes more to Phantom Ranch. By the time we reached the ranch, I was in serious pain. My stirrups were too short and my knees were aching. It felt good to get out of the saddle. Although I didn’t think I’d ever recover, I was feeling much better just a half hour later.
Dave, the ranch manager, met us at the corral and took us to our cabins. There were only two cabins with queen sized beds at Phantom Ranch and we’d reserved them both — eight months ago. The cabins, which were designed by Mary Colter and built in the 1920s, were one-room buildings built primarily of stone. Very quaint. Each one had a closet with a toilet in it and a sink that ran cold water. Hot water and showers were available in a building a few hundred yards away. The main lodge building was where you could buy supplies and have your meals. We stopped in for a lemonade not long after we arrived.
We went for a short hike back down to the river before dinner, checking out the confluence of the river with the clear waters of Bright Angel Creek. Then a good, hot shower. Then back to the lodge. Dinner was served family style with two seatings. We were in the first seating, at 5 PM, the first night. The meal featured steak, which was surprisingly tender (although not cooked quite enough for my taste), baked potatoes, corn, peas, salad, and cornbread. It was all you could eat and I ate a ton. I think I expected all the exercise I’d get during our stay to burn off calories. Sadly, it didn’t.
After a hearty (too hearty!) breakfast in the lodge, we headed out for a hike on the Clear Creek Trail. This trail climbs about 1,000 feet in its first mile, passes a lookout point where you can see all of Phantom Ranch below you, then offers stunning views of the Colorado River, Inner Gorge, and canyon walls. The first mile was a killer for me — I don’t do up very well. But it was worth it. The views were great and the trail leveled out for a pleasant walk.
We did about two miles, stopping for lunch on a point that looked down the river. The trail kept going, lined with yellow flowers as it climbed a bit more to the top of the inner gorge. But we’d had enough. We turned around and went back. Mike and John headed up Bright Angel Creek while Lorna and I went back to the ranch to relax. We got there just before 3 PM.
The next day, after yet another hearty breakfast, we headed over to the mule corral where Bumpy, Charlie, BB, and Darth Vader were waiting. Frank, a different wrangler, had come down the day before to take us out. There was a female wrangler there, too. She was in charge of the eight or so riders that had come down the previous day for a one-night trip. They left before us and we mounted up and followed Frank out. Fortunately, I’d had the foresight to have my stirrups lengthened, so I wasn’t in as much pain on the way out as I’d been in on the way down. Now if only I’d brought a cushion for the seat!The ride out of the canyon was considerably longer, primarily because we had to stop often to rest the mules. I figure it took about five hours. We stopped at Indian Gardens for a snack and a bathroom break on the way out. We saw some more bighorn sheep and a condor. And lots of photo opportunities along the way. Finally, we were back on the rim and the trip was over.
I could have hurried right back the airport, but since none of us were in any rush, I figured I’d take the opportunity to check out the river. We flew past Kay El Bar, which had water right up to its front lawn, and headed up the river. A number of ranches had some water flowing through their low spots. I watched some cattle cross a stream. But the most dramatic scene was at the narrow slow canyon north of town — the water was squeezing through the slot and had reached a depth of at least 20 feet. There would be no driving through the slot anytime soon.
We flew over town and circled the area around the bridge. Mike got some excellent photos of the damage on Jack Burden Road — which you really couldn’t see from the ground — and the carnival right across the river. Then we headed up the river so I could show Mike how full the slot canyon was. It was raining up there, so I turned around and headed back down the river, in search of what was left of the house that had gone downstream. We hit a pretty nasty downdraft just past the bridge and since neither of us liked that, I climbed an extra 200 feet. It was a good thing I did, because when we got to the Morristown area, a helicopter flew under us, going up river. I don’t even know if he saw us. I turned around and followed him upriver, keeping some distance between us. At about that time, Don from LifeNet made a call for his departure from the airport. A moment later, I heard him on the radio again, asking the helicopter over town if it was on frequency. Although I expected the helicopter ahead of me to answer, it was Ray who replied. That meant there were four helicopters operating over town at the same time.