I’ve always wondered about the saying “being one with nature.” I never related to it as I do not consider myself an outdoorsy person. I love doing things outdoors, given I’m an avid runner and cyclist. I don’t camp, but glamp. And if I’m compelled to actually construct a tent on my own, it will include an air mattress, feather bed on top, with 1100 count Egyptian cotton sheets. Yes, I’m a regular outdoorsman.

Connecting to nature that tells a story is another thing. The story that is my 19.6 mile journey with The Grand Canyon…

The Canyon is majestic. A majesty developed over 65 million years of living. The sharp edges, some smooth contours, burnt face and the reddish-orange hue that shows off fresh wounds from the wind that reminds The Canyon that its beauty comes from all the elements it lives with. It thrives, struggles, survives and evolves living in it.

I started my journey without much planning or analyzing the route I wanted to take. Deep down inside, I didn’t know what I was doing here, so might as well discover. I knew one thing: the route calculated approximately 18.9 miles of a counter clockwise path on the south rim. An easy down, and ascendence from its core back to the top. I’m a runner... What can go wrong? Humility will come.

I begin the journey from Mather Point, taking in the big expansive beauty. There is a lot going with The Canyon and I wanted to live it. I walked along the edge of south rim trail, and became in awe of what I was seeing getting closer to S Kaibab trail that will take me down along rugged edges with a sharp drop off on one side. 7 miles of steep descend with many switchbacks that reminded me of the many pivots I’ve had to make along the way. You keep moving forward, but life, like this trail, is never a straight line. You can follow one of the paths straight down a 2000 feet drop, or you can hug the wall along the way, understanding there’s no such thing as a direct route in this path we walk on. I chose to hug it... but there was curiosity of the depths to where I was headed and wonder to what was down there. There were moments of joy I felt as I continued going deeper. I have realized as I’ve gotten older that I did not need the unfamiliar or sense of accomplishment to experience joy. Our day-to-day playfulness brought that into our lives. Joy was not something I was chasing, but simply living. And walking along this path brought a sense of playfulness that I crave for that I had in abundance and lost.

At mile 7 and 3300ft below where I started, I looked for this elusive Tonto trail that would be taking me westbound. It was a tiny little path, wide enough for a single person to continue his journey. I hesitated first, as the sun was reaching overhead, and Tonto looked exposed. But so was I. About 3 miles into it, fear and doubt entered into the experience. I went off path a few times that I had to rely on my intuition to correct myself. I had not studied the route well enough to have a frame of reference. I wasn’t sure if I was going to be on this trail for 4 miles or 8. I continued on trying to desperately identify something to give me guidance, or better yet, another soul to provide comfort. With some panic, I started running a bit to take off the miles quicker. I’ve been here before, doubting my decisions and questioning whether I was equipped to take on what was immediately in front of me. But 43 years of getting lost and finding myself provides a sense of confidence and trust in myself and ability. I was also 10 miles in, and there was no turning back from here. I did not have enough water or nutrition to backtrack, and I knew the trail I was looking for had water. There was a point where I missed a turn, and started climbing these boulders thinking the path continued above. It didn’t feel right, and when I turned around with a new vantage, I saw the path and where it hid itself. Sometimes a small detour in life really can provide perspective that allows you to reorientate yourself. But the truth was I felt lonely. I had not seen another person in a while, and scared to be on this new path, with lack of clarity on where it may lead me to. Toward mile 12 of the journey , I did a sharp turn toward the cliffs and saw another path merging from the distance. I knew I was close to the ranger station now, as I recalled this part when I mapped out the route.

I arrived at last! Shade and water provides a lot to be thankful for. It’s the simplest things that we take for granted until it’s no longer available. Why do I lose sight of these basic things in life as I chase cooler shades and colder water available each mile of my journey? I’m a fairly driven individual, but does drive have to equal unfullfilment?

The sign read Bright Angel Trail - 4.5 miles. 4.5 miles and 3300ft of climbing at high noon and 105 degrees. The friendly park ranger suggested that I wait until 4pm to continue on given I was a bit dehydrated and tired. But in my mind, all I had to do was hike 1.5 miles to the next rest spot. Breaking down the problem into smaller pieces has allowed me to take on more complex challenges in my personal and professional life. Dealing with grief, I just needed to get to the next day. And each day, I discovered new things about my relationship with losing Brynn and myself. That discovery is not easy, nor as linear as hiking 1.5 miles at a time. But I came to find out neither was each of those 1.5 miles. The terrain, the grade and the profile brought a different challenge and struggle with each stage. Isn’t that what life is? Each day providing a different terrain you experience and learn about yourself as you walk along it? The hard part is accepting that you’re not controlling the path you’re hiking on. So, I focused on my response to it. Slowed down my pace in some instances, increased my cadence in others. And accepted that between miles 1.5 and 3, I felt exhausted, demoralized, with a little bit of uncontrolled anger setting in. I took a break at mile 3 with other fellow hikers who were on their respective journeys. We gave each other motivation, well wishes and continued on.

A 20 minute break in the shade with breathtaking views can help with one’s mental state. You admire how long you have come on this long arduous path. You know it’s not over and you do not know what the next mile and half will bring you. But it is ok... you have to keep on your forward momentum against the desires to wanting to give up. An all too familiar feeling.

One more 1.5 miles and 1300ft uphill battle. The last 4.5 miles in my life has been tiring, and emotionally exhausting. When I think the terrain is going to let up, it gets steeper. But I’ve kept on climbing. Not because of the destination at the top, but because deep down I know I can’t remain where I am - remain static.

At last, I arrived at the top of the 4.5 mile 3300ft climb. There was no jubilation, no celebration, as I realized I still had 2.5 miles to go where my car was parked. This was beyond bad planning. I knew I couldn’t stop for a break there, as you simply know where you can pause in life. This was not one of those moments. So I hobbled along the rim path towards my final destination. As I came close to the 19 mile mark, I realized I took the round about path that added another .6 miles of depleted rage that quickly turned to joy as my vehicle welcomed me back and rewarded me with a cold air-conditioned cabin that I just sat in for a while. I didn’t bask in glory, or reflect about what the day was about. I just sat there and enjoyed where I was that very moment.

My mind wondered as I drove back if I would have been better off studying the path beforehand. Would the experience been any different? Unfortunately, life is not a study. I’ve been making decision based on where I am today and where I want to go tomorrow. But the path between those two points is the story that gets written. It’s what connects the origin and destination. That’s hard to plan.

Over the last year, I went down in the depths of unknown both in the love I had for Brynn and then the emotional abyss that came afterward. I had to keep moving forward on this questionable path I did not feel equipped for. And it’s been a long climb out from the bottom, with many breaks, acclimation to altitude, and reflection as I stop, look back on the path I just came up. It’s with all of its crumbled face, sharp edges, the freshly wounded surface, and the exposed core that makes it imperfect. It doesn’t try to hide it. But I think that is what makes it beautiful and vulnerable.

Yes, 19.6 miles and 5700ft of downs and ups, with lots of ups and downs the Grand Canyon and I shared. And I thank you for it! Until next time…

-Troy

Day 6 - The Canyon