Grand Canyon Adventures

Is the Grand Canyon truly grand? Do rattlesnakes like golden showers? Can dogs skydive? Those are questions this 2-part blog will try to answer with experiences learned on my early August vacation at the Grand Canyon.

Part One

As a kid, we never took any vacations more than the 50-minute drive from Orland Road to my great-uncle Clem’s cottage on Conesus Lake. Mom didn’t like to travel and even on those short jaunts, she would always get into an argument with my dad with three young hostages in the back seat forced to witness the bickering.

As I survived and matured into a teen, John Hughes became my favorite humor writer when he published “My Vacation” in The National Lampoon Magazine. It was later made into the film, “National Lampoon’s Vacation,” which then spawned a variety of spin-offs chronicling the ill-advised exploits of Clark Griswold on various vacation misadventures. Many of my vacations resemble those of the Griswolds. This one would be no different.

I took a week off from the day job and the current WIP (work in progress) for a hastily planned trip to the Grand Canyon and points in between. It would be my first long trip with Boru, my three-year-old Siberian Husky. The destinations I planned to visit were the Grand Canyon South Rim, the North Rim, Page, Arizona, and possibly a return to one of the National Parks in Moab. It had to be done on a limited budget, so this novice camper would be utilizing dispersed camping, or boondocking, in our national forests and Bureau of Land Management campsites, which are fee-free. While gasoline prices were dropping below $4 a gallon in Colorado, it would be close to $5 or even more along our route.

I loaded up “the family truckster,” my Jeep Renegade known as the Yeti. The 5 o’clock morning bell rang and off we went, with my strategically packed camping gear, food, and a tiny sampling of clothing for any weather conditions. Prior to the trip, I used quart-sized Tupperware containers to make ice blocks in the freezer. I packed meats in one cooler with drinks and sandwich fixings in another. The ice blocks worked phenomenally, lasting more than days and keeping the coolers at a consistently cold temperature. I brought toys for Boru and enough kibble in its original packaging for an extended trip.

The route would take us across Colorado on the interstate, through scenic Glenwood Canyon, then south through Moab all the way to Arizona.  Friday morning traffic was minimal until we reached Moab. An accident brought traffic to a standstill for about 30 minutes. Fortunately, it was at a very scenic juncture and the  air conditioning in the Yeti was working fine. I feared the stop was jeopardizing my goal to reach the South Rim before sunset. My worries were unfounded. A reservoir south of Moab with aqua-green water provided a scenic rest stop, and the remainder of the drive was relatively bland. The drive from Denver was just over 12 hours.

I grew excited as we approached the east entrance of the park. It was 5:30 p.m. when we made it the Desert View parking lot in the National Park. I filled my pocket with plastic bags and put his Service Dog “superhero cape” on Boru, because that would allow him unlimited access to the park.

The first views of the canyon and the stone watchtower were special. I took a few photos and my battery died. The backup battery – also dead. Sunset approached in less than 90 minutes, so I was in a panic that I might miss photographing the event I rushed to see. Before the trip, I bought a second portable charger, and I hoped I would get enough of a charge before “the golden hour.” The Sojourning Unique Circumstances for Kerry (S.U.C.K.) were just beginning. Back at the Yeti, the vehicle was under attack. A huge raven – a ravedactyl – was pecking at something on the roof rack. As a last-minute space-saving tactic, I had double bagged Boru’s dry dog food and put it on the roof. The plastic kitchen bag was shredded, but the nylon-reinforced dog food package held up. The people at Pedigree make damn strong bird-proof bags.

On we went, checking out more scenic areas before backtracking to Navajo Point for sunset. Boru and I were joined by Frog Angel. The battery was sufficiently juiced, so I set up my tripod. Sunset is tricky because you wait patiently, and then the light changes second by second. I captured what I could as quickly as I could. The sun dropped so quickly you could see it retreating beneath the horizon. The light show was disappointing, disappointing, disappointing and then, BAM! At once, it became spectacular, illuminating the many colors on the walls of the canyon. The golden hour that lasts only a few moments finally lost its battle with night. My two little buddies and I left at dusk to find a boondocking site for the night.

I hadn’t realized that our destination, FR 688, was 45 minutes away. We reached camp in the near-blackness of night, always ideal for setting up camp.  (Sarcasm). It wasn’t too bad. I brought a powerful little flashlight and raised the tent. Boru, secured to a tree with a tie-out cable, found something to gnaw on. Ever curious, I trained the flashlight on him. He found dead animal bones and a skull from some small animal, glowing white in the light of the flashlight. It made me question how safe this campsite might be. The bones were too small to be human remains, so we seemed safe enough. I set up the camp stove and cooked dinner, my first meal of the day. With my dog contently playing with the bones of some unfortunate animal, I relaxed under a full field of stars at 7,000 feet above sea level.

  After the first beer, I had to pee, and used the flashlight to find my way through the sporadic stand of Ponderosa pines in this part of the Kaibab National Forest. For some reason, I didn’t use the flashlight coming back, and collided with a tree, which gave me a bump on my forehead that would remind me of my stupidity for several days. I sat awhile longer, enjoying the peaceful night. Elk began bugling, and not very far away. Horny bull elk can be 700 pounds of bad juju, and they don’t like dogs. Boru let out a few squelched barks before I hushed him.

Boru had not been on an adventure like this before, so when it was time to turn in, he paced inside the two-person tent before deciding it would be okay. He curled up in the corner of the tent. The 90-degree temperatures dropped more than 40 degrees. Three hours into the night, we were awakened by the bugling elk. I put on hoodie for warmth and zipped my sleeping bag, rated for 40-below. Boru woke me again, pacing. He was shivering and moving to keep warm. “You’re a husky, dammit!” I thought. “This is nothing for you.” I unzipped the sleeping bag and he nestled in next to my feet. The Husky Who Came In from the Cold.  

We slept in because we earned it. I would have another day to take sunrise pictures at the canyon. When we did drive in, I stopped at the Tusayan McDonalds to use the restroom and buy a coffee, $1  everywhere else in the country, but $2.57 here. We drove to the park entrance which had a small line. We reached the front and I rolled down the window to show my pass. The park ranger was a friendly guy, and when the dog poked his head out the window to see what was going on, he was taken by Boru’s handsome looks. “What a cutie,” the ranger said. “I have one just like you at home.” He handed me a park map and that’s when he made an serious error of judgment.

“You’re such a cutie,” he repeated, and reached into the car to pet the dog. Boru snapped at him and came a whisker away from amputating three of his fingers.

“Whoa! My bad!” the ranger said. I saw no blood, so I said goodbye and drove off.

Saturday in the park was less fun than I expected. We hiked along the South Rim, taking in the sights and sounds of the canyon and the multi-lingual composition of the people there. Boru wears a harness which connects in the back so that the pressure from his pulling is dispersed through his chest, and not on his neck. I sidled up to a stone wall to take some photographs. A tall, young man and his girlfriend stood next to me gazing into the canyon. Suddenly, Boru leapt onto the narrow stone wall. His back end slid off the far edge of the wall, and with his legs churning like some cartoon dog, he tried to will his way back.

“No!” I yelled, and pulled heavily on his leash. It was enough to yank his rear end back over the wall, and he climbed down. He probably didn’t see that only the leash and harness prevented him from dropping more than 3,000 feet toward the canyon bottom.

“Whew! You almost lost him,” the man commented. “I wouldn’t have wanted to see that.”

My heart rate increased sufficiently, but an hour later when the dog repeated his attempt to skydive without a parachute, I decided we had enough of the South Rim. We sat on a rock in one of the few shady spots we could find. A woman with movie-star good looks approached us. She wore sunglasses with heart-shaped blue-tinted lenses. I stood, involuntarily, as if in the presence of royalty. She commented on how handsome Boru was and asked if she could take a picture. I consented eagerly and stepped out of the way.

“Non,” she said with a French accent. “I want you in the picture, too.”

Perhaps I’ve watched too many films in my time, and French actress Sophie Marceau is one of my fantasy crushes with or without subtitles. I learned that she was from Paris (“Par-ee”) and she told me they don’t see many Siberian Huskies there. Before I could learn her name, a young man, a son perhaps, came along and beckoned her to catch up to the rest of a group. Her face has stuck with me since.

Assuming that we had enough excitement for one day, we left the park.   

Back at camp, I attached Boru to a tree with a long tie-out cable and set up my collapsible hammock. I’ve only had the chance to use it a few times. It is very comfortable if you recline in it with a cold beer. That peaceful calm lasted barely a few minutes. A yellowjacket stung me near my elbow. I am allergic. Fortunately, I brought two Epi pens. I stabbed myself in the thigh with the Epi pen and sat down. It’s a weird sensation. The pain crawled up and down my arm like a spider. It was as though I could feel the venom acting upon the tissue in my arm. And then it stopped. I felt jittery from the epinephrine and a little light-headed. I dumped the beer I had been drinking and three dead yellowjackets spilled out onto the dirt.

 Boru saw me when I brushed the yellowjacket off my arm and called it a harsh name. Hundreds, if not a thousand of those angry mofos were still buzzing around the ground. Boru made it his mission to chase them all away from me. For an hour, he patrolled the area where I sat.

Any plans to return to the Canyon for more sunset photos was scuttled. Instead, I stayed at camp and played with Boru. For the first time, I let him roam off leash. He stayed close to me and a new bond of trust was formed. That and the French beauty were the highlights of the day.

We slept without incident and woke before dawn for sunrise photography at Pipe Creek Vista, viewed from a turnoff between Mather Point and Grandview, two of the more crowded areas. We went back to strike the campsite. I was eager to leave. The South Rim were less than desirable, so I skipped the North Rim altogether.Two goals for the photo vacation went unrealized – the California Condors and astrophotography of the Milky Way. Still, I succeeded with many stunning and interesting photos. The best was yet to come.

Look for my next blog for the recap of the rest of the adventure.