Friday, May 12, 2016 - Day 7
Sheep Mountain Spring to Sowats Point
5:30 AM - 12:45 PM
5 Miles
Elevation Gain: 2,200

Last night I had a bad dream and woke up with a shout. Startled, Nancy screamed - although she didn't remember screaming - and Haley said something like, "Holy Mother of God you scared me." No idea what the dream was about but it was obviously very powerful.

Day 7, magical day 7 - the day we get out of the canyon, the day we stop carrying heavy weight, the day we stop hiking, the day we get to use a toilet, sleep in a bed and sit in a chair. Two hard days in a row - today was 5 miles of walking under a hot sun and climbing 2,200 feet on tired legs, with a mile and a half of steep with few switchbacks. I had been thinking about this day, seriously wondering if I was going to make it out without collapsing, if I was unable to stand up and continue. I imagined the shame and fear of having to be airlifted out by helicopter, especially if the reason was because I was too weak to move anymore, without an injury or heat stroke to make it feel a little more legitimate.

I shared my concern with Nancy and she echoed it back. We were both worried, anxious and determined to give these last five miles our utmost effort.

Last night Stefan had suggested we get up early, at 4 AM, in order to beat the worst of the heat while climbing up that last steep pitch. We all agreed heartily. At 4 AM Stefan called out that hot drink was ready and we wormed our way out of that tent for the last time. My legs were tired from yesterday's long hike, but not in pain. That was encouraging. I shuffled about, dressed, ate my last oatmeal breakfast, drank my last cup of instant coffee with powdered creamer, and packed my backpack as fast as I could. The sky was still dark, with only a hint of dawn beginning to dim the stars. We moved about the camp with headlamps flashing - strange halogen eyeballs in the middle of our foreheads. Breakfast done, everything picked up, the sun bringing the first color of morning, the area policed one last time, and at 5:30 AM we were off, hiking Jump-Up canyon toward the rim, going home.

The first mile and a half we walked in the creek bed, the same sketchy footing we had been trekking over for the last 6 days. It was fairly easy walking, without much elevation gain, until we reached the section that began with a series of huge steps carved out of the side of the redwall leading up to the Esplanade. My legs felt ok, not great, but ok. I was hiking slowly, pacing myself, pulling up the rear, and stopping every so often to take pictures of the sun rising over the canyon walls and moving more firmly into mid-morning. It was a relief to reach the Esplanade where there was actually a trail that was relatively flat. The problem was that it seemed to go on and on and at one point we missed a cairn and walked a tenth of a mile off the trail. I felt the strangeness of the surrounding area a few seconds before Stefan stopped and realized we were no longer on the trail.

The second milestone was reaching the Cottonwood trees where we had rested on our way down those 6 days ago. It was maybe 10:30 AM and as we entered the copse of trees we met a couple of older gentlemen who were heading down Canyon. They were friendly, asking Stefan questions about the various trails and the hiking conditions. I sat on a rock with my bruised butt screaming and ate an energy bar or maybe it was my last PayDay or some peanuts. Anyway, I ate something...drank water...having run out of the lemon-lime electrolyte tablets the day before. I was mostly silent, and since I was facing the steepest part of the hike, I was thinking about the last push. I felt tired and yet I knew I had some strength left in my legs. I hoped I had enough. At least I wasn't feeling sick or suffering from cramps. Small blessings. We rested there for what seemed like a long time. I finally had to stand up, my butt hurt so much, and started restlessly pacing around under the shade of the trees, half listening to Stefan talking with the two hikers. I drenched my long sleeved shirt with some extra water and put it on for the hike up, hoping it would keep me cool.

Finally Stefan suggested that Nancy and I start out since we were both ready and he knew the steep section was going to kick our butts. So off we went, and it wasn't long before we reached the steeps and began climbing. As I climbed my steps came more slowly. I was breathing like a freight train, sucking air in and out. Breathing like that started to mess with my positive mental attitude. I let it mess with me. Climbing was hard...really hard. It was hot. I was tired. And I was done.

Nancy and I hiked together for a while. Then she moved ahead, and although there was a little physical distance between us, I could feel her supportive presence helping calm my breathing, soothing my anxiety, and keeping me walking.

We hadn't been hiking long before I began feeling intestinal cramps and told Nancy I had to stop and take a shit. Of all times... I urged her to keep going, not to wait, to use her strength to make more headway. I pulled off the trail, took off my pack and squatted on the steep hillside, praying the cramps would stop and I would be able to deal with my situation quickly. But no, it wasn't quick and as I squatted I was becoming even more exhausted. I could see Haley and Stefan closing in on me so I gave up, pulled up my shorts, put on my pack, and started climbing again.

Haley caught up to me and passed by, her 20-year old strength and huge motivation to get out moving her by quickly. She was out of sight before I managed to climb another tenth of a mile. Nancy was also ahead, coming in and out of sight as the trail twisted and turned. I looked up to see her when I stopped to breathe. Stefan was behind me, encouraging me, but I felt his presence as pressure to push harder. I wanted to walk quicker, but I couldn't. I was breathing rapidly, taking very fast, shallow breaths, and I had to stop every minute or so to rest and slow my breathing to a more manageable level.

Finally Stefan suggested that I walk more slowly, try to keep my breathing under control, and increase the time between stopping and starting. He said stopping and starting every 30-60 seconds was sapping me more than a slower pace and less spasmodic breathing would do. I slowed down and was able to continue walking for longer between rests. I imagined I was somewhere in the Himalayas, dealing with the lack of oxygen, moving at a high altitude pace, and feeling even more sure that I never want to climb at high elevations. On I went, trudging and resting, trudging and resting, with Stefan whispering encouragement at my heels.

We finally caught up to Nancy and I asked Stefan to move on ahead. I would stay with Nancy and we would hike the last part at our own speed. As he moved out of earshot, Nancy and I looked at each other and I think we were both shocked at the suffering we saw in each other's faces. We talked softly, encouraging, commiserating, and began moving upward. As I plodded upward I realized that I never want to work this hard physically ever again, that I have nothing to prove to anyone else or to myself, and that I have done enough hard pushing in my life. I was glad to reach that decision and sharing it with Nancy made it even more real. But sharing it gave me permission to acknowledge how difficult this moment felt, and that I would never put myself in this place again.

We finally reached the section of the trail that was less steep, rolling along the edge of the canyon walls as we came closer to not having a wall of rock hindering our view. I could finally see sky in front of me instead of above me. I knew we were close. Tears formed and I hugged Nancy, finally letting it in that we were going to make it. As we neared the trailhead we met Stefan talking to a hiker who was starting down. Haley was nowhere to be seen. We crested the rim and I let go of all the anxiety and stress of the last seven days. It poured out of me like liquid and my body felt like I was floating when I took the pack off for the last time. I was coughing a lot and suddenly realized what I was feeling... This was how I felt years ago when I suffered from exercise induced asthma. Wow, the 7,000 feet of elevation and the exertion of climbing had triggered the asthma and I hacked away, hoping the tightness in my chest would ease up now that I had finally stopped moving.

I had already downed an ice cold bottle of Gatorade when I became aware that my body was finally ready for that bowel movement. I moved off and rid myself of that waste. It felt so good. Letting it all go. I was "home". I had done it. My 61 year old body that had seen a lot of climbing and a lot of hard, physical work in her life, had made it. I was proud and yet there lingered in my thoughts the feeling of at what cost? This adventure had challenged me in every imaginable way, and my emotions ran the gamut of pure joy to sadness to shame. I am done pushing myself this hard, finished with strenuous hikes, and I do not want to return to the Grand Canyon for a long, long time...if ever.

Epilogue