“You can change your mind now, and we will give you your money back, no questions asked. But if you leave the corral on your mule, it’s too late. You stay with us and on your mule the rest of the way. You get off your mule; you’ve got to walk back.” Those were K-Bar’s last words to us before we mounted our mules and went over the rim down the Bright Angel Trail into the Grand Canyon.
Nobody said much, and most of us, including me, were thinking, “What have I gotten myself into?” We would be descending on a narrow, twisting trail down over 4,000 feet from the South Rim to Phantom Ranch, through tunnels, a suspension bridge over the Colorado, and doing it all by early afternoon. Most everyone had a death grip on their saddle horn and looked pretty pale when we looked down the zigzagged trail onto the tops of hiker’s heads below us. As we paused before the first tunnel, our mules turned sideways and hung their heads out over the abyss, nonchalantly flopping their big ears and swatting flies with their stubby tails.
My mule, “Zug-Zug” was huge—at least 16 hands, round as a barrel, and hard muscled. We were all given “mule motivators,” the politically correct term for crops, but these didn’t impress our mules much. They proceeded at pretty much their own speed, being hustled up by K-Bar and Kenny’s voices as much as anything. By the time we had reached Indian Gardens a couple of hours into the ride, we were starting to relax. I realized that a mule is very different from a horse, laid back, spookless, and sure-footed, looking before it placed each foot. Only one stumble on the whole trail, which was so steep we were going down stair steps most of the time. I saw why mules were the animal of choice to ride on this breathtakingly beautiful but hair raising trail.
I was beginning to trust my mule by then, and it was a good thing, because the scenery was jaw dropping. We descended through successive climate zones, from pinion pine and juniper scrub at the rim, then ponderosa forest, then cottonwood and willow groves at Indian Gardens and followed a clear tumbling stream down Pine Canyon before descending into the dark inner gorge.
There we lost the morning sun for a while as we descended in a cloud of dust through layers and layers of multicolored rock. We kept a fast pace, as it was getting hotter by the minute as we descended. We needed to be at the bottom before the heat of the day, as temperatures were usually 20 degrees hotter than the rim. We were continually encouraged to drink our water as the air is so dry that it is easy to get dehydrated without knowing it.
Finally, after slip-sliding our way straight down for what seemed like forever, we glimpsed the Colorado, swift and green, below. Several yellow rafts were moored at a small beach, and a rafter mooned us as we passed. Maybe we were kicking stones over the edge inadvertently? We saw the silver bridge used by hikers ahead of us, but we were headed for the Black Bridge, constructed in the ‘30s. Before we could cross, we had to pass through a tunnel several hundred feet long and black as the Carlsbad Caverns, ducking our heads to keep from hitting them on the low ceiling.
As soon as we came out into the sunlight again, we were on the bridge, suspended at least 100 feet over the swirling river. I could see know why they prohibited swimming in the river. It was swift and full of currents, whirlpools, and rocks, and would no doubt drown even an experienced swimmer quickly. The bridge was only 1 mule width wide, and these sure footed animals quickly tripped across the 2 plank wide span like gymnasts on a balance beam. We left the Colorado on the other side and made our way up the canyon formed by Bright Angel creek to Phantom Ranch. A series of cabins built in the 20s and designed by a famous woman architect from native materials, the camp is situated in a grove of cottonwood trees and green meadows, a stark contrast to the grim canyon walls surrounding us on all sides. Although the temperature was 102, the dryness of the air made it seem not nearly as hot as it was in Texas!
We spent the afternoon lolling in the creek, staying cool in the shallow clear water and damming the rocks to create soaking pools. A talk by Ranger Mandy on the successful condor population of the Canyon, introduced in the early 1990s was followed by a delicious meal of steak, baked potatoes, cornbread, peas, corn, and chocolate cake for dessert. Another talk was presented in the evening about the Kolb brothers, the crazily adventurous early photographers and promoters of the Canyon, followed by a scorpion hunt for anyone who wanted to go (the scorpions glow green at night). I was too tired, however, to participate, and went to bed ridiculously early I was so tired.
The morning started early, as we were to be packed up and ready to eat breakfast at 6:30. After pancakes, eggs, bacon, peaches, and coffee, we headed out on a different trail, the South Kaibab, a shorter but steeper ascent out of the canyon. We rested our mules often, and our guide, K-Bar, entertained us with tales and interesting stories of the canyon during our stops. The mules needed it, because the trail was exceedingly steep. Often we could see the bellies of the mules in front of us from below as we ascended the hairpin turns of the trail. Names such as “Jesus corner” because of what you might say as you rounded the corner, “Ooh-ahh point”, and Jacob’s ladder were some of the landmark names we navigated.
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