It’s early on Sunday. 6 am and already people are awake, tent poles click as camps are taken down; pick-up trucks rev their engines and drive away, pulling their boats to shore. It is going to be a busy day, but my unexpectedly long drive yesterday means that I’m close to Black Canyon of the Gunnison National Park.
You’ve heard of the Grand Canyon in Arizona where the Colorado River barges through rock, but I love the other canyons I’ve visited in the States more: Bighorn Canyon in Wyoming is high on the list, and now so is Black Canyon of the Gunnison: it’s stunning and magical.
It’s likely that the magic comes from being less crowded; with less tourism, nature gets to play, unhindered: though I love the sound of motorcycles, it’s not a sound often heard here; birds, the roar of the river that washes the rock some 1750 feet below, and the hush or rip of the wind tickles my ears.
The park has far less pomp then Rocky Mountain National Park and the Grand Canyon. When I arrive at 9am the first-come-first-served campground is full of recently vacated sites. I land one that is secluded and has a spot of shade for morning reading. A chipmunk greets me by nibbling on my sandal. Since I know where I’m sleeping for the next two nights, I give myself a morning off, ass parked in a camping chair, feet perched on the picnic table, nose stuck in a book. I chew on some melted Pocky: my appetite is back.
One of the park’s main attractions is the rim drive with stops that take you, via some short walks, to the rim. Much of the rim doesn’t have a guardrail, so my feet take me as close to the edge as possible before I hear my mother’s concerned voice.
The canyon makes me feel small; it’s a good feeling, one that reminds me that I am just a tiny part of the huge universe: the Earth is still the empress.
It is hot, but no one is sweating: the heat is dry and lovely for someone who comes from a summer where humidity drowns the oxygen. There is little reprieve from the sun: the shrubs here are often too short to provide adequate shields from the sun. At least, there’s a breeze.
Heat doesn’t stop the travellers that came, who drive from stop to stop and complete the hikes to the edge. As people pass by, we all smile and exchange glances, intuitively knowing they mean it’s bloody hot but this is awesome and the heat ain’t stopping me. I’ve got my gallon of water.
A boy comes up to me as I begin crawling to the edge of the canyon- it’s a windy lookout and I don’t want to be swept into the canyon.
“Do you know how close you can get to the canyon?”
“How close can I get?”
“Your height. However tall you are, that’s how close you can get to the edge.”
“Well, you’re a lot shorter than I am, so you’ll be getting much closer, huh?” He smirks, as his mum winces and shakes her head.
Fortuitously, by mid-afternoon, clouds gather for an afternoon chat. I complete a short hike down into the canyon (the hike doesn’t go all the way down as the hikes in Grand Canyon do). At the start of the walk a warning greets me: “Heat kills. People have died on this hike.” Perfect.
Though I don’t usually thoroughly enjoy the park videos, this one I do: it tells the story of Terrance and Fellows who were commissioned to survey the canyon in order for a railway to be built. The adventurers did so, and had an adventure doing it. At one point they reached some rough rapid waters and thought they could explore no further when Fellows jumped into the white water.
Terrance didn’t know what to do.
Was Fellows alive?
Jump in after him or start the journey back?
Terrance jumped and the water brought him to shore where Fellows was standing on the shore, shaking off the water. The film’s commentator said something about not having a can do attitude but a will do one. That stuck. It was the right moment for a life lesson, as I prepared to travel on in my little Civic and explore more of the States.
Black Canyon of the Gunnison has a south and north rim.
The drive from the south to the north seems longer than it should be according to my map. As I drive out of the park a duo, I assume a father and son, are standing by the side of the road, thumbs out. I pull over. I haven’t yet read Mindhunter which mum has been asking me to read, I suspect, to put me off of independent travel and help me identify potential killers. However, the book remains, unread, in the boot of my car. They don’t look like dangerous strangers and both have little blue backpacks on, like they’re part of a group. I pull over, they hop in and ride with me for a short 15 min to a busier road; they’re not headed my way but I do drop them at a busier intersection. Nice chaps. Not murderers.
To get to the North Rim the road winds around the huge crack in the Earth, but it is a spectacular drive that ascends and descends through the mountains, a workout for my eardrums that keep popping. The views change from the wild bush that grows along the mountains, to farmland with beautiful grazing horses or cattle.
It’s a lonely drive – there are very few cars on the road.
For some time I feel that I have taken a wrong turn, but looking at the atlas, I can’t see where that would have been. The road stretches before me, turn after turn, and I’m unsure of when the final destination will be. I haven’t yet once had to use my GPS, and I don’t intend to now, but the reading on my fuel gauge is letting me know that the driving uphill is not so great on fuel economy, and I’m scared that there may not be enough fuel to get back if I continue on like this for much longer. Then, I see a sign for the park.
The sky is clear, and it is 11,50 am – the worst time to start a hike out to Green Mountain, but I put on sunscreen, a hat, a bandana to cover the back of my neck, take my 1.5L of water and off I go. Sadly, in my rush to leave this morning, my hiking boots remain by the side of my tent, so I walk in my shoes whose thin plastic sole gets quite hot from the sun-burnt soil and rock. I see only 4 other people, and they are ending their hike (sensibly, they had an early morning start when the sun wasn’t yet blasting its radiant heat directly down and forcing the shade to hide.)
I prefer the North Rim – the hikes offer better views of the canyon, and the rim drive has fewer, but more spectacular view points near the canyon’s edges. If you plan ahead of time, you can get on a tour of the inside canyon hike, or even get a permit to rock climb.
On my way back, a woman stands in front of her parked car, arms waving for me to stop. I do. She has a flat tire. Are you local? Can you get someone to come and help?
“I can help you, if you’d like,” I offer.
“Do you know how?” she asks.
“I’ve done it with my dad before. I know the process.” I tell her that I am happy to have a go, and with the two of us, we’ll manage the bolts that are too tight. But the lady looks at me, scrutinizing, not in a bad way, just, I suspect, assessing the risk she’s willing to take, and her eagerness for adventure. She opts for safety.
“I’ll wait for a man to drive by.”
I’m not offended. I’m lanky, and I’ve no muscle to show off, so I don’t look like someone who can do manual labour on an SUV (which I absolutely can…three seasons of treelplanting, and continued efforts to remain strong include carrying my groceries and my bike up to my 6th floor flat.) She does ask if I can stop by the Cimarron gas station to ask them to send someone to help her. We exchange names and a little information about each other: Donna is from Denver and today is the first day of her holiday. As I drive I wave down one car that’s driving in her direction; the girl says she’s not likely to be of use. I drive into a little harbour where a couple is cleaning fish they’ve just caught. I ask them if they could help. The man doesn’t look too keen, but when I say she’s only 3 miles away, and exchanges a look with his wife, he concedes. I think this is better than driving all the 20 miles into town for them to send someone who Donna will have to reimburse with, likely, a huge sum.
My day begins and ends with helping someone, and it feels good. But, I worry…what tragedy am I storing up good karma for? All of a sudden I am hyper aware of my tires. I do not want a flat one.
At night, a thunderstorm hovers over the canyon. It turns the sky a beautiful murky orange. Thunder blasts through the canyon. The storm ends with a rainbow.
