Bright Angel Speaks Again

My life contains two peak experiences related to goals I achieved. One of them occurred in 2002 when I hiked to the floor of the Grand Canyon and the Colorado River and back in one day on a trail called Bright Angel. It took me approximately 12 hours to do this (I started very early in the dark, cold morning and finished around five PM)--to descend 6000 feet and back up the same trail, through slogging switchbacks and temperatures that ranged from below freezing on the early AM rim to noon-day 110 plus. I was so keyed up after I did this--an event I trained for two years to do, I was sobbing on the phone to my boyfriend after I finished and shaking for almost two hours with exhaustion and happiness. I conquered fear of heights and my own lack of confidence in my abilities to do something few people will ever be able to do.

Now, if you peruse my interest list, you will notice several things I'm keen on related to this event, among them "hiking," "health," and "nutrition." Unfortunately, other interests in the years from that day to this have interfered with my ability to hike Bright Angel again, among them "cookies" and "cooking." Missing from this list is "eating like a horse when I want to and stopping exercise two years ago when I had surgery on my knee." I expected to be sad today when I swung by the canyon to say "hello" as I passed only 50 miles south of it on the way home to see my Mom, but even though I thought I would be depressed, I had to go. I love the Grand Canyon. I have loved it ever since I saw it first with my father's arm around my shoulders and heard him exclaim over its beauty in low, reverent tones. I have loved it the way it has symbolized for me and others "the most sublime spectacle on earth." You can tell I love it by the way I beg people to go see it. Please go see it, I tell them, don't die without seeing it. Please It's so beautiful.

But I wasn't sad today. Instead, I only recalled how happy I was that day on Bright Angel so long ago, staring my own fears in the face as I realized my vision. I only recalled the triumph I felt, not the fact that I'm in no shape to do it now. And mostly, I only felt the lack of comprehension of how someone could actually commit suicide last month by driving into the canyon near Bright Angel. How can such beauty make anyone feel like dying? The canyon, looking at it, only makes me feel so much like living, so grateful for the life I've had, I've got tears in my eyes recalling it now. I'd say, you know, everyone has a Bright Angel. And mine's still talking to me.