The Bright Angel Trail

  Grand Canyon National Park, Arizona, United States
Tuesday, April 22, 2008

Continued from previous chapter...

I look at Julie. "Well?"

She seems surprised I'm even asking. Obviously she hasn't been phased at all by Casey's description of the perils of mule-riding. But being Julie, she asks me, "Do you want to go? We don't have to if you don't want to." And being me, I know that Julie does want to go and that I should just face my fears and do it. "Of course I do," I tell her.

We have a little break while Casey assembles the riders into groups. Even though I don't have to pee yet, I run over to a nearby porta-potty anyway (when you are a frequent pee-er, you never waste an opportunity to use the bathroom). The toilet seat is bizarre--it's on a spring, so it just keeps trying to pop up under me. I don't like sitting down in port-a-potties. I prefer to hover a little above the seat, but one didn't give me much choice in the matter. Next, I run to the car and drop off some extra layers--the temperature had grown noticeably warmer during Casey's speech.

Then we wait. Julie and I are finally assigned our group. There are the two of us, two women named Joanna, and a guy named Pete. Casey makes us stand in a line facing him and asks which of us has ridden horses before. Then he looks us up and down to figure out which mules will best suit us. Our guide, Rich, introduces himself. Rich is a slim guy in his forties maybe, dressed like a cowboy, though his mustache isn't oiled like Casey's. He hands each of us our Motivator. Then it is time to be introduced to our mules.

When I see the mule that Casey has picked for me, I think he must be joking. Of all the mules, mine is the tallest one. Mules, by the way, come in all different sizes, unsurprising given their mixed heritage. Some are as big as horses, and others are shorter and stockier, like their donkey fathers. Overall, they are sturdier than horses, which is why they are so commonly used as pack animals (or were).

Anyway, my mule, Sugar, is huge. I come up to her shoulder. Readers who know me are aware that I am somewhat petite. I mean, I don't think I am small, but lots of other people do (in this I must side with Elizabeth the First of England, who, when told that Mary Stuart--aka Mary, Queen of Scots--was taller than she, replied, "well, then she is too tall as I am just the right height").

I wonder if I pissed Casey off somehow during his speech, maybe when he told us we had to be nice to the hikers sharing the trail and I made a face. What else would explain my getting the biggest mule, while Julie, who is four inches taller than I am, is assigned a mule (named Tisi) who is, in size and shape, more like a donkey?

I am helped up onto Sugar and my stirrups are adjusted. Sugar is moaning. "Unnh, unnh." "She always groans like that," Rich tells me, "don't worry about it." Then, before I have even had a chance to make myself comfortable in the saddle, we are riding out of the corral. The mules, all very well trained, follow the leader with no prompting. I'm third in line, behind Joanna the younger. People are taking our pictures as we leave the corral at a steady walk, and start down the Bright Angel trail. The mules' ears are back. They don't want to be doing this, they want to be back in their stables, eating hay and doing whatever mules do in their free time.

Bright Angel Trail 1

It isn't what I expect. Not that I really remember what I expect, I'm so busy making sure I'm sitting up straight, and not dropping my Motivator, and holding the reins, and remembering to enjoy the scenery. For one thing, being high up on the mule, looking down into the canyon, is not very scary, even when Sugar walks close to the outside edge (we were warned that they are trained to walk on the outside so that they don't scrape us against canyon walls). The trail is not as narrow as I thought it would be, and there are many, many more hikers than I'd expected. Bright Angel is a popular trail.

Casey had mentioned in his speech that without the revenues from the mule rides, there wouldn't even be a trail anymore; it would be washed away in the first heavy rainstorm. It looks to me like it isn't in very good shape now. It's pitted and uneven and there are fist-sized rocks everywhere. The mules sometimes slip on them--though that isn't something you notice as a rider; you see it happen to the mule ahead of you. They've got timbers embedded in the dirt every so often, giving it the look and feel of steps. Very long, shallow steps going down a long, long, way.

Bright Angel Trail 2

The trail is steep. As we bump and bounce down it, I am glad that I didn't bring my camera. It would have been one more thing to worry about, plus, it's kind of heavy. Sugar is groaning with every step. "Unnh. Unnh. Unnh." I feel badly for her and stroke her neck. The mule ahead of me, RS (for Really Sweet), stops at the head of every switchback as if he really doesn't want to go down. Pretty soon, he's not nose-to-tail with Rich's mule anymore. He's like ten or fifteen feet back. Rich doesn't seem to notice, or if he does, he doesn't want to make a big deal out of it. Sugar is lagging a bit too, but since there's such a big gap between RS and Rich, I figure it's not a big deal. I do talk to her and suggest that she catch up. Sometimes she even seems to listen and moves closer to RS.

After about fifteen minutes of riding, I'm starting to get the hang of it. I've come to trust Sugar not to fall off the trail--she may be groaning, but she's not suicidal. My trust is briefly challenged when we stop for a break. The mules all line up facing the canyon and there's a second of feeling like I'm about to be plunged into the abyss before I remember Casey telling us that they always stop the mules facing outward because the mules can see where their front feet are and will not accidentally step off the edge. I ask Rich to check my stirrups as they seem a little low. Then we move on.

Here's what the canyon is like from the back of a mule, on the first two thirds of the trip down (in April): Big vistas. So big that they seem smaller than they really are and pretty soon aren't even amazing anymore. Walls of rock with trees and shrubs growing out of them. Snow in the shady patches. Red dirt. Dust. The clack of the mules' hooves against rock. The smell of mule. Knees hurting. The sun beating down. Knees hurting more. Hikers pushing themselves against the wall to let us pass. Rich, telling us stories about the canyon. Feeling like a cowboy myself, and being amazed that I'm here, on a mule, in the Grand Canyon.

After one break (we take them every so often to give the mules a rest. We don't get down), Rich tells me I need to catch up. It's the moment I've been dreading. "You want me to...?" I hold up the Motivator. He nods. So I give Sugar a whack, not a very hard one, and she trots a little to catch up. I feel bad, but Rich gives me the thumbs up.

Behind me is Gizmo, ridden by Joanna the elder. Gizmo is a nose-to-tail kind of guy. He's practically sniffing Sugar's butt the whole way down, except when he sees something green that he'd like to eat--another thing Casey had warned us about. We aren't supposed to let them eat, so Joanna is back there trying to de-motivate Gizmo, but she's holding the crop in the "English" style and her taps hardly seem to make an impression. Julie is next in line. Tisi is a wide mule, and Julie is feeling pretty uncomfortable, not being used to sitting astride something so wide. Pete is in the back. His mule is white, and is apparently very good at keeping the other mules moving. So, even though Rich changes our order a couple of times during the ride, Pete is always at the back.

Down we go. Switchback after switchback. Hikers wave to us, or put kerchiefs over their faces against the dust. Children hold their noses and say, "they stink!" We pass an enormous wall that's curved inward so it makes an awesome echo. Rich demonstrates with a loud, "Yip!". I make a pathetic attempt at a Tarzan yell. Then I do a Xena cry, and Joanna (the younger) turns around and grins.

We have been warned (and we see it demonstrated) that a mule can poop while walking, but has to stop while pissing. If our mule stops and won't go forward, he or she is probably about to take a piss, so we are to yell "Pit Stop!" RS is the first to need a break. We all yell "Pit Stop!" He stops in front of me and kind of spreads his legs and lets fly a stream of bright yellow urine. It makes a huge puddle in the trail. I'd noticed a couple of other such puddles on the way down, but hadn't known what they were.

After RS is done, Sugar takes a few steps forward and stops where RS had been and takes her own piss. Gizmo, next in line, does the same. It's a mule latrine. I really feel sorry for the hikers.

Mule riding is not fast. Hikers sometimes catch up and pass us. We're in a rhythm. I pat Sugar's neck and tell her she's a good girl. She moans. I worry that I'm not nose-to-tail and hope no deer leap onto the trail, though it seems quite unlikely that any wildlife would be hanging out on these steep slopes, around trails thronged with hikers and groaning mules.

My knees really hurt. We pass signs telling us how far down we've come. One and one half miles. Three miles. I don't know if that is vertical distance, or walking distance. If it's vertical distance, we've traveled a lot farther than three miles.

Finally, after about two and a half hours, we reach our first rest stop, Indian Garden. There's a stream running through it, and real trees. It's cool and there's a restroom. I'm hoping the mules will get to be in the shade or will get some water, but they are tied up in the sun. I assume that's okay because Casey really does seem to care about the mules, but I still wish they could get a chance to cool off. When Rich helps me out of the saddle, I can barely walk my knees hurt so badly. He tells me it will pass quickly, and I hobble to the toilets. These are all composting toilets, and there are signs everywhere to close the lid when you are done. The lid to mine is open. Julie says the lid to hers was too.

Indian Garden

I drink water and ask Rich to throw my unneeded layers into a saddlebag as I'm tired of wearing them around my waist. Rich tells us about how the Navaho used to live here and the National Park Service threw them out in about 1920.

We rest for about fifteen minutes, then it's time to saddle up again. Rich changes our order so that I am second in line. Our next stop will be Plateau Point. It's roughly the same distance from Indian Garden as Indian Garden is from the Rim (at least on the map), but it takes much less time to traverse because it is flat. It's like a desert, and there are fields of green shrubs interspersed with blooming prickly pear cacti on all sides of us. The temperature is in the eighties and there is no shade whatsoever. No trees, no boulders. Rich points out a stalk, probably twenty feet tall, growing out of a plant that looks like an aloe vera. It's an agava, or century plant. They grow for years and years and years, and then they put up this stalk, spread their seeds to the world, and die. Tequila is made from it.

We pass a young man in a coolie hat and a kilt. Rich tells me I need to catch up. I give Sugar a half-hearted whack, and she trots a little then goes back to her walk. She's still too far behind. "You have to do it until she's caught up," he tells me. So I hold the crop the way Casey said to, swing my arm up, and hit her so that it makes a resounding "whack!" The response is immediate. Sugar trots right up to Rich, and I'm bouncing painfully in the saddle. I hate doing it, but at the same time, I feel a sense of power because I made this mule respond. So on top of hating hitting her, I hate myself for the part of me that liked doing it.

Sugar really doesn't like walking too close to the mule ahead of her. She hates the dust, and judging from how she frequently tries to bite the other mules at our mule rest-stops, she doesn't seem to care for the other mules, either. Or she is just extremely grumpy. I would be too, if I had her job. She reminds me a lot of my cat, Java, who also is grumpy and attacks the other cats for no apparent (to me) reason.

Rich told us that the ride to Plateau Point would take half an hour, but it seems longer. We pass people in T-shirts or no shirts (men), their skin exposed to the blasting sun. I hope they have a lot of sunscreen on. I'm glad I'm riding because as hard as it is, I cannot imagine walking in this kind of heat.

Sugar is lagging again. Rich lifts his eyebrows at me. I lift the crop, and Sugar, seeing it, trots ahead without further prompting. I think this is awesome, but it makes me wonder if, despite what Casey said, it really does hurt them to be hit with the crop.

Plateau Point

Eventually we reach Plateau Point. It's what it sounds like, a point of land jutting out over the canyon, with an amazing view. The only thing I care about at this point, however, is getting into the shade and resting. Rich hands each of us a box lunch, and we walk out to the point. I don't hurt so badly this time. There's a large rock overhang, and shade, but it's crowded with a bunch of hikers. I need to step over a small crevasse to get to an available outcrop and my legs feel wobbly and I'm not sure I can do it. But the need for shade is too great, and I get down on my hands and knees to get across it, and crawl under the overhang. Julie follows me.

The hikers get to sit up under their rock, feet firmly planted on the ground. Julie and I have to crouch, or sit with our feet dangling out over a drop of ten feet (followed by a drop of much, much more than that). There's a squirrel on a rock nearby. It looks like a regular gray squirrel, except its tail is shorter and not so fluffy. Also, its fur looks kind of green. I remember that the rodents in the Grand Canyon carry some kind of disease and that a park ranger recently died. Was it rabies? Or plague? (It was plague).

We'd been instructed not to feed the squirrels, so I don't, even though I know I won't eat everything in my boxed lunch. The first thing I do is open the box of fruit punch and drink half of it immediately. It's the best drink I ever had in my whole life. There's a roll that's kind of dry, so I don't eat that. I eat my cheese, and my carrots (I save one for Sugar) and my peanuts and my Oreos. There's beef jerky, which I don't want, and kettle fried potato chips which I don't want to eat now, but think I might want later. I put them into my shirt. Later I give Rich my jerky.

We rest for about half an hour. Then Rich says we'll be going soon. We haven't even looked out at the view. I actually don't care, I'm so tired, but Julie wants to, so I follow her. We walk to the edge and look down into the Colorado river. There are some yellow rafts getting ready to go through some rapids, and they are so far away they look about the size of my thumbnail. Some obnoxious hikers get in our way, but we're too tired to make a fuss. A couple of them are so badly sunburned that they'll probably need medical attention. We are surprised they don't notice this themselves.

We get back to the mules, and I give Sugar her carrot. She seems pleased to have it, but not to see me. Rich helps me back into the saddle, and rearranges things so that Joanna the elder is in front of me and Julie is behind me. We ride back to Indian Garden. It passes in a blur. I'm looking forward to visiting the restrooms again.

When we reach the Garden, there is water for the mules and Gizmo pushes ahead of everyone to get at it first. Then Tisi is shoving against Sugar and my leg is being smashed between them. Luckily there is no damage.

Our break is short this time, only about ten minutes. When it is time to mount, I figure I can do it myself instead of waiting for Rich to help me. And I do. So Julie does, too. Rich comes over looking worried and asks us to wait for him to help us off the mule back at the top. Not that he considers us incapable of dismounting on our own, but it's a matter of liability. I feel somewhat abashed, but mostly proud of myself for getting on by myself.

As we start back up the trail, Sugar starts moaning again. I realize she had been quiet on the flat walk to and from Plateau Point. During the trip back up, I am primarily concerned with two things: a) sitting forward to make it easier for Sugar to get up the slope, and b) when to resort to hitting, or threatening to hit, her when she gets too far behind. She's tired. We're all tired. We rest the mules much more often on the way up. At one such stop, I see that Tisi is covered in sweat and panting (he's a hairy little guy). The heat is terrible and so is the dust kicked up by our mules' hooves. Sugar huffs frequently, and tries to hang back. We see more hikers pull bandannas over their noses than on the way down. These are often the same hikers with two walking poles and several bottles of water--obviously they are experienced at this and came prepared. Others, especially nearer the top, are just day-hikers who are unprepared. We pass one woman who is wearing a very nice, white, fluffy sweater-shirt and tight designer jeans. Apparently no one warned her about the heat and the dust.

By the time we get to the Rim, I'm ready to be done with the ride. I'm hot and tired and sore, and I think Sugar is too. We're the third group up, so if there really had been crowds to watch us dismount in agony, they've dispersed. Only a few tourists take pictures as we come in.

After we dismount, they tell us to throw our Motivators into the center of the corral. I'm not the only one who seems glad to get rid of mine. Rich hands out little certificates saying we are official mule-skinners. He's very happy. We've apparently been a good group, or he just wants us to think so. He gives each of the women a hug goodbye, but Pete declines. We give him a tip (well deserved, but you should know that gratuities are expected) and hobble off. I see Sugar and reach my hand out to say goodbye. She shies away. I am very sad. Because even though I did hit her a few times (and we were told it didn't hurt them), I was concerned about her well-being for the entire trip. But to Sugar, I am just one more burden to be borne and she is glad to be rid of me. So much for making friends with my mule.

I knew I'd be sore, but when I look at my legs in the hotel room, I am shocked. My inner thighs are swollen as if there are water balloons in them. There is bruising from my crotch halfway to my knees. I soak in a warm bath for a while, and then use Julie's bottle of Diet Mountain Dew as a cold-pack. After an hour or so, I'm ready to think about moving around.

First, we head to the grocery store so Julie can get another Dew. I down a grape PowerAde. Not quite as good as the fruit punch at Plateau Point, but it hits the spot. I'm already hungry, but Julie isn't. I decide to get a piece of pizza from the cafeteria there, and it is horrible. You have been warned.

We run into a guy who rode Tisi the day before. He and his wife recount tales of their own bruising and battering. The guy says that Tisi was very stubborn and he had to hit him a lot. Julie is appalled. I'm too busy suffering to pay much attention to anything but my own thighs.

Sugar?

Back at the hotel room, I get my camera and we drive over to see the mule stables. I see one mule lying down who looks like Sugar. I say hello, but she ignores me. I take pictures. We walk over to the Maswick Lodge because Julie had read they had Mexican food. Turns out their restaurant is a cafeteria, and the refried beans in the steam table look, well, inedible. We decide to go back to the Bright Angel.

Random Mule

Mules fighting

The people at the next table notice my funny walk and ask if we rode the mules. Turns out they had a couple of days before. "I had saddle sores, and I mean sores," the guy told us. "Get yourself some of that triple-antibiotic ointment. It worked great for me."

"My tailbone was so bruised," his wife added. "It still hurts."

I figure I'm lucky to just have swollen thighs, until I get back to the hotel and discover that the swelling has gotten worse. I hope I'll be functional our next adventure, a raft trip through the Glen Canyon.