Grand Canyon - North Rim

Another pre-dawn awakening. The obnoxious hour was so that I could make it from a town in south western Utah to the North Rim of the Grand Canyon in Arizona before 7 am.

I reluctantly abandoned warm sheets to brave the chilly air and loaded the puff in the strange hush of around 4am. There is something rather nice about a solitary drive in the wee hours. The world looks different when everyone else is wrapped up in their dreams. So I drove through the silent, empty streets in the early morning darkness. The road was wet from overnight rain and the clouds still low enough to reflect the streetlights.

There is no sunrise on a heavily overcast morning. The night just gradually blends into day. So it was this morning. Night blearily found its way into day and the series of small towns were lost in the vast wilderness. On this side of the Grand Canyon the foliage is different. I drove through several miles of heavily wooded National Park before getting anywhere near the canyon itself. Deer grazed in the shadows by the sides of the road and an intermittent drizzle softened the view through the windshield.

The closest available parking spot in the lodge carpark was a long way from the entrance. It was a bitterly cold trot through the half light, although at least the rain seemed to have stopped. I was here in this lonely place at this lonely time for a Mule Ride down into the canyon. The weather did not seem favourable and neither did my first encounter with the woman on reception. A couple of other people booked on my trip had already bailed out because of the rain and the ride would not go ahead with too few participants. I said I was game to ride in the rain and signed a document accepting full responsibility for the possibility that I might die or freeze or get get hurt or scared or rabies or Ebola or whatever. I promised not to wear a poncho or carry anything except my camera and a short rainproof jacket.

I sat by the fire in the lodge and waited. It was warm and quiet, the leather seat was soft and I was very low on sleep. I would like to be one of the those trusting people who can just doze off in a strange chair in a strange room, but I am not. So I sat, wide awake and dead tired in a cozy chair, waiting for other tourists who are more afraid of missing out on the trip than they are of hypothermia.

An older couple wandered up and signed on for the all day ride. Then a girl of about 13 and her father, both Aussies, arrived. I felt suddenly homesick when he responded to warnings about the cold by tucking in his Wallabies jersey and saying "She'll be right, mate."

Five people was, apparently, the magic number. The trip was on. We rattled off in a dusty old van under the somber, heavy sky.