Over the Rim

In this episode – Over the Rim . . .

Early dawn breaks in Arizona; with both arms frantically flailing, I grab to catch my hat. An enormous blast of wind snatched it off my head in a split second. My well-worn "Indiana Jones" style fedora plummets end-over-end hundreds of feet over the rim of the Grand Canyon. Flabbergasted - the moment felt ageless, like a scene from an ole' western movie in slow motion, "Well, there's no way I'll find that hat again!"

Tenacity! photo by - Patrick Ball

We've just crested Ooh Aah Point on the South Kaibab Trail in the Grand Canyon in northern Arizona. It's a cool crisp morning, and the wind whips through the canyon like a cyclone. You experience slight dizziness and are somewhat giddy from vertigo, afraid to get too close to the rim. The sheer drops plummet over 3,000 feet. But as time passes, you become accustomed to the wind and the comfort and security of the wide multipurpose trail.

Magically you're drawn into views of spires, buttes, mesas, and talus slopes from different vantage points along the mile-and-one-half trail to Yaki Point. Panoramic vistas of reds, oranges, gold, and sand against a turquoise blue sky with puffy white clouds.

"It seems a gigantic statement for even nature to make." John Muir.

Since the 1870s, visitors have flocked to the south rim on foot, horseback, wagons, and stagecoaches, by rail, automobiles, and busses. Grand Canyon National Park was established in 1919, only three years after the creation of the National Park Service. Today environmentally friendly shuttle buses transport you to trailheads, viewpoints, hotels, and architectural works of art.

If you're there for a few days, any conversation with the locals goes like this, "Most visitors today spend about two hours on average, then move on."

"I can relate to that; my first visit was no different."

While moving west to California in 1985, the three-day drive from Illinois took me across I-40. Approaching Williams, Arizona, the thought occurred: I'll detour north and see the Grand Canyon; why not? After about an hour of driving through flat desert scrub on Route 64, you begin to question your decision, "Where is this big hole in the ground anyway?" Finally, you arrive-breathtaking panoramic reds, oranges, and gold vistas against a clear blue sky. It's mid-afternoon, with the sun high in the sky, and the features are flat – but you've made the trip, so you're determined to take a few photos at the rim. Nothing extraordinary, proof you were there.

Twenty-six years later, grasping for your hat as it plummets over the rim, you calmly grin and experience the delight of re-discovery!

Here’s a tip; if you're looking for framable photos, spend the night, get out early, and experience how the morning shadows cause the light to dance through the canyon. It's spectacular!

Today's Thought for the Day; "The mystery of life is not a problem to be solved but a reality to be experienced." - Aart van dee Leeuwa.

I’m Patrick Ball; thanks for listening; see you in the next episode.

Updated: March 9, 2023

Comments

A B+ Kind of Life

Welcome back to this week's On the Fly . Retirement has taught me something unexpected: life gets a lot more enjoyable when you stop chasing perfection. Lately, I've been having an absolute blast playing executive par-3 courses like Rancho Carlsbad . A short iron, a sunny morning, and nowhere to be except the next tee—that's my kind of day. This Thursday, though, I'm raising the stakes. I'm heading to The Links at Lakehouse in San Marcos, a full-size par-71 course with enough water hazards to keep the local fish well-stocked with my golf balls. After shooting a 64 on a par-3 course, I've set myself a new goal: shoot an 89 before my birthday next August. Why 89? Because on a par-71 course, that's bogey golf—one extra stroke per hole. For non-golfers, think of it this way: par is like earning 100% on a final exam. Bogey golf is a solid B+. You got the job done, learned something, and probably had a lot more fun getting there. The older I get, the more I appre...

Resurrecting the '90s Graphite

Let’s face it, there’s a certain danger in reading John Gierach's Trout Bum . His wit, self-deprecation, and sharp, effortless satire are entirely infectious. If you aren't careful, his words will inspire you to drop everything, wade into a freezing river, and try to outsmart a creature with a brain the size of a lentil. In my case, re-reading Gierach recently didn't send me straight to the river. It sent me digging through the dusty, spider-guarded corners of my garage. In the early 1990s, seeking a natural escape from Manhattan's concrete canyons, I decided to learn to cast a fly rod. I bought an Orvis Rocky Mountain —eight-and-a-half feet, three ounces, built for a five-weight line—and had absolutely no idea how to use it. To avoid aimlessly whipping the water like scrambling eggs, I took fly-fishing lessons from Al Cucci, co-author of Hatches , on the Delaware River. With his guidance, I fished renowned waters: the AuSable in New York and Michigan, and New Jersey...

Morning Coffee

In this episode, Morning Coffee . . . Now, I’m not saying everyone needs coffee. Some folks get by just fine on, I don’t know, sunlight and positive thinking. Me? I’m pretty sure I started drinking the stuff sometime around the Reagan administration. Reading John Gierach’s "Ode to Campfire Coffee" in Trout Bum (a book that should be required reading for anyone who sees sleeping on the ground as recreation) got me thinking about how we’ve managed to complicate something as fundamentally simple as boiling water and adding grounds. Taste, you say? Look, black coffee is an acquired taste, like tequila or cilantro. I just don’t get it. Gierach, bless his heart, mostly drinks his java streamside, probably while wearing wool socks and waders and contemplating the mysteries of the universe. As for me? My outdoor coffee experience is a bit different. Picture this: the High Sierra, where campfires are banned (to avoid agitating Smoky Bear), and I’m huddled over a Whisperlite , coax...

Morning Coffee–Update

In this episode, Morning Coffee–Update . . . Now, I’m not saying coffee is a biological necessity. I hear there are people who wake up naturally, fueled entirely by optimism, morning yoga, and the sheer thrill of being alive. I’ve never actually met one, but I assume they exist. As for me, at 4:30 a.m., my brain (with a caffeine boost) is a finely tuned analytical engine, ready to tackle the day. But, dear readers, I come before you today as a humbled man. I owe you an apology. Not one of those carefully worded "I'm sorry if anyone was offended" apologies. A real one. For years, I stood on my digital soapbox, defending the utilitarian brew button on my electric drip coffee maker. I praised convenience. I extolled efficiency. I dispensed coffee advice with confidence, despite knowing only slightly more about brewing than the average vending machine. I wasn't merely mistaken—I was enthusiastically, publicly mistaken. The revelation came last week. I was in Tucson, enjo...

On The Fly

Search This Blog