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

The Gopher Problem and the High Powered Solution

Vacationing in Maine this week, just a short drive down the coast from Freeport, it is hard not to think about the outsized impact one frustrated outdoorsman had on the gear we all use today. Bad equipment can ruin a perfectly good day on the water or the trail, but it takes a special kind of vision to turn cold feet into a century-old empire. This is the story of the company we now know as L.L.Bean, but more importantly, it is a masterclass in integrity, learning from failure, and standing behind your work. In 1912, Leon Leonwood Bean faced a persistent problem: returning from expeditions in the Maine woods with cold, wet feet. Instead of complaining, he got creative. He had a local shoemaker stitch waterproof rubber soles onto the flexible leather uppers of a hunting boot. He called it the Maine Hunting Shoe and mailed a flyer promising perfect satisfaction. Then reality arrived. Ninety of his first 100 pairs failed when the rubber separated from the leather. Not an effective product...

On Becoming Real

Some things get better with wear: old shoes, old friendships, and old books. Especially old books. A new volume arrives with crisp corners and a spine that hasn’t yet learned to bend. An old one has been somewhere. It has traveled through time in the hands of people who may no longer be around to tell us what they found inside. The copy of The Velveteen Rabbit (first published in 1922) on my desk is one of those books. My friend Don Hanley gave it to me. This late-1950s Doubleday edition features William Nicholson’s original illustrations and cream paper boards softened by age. Worn corners, a split spine, and colored tabs mark passages worth revisiting. Don didn’t hand me a keepsake. He gave me homework. When we talked about the book recently, he pointed me straight to the nursery conversation between a young rabbit and an old Skin Horse. The rabbit had noticed the mechanical toys around him—the ones with internal gears, bright paint, and stick-out handles that seem terribly impressiv...

Engineering Beef Stew

On July 2nd—Day Two of what I call The Great Un-Working —I sat down with my morning notebook to map out this new chapter of my life. One goal made the list in bold ink: Learn to Cook. At seventy, I was adding a skill most people master before they’re old enough to drive. Before you judge me, understand our household ecosystem. Lori is a phenomenal cook. For decades, she’s made meals so effortless and delicious that restaurants seem unsatisfying . My contribution to the culinary arts during my bachelor years–tuna mixed into Kraft Mac & Cheese. Let’s just say I wasn’t threatening her spot on the Food Network. But retirement changed the equation. I’m officially off the clock while Lori is still working. And I had a lovely thought: Wouldn’t it be wonderful if she came home after a long day to find dinner waiting? She loved the idea. Then came the question that haunted me for weeks: “What do you want to make?” I had no idea. Apparently, the first step in learning to cook is deciding wh...

When the Universe Calls in Sick

Take Thoreau’s Advice . . . Four weeks ago, we stood on the shore of Walden Pond in Concord, Massachusetts, trying to channel Henry David Thoreau. Before leaving, I bought a pocket-sized copy of his essay, Walking . It’s slim because nineteenth-century transcendentalists didn’t have notifications interrupting their urge to wander. Thoreau’s counsel is disarmingly simple: step away from modern life's machinery and let the landscape recalibrate your perspective. Back home in Vista, I took that philosophy straight into the backyard. Thursday morning, ink-black, pristine skies arrived. I aimed my refractor at Jupiter, whose light has bathed Earth since mastodons roamed the plains. It felt cosmic. Profound . I left the telescope mounted overnight, convinced the heavens were on retainer for an encore at daybreak. Naturally, the universe called in sick. By sunrise, a wall of coastal fog had rolled in off the Pacific, sealing the valleys beneath a damp, gray Tupperware lid. After about th...

On The Fly

Search This Blog