A Walk in the Park

Wasatch Magazine

In October of 2022 I surprised my dad by video calling him from Machu Picchu. Before he could even say anything, my friends and I excitedly began singing “Happy Birthday” right there in the middle of the ruins. I loved watching the modest smile on his face turn into an unabashed grin, the corners of his eyes wrinkling. He seemed to be happy for at least three reasons. The first I’m sure you can guess: that’s right, it was his birthday. The second was because his youngest daughter who’d been away adventuring for two months finally called him from a place she had been longing to explore. The third had to do with what he himself had accomplished the day prior.

“How was Rim to Rim?” I asked enthusiastically, wanting to hear as much about his big hike as we could fit into a couple minutes. “It was so great, buddy,” he shared, downplaying the difficulty of the experience while the same grin continued stretching across his face.

If you’re not familiar, Rim to Rim is a well-known beast of a hike which stretches from one side of the Grand Canyon to the other. My dad and four of his siblings opted to start at the North Rim and head South, completing the 24 miles and 4,500ft of elevation gain in less than a day and only hours before his 59th birthday.

Though I certainly felt thrilled to be studying abroad that fall, I’ll admit I was a bit sad not to have been able to hike with him. For months I had watched him carefully prepare, even having had the chance to take part in a few of his training hikes over the summer. After seeing him put in so much effort, not being there to watch him accomplish such a mammoth of a task felt a bit anticlimactic.

Through adventure, the two of us had formed a deep connection, helping each other make possible our seemingly unattainable goals. After feeling pulled to travel to Peru, he helped me make the trip happen, later telling me that seeing me officially commit to the experience with no option of backing out played a big role in him having the courage to commit to big things too.

As he and I called the morning after he hiked Rim to Rim, I resolved then and there to do it with him the following year.

Flash forward to early summer 2023: I realized if I really wanted to complete the hike, I, and my good friend Julia (who I’d invited to accompany us), needed to get serious about training.

Rim to Rim, though a well-known and highly populated trail, is no walk in the park. Well, I suppose it literally is a walk in a national park, but you know what I mean. Not only does the trail include a minimum of 24 miles of hiking and 4,500ft in elevation gain (depending on the route), its location in the Grand Canyon creates a few problems.

Due to its shape, the canyon becomes increasingly hot as you descend. With each 1,000 feet of elevation loss, the temperature rises an average of 5.5 degrees, meaning that though the top might be 95 degrees, the canyon’s bottom could register at a staggering 120 degrees in the summer months. This creates health risks even for young, seasoned hikers. Additionally, the shape of the canyon requires hikers to spend miles descending thousands of feet before beginning to ascend at all, resulting in a grueling last 10 or so miles. On top of all this, the limited water sources, cell service, and convenient way for rescue crews to access those in need, make the hike even more dangerous. Without the proper base fitness, planning, hydration, nutrient intake, and training, this hike can be (and has been) fatal.

In fact, in 2023 alone, 10 people died in the Grand Canyon, many from causes related to heat exhaustion or falling. Unsurprisingly, many people and websites discourage hikers from attempting the trek; it’s dangerous and difficult to recover from if something goes wrong.

But I had told my family I wanted to do it. And more importantly, I had told myself.

Backing out from a place of fear or intimidation felt wrong. My gut, though perhaps a bit daunted, didn’t feel uneasy or afraid. I knew I’d need to spend hours preparing but didn’t want to back out just because it might involve a little risk. That sounded like something the old me would’ve done, which didn’t sit right with me.

Though I’ve really settled into my love for outdoor adventure the past few years, I didn’t feel like a confident adventurer as a kid. Whenever my parents took me and my siblings on hikes, I remember being the slowest one, tentatively stepping from rock to rock with the fear of falling pressing on my mind as we descended. From a young age, I noticed my cautious and timid nature, often feeling embarrassed by my lack of strength and courage. Soon enough, I began to conceptualize myself as being inherently weak and fearful, thinking that people like me didn’t do big things.

Despite these paralyzing patterns of thinking, I’ve worked really hard the past few years to get out of that mindset, pushing myself to try new things I didn’t think I could do. Whether it has involved climbing outdoors, going on a multi-day backpacking trek, self-arresting with an ice ax, or camping alone, I’ve done my best to lean into my love for outdoor exploration despite my previous tendency to shy away from the risks real adventures require.

I think it’s safe to say this was a big reason hiking Rim to Rim felt so important to me despite its danger: I wanted to prove to myself that my years of hiking and climbing had actually effectuated a lasting change in me, that rather than remaining the timid little girl I’d been for so long, I had become a brave and competent adventurer. The kind that does big things.

Soon enough, I started checking off hikes in the Wasatch to prepare. As I trained, I worked my way up from smaller to bigger projects, wanting to gradually increase mileage, exposure time, and elevation change as I got closer to Rim to Rim. I also planned to hike the Grand Canyon over fall break, a conveniently timed respite from the semester which coincides with periods of cooler temperatures in the canyon.

Though I tried to increase the difficulty of my training gradually, I frequently felt frustrated with my tiredness. One hot day in September, I decided to summit Grandeur peak alone, starting at Rattlesnake Gulch in Millcreek Canyon, before following the pipeline to Church Fork, climbing Grandeur and returning to Rattlesnake. Even though I felt strong before Church Fork, once the real elevation gain started, I tired quickly. The last third of the climb felt brutal, my legs burning and lungs screaming as I slowly crept up the mountain.

“If I’m this tired now,” I thought, “how am I supposed to do Rim to Rim?” Grandeur Peak, though pretty difficult, includes a little less than 3,000ft of elevation gain and only 13 miles of hiking, less than half of what my Grand Canyon adventure would entail.

I had a similar feeling the next month when I hiked Timpanogos for the first time. Despite my training, I lagged behind many members of my group who hadn’t been hiking in months. As I carefully placed each foot and breathed heavily, I couldn’t help but feel a little crushed. Why was I so tired? Would I be able to do Rim to Rim in just two weeks?

On the morning of October 14th, 2023, I woke up in a hot hotel room in Arizona with clogged sinuses and a knot in my stomach. My inability to sleep combined with the lingering cold I’d had for the last few days left me feeling pretty crappy. As I thought about the day ahead of us, my throat closed up; the season’s tourist traffic had prevented us from finding a hotel on the North Rim, forcing us to hike South to North, which would add an extra 1,500ft of elevation gain to the trek. On top of that, my dad, who I had trusted to encourage me through the hardest points, had suffered a back injury in late summer, meaning Julia and I would hike the unfamiliar trail alone. Fortunately, Julia is a strong and patient adventurer, the ideal partner to bring on such an important trek. I knew she could be strong for both of us, but what if my body and mind gave up?

In the middle of my nervousness, I couldn’t help but think, “I’ve been talking about this all summer, and we drove nine hours to get here. What am I gonna do, not do it?”

At 5:55am my dad watched the beams of our headlamps wind down the beginning section of the Bright Angel Trail. Julia and I marveled at the immense size of the rock, pointing excitedly when the first rays of light from across the canyon ignited the tops of the walls. Just before crossing the bridge at the bottom of the canyon, we put on special glasses to enjoy a once in a lifetime experience of seeing an annular eclipse from the Grand Canyon floor.

Though I initially thought feeling sick would be my end, it turned out to be my saving grace. Rather than pushing to hike as fast as possible, I set a slow but sustainable pace, keeping myself in check in order to not burn out too quickly. I was surprised by my consistent strength, never feeling a need to stop and catch my breath, and instead settling into a flow-state that allowed us to push forward steadfastly after each food and water break.

Just before 5:15 pm and after 24.5 miles with 6,500ft of gain, we took our last steps on the North Kaibab trail before making it to the North Rim. “Less than 12 hours,” I said, looking at my watch and feeling relief and joy settle into my body as I sat next to the trailhead sign in exhaustion.

I felt a smile climb its way across my sweat and dust covered face; it was the same kind of grin my dad had worn just a year earlier.

Maybe next year we’ll finally do it together.