Cancer survivor rises to the challenge of hiking the Grand Canyon from rim to rim to rim
Cancer survivor rises to the challenge of a trek from rim to rim to rim
My prior treks were in spring and autumn, when daytime temperatures at the bottom of the canyon average in the high 20s C. The average temperature at the Colorado River in July is 41 C. Cancer survivor Dina Mishev
Hiking from the Grand Canyon’s South Rim to its North Rim and then back — rim to rim to rim, or R3 for short — is the most epic hike in this national park (not counting off-trail adventures). The only thing that surpasses its beauty is its difficulty: It’s 68 kilometres long and includes about 3,353 vertical metres of ascent and descent.
To do this hike, you have to be a certain type of adventurer. To do it in one push — no breaking it up by spending a night along the way — you have to be a certain type of crazy.
Last July, while living in Flagstaff, Ariz., I was a certain type of crazy.
For the prior 18 months, I had been in treatment for Stage 3 breast cancer — chemo, a double mastectomy and radiation. My last week in Flagstaff was my eighth week after reconstructive surgery. That was the week the surgeon said I could resume my normal level of activity. It was the first time since Dec. 19, 2014 that something related to cancer or to the treatment of cancer wasn’t hurting and/or weakening my physical being.
Anyone who has had cancer will tell you it’s never over, but this week was a cancer graduation of sorts for me. Hiking an R3 would be my thesis.
Pre-cancer, I twice did an R3 without stopping. The first time was in 2007. I was 30, a modestly accomplished endurance athlete, and recently diagnosed with multiple sclerosis. It left me in tears, with blisters the size of half-dollars, a torn meniscus, a smile and feelings of pride, accomplishment, awe and strength. The joyful tears lasted 10 minutes. The feelings lasted for weeks.
I returned to the hike several years later when my marriage was ending. Again, I finished with joyous tears and felt capable of conquering the world.
Doing the hike a third time would reconnect me with my pre-cancer self. Two weeks before I was to do it, my boyfriend Derek did a warmup with me: We hiked down the South Rim and back up in one day — 29 km and 1,400 vertical metres, and totally not recommended by the park’s Preventive Search & Rescue Squad. Annually, about three hikers die in the park from heat-related issues.
We made our way down the South Kaibab Trail — at 11 km, the most direct route to the bottom of the canyon.
When Derek and I reached the bottom, it was only 9 a.m., but the temperature had already reached 38 C. Signs here warn that the Colorado River has dangerous currents and admonish that there is “no swimming.”
I walked into the river up to my thighs wearing my hiking clothing.
After I dried off, Derek humoured me with a stop at Phantom Ranch, the lone spot of civilization down here.
Designed by Mary Elizabeth Jane Colter and built in 1922, Phantom Ranch has dorms and cabins for 92 overnight guests and a canteen that serves breakfast and dinner to those who have made advance reservations. The canteen also sells snacks and cold drinks.
I had begun to rethink my plan to do an R3 without stopping.
My prior treks were in spring and autumn, when daytime temperatures at the bottom of the canyon average in the high 20s C. The average temperature at the Colorado River in July is 41 C. Even had I not had cancer, I didn’t know if I could hike 67 km in such heat.
A backup plan could have been a two-day R3 with a night spent at Phantom Ranch — except that Phantom books up 13 months in advance.
Since I’ve dreamt about spending a night in one of its Craftsman bungalow-style stone cabins for more than a decade, I had already called and checked availability.
As we walked in the canteen’s front door, a blast of cool air and cosiness greeted us. Long Formica-topped dining tables dominated the room, with floors of worn Saltillo tiles. People with reservations can cancel without penalty up to 48 hours before check-in. That night, there were three empty cabins. We reluctantly passed.
Taking the River Trail to the Bright Angel Trail to head back up, we crossed our fingers that there would be more cancelled reservations before we left Flagstaff in 10 nights.
Compared with the South Kaibab Trail, the Bright Angel Trail is a rainforest. South Kaibab has neither running water near it nor spigots. Bright Angel has four spigots and two perennial, spring-fed creeks.
About 3.2 km from the ranch, the trail hits Pipe Creek. The first mile up Pipe Creek was easy enough, so I considered reviving my original R3 goal. But then we hit the Devil’s Corkscrew and felt the full force of the sun. This section is only 1.6 km. But the trail climbs six times as much as it does in its first 5 km combined.
The 366-metre climb wasn’t as bad as we expected. Small springs occasionally seep out from the Vishnu Schist into which the trail is carved. We’d be hiking in dust as heat throbbed off the rock and broiled us, but then, the trail suddenly would become tacky, and the walls cool and neon green, covered with small plants and mosses.
I wanted to break at Indian Garden, one of the lushest and shadiest spots in the canyon and an area once farmed by Native Americans.
About 1.6 km past Indian Garden, we met Jacob’s Ladder.
Five minutes up Jacob’s Ladder, I definitively decided there would be no R3 this month. The appeal of the goal was to test myself, not engage in a battle with Mother Nature.
When we reached the top, a celebration was in order. But I was too spent.
The sixth day after our hike, I called Phantom Ranch looking for a cabin for Saturday night. There wasn’t one. But there was one for Friday night. Two hours later, Derek and I were in the car heading to the South Rim. Seven hours later, we checked in at Phantom Ranch.
The site of Phantom Ranch, where Bright Angel Creek comes into the Colorado, is as lush with history as vegetation. From the years 1050 to 1140, about 40 Hopi families lived here.
Dinner was family-style and filling. To a soundtrack of rolling thunder and burbling Bright Angel Creek, and with bats — over 20 species live in the canyon — darting beneath a canopy of cottonwoods,
Derek and I walked toward the Colorado. At night, an impending thunderstorm created the most spectacular sunset I had ever seen.
We left the ranch at 7:30 a.m. It’s about 1.6 km to the Colorado River. I walk across a bridge and over the water that carved this immense landscape. I sit down and start crying.
I’m not crying because I’ve given up on doing the R3 in one push this time. I’m crying because I have a future in which I can try again. Life is awesome. Although it would be awesomer if it was spring or fall and my sweat wasn’t as profuse as my tears.