HAYDUKE Trail Journal -- Day 23: 10/21/2009

It was a cold morning. Walking thought the sunrise; the sun’s glow was coming from all directions. It sun’s rays bounced off of the cliffs so perfectly that like last night the cliffs seemed to radiate sunlight. I moved through the forest quickly to warm myself. A brisk wind blew through my hair and brought the intoxicating smell of autumn leaves to my brain. Surrounded by magical light and entranced by the cool aromatic air, I realized that this is why I value life. Human life (including mine) is valuable because of magical human experiences—the magic of conscious human experience. Moments like this one make me wonder how long I’ll be able to enjoy them. It’s odd being in my situation.

Most people, who are diagnosed with a terminal illness, are already somehow debilitated or restricted by their disease. On the other hand, my brain cancer was discovered by accident, an incidental finding. I have no symptoms and have tolerated the treatment with no lasting negative side effects, so I feel as strong, vital, mentally and physically as capable as ever. Thus, I feel compelled to live my life as if I might die in less than a year, yet still I must prepare for a possible future, just in case luck prevails or treatment options improve. It’s a balance as delicate as some of the formations I’ve passed this trip, holding strong against the unforeseen and seen elements.

Speaking of which, the formation of Bryce Canyon grew steadily more impressive and exquisite as we moved north into The Amphitheater. Sharon and I had trouble taking more than 10-20 steps between photographs.

The Hayduke Trail envisioned by the founders, leaves Bryce south of The Amphitheater. We saw no reason to come so close to one of the world’s truly unique locations only to skirt its southern edge. We winded our way past castles, cathedrals, windows, arches, bridges, and towers, laced with every hue from white/ivory through the oranges to scarlet and crimson with some violet, purple, and fuchsia woven in. Spectacular! Awesome! Cliff-ag-i-scent!

Unfortunately, these unique canyons are also small, and we, eventually, found ourselves walking down Campbell Canyon towards Tropic, UT. As I write now, I remember how I felt when I walked through that cold morning air. Such experiences are reminiscent of love or spice. They add an entirely new dimension that the uninitiated don’t even realize exists, but once you get a taste of it, you can’t go back because life without them would be intolerably hollow and bland.

HAYDUKE Trail Journal -- Day 22 10/20/2009

I’m camped under a stormy sky, after a day of snow and rain. I have now been snowed on every month this year, except August. The only time I’ve ever been snowed on in August was the CDT when Courtney, my then girlfriend, and I were in Glacier National Park, MT. My goal next year? Snow every month! I love the stuff.

We started the day in high desert/canyon/mesa country and gradually worked our way up a maze of washes, gorges, parks, and ridges toward the pink cliffs of Bryce. One thing about the names of cliffs in this area is that they are usually accurate, if a little dull. The creativity stops after the Vermillion Cliffs.

Those are followed by the “White Cliffs.” Maybe “Ivory Cliffs” would have been more intriguing? Or “Alabaster” perhaps? And the “Pink Cliffs” could have been more appealingly named, “Rainbow Cliffs.” I’ve seen every color of the spectrum in these arching walls, although they are dominated by a pink/salmon/fuchsia type color. Come to think of it “Spectrum Cliffs” would have been a good name, too.

As we approached Bryce Canyon, the clouds got steadily larger and more impressive, creating an entrancing dance of glowing light and subtle shadow on the intricately carves cliffs. Here in the Southern reaches of the park the famous hoodoos are few, but the cliffs are still home to a multitude of exquisite sculptures, including spires, caves, arches and otherworldly ridges.

As we reached Rainbow Point, it began to snow in earnest. While the weather seemed to distress my companions, I’ve always thrived on cold weather. I found my grin growing larger as the falling snow turned the park into a winter wonderland of spruce/fir/bristlecone forest, autumn leaves on fire with color, and other inexplicably gorgeous features.

Bryce and the Grand Canyon are both unique places that defy any poets attempts at description—not that I fancy myself a poet, quite the contrary—in fact I intend to point out my consequently greater difficulty. The two “canyons” (Bryce is actually a cliff at one edge of a plateau.), however, are quite different from the words they first bring to mind. The Grand Canyon is perfectly named, for ‘grand” is certainly the first word many would think of when looking at the massive gorge carved for eons by the patient Colorado River, along with magnificent, huge, awesome and gorgeous (I can’t resist, sorry).

Bryce, on the other hand, triggers words like exquisite, intricate, and delicate. Of course they both share the same superlatives for beauty, which I will refrain from listing again. I’ve worn them out enough, already.

Toward the end of the day, we passed a large intense burn. Some of the trees had burned so hot that all they left behind was a hole in the ground, with radiating tunnels where their roots had once burrowed to seek water. Bizarre.

Through the burn, Sharon and I saw a strange sight. The sun was setting at 5:30 and in the North East! Wait--that’s not possible! Something fishy is going on.
After a brief investigation we realized that the unnatural show was radiating from the cliffs north of us, creating a spectacular optical illusion.

HAYDUKE Trail Journal -- Day 21: 10/19/2009

For breakfast, Wayne replaced the box of day old donuts he’d given us with a box of Danishes, everything else was left over from who knows how many nights. Still, the Orange Juice was cool, and I got to drink as much as I wanted. Besides, the Danishes and bananas filled me to the point where I only needed to order one breakfast when Sharon and I went out (Deciding that Wayne’s spread was enough, Lindy didn’t join us.) and I didn’t even finish Sharon’s hash browns!

I packed and watched Ocean’s 12 on TV, the first TV we’d seen since Springdale, while Sharon and Lindy went to the Post Office. We were on the road soon after they got back. We were hitching for almost two hours. We were just about to give up and buy a ride, when a small Ford pulled over.

“Where’re you heading?”

“Kitchen Corral Road”

“Where is that?”

“Not sure, 25 to 30 miles down the highway.”

“Well, let’s go.”

Stern was on his way home to Lake Powell after visiting his brother in St. George. He had an elaborate story about building a resort hotel for Georgio Armani inside Canyon Lands National Park that I only half believed, wondering: Would the National Park system allow a casino in the park? Would Armani pick Stern in his ol’ beat up Ford to be his contractor? And since when did Utah legalize casino level gambling? Outlandish!

While we were obviously grateful for the ride and amusing conversation, I was a bit relieved when we saw our stop, and I could soon rejoin peace and quiet.

The terrain got steadily more attractive as we followed the dirt road up a series of washes. Toward the middle of our travel day, we came upon Chuck’s cabin. Chuck is an old friend of the Johnson Family who stays in one of their ranch cabins in exchange for some help he gave them back in the ‘50’s. He was home, along with a large number of bellowing cows and a number of the Johnson clan, including Carl the current para familias.

We chatted with them for a while. Apparently the cows were upset because their calves had just been sold off to feed lots. If my calf had been sold off to a feedlot, where it was doomed to stand in its own shit in a corral with thousands of other cows while being forced to eat unhealthy food, antibiotics, and steroids, I’d be unhappy too. Even though these cows didn’t know the precise fate of their offspring their grief was justified.

We camped under the first three pines we’d seen all day, between two towering white cliff mesas. The sagebrush here is otherworldly, some of the plants have to be 8-10ft tall.

HAYDUKE Trail Journal -- Day 20 10/18/09

What a gorgeous (pardon the pun) place to wake up! The Sandstone walls of Buckskin Gulch are stained with beautiful Rorschach like patterns reminiscent of a Navajo rug. (Imagine That!)

During the night last night at around 10:30, a group of about 12 people with flashlights picked their way down Coyote Wash, making quite a racket as they discussed where to camp and how to adjust their packs. They took a long time walking past us. Most of the crew were obviously neophytes, led by one or two more experienced hikers. Hell, it could have been a NOLS course if it was in a more remote location. This brought back pleasant memories of the course that I was one of the instructors for in the Talkeetnas this summer. As they finally receded into the gulch, I yelled,

“HAVE FUN!” inciting much confusion and a few “who-said-that?s.” I thought briefly about following them and having a little fun, but decided against it.

We started the morning off with a surprise stroll through an impressive stretch of narrows, which slowly faded back to a meandering wash through slickrock hills. The Weather was cool. Perfect and for once all three of us were feeling good.

After crossing coyote valley road at a trailhead stocked with some amusing literature. “Don’t Die out there! Five fool-proof ways to impress your friends and mortician.” We continued through Kaibab Gulch.

Though less than obviously beautiful, the canyon was a pleasure to walk through, and the curled-dried clay in the wash yielded a distinct bubble-wrap like crunch when strolled across. Still, I felt a twinge of guilt when I marred its patterns; it was very pretty, ranging from small intricate curls to large, interlaced tiles.

Almost immediately after we reached the road a white pick-up pulled up. A ride? No, a ranger! She was nice thought, considering we didn’t have a permit. She just wanted us to describe our route for her and fill out a permit. She gave us some water and granola too!

After the ranger left, we moved up and down the road looking for the ideal place to hitch a ride. Finally an SUV came down the Kitchen Corral Road. A plump woman rolled down the window.

“Hey, where’re ya’ll from?”

“Minnesota, Wisconsin, and California/Virginia!”

“I don’t usually pick up hitch hikers, you guys don’t have any guns, do you?”

“No, too heavy, we’re just backpackers, we promise.”

“Fine. Then hop in. You can put your stuff in the back.”

Clara ended up being the perfect ride. Part of a 5 generation Johnson ranching family, she gave us the rundown and recent advances in ranching techniques. When in town, she gave us a tour, all the info on what was open, and even took us to the different hotels while Sharon checked out prices. Thanks Clara! You are a generous individual.

We finally settled on The Sun and Sand Motel, a $39 a night run-down place with reasonably clean, large rooms, free breakfast, and owners straight out of the picture next to “white trash” in the dictionary. Wayne had long thinning hair, hollow eyes and half of his original teeth. His wife looked the same but with more hair and teeth and a pair of saggy, free swinging breasts that were a horror to behold. Still, they were friendly folks and we felt right at home, despite the 70’s burnt puke orange décor.

HAYDUKE Trail Journal -- Day 19: Oct 17, 2009

One of my favorite things about lightweight (read: fast) hiking is the variety of terrain you can see in the same day. We started today on a rolling plateau by Ponderosa and Oaks, transitioned into classic Pinion/Juniper/Sage and we are now camped in the depths of Buckskin Gulch after making our way down a set of short spectacular slot canyons.

For the first few hours today was just like yesterday. The only distinctions from the monotony were the occasional forest road and a large sinkhole (maybe 180 meters in diameter). I was covering miles rapidly and singing songs to keep myself entertained. Admittedly the weather was perfect.

Suddenly, I look around and was startled to find that the Ponderosa/Aspen/Oak forest I had been walking through had given way to Pinion/Juniper/Sage—high desert scrub. The transition had taken about ten minutes. The new vegetation was a blessing and a curse. I could now enjoy the occasional view north and east to the Vermillion Cliffs and Grand Staircase, Escalante N.M., but the lack of shade made the afternoon slightly less comfortable.

After descending a stretch of annoyingly gentle switchbacks the Arizona Trail ended at a small campground. Surprisingly, only four campsites were taken and not one of the campers seemed particularly interested in the Arizona Trail. Of course there were plenty of other things to recommend. The area was beautiful. Thirty minutes later Sharon showed up interrupting my nap. Lindy was another thirty minutes behind her, having trouble with his feet.

We left the trailhead together and soon left Arizona behind, for good (parting is such sweet sorrow). The bright red sandstone glowed in the setting sun, and as we strolled down Coyote Wash, I became more and more trigger-happy. It was getting toward the end of the day, so we were hiking together. I took advantage of the pace to scramble around some buttes and slickrock gullies, searching for a shot that could capture the moment. Of course such a goal is impossible to accomplish. I grinned to myself in the realization that I would always know how to retrieve it.

I just got to watch a pair of daddy-long-legs fight or mate; I couldn’t tell which. Bats flutter around us, the stars are innumerable and the canyon wrens were singing for about a half an hour a few minutes ago. No sound now but the bats, bugs and Lindy’s snoring. Good night!

HAYDUKE Trail Journal -- Day 18: Oct 16, 2009

No coyote howling last night, but they are sure going for it tonight. I am lying on a bed of pine duff, watching the stars come out and listening to the coyotes sing, perfect. If only the whole day had been so nice. This morning was COLD!! The frost lingered for three hours after the sun rose. I didn’t mind the cold though. It helped us to conserve water. The trail was nice too, meandering through washes and parks, over hills and along ridges. The crappy part of the day was the sever mile burn out at around 11:00 am.

We had received notice of the trail closure from and 2009 Hayduke Trail Hiker (Thanks Ryan!), and we figured out where the closure was when the trail died in an endless mess of fallen logs, 3 year old saplings, thistles and thorns. (Un)luckily it died right next to the road, which we followed for seven gruesome miles.

I hate road walking: half the cars are nice and give you plenty of room, a few notice you at the last minute and serve to the side, but the rest glare at you and whiz by you as close as possible, if as they must hug the white line. Why? I don’t know. Apparently their goal is to try to terrify us into thinking we will soon be a raven’s delicacy—like the coyote and deer we saw.

Finally, we reached the road where Ryan said the closure ended. Sure enough there was a large sign at the trailhead. Lindy decided to walk the next 6 miles to Jacob Lake on the road. Sharon and I had had enough and gladly decided to walk the next eight miles to Thruway 89A then hitch.

The eight miles to the Highway went fast. Sharon and I decided that the signs were mislabeled in order to boost the confidence of thirsty hikers. “Wow, I’ve walked one and a half miles in 12 minutes. That’s an eight-minute a mile pace! I’m moving!”

We needed to go into Jacob’s Lake to refill water bottles. (We had 40 miles of dry hiking to HWY 89 and Kanab.) Sharon and I got a lift in the first vehicle coming our way (back of a black pick-up truck). I love riding in the bed of a pick-up truck; it’s the best way to travel a road by far. After meeting up with Lindy, a large dinner and loading up on 1-1/2 gallons of water each, we set out to try our luck at the intersection. No sooner had we posted ourselves, than a white pick-up pulled up. We were all grateful, even though we had to ride in the cab this time.

The driver was moving and his cab was full. All in all, it was a good way to end the day, especially with this magical evening.

HAYDUKE Trail Journal -- Day 17: 10/15/2009

Yesterday wasn’t quite as relaxing as I’d hoped. My parents, having forgotten about Columbus Day, were late in sending my ration/bounce box. As a result, I had to spend my day running around trying to figure out how to forward it when it arrives after the North Rim closes. Fun times . . .not.

Because I ate an entire pizza last night and gorged myself at the breakfast buffet this morning, I felt a little bloated and gassy as we started along the Arizona trail. (I’d planned a route across the Arizona strip, over the Paria Plateau, and along the Paria to Buckskin Gulch, but because my maps and information on the route were in my box, we were stuck with the guidebook route. Despite the lack of dramatic terrain, our walk across the plateau was very pleasant. Golden Aspens and perfect weather made up for the monotonous forested hills and grassy valleys.

We stopped for lunch (Sharon and Lindy had some leftover pizza) in an abandoned fire tower. The stairway was accessible, but the crow’s nest at the top was locked. Crystal Spring a few miles further on was surprisingly full and clean.

Two miles from Crystal Spring we got our first taste of Grandeur since leaving the Grand Canyon this morning. The trail here skirts the Eastern edge of the Kaibob River, revealing the vast Arizona Strip, sliced in half by Marble Canyon. In the distance, rise the Vermillion Cliffs of the Paria Plateau, beyond them a hulking mountain, whose name we don’t know, towers over the entire scene.

We aren’t in a rush; we will easily be in Kanab by Sunday, but will need to stay until Monday, because both Lindy and Sharon have mail coming. Faced with the decision of stopping and enjoying the spectacular sunrise or continuing and romping in the thick forest, we made the easy choice. The sun has just stopped setting and as I write I am watching the stars come out while a great horned owl hoots in the distance. I wonder if we will hear the coyotes again?

HAYDUKE Trail Journal -- Day 16: 10/14/2009

We had an easy walk through in old burn, now an aspen grove, while the sun rose. First a slight blush of purple turning to reds and oranges and yellows then finally blue sky sprinkled lightly with clouds. Beautiful. Once we got to Point Imperial we made friends with a couple of photographers and they promptly deposited us at the Lodge. Resupply and relaxation today. Sharon and Lindy decided we should stay the night and rest.

HAYDUKE Trail Journal -- Day 15: 10/13/2009

Much better and more consistent trails brought us from Kwagunt Creek to Nankoweap Creek. Nankoweap Creek is famous as the site of some ancient Pueblo granaries. They are made of stone and mortar and the Pueblos used them to store beans and grains up to over 1,000 years ago.

We stopped under the granaries among a patch of purple wildflowers and cactus before leaving the Colorado (not to be seen again until Hite) and wandering up the creek to the bottom of the Nankoweap.

We reached the trail after an attractive walk through the cottonwood filled canyon. Soon after filling our water bottles/bladders/stomachs and eating a snack, Lindy got a head start on the hike while I drenched my head. Just as I was about to wander up the trail, two boaters came down finishing up a day hike up the creek to a pictograph panel a mile upstream.

“You’re headed up Nankoweap, huh, geez, that’s a sonofabitch! Where do you plan on camping tonight? You ought to stop at Filted Mesa, Hell; you’ll be lucky to get that far on this trail. That’s about five miles up the worst, steepest trail you’ll ever see and the next possible camp is Marion Point another 2.5 miles away. You’d never make it that far. The first camp is best. Isn’t that where we built that table? Hell you’d be doing well to make it that far tonight! It’s already noon! I decided, I’d had enough of the conversation and excused myself as quickly as possible and started up, hoping that my leaving would give Sharon an out. Sharon, however, is more polite than I; she did her best to keep up and be nice but found it more and more challenging. Eventually she escaped. I don’t know how. Still I had to wait 20 minutes for her. I even considered going back to rescue her.

The trail was indeed challenging, especially for a constructed official trail in a National Park. On the other hand, it was a real manmade trail and offered by far the easiest travel we’d had since Beamer Trail, despite the stiff climb. The guidebook is wrong re. mileage on the Nankoweap Trail BTW, it is 14 miles from Forest Road 610 to the river not the 10.6. We made it to Filted Mesa and our suggested stopping point by about 2:30, and travel got much easier from there as the route traverse under trees and Redwall cliffs above one of the best view sheds in the park. We could see most of the major features of the last few days, including the canyon of the Little Colorado, Nankoweap Mesa, Duppa and Hutton Buttes, and the South Rim already below us to the South. By the time we get to Marion Point, it was cool enough that I looked for a sunny spot to rest. The evening as usual just got better. After leaving the Park by Saddle Mountain, we had views North toward the vast Arizona Strip, split in half by the inexplicable gash of Marble Canyon (the first section of the Grand Canyon). The wind, light, and views (now supplemented by the spectacular golden aspens and red scrub oaks) seemed to infuse me with a boundless energy, and I seemed to dance along the trail in a state of sublime pleasure, well after night fall.

Eventually, it began to get dark for travel, and I thought of my companions. I doubted they were enjoying those last few miles as much as I, so I stopped at a sheltered area and waited. As expected Sharon came in tired and slightly cranky, though not complaining. We figured that Lindy had probably stopped for the night earlier, but were surprised when he came wandering by about twenty minutes later. Almost a perfect day, I’m out of food now though, so the North Rim will be much appreciated.

HAYDUKE Trail Journal -- Day 14: 10/12/2009

As we made our way to the Beamer Trail, one question dominated our minds: Will we be able to get a ride across the Colorado? A maze of Locust and Willow thickets, small cliffs, drainages, and use trails to campsites made finding Beamer Trail a small chore, but once on it, it was easy to travel until Lara Canyon, where we stopped to fill water bottles and watch a small pod of rafters run Lara Creek Rapids, before the high cliff section of the trail.

The Beamer Trail has a reputation as a twisting, narrow trail that slopes off toward the 500 ft cliff and the Colorado River. While there were certainly parts with vertigo inducing exposure, they were not particularly long and difficult. At least that’s what I was thinking until I heard Sharon scream, “Oh Shit, LINDY OH NO!”

I turned around; Lindy had fallen off a stiff drop and was on his back, a basketball-sized rock was rolling off of him. He then got out of his pack and began stumbling around in a daze, only a meter away from a 100 ft pour off. Sharon and I simultaneously yelled, “Lindy, SIT DOWN!” But he continued to stumble and mumble. “I’m alright. I’m fine.” Until Sharon jumped down and essentially pushed him down onto a rock.

I immediately joined them, and Sharon (a nurse) began to clean and bandage his wound, while I (an EMT) did a quick check of his vitals. Long story, short . . .he was fine. He had stumbled and fallen off a small drop after he had lost his footing on some small loose rocks and the small boulder a saw on his chest had actually rolled onto his head, but the worst thing he had to show for it was an inch long gash on his forehead. I irrigated it and bandaged it, sealing it as tightly as possible after making sure it was clean. Sharon and I both suggested walking out up the Tanner Trail to get it taken care of more appropriately, but feisty ol’ Lindy wouldn’t hear of it. “Let’s go catch our boat!”

We reached the Little Colorado River, a small-bright turquoise Creek that, nevertheless, was chest-deep, half of which was mud, near the confluence. We poked and prodded, trying different points, when I got in deep enough that my pack started floating me away with the slow current, forcing me to retreat back to the bank. Frustrated, we went upstream until we found a good crossing with a slightly less muddy bottom.

As soon as we got back to the Colorado, the late-twenties guys popped out of the bushes, “hey you guys want a beer?” We chatted with the rafters for half an hour; while they shared their food with us insisting “They had more than they could ever finish.” They informed us that they were actually working. They were conducting a survey of the water quality and biodiversity of the nation’s waterways. What a fun job! They then gave us a ride across the Colorado. Almost too easy!

The rest of the evening we spent half the time on the fabulous slate shelves on the cliffs along the river or on narrow game paths on the slopes above. The other half was spent connecting these corridors by boulder hopping our way through dense willows and locust trees, the latter are covered with ½ inch to 2 inch long thorns that clutch, tear and snag anything they come into contact with. At one point I actually screamed in pain when a step brought one of the thorns into the ball of my foot. I limped around for a while. But by the time we stopped for the night I was fine.

We are camped on a small beach just south of Khagunt Creek, should be fun again tomorrow. Sharon and I checked Lindy’s forehead one last time tonight. So far, so good—no sign of infection. I continue to be impressed with the durability and strength of Lindy’s 69-year-old body. However, I’m beginning to have doubts that he has the ability to complete the entire route, at least in the time allotted. It might be just too much for him.

HAYDUKE Trail Journal -- Day 13: 10/11/2009

Relaxing day today. We stared by finishing the climb up to Horseshoe Mesa. These are some old mines on the Mesa, as well as a cabin, several rubbish heaps, and old, rotting equipment. I’ve often wondered at which point trash becomes an archeological relic. Some of this debris such as the ancient rodent middens, the pottery shards of Native Americans, the old mining gear of pioneers is considered historically valuable. The old Model T someone left in a field is of keen interest whereas the can of Dr. Pepper is just litter. I’m not suggesting we litter for posterity of future archeologists. I guess I’m just suggesting that time like distance hikes changes the perspective from which we look at things.

Enough with the tangent . . .on to the Grand Canyon. We dropped down easily to the Hance Rapid and the Hance Trail. There we soaked our feet and lazed around in the sun while we watched a pair of raft pods go by. At one point in immersed my head in the water . . .COLD! Meanwhile Sharon was working up the courage for a full body wash. Eventually after much hemming and hawing. She lay down completely submerged. Not to be outdone, I quickly followed suit, but jumped back up immediately.

We soon left our little beach and began to work our way upstream on the Escalante Route. The half of the day was my favorite section of the canyon so far. We started with a short scramble up a rockslide about 500 meters upstream before dropping back down to the river. Further along the route went up some pretty sections of narrows in Escalante and Seventy-Five Mile Creeks, but it was the end of the route that made the day.

After climbing a ways up Escalante Creek, the route angled up and around a high Butte. It was exceptionally windy, so windy in fact that the leader of a large group going the opposite direction told us, “we had better be careful up there. It’s windy.” Just in case we hadn’t noticed the gusts that were pushing us to the side.

The route slowly contoured across a slope with views of the Palisades of the Desert across a massive wide gap in the Grand Canyon. For once the views were airy and open in nature. Combined with the perfect temperature, gale winds, and evening light, I felt utterly serene. Each breath seemed to fill my chest with some benevolent force providing me simultaneously with a sense of pure peace and boundless energy. As usual, I didn’t want to stop at the end of the day, but nightfall and my weary companions brought me to this rather pleasant camp just East of Garden Creek. If only everyday could end so sweetly.

HAYDUKE Trail Journal -- Day 12: 10/10/09

Today was a highly varied, but mostly fantastic day. It began with an easy walk down to Phantom Ranch, where we were moderately distressed to learn that breakfast was not served until 8:00. Ce la Vie! The climb up the South Kaibob trail was populated with an eclectic mixture of characters, most of whom were participating in the early October Rim-to-Rim hike. Apparently everyone is trying to hike rim to rim in one day. Fat guy in sweat-shirts and funny packs, surly teenager with baggy jeans, tie-dye T-shirts and one carrying a gallon jug in his hand, ultra-distance runners, Brooklyn girls in designer duds, and your standard active couple with hydration system equipped packs and full synthetic outfits. Some of them had not even reached the bottom but were already very tired. They were in for a long day. The Grand Canyon is like an inverted mountain where unfortunately the easy part of the hike is the first part, and then you have to finish climbing up.

After we reached Tonto Trail, we only saw one group of people the rest of the day, a pair of week-enders who informed us that we would never make it to our camp tonight. They did have some useful information about water though apparently every source between here and Grapevine Creek was dry. Oops.

Once again the scenery was splendid. We were in the Grand Canyon after all. Most of the day was dominated by Zoraster Temple, a precipitous pinnacle of rock sitting on an arched throne made up of the most splendid Redwall cliff I have yet seen. We slowly make our way around it, watch it from various angles. Unfortunately, I didn’t appreciate the view as much today as I should have, because the lack of water had left me dehydrated and mildly cranky. This section of the Tonto makes long traverses on the cliff that contain the creeks coming down from the South Rim. The traverse seemed to take forever. By the time I was paralleling the Grapevine Creek drainage, all I could think about was water.

Finally, I reached the spring and promptly scare a frog from his puddle before I promptly down two quarts in quick secession. After refilling a third time I sat down to drink while I waited for the others. They were very glad to see me, because it meant I had found water.

The rest of the day was amazing. The sun was lowering, the air was cooling, the light was filled with marvelous colors, and my body felt perfect. There is nothing I enjoy more than the sensation of my body in effortless fluid motion. Combine that with sunset in the Grand Canyon, and my evening was a pleasant one indeed.

The choice campsites near Cottonwood Creek were taken, so we continued toward Horse Shoe Mesa. Unfortunately, by the time we were ready to stop we had left flat ground behind. Lindy found a spot quickly (a good one), but Sharon and I wandered around for a while in the steadily waning light for a 7 by 2 piece of flatish ground without obvious rodent holes. I eventually settle for a dry streambed. Rocky, sloped, but adequate. Time to eat!

HAYDUKE Trail Journal -- Day 11: 10/09/2009

I’m on a high bench, jutting out from the main canyon and surrounded on all sides by castles and pyramids, cutting into the night sky. The sunset just ended and for the last hour these prominent summits have been slowly changing color across the spectrum, all the way from red and yellow to blue, purple and black (skipping green, which was provided by the vegetation). It was sublime.

Now that the sun has set, I want to enjoy the stars. Instead, however, I find myself matching wits with a creature smaller than the hole in my brain. Dang, that mouse is persistent and if he’s (she’s) not careful, he’s going to be food for some lucky scavenger tomorrow morning. He seems to be taking a break now. Maybe he’s trying to lure me into a false sense of security. Are mice that smart? Maybe he’s just experimenting on me, testing to see how long human’s vigilance lasts after the last observed threat. I have to admit it’s working. My eyes are getting heavy.

Slept this morning, packed and gorged ourselves at the Lodge’s buffet. Temporarily satiated. We moseyed on down to the General Store for some last minute supplies before making our way to the North Kaibob Trailhead.

Despite the omnipresent evidence left behind by the mules, both visual and olfactory, the first four miles of the trail were very nice. The yellow aspens and pink/red maples in the drainages contrasted brilliantly with the pines and the desert flora on the slopes, and the trail got steadily better all day.

Instead of slowly cutting down the layers of rocks like we had along Hack and Kanab Canyons today we dropping precipitously down the already completed gorge. All layers were visible at once. Though I preferred the slow descent of last week, it was still cool to see the sheer scale of the canyon while dropping down. I applied myself toward studying and identifying the various and I remembered most of the types of layers about bright angel shale. Thinking about it we seemed we were dropping back in time as we moved down the layers—each one representing and further and further past.

It was a short 16-mile walk, almost all downhill to our camp today. So even thought we got a late start, we took our time and relaxed all day long. We still got into camp earlier than any other night on the trip. This should be a pleasant loop through the canyon.

HAYDUKE Trail Journal -- Day 10: 10/08/2009

Gorgeous weather all day today as we walked to Kaibab Plateau to the North Rim. Sharon and I strolled easily through the mixed aspen/pine/spruce forest enjoying the cool weather and the clear, crisp light.

From where we camped to the North Rim was about 34 miles, and Lindy decided he was not up for it. After about 10 a he branched off toward highway 67 to hitchhike into the village, grab our boxes and try to find a room to get rested up, while Sharon and I walked the back roads in. It’s a good thing he did too. As it was, Sharon and I didn’t make it until well after dark. Lindy saved a lot of time by grabbing our packages today.

Though it was sad to leave Lindy, Sharon and I really enjoyed our walk this afternoon. Our paces matched most of the way, and we talked easily about our lives, remembered stories from the PCT, and even discussed some politic before quickly changing the subject. I didn’t come out here to talk or think about the world’s problems. I came out here to see what’s RIGHT with the world.

We to a heavy frost last night so Sharon and I stopped when the road got close to the rim to lay out our gear to dry and eat the rest of our food. I didn’t have much left but some olive oil and peanut butter that Lindy had given me in exchange for the rest of my trail mix (He was having trouble keeping some things settled in his stomach.), but Sharon kindly lent me ??? to eat with my peanut butter and oil. She always has extra food, I don’t know how. We lost track of time enjoying the view and got the North Rim at half an hour after dark as a result. Walking the pavement toward Lindy and the lodge was such a terror. Cars had no idea what my light was and blazed passed within a couple of feet of us. It was so bad that we gladly accepted a lift the last mile or so to the Lodge. Thought the place had been booked for months, Lindy somehow managed to scrounge out a room with a combination of pity and persistence.

Eating dinner now. Everything is excellent, though the salad is a bit small. Endless buttered rolls with honey . . . hmmmm. I even skipped dessert.

HAYDUKE Trail Journal -- Day 9, 10/7/2009

Maybe Lindy is human after all. After a short slightly easier section of boulders we reached Deer Creek Falls, climbing from there to the rim fairly exhausted him, and he had trouble keeping up even after we reached the flats on the top. We stopped well short of where we wanted to get, and I doubt we’ll be able to make it to the North Rim tomorrow as planned, unless Lindy makes a dramatic recover tonight. Still we had a great day.

Coming up from the falls, we came through a gorgeous and bizarre section of narrows above the creek, where we wound our way along a narrow shelf in the middle. Past the narrows we hiked through a verdant desert oasis to Deer Creek Spring, an incredible spigot of water shooting straight out of the cliff. We filled up with water at the spring and began our climb in earnest . . .4,500 ft to go.

From the spring we climbed up into a light rain. We were lucky when it came to the weather clouds and drizzle cooled us throughout the climb. We passed prickly pears and barrel cacti, whose saber-sharp coating of impenetrable needles caused me to dub them the “concertina wire of the plant kingdom.” After a while we reach Surprise Valley, the views of the canyon are starting to open up. I can make out the Tapeats terrace and it’s peak, Steamboat Mountain, 4,000 ft to go.

It was a long climb up to the top of the next layer of cliffs (the Redwalls?). At the top Lindy was distraught to find the last tallest part of the canyon towering above us. I can’t stop taking pictures. Wave upon wave of clouds pass us bathing some part of the canyon in light while showering others in rain and shadow creating a dramatic effect impossible to capture with my meager photography skills. As we crossed the sandstone benches between the next section and us I fairly danced my way across the rack, 2,000ft to go.

The Bill Hall Trail took us ever higher, bringing more of the canyon into view. Steamboat Mountain, the Tepeats Terrace and many other features previously above us now sank far below. Marvelous, I took more and more pictures. Digital makes it easy to find diamonds in the rough. More rough—more diamonds. Finally, we reach the top. The weather has cleared, leaving the evening cold, but still and bright.

We managed maybe another 4 for miles on the plateau, wandering slowly upward another 1,000 ft through recently burned ponderosa forest. Lindy is extremely winded from the climb, and Sharon and I insisted we carry his pack up the hills n the top. Even so, we made slow progress and stopped early. Long day tomorrow if we want to get to the North Rim.

HAYDUKE Trail Journal -- Day 8: 10/6/2009

Warm night last night. I slept for half an hour outside of my sleeping bag. I had a quick breakfast of granola and green tea. Lindy as usual was ready to roll well before Sharon and I were, so he had to wait while we dawdled. When we were all packed he was off like a shot. In a few minutes we were in the park passing Jumpup Canyon. Soon after we reached a small spring coming out from under the canyon wall. The large number of fish suggested that it was perennial water source. The creek flowed uninterrupted from here to the Colorado River.

Just over a mile from these seeps we came to a unique spectacle. A large flower garden hung from an overhang in the canyon wall, showering the creek with cool and delicious water. I found myself wishing I were hot and miserable so that I could refresh myself in the Showerbath

Spring. Instead of just relishing the beauty. As it was, it was too cool too stay under it for long.

After we left Showerbath Spring, the route down the creek quickly became more challenging. I soon came to the conclusion that Lindy was some sort of sorcerer, because I was having trouble keeping up with him as he scrambled over small cliffs, through gaps, and across small pour offs. I NEVER have had trouble keeping up with people in the past and here I was being challenged by a 69-year-old man. Obviously, the only explanation is some sort of magical power that he has attained whether through divine or dark means, I don’t know. He denies this. Of course, he would. Keeping his silence on the subject was probably part of the deal.

After a while we stopped to wait for Sharon, she had been close behind us a little while ago, but we had lost sight of her. We waited and waited . . . and waited. After about 15 minutes I began to worry. After 30 I was truly concerned and I headed back to look for her. I began to have vision of finding her in the creek face down somewhere or splattered across a rock under some cliff. What would I possibly tell her family? Would I be able to revive her?

Finally, I heard someone scrambling behind a boulder. “Sharon?”

“Yeah?”

Fantastic at least she was conscious and oriented said the EMT in me. I rounded the boulder and discovered a standing but very distraught Sharon in desperate need of a hug. “I’m so stupid. I’m such an idiot. I was following footprints. I’m so stupid.”

“Hey calm down you’re fine. What happened?”

Sharon had followed some tracks up onto the benches above the lowest level of the cliffs. When she lost the rail, she couldn’t find her way back down and had been searching for a route for quite some time. Eventually, she found this route next to this boulder, which she had just barely managed after lowering her pack. I showed up just after she had gotten down. Her route did look heinous. Thankfully though, she was fine, just a bit rattled. The only casualty of the incident was her camera, which has fallen out of her pack.

The traveling got gradually easier as we approached the river, and we began to encounter a number of people who had come up the canyon as part of a rafting trip. Finally we rounded a bend and stepped through some deep mud to get onto the banks of the unnaturally cool and green Colorado River.

We stopped for a while at the confluence to take in the massive gorge. It was hard to wrap my mind around the fact that this was just the lowest and shortest of the three massive walls between river and rim in this part of the canyon.

From the confluence we worked our way up the river, picking our way through sharp boulders and even sharper vegetation. It seemed like everything we touched would either cut, scrape, or prick us. Luckily the river was low and we were able to take advantage of the sandy beaches next to the water fairly often.

As the afternoon wore on I soon left Sharon and Lindy. Maybe Lindy was human after all? I’ve always enjoyed boulder hopping. And I enjoyed the jumping and dodging and ducking and wearing, while the sun slowly sank saturating the scene with sensual tones (Sorry I couldn’t help myself.) and the backside of “Abbey Road” ran through my head.

Occasionally, I would stop next to the river and wait, and each time they took a bit longer to catch up. By the time we reached Fishtail Creek, it was obvious the day was done for them. It was too dark to continue anyway.

HAYDUKE Trail Journal -- Day 7: 10/5/2009

We got up early to take advantage of the easy traveling while light was low and the day was cool. We powered East into the beautiful sunrise along flat dirt roads. The wind had calmed down since yesterday, making a featureless terrain quite dull. At least the rising sun provided something to look at.

Just before the heat of the day began in earnest we reached Hack Canyon. The road quickly plunged into the Earth, sandstone walls seemed to loom out of nowhere as we strolled along the dry drainage. While we breaked near Hack

Canyon Mine, at perhaps the most remote picnic table on Earth, Sharon read in Ryan Choi’s notes that our next water source, Willow Spring, is “alkaline and radioactive” . . .SHIT! Luckily I had enough water to get to Kunab Creek.

After an hour and a half of walking in “conservation mode,” we reached Willow Spring. If the water was foul, the birds, willows, and almost mutant sized cattails didn’t seem to mind. I tasted the water. It was delicious. Still, I suspected it. However, because of the distance to water in Kanab Creek was uncertain, we each took about a liter or two, as a reserve.

Past the spring, the road was long gone and the trail was intermittent. We walked in the drainage and through the foul flora that populated the wide canyon bottom. The burrs that encase the seeds of these plants seemed to jump onto my socks and wedge themselves into position under the tongue of my shoes, where they cause the most annoyance.

Despite the perturbing plants, I thoroughly enjoyed this section. The redwall cliffs slowly rose around us, the beige sandstone we had been surrounded by the last few hours were slowly hidden from view. In a sense, as we dropped into the canyon, we were getting a chance to watch it form over eons of time. It made me wonder what a human life would look like from the canyon’s perspective. I’m sure we seemed like puny, incredibly short-lived creatures barely worth slightly more than academic interest. Mountains only seem massive and permanent, because we are so small and fleeting by comparison. Just as bacteria seem small and fleeting to us because we are large and live for decades. It’s a matter of perspective.

Oh look water! We had walked down Kanab Canyon for about an hour before we reached dome small puddles, which grew steadily larger for a while, making us think that water was going to make a rapid transition (once again) from sought after necessity to obstacle. Unfortunately, after we passed Chamberlain Canyon, we saw no more water.

We, eventually, stopped just upstream from the park boundary of Jumpup canyon. We are camped on a sanding beach above the creek bed in a small clearing surrounded by thorny bushes and cacti. Another amazing day.

HAYDUKE Trail Journal -- Day 6: 10/04/2009

We awoke in a cool canyon wonderland, the high red cliffs and domes contrasted sharply with the vibrant green in the canyon below. After a quick breakfast of green tea (I’d eaten the rest of my snack food yesterday.), I joined Sharon and Lindy on the way down to the creek. Passing numerous minor cliffs and a dead horse along the way. Travis had told us he’d ridden his ATV down this trail. He must be psychotic.

Once down among the oaks, aspens and cottonwoods, we filled up at one of the small springs in the creek bed. Squirrel Creek was flowing well with good water, but the water got steadily worse as we dropped down the canyon. By the time we reached Short Creek, the water was intermittent and nasty. Cow signs were omnipresent lower down.

As we dropped down toward Hilldale Utah/Colorado City AZ the landscape grew steadily more impressive. Larger canyon walls and monoliths dominated our surroundings. On the other hand, as we approached civilization, it’s signs increased as well. Trash piles got bigger, fences more frequent, road more convoluted, until finally we reached the outskirts of town.

These twin cities on the AZ/UT border are a fascinating place. Everyman wears a bright white shirt with a black tie and every woman wears a dress. Houses are in a state of permanent construction/addition. Everyone was cordial, but obviously not please with us.

We reached the highway and the only open store in the vicinity: A gas station/convenience store/café combo. The café was called “The Merry Wives” café; at least someone in town has a sense of humor. We had a quick breakfast, resupplied and took off fairly rapidly, walking down the highway in unbelievable wind. Occasionally we would loose sight of each other in the distance because of the dust.

After four miles a small family took pity on us and gave us a ride to 239. The rest of the day was spent on straight flat dirt roads walking headlong into gusts approaching 50mph. The sun set shortly after we reached Yellowstone Spring. We walked another three miles under the near full moon before camping in the wash.

HAYDUKE Trail Journal -- Day 5: 10/03/2009

This morning I realized that I hadn’t brought any breakfast items with me (PICTURED -- Sharon in red and Will). I had been carrying a small loaf of banana bread that Sharon’s mom had contributed, but we finished it last night. No matter trail mix and granola make a good breakfast.

We dropping down the west (right) side of the saddle to the East Fork and were immediately in a tall section of spectacular narrows. We waded through the cold river. It was anywhere from ankle to thigh deep. After rounding the bend, we could look up the Fat Man’s Misery route. We all agreed the West route is better. In addition, that first section at narrows proved to be the best part of the canyon.

We followed the river upstream as it twisted its way down its narrow canyon.

The route crisscrossed from bank to bank or went straight up the middle. A few small pour-offs provide some minor obstacles and Lindy again proved that he was up for anything. Throughout our walk up the canyon Sharon and I had ridiculous grins on our faces. We almost blurted out at the same time. “This is why I backpack!”

All good things must come to an end. We eventually had to climb out to the sandy jeep tracks above. Most of the rest of the day was spent walking along the jeep paths, cursing the endless sand, emptying sand from our shoes, or being passed by an endless train of ATV’s.

While going up Broad Hollow, we decided to walk up through the brush—off-trail. This proved far superior and we were soon on more rocky terrain above the spectacular canyons dropping down through the vermillion cliffs. The road winded around and over ridges, across slickrock and through sand while once again the setting sun cast a glow across the world. Eventually though it began to get dark.

As we approached the beehive, a sandstone formation with an uncommonly appropriate name, a pleasant gentleman on an ATV rode up and asked us if we were ok. Did we know where we were going? Did we need any water? We assured him that we were fine. Nevertheless, he insisted that he help us find the trail down to Squirrel Creek. He said, “Even people who’ve been down there before are liable to go right past it.”

We finally agree to let him take Lindy’s pack to the junction as a marker, and soon he was out of sight. We followed but it had darkened considerably while we were talking, and we lost the road on a section of slickrock.

Moderately distressed, I got out my light and we searched fervently for any sign of ATV tracks. Meanwhile, Lindy tried to absorb the fact that he might have to endure the night without his pack. We searched back and forth across a quarter mile section of slickrock before I finally spotted tracks going straight up what appeared to be a cliff. We scrambled up and were soon on a “road” that became increasing rugged, showing obvious signs of scraped bottoms and leaking fluid. It amazed us that anyone could get a machine up the thing.

Eventually we found Travis and Lindy’s backpack. Travis had been working on his headlights and had just finished fixing them. He was right too, although the trail was marked with a cairn, we would have probable gone right past it or turned around before reaching it without his help. After we expressed our gratitude, he offered us his water. This is what “trail magic” really is!

HAYDUKE Trail Journal -- Day 4: 10/2/09

Sharon, I-pod, and Lindy showed up at around 11:00 last night. Just about the time I was ready to crash. We all decided to share a motel room. Then we spent 20 minutes of arguing over who was going to get the bed. “You take the bed.” “No you take the bed.” “No seriously I’m fine with the floor.” “I-POD should have the bed because he drove and doesn’t have camping gear.” Finally after the four of us had finished being agonizingly differential, it was decided that I-POD and Sharon would share the bed. I took the floor and Lindy decided to sleep in the car for privacy. After a while I-POD started snoring and I wished I had followed Lindy’s lead.

We got up this morning at 7:00. Had a quick breakfast after packing and went to the Post Office so Sharon and Lindy could mail their boxes to the North Rim. Then I-Pod drove us into the park. He had to go that way to get home anyway. We hopped onto the shuttle to the Weeping Wall. On the ride we fell into a conversation with a girl heading out for a series of day hikes. She said her friend back home had hiked the entire JMT, AT, and the long trail. She added, “He’s one of those crazy long-distance hikers.” The four of us bit our tongues. Between us we had hiked the Triple Crown six times over and then some.

We waited knowing that the question would eventually come.

“Have you ever hiked the AT?”

“Yup.”

“Have you ever thought about doing the PCT?”

“Yeah we hiked it 6 years ago.”

“Really?”

“Uh-huh, the four of us have hiked the AT, PCT, and CDT. I-Pod has hiked the PCT three times, and the other two twice.” I-Pod is a rotund, bald man who looks nothing like the stereotypical thru-hiker. However, this is not that unusual thru-hikers are a more diverse bunch than many people imagine.

“Wow.”

It’s no big deal really. Anyone one can do it with a little bit of gumption and perseverance.”

We got off the bus and took the obligatory pre-trip photos at the trailhead, complete with a ranger giving a presentation in the background. I-Pod walked with us for a while but turned around after less than a mile. We were on our way!

Soon we were off the paved path, away from the crowds, and in a spectacular

section of narrows canyons and slickrock benches. Eventually we began to drop down to the East Entrance of the park through some smaller canyons that reminded me of Wildcat canyon, complete with aspens and maples showing of their fall regalia.

It’s always amazing to me how comfortable thru-hikers naturally are with each other. Conversation was easy whether about hiking, flatus, The Princess Bride or anything thing else that happened to wander through our minds.

We walked down the highway to Checkboard Mesa, climbing up a sandy gash down the middle of it to a pass just below the table and at the top. Any doubts I had about Lindy being able to keep up were assuaged, as he climbed up and down the short cliffs and dry-falls nearly as nimbly as I did.

We strolled across the sandstone benches on the other side of Check board Mesa, the setting sun cast a rich light over the entire scene, saturating the reds of the rock and the greens of the junipers. Lindy and I both agreed that this was our favorite time of the day to hike.

Eventually, the faint and occasional criss-crossing route(s) we were following (a number of paths consistently wound around each other, and the footprint we saw indicated that more than a few people before us had gotten lost) came to a small saddle with a huge fire pit. Use-paths dropped down to the East Fork Virgin River on both sides of the saddle. The Fatman’s Misery/Powell’s Plague route dropped down to the left. We went down to have a look but it wasn’t appealing, so we went back up to check out the other side. It seemed ok, but it was getting dark, so we decided not to try to drop down through the set of small loose cliffs in the waning light, while we are tired. We’re spending the night on the saddle. Sharon’s being harassed by a local rodent. The others have left me alone so far. I guess I’m not as enticing.

HAYDUKE Trail Journal -- Day 3 10/1/09

I ended up crashing in Springdale last night. After finishing with my journal for the day, I ran into Mark and Emily, a pair of hikers, who had just finished an overnighter through Zion Narrows. It was part of a kick off “grand Western Four” they were taking that consisted of a month of backpacking trips throughout the Rockies and Southwest before they set of to Nepal for a year of trekking a volunteer work. I was almost tempted to join them.

We grabbed the last bus into town, talking easily about hiking and life while we searched in the moonlight for a random place to crash.

“This park would be nice, but they’re watering it . . .”

“How about this field . . . naw, it’s kind of lumpy.”

“It looks flat under this big oak.”

“I like it.”

“Me too,” I say, “But the creaking noise that branch makes in the wind is making me paranoid.”

“If it was going to fall, it would have fallen during today’s wind storm.”

“I know that but it doesn’t ease my irrational fears.” I moved out from under the troublesome tree to a spot just as cozy and had vivid, restful dreams all night long.

When we woke in the morning, we quickly packed and headed off to breakfast. I helped them finish theirs. (I was already started to get seriously hungry, not a good sign.) We exchanged goodbyes, as they headed off to Vegas. I figured one night there will probably be enough for them. It was for me.

I wandered over to the park entrance, where I was surprised to learn that they charged a $12 entrance fee. Figuring that I needed to buy one for tomorrow anyway, I ponied up the dough.

Tourist takes photo of fenced elk in town. In an attempt to find something more

unique that I could access today, I took the shuttle (marvelous system by the way without which traffic in the park would be a nightmare) to the end of the line and took the one-mile river walk to the Zion Narrows, eves dropping on the tourons along the way. I was particularly fascinated by their reactions to the plump, aggressive squirrels; Everything from “oh isn’t he cute to “look at him! He’s saying, ‘come over and take my picture.’” One woman screeches, “Oh my God what is it?” As she hides behind the rock, I guess she thought it might be some rabid night creature.

“It’s just a squirrel, ma’am.”

“Well it doesn’t LOOK like a squirrel.”

“It’s fat because the all the tourists feed it.”

“Hmph,” She doesn’t seem convinced but at she at least stops taking shelter from behind the rock. These are the people I missed at Emerald Pools yesterday.

After a while, the pavement ended and I wading through the river into the narrows. The canyon here is too narrow for the river and the trail, so further travel literally requires getting your feet wet, not to mention your knees, bellybutton and higher if you happen to be short. Naturally, the crowd has been decimated. There are still plenty of people, however, all types as well: fat, skinny, young, old, individuals, families, and large groups of friends. Demographically they are hard to tell apart from the crowds we left behind at the trails end, but they are different. Something else besides the trail has been left behind. I can’t put my finger on it. As I sit warming myself in the sun before I make my way, as slowly as possible, back to the busses I am searching for a way to describe what

makes the people here, the ones willing to wade through the cold, rocky river to get to the alcoves, waterfalls, and hanging gardens bathed in thin beams of light around the next bend. What makes them different? Words start to come, maybe some will help: friendly, calm, resourceful, energetic, ambitious, happy. I’m stuck on that last word. All of the people seem happy. Happy to be alive in this place. My on the pavement, I don’t know why, I still sensed stress, hurry, and an inordinate amount of unpleasantness. Eventually, I had to return to Springdale. I spent the rest of the afternoon running errands in Springdale while waiting for Sharon, Lindy and I-pod to show up.