As my friend and I lumber down the zigzag path to the floor of the canyon, heavy backpacks sink their straps into our shoulders and jostle our hips. Water sources are scarce, and the national park warns against the presence of heavy metals, which cannot be filtered out. The steep grade strains our knees. Once on the canyon floor, the trail, hovering around 7,000 to 8,000 feet, has us plodding up steep ridges emanating from the plateau like outstretched fingers on a hand. Sections of trail that simmer under the sun wring the moisture from us and sap our energy.
Sandy stretches handicap our progress.
We sometimes must force our way through dense undergrowth. All this work, however, comes with great rewards. Throughout the day, we get to watch the canyon walls flirt with the sun as they turn from a flat pale-orange to a deep salmon to a fluorescence that glows like embers. In the crevice of each canyon we descend into, we're drenched by a redolence that oozes from the pines. We hear canyon wren and the flutelike pipe of hermit thrushes.