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forged confidently (obliviously?) ahead,
and as Ike walked the edge, I looked deep
into the depths of the corkscrew to see the
famed Devil’s Furnace below
.
After the arduous effort upward, imagine
our surprise to discover that the descent
would be even more painful! Some of
poor Ike’s steps were over a foot in depth.
Shifting in the saddle helped to absorb
the shock, but my knees still hurt. More
accurately, my body hurt. I hurt so much,
I didn’t even notice the steady rise in
temperature as we neared the bottom
of the chasm and entered the Furnace.
Surrounded by hundreds of cragged
formations, the Furnace is a narrow,
funnel-like region, some portions barely
wide enough for our mules to squeeze
through. As we rode down the interior
edge of the funnel, I felt as though we
were being sucked into its depths. The
air grew thicker and thicker, almost to
the point of stifling until, finally, at the
bottom, relief greeted us in the form of a
105 F breeze. Coupled with 90%humidity,
I could see why it was known as a furnace!
Another switchback, another turn, and
suddenly the canyon opened before us
and at last we saw the Colorado River.
Churning below us, wide and wild, it
was filled with treacherous rapids and
foolhardy rafters. But then, our journey
had been no cakewalk, either.
I looked back to see Darrel not looking too
frisky; in fact, I was plenty worried about
him. I alerted Kevin, who immediately
dismounted and poured cold water
over Darrel’s head and back. As Darrel
hydrated, Kevin’s radio crackled to life – a
helicopter was preparing for lift off, and we
were to stay put until further notice. The
breakwas a welcome relief to us all. Across
the river, the helicopter hovered over the
canyon with a long rope dangling from its
belly. We later learned a hiker had fallen,
and we had witnessed a rescue mission.
Making our way to Phantom Ranch,
where we would spend the night, Kevin
kept a close eye on Darrel who, despite the
exhaustion, would recover just fine with a
meal and some rest. As we unwound for
the evening, I was happy we could close
our eyes and knowwe were in a good place.
September 20, 2014
The next morning the alarm clock
sounded at 5:30 a.m. To say we were
sore and exhausted would have been an
understatement, but there was breakfast
to be had and we weren’t going to miss
it. We’d be heading up the South Kaibab
Trail today, which, though three miles
shorter than yesterday’s trail, would be
steeper by 400 feet.
Clip-clopping our way upward, we
marveled at the vast expanse of the
canyon. Over multiple switchbacks and
hairpin turns, we learned the names
of every pinnacle, butte, and shale, as
well as terms for the various formations
throughout the canyon. Ribbons of color
streaked horizontal across the rocks,
which were as varied and interesting
as their hues. Diagonal lines intersected
with vertical, perpendicular and even
Above: Riders glance over their shoulders at the steep drop-off along the primitive trail. Below: Jeanne Lubey painted
this landscape of the Grand Canyon showing husband Darrel, and Kevin, one of the wranglers.
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