FEBRUARY 201 5 SUNRAYS | 55
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horizontal lines, then disappeared, only
to reappear unexpectedly, leaving my
eyes disoriented as I tried to determine
where one began and another ended. We
passed enormous stones stacked one on
top of another, like pancakes. Others
sat balanced against each other, looking
as though they might fall any minute.
Light bounced across the canyon walls,
changing shapes and colors without
rhyme or reason. In the distance, a
thunderstorm loomed.
The higher we climbed, the more we
ached in places long forgotten. Even my
stomach muscles were sore. Alison, one
of our wranglers, said it was two weeks
before the pain stopped for her, but the
bone-aching fatigue took longer. We
stopped often to rest our mules. Lugging
us folks up and down this canyon was
hard work, and we appreciated every
step they took.
As our mule train forged on, Alison
pointed to a distant ridge some 900 feet
above us. “That,” she said, “is where we
are going.” Everyone groaned – I’m sure
I even heard the mules groan. Carved
into the side of a huge rock known as
The Chimney, our trail looked like a
zigzag line drawn right up the face of the
enormous stone pillar. I felt sorry for my
mule, but not as sorry as I was feeling
for myself. Drawing closer, we were able
to see tiny, ant-like people making their
way up the side of the mountain. Our
ascent began, and we became one of
them, slowly clip-clopping our way to
the stone peak. The wranglers told us
ascending was easier than descending
because gravity’s downward pull was
not as intense, but looking down the
edge of this steep ridge, gravity seemed
pretty intense to me.
Finally, on the last zag of the trail’s
ladder, we reached the end of the last
leg of our journey. Our party cheered,
inspiring a crowd of nearby tourists to
cheer as well. If they only knew where
we’d been! Traversing the bottom of the
Grand Canyon is like traveling to the
moon and back – or at least, that’s how
our bodies felt. We rode our mules to the
barn in triumph, dismounting as our
wonderful wranglers hummed “Pomp
and Circumstance” and presented us
with diplomas and a sincere handshake.
We were now official members of The
Order of Mule Skinners of the Grand
Canyon, and we have the sheepskins
to prove it!
