A big hole in the ground
A lot of places, when you actually visit them, underwhelm. It’s rare that a place lives up to its billing. For me, one of those places that does is the Grand Canyon. It’s got an epic reputation. The Brady Bunch went there! And there’s a major hollywood movie bearing its name. Even so, though you expect it to amaze, when you first see it, it takes your breath away.
The road to the Grand Canyon goes on forever.
I visited for the first time about sixteen years ago, and I’ve been back about four times since. It’s so big, such a large hole in the earth, that it – quite literally – numbs my brain. The first time I went, a friend and I drove out from Los Angeles. I was younger, very stupid, completely reckless, and the two of us went clambering out on rocks, jumping around like billy goats, until we found ourselves at the very precipice…whereupon we were both suddenly paralyzed with terror.
A big hole in the ground and a long way down.
We sat down, humbled, on a rock, and looked down into so much space. It seemed to have an energy about it, as if it wanted to draw us into its maw; as if the canyon was a giant mouth. The more we stared down into it the more we became like the rocks around us. We stopped laughing. We barely spoke. And neither one of us seemed capable of movement.
Even turning my head was a chore. But I did, and there, to the right of us, was one of the observation decks. It was packed with people, all of whom were looking at us. They pointed and took pictures. They had the carefree spirit that can only come from the safety of a protective railing.
An older me a healthier distance from the edge
Eventually, after about an hour or so, the air began to cool, and we realized if we didn’t leave we might very well die sitting on that rock; we might stay there day and night until we fell over and into space or got eaten by wolves and buzzards. It was getting dark, and being stuck on the edge, with a mile of air between us and the river below, was scarier than getting up the nerve to leave.
This is what happens when you stay at The Grand Canyon too long.
We backed away from the lip like you would from a rattling diamondback. We couldn’t turn out backs on it for fear it would come after us. Eventually we backed far enough away that the spell was broken, and our arms and legs could work again.
That night, we drank snifters of Brandy and smoked cigars and rocked in rocking chairs staring at a world of stars above and into the dark blackness that was the canyon at night. We talked like magpies, infused with the giddy energy that comes when you know you’ve cheated death.
I’ve been back a few times since then. It’s like a pilgrimage of sorts. I go there whenever I need a healthy dose of awe. I bring others, Grand Canyon virgins, as well. I like to watch them as they stop talking and just take it in–to see the transformation. And I take pictures that I know won’t do it any justice, as two dimensions can never be three. Still I try.
Living on the edge
I’ll be going back again I’m sure. To remind myself that such places exist. To remind myself why I travel. Because there are other Grand Canyons out there. Other places where thoughts disappear and being is all there is and disappointments turn to dust.
What are your Grand Canyons? Where do you find yourself returning to time and again?
