At the boat beach downstream of the pack bridge, I hugged the crew goodbye and turned towards Phantom Ranch. The cottonwoods were just beginning to bloom, small green buds spreading into leaves, the smell of fresh rain on the desert, and trail under foot. Another day coming to life was starting to bring me around.

I wasn’t ready for the brush with the outside world, the momentary jolt of the high frequency above rim society that doesn’t at all find rhythm with the pace of the canyon but I decided I might as well make the most of it. I found the toilet, did some business, and took a glance at myself in the stainless steel prison style mirror bolted to the wall. Not bad for a couple weeks in the canyon. A little further up the trail I stepped off the tail for a string of mules marching down from the rim. I gave the woman leading the string as cheerful of a “good morning” as I could muster and asked her how the trail was. “A little snowy, a little cold, but otherwise just fine” came the reply. I thanked her and watched the hard worked animals plod past, guessing that the old game of telephone and some creative imaginations had more to do with shaping the feet of snow and a trail closure than the night’s storm. The second half of the trip would get going just fine.

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