Today's adventures start as I sit at Yavapai Point on the edge of the Grand Canyon. I'm going to try and do justice to the view spread out before me, but I probably won't be able to -- even though I'm supposed to be a writer. I don't think there are enough words to describe the grandeur before me.
First of all, I have to describe the looks that I'm getting from the various people here. There are probably a hundred or more milling around. And each one kind of cocks their head, trying to figure out what I'm doing. As I sit, I can here the different accents and different languages spoken. I think I've heard Dutch and German and French for sure, plus a British accent. I've heard Chinese (I think -- it could have been Japanese) And I've seen people from babies to senior citizens. It's really cool.
I'll tell you about the rest of the day later on in the email. Right now, I want to get exactly what I'm seeing before I head off. Can I just mention that I've always wanted to sit on the edge of the Grand Canyon and write? That's why God invented notebook computers. (G)
The bench I'm on is made out of a log, split in half. It's fairly old and worn. You can see the grooves in the grain, plus the places where various kids have carved their names or initials, trying to memorialize themselves. Someone should tell them that whatever wood this bench is is extremely hard and their faint scratchings can't be read anymore.
The bench sits on the paved portion of the Rim Trail for hikers. In front of me is a stone wall about two feet high that runs as far as I can see. Pine trees dot the area, some along the paved path, others beyond the wall.
Right now, there are a handful of clouds dotting the sky, some wispy little puffs, others larger cotton puffs. They've just recently blown up -- an hour ago, the sky was as clear blue as far as you could see -- and that was pretty far, depending on where you stood.
The Grand Canyon itself it made up of vistas, mesas, mountain peaks and gorges. And from where I'm sitting I can see every one of them. Off to the right, the canyon is wider, less strafed with the jagged gorges. More desert like in color and formation. The walls to the right vary in color from a rusty red ro beige, with some green in there where there are trees.
Just wanted to stop my narrative a moment to let you all know that I'm listening to an Italian tour guide right now. I wish I could understand more than "Colorado" and "Grand Canyon." It's a beautiful language. The tour guide is probably in her twenties, maybe thirties and the tourists ae in teenagers to parents. I love watching the various poses that they strike to take pictures. Mostly sittin on the stone wall, holding on so they don't topple over backwards. Usually one family member takes the other one or two, but sometimes they ask someone else to take it. Earlier, one of the British tourists asked their tour guide (who was dressed in a ranger-like uniform, complete with a hat) if they could take a picture of the Canyon with her as the subject.
I just had a gentleman lean over my shoulder to see what I was doing. I don't think he reads much English, but he asked if I was a "journalista." I said, "No, a writer." So he asked me if I knew Clive Cussler. I said "Yes, I liked his books." I hope he didn't think I know him personally. (g)
Okay, back to the narrative. I described off to the right. Now, I'll tackle the left. The walls are steeper on this side and definitely darker in their colorations. More rust variations, with what look like indentations halfway up the wall. They very well could be since this is Anasazi country. And if I remember correctly, the Anasazi lived in the cliff walls. (I'm not sure about that.)
But it's the view right in front of me that's the most spectacular to me. Right down the middle is a jagged gorge that stretches as far as I can see. The walls of the gorge are deeply striated and a darker red and brown in color. The closer part of the canyon has a couple of peaks (I guess the right word is mesa.) They look like small landing sites for helicopters. And jutting out from the other side of the Canyon are a myriad of finger-like mesas. If you looked at it from above, it would look like a many-fingered hand face down. The colors of these various appendages run the gamut from the shadings of being and brown, through shades of green through darker shades of rust and red.
The clouds I talked about earlier create moving shadows on these peaks and canyon walls. So one minute, the small helicopter landing peak is shaded, the next a pattern of shadings plays across the top of the opposite canyon wall. Then they disappear until the next cloud formation draws its moving picture on canyon. (Okay, so I'm getting a bit poetic, but I think I'm entitled.)
Another interruption in my continuous monologue. One of the Italian tourist gentlemen -- probably around 60, with white hair and a faint resemblence to Anthony Quinn -- held up his camera and pointed to me. I thought he wanted me to take a picture of him and I said, "Sure, I'll take a picture of you." No -- he wanted to take one of me! So I said okay, poised me fingers over the keyboard, and smiled. He thanked me and wandered off. So somewhere in Italy, a man will have a picture of me as I type this.
It's much quieter now -- several of the tour buses have left and I could almost imagine I'm here by myself. I can even hear the wind as it whistles through the trees and up and down the canyons. And there's the crunch as people walk past on the loose gravel that's on the paved path. And of the animals are brave enough to venture up on the wall now. There's a squirrel that's running back and forth and one man is actually feeding him. Not the smartest thing in the world since squirrels are extremely vicious. I also saw a blue jay (I think it was one -- it was a pretty shade of blue) soar past.
Since I decided that no one would believe that I'm actually typing this up at the Grand Canyon, I stopped a man and asked him to take a picture of me seated on the stone wall with my computer and the Grand Canyon in the background. He was very kid and did so. Then asked me where I was from. I told him L.A. And he said his son was with him and had driven up to meet them from L.A. also. And his son lives in Sherman Oaks. Talk about a small world. :)
Well, I could probably type forever. But this is getting long. I think I'll end this one and make it Trip Report Day 3A. And this evening, I'll write another one that overviews the entire day.
Jules, who feels like she's sitting on the edge of the world
