Hiking the Grand Canyon Rim to Rim: The Physical Level

5:04 a.m. Jo, me, Jess.

At its most basic, this is a story about a rim-to-rim hike through the Grand Canyon. Go down, go across and get uncomfortably hot, head out. (Hundreds of?) thousands of people have done it.

And I’m happy to report that I and my two Minnesota-based teammates, Jo and Jess (from here on known as the J-Team), did exactly that. We left the South Rim of the Grand Canyon via the Kaibab Trail at 5:04 am on a Friday morning in early June. We trekked through Phantom Ranch, the mini-village at the bottom of the Canyon, and through “The Box,” the hottest part of the Canyon. Finally, we climbed up to the North Rim via the North Kaibab Trail, emerging at 5:08 p.m.

A little perspective on the down part.

But like any story worth telling, there are many levels to this adventure—not as many rock layers as the Grand Canyon itself, mind you—and the best parts, IMO, are in the details. So buckle up your hydration pack, friends. It may not be a typical race report, but this bucket-list adventure was just as thrilling—and perhaps more fulfilling–than any finish line I’ve ever crossed.

Today, I’m going to tackle the Physical Level; in future posts, I’ll tackle the Mental Level and Grand Canyon Training + Prep, BAMR-Style.

From www.rimtorim.org.

THE PHYSICAL

Jo, who is a snap organizer, was our Julie McCoy for this trip. After doing research, she chose that we would descend via the South Kaibab Trail, then head up the North Kaibab Trail. That meant 4,700 feet of descending over 7 miles, then a slower then steep climb up 5,700 feet over 14 miles.

Although we all opted to use hiking poles—four hooves are better than two—it could still be a little dicey going down at points. The rocks in and posts across the trail are unevenly placed, so it’s difficult to find a rhythm. (I have no idea how people run this in the dark and not go over the ledge.) Jo and I each had a few slips, and I twisted my right ankle pretty intensely (on relatively flat ground).

Hands on my knees and tears in my eyes, every nerve around the joint was firecracker-ing. I was praying it wouldn’t swell, and fortunately, it didn’t. A few deep breaths and reassurances to the J-Team that I was ok, and we carried on.

I learned my lesson: Even though the landscape demands attention, footing trumps the views.

That’s more like it: head down, Dimity.

We quickly shed our top layers, and within 30 minutes, all of us were in tees and shorts (and lathered in sunscreen). The sun didn’t feel super intense, though. That said, we were super diligent about eating and drinking. We met a group of women coming off of rim-to-rim the previous evening, and one of the members in their group had a rough, rough day, barely making it out.

“You have to eat and drink from the very beginning and consistently,” one of them warned, “That’s what makes the difference.” We had practiced eating 200-300 calories on our longer workouts, so we knew we had that dialed. We just had to execute. We also each carried water bladders and filled them up (mostly) whenever possible and sipped from our hoses regularly.

Lots of drinking means lots of pit stops. Jo drinks up the view while Jess hydrates the local flora.

We hit the lowest elevation we’d see all day after about three hours of downhill (and plenty of stops). My knees were definitely ready to be done with the down, and we arrived at the bridge across the Colorado River just in time to see a mule train heading up. Dang it that we didn’t have an apple core to feed this guy, who tried to eat Jo’s gummi bears instead.

Mules, squirrels (really fat ones that have a lovely life), and lizards: all the wildlife we saw in the Canyon. We were hoping for a snake.

The flats were lovely; full of bridges and a stop for three lemonades and three bags of potato chips at the canteen in Phantom Ranch. (I’d tipped a little hard to the sweet side on our pre-hike shopping trip.) The Colorado River flowing, lush green next to it, steep canyon walls surrounding it. So many colors, so much to take in. We soaked it up as best we could as we skated along, sometimes with our poles, sometimes just holding them. Our legs felt great, as did our spirits; we were laughing and talking and finally doing this thing that we’d been talking about for about a year.

Then we hit what is known as The Box, so named because the narrower canyon walls hold in the heat, and the cooling Colorado is not roaring nearby. The average temperature is over 100 in June, and the relentless sun made sure we felt its every last ray. Mentally, it was the toughest part of the day for Jess, which she later admitted. Having trained through most of the winter—and never really having exposure to temperatures like this—we treated these as cross-your-fingers and sip-your-water miles.

Love all bridge crossings on foot, especially when they look like this.

In order to take my mind off the heat, I started chatting with two guys we hopscotched with along the trail. One was a veteran rim-to-rim hiker, his friend was on his first attempt. They were going to hit the North Rim, spend the night, then turn around and go the other way the next day. “I’m not so sure about tomorrow anymore,” the newbie friend admitted as we climbed. I feel you, friend.

I also asked the veteran hiker which way was more challenging: North to South, or South to North. “Definitely South to North,” he said, “Because you’re climbing through the Box.” Score one for the BAMRs.

Thankfully, the J-Team was rock solid, and we kept a steady, safe pace through the Box.

Hot and dusty and climby: not an awesome combo.

You can’t appreciate the down without the up, and The Box was the perfect contrast to our next setting, Ribbon Falls, a one-mile detour off the North Kaibab Trail. We had also been hopscotching with a dad and his 17-year-old daughter that morning, and the daughter told us that Ribbon Falls basically isn’t optional. “It’s so cool, you just have to build it into the day,” she said. No convincing needed. (By the way, they, too, were headed back across the Canyon the following day. I’m not breaking any plot lines by saying I was content with just one rim-to-rim crossing.)

When I say Ribbon Falls is magical, that’s like saying Big Sur is a beautiful race or childbirth is hard. There is no adjective to do it justice. We climbed up behind the waterfall, shed our shoes, and took the best shower ever in freezing water with spongy moss under our toes.

The highlight of the day for all three of us—I took a poll as we climbed out of the Canyon—made even more special because we had no idea Ribbon Falls even existed in the sparse, red canyon. (Well, cruise director Jo likely did, but I definitely did not. Ignorance is an oasis. Or something like that.)

After the shower, I took a quick bath. The cold water on my feet and the back of my knees? Delightful.

Our Falls detour hit about halfway through our day. “Remember this feeling,” I said to myself as much to the J-Team as we, drenched and mentally reset, headed back to the North Kaibab trail,”We’re going to need it sooner than later.”

Sooner came sooner than anticipated. Although we had been slowly ascending out of the Canyon pretty much since the Colorado River Bridge, the grade got much steeper pretty quick. Our legs felt very strong—again, I’ll go into our training on a future post—but the cumulative miles of the day in combination with blaring sun brought out the grind mentality. We launched into another round of “What’s your favorite?”(word, Starbucks drink, book, child…J/K on the last one) to keep our minds occupied but chatter was also pretty slow going. For a while, yelling out a “DRINK!” reminder was all one of us could do.

Just enough already.

Then, beautifully, the sun positioned itself so many of the walls of the Canyon gave us shade, which u-turned our energy levels and moods. We were playing Name That Tune and other games that echoed on the canyon walls. The vastness made us believe were the only people for miles and miles, and we felt simultaneously tiny and huge. Feeling optimistic, I mentioned that maybe it would be this way—shady and relatively flat—all the way up to the rim. Note to self: Sometimes I shouldn’t say what’s on my mind.

Part of the North Kaibab Trail. I didn’t get those roller coaster whoopsies in my belly at any point on this hike until we hit here. Totally hugged the wall and kept my eyes on the trail.

I would’ve settled for more whoopsies instead of what was ahead: more sunny, more climby trail. Which was to be expected, of course, but my bladder and (clogged) intestines were not on the same steady, slow pace as we were. I told the J-Team I had to mind my body and did my best to leap ahead so I could hit the bathroom at the Supai Tunnel, 1.7 miles from the top of the rim. Problem was, I didn’t know really how far I had to go to reach said tunnel; I kept my GPS on all day, but like all things that function normally in the real world, it got a little wacky in the Canyon.

After about 10 minutes of powering along, I ended up hanging my buns over a ledge (not like the one pictured above), and emptied my bladder. My intestines remained clogged. #TMI #notfunctioningnormally

Reunited, we kept heading up and up. This blurry picture—a refueling stop—accurately represents how we felt around this time: weary and a little out of focus. Around this time is when I thought one Chocolate Mint GU would be enough fuel for the rest of the day. Foreshadowing: This was not a good choice.

Jess, looking like she could take on another 15 miles no prob.

We finally hit the Supai Tunnel and refilled our water one last time. “Is this stretch as bad as the last one?” I asked a river guide—he was hiking in Chacos—and he said no. “Shade the whole way.” I wanted to hug him, but we were new trail friends so I abstained. We headed out for our final 1.7 miles and about 1,400 more feet of climbing. If you’re playing along, that is still a calf- and lung-burning grind, but at least it is shady grind with the end somewhere in those trees way, way up there.

At the end of 24 miles, even Oreos didn’t sound good.

About a mile into our last stretch of the day, I suddenly felt crazy pukey. I didn’t have enough in my stomach, plus I had gulped a bunch of water at the last stop. I asked for the salt tabs, which had been working well for Jo, and took two. We took a few more steps, and I said, “I have to sit down. I have to eat.” I got teary really quickly; I really didn’t want to throw up. Everything else on me was dirty and dusty, and the last thing I wanted to deal with was smelly barf and its accompanying drool.

That said, I had no interest in anything we had left in our packs, which was mostly sweet stuff, so I picked the most appealing of the least appealing: a quarter of clean bagel with peanut butter. The J-Team split the other bagel part, which was covered in Oreo + macaroon crumbs. True friends.

Temporary speed bump over, we continued up and up. Silent and steady, we continued switchbacking and putting one foot in front of the other. As trail started to wind down, I put on “Wide Open Spaces” by the Dixie Chicks, our theme song for this adventure.

I was—and am—crazy proud of how strong my Minnesota J-Team was; I was more sore and gimpy at the end of the day than they were. And that didn’t change the following day, when I made them go down stairs to see if they were wincing like I was. They weren’t. I still love them.

5:08 pm.

Read the Mental Level—harder than I thought—and how the J-Team and I trained and prepped for the GC.