Grand Canyon (Utah Flats/Phantom Canyon): March 2024

In early March 2024 Layne, Tom, and I spent most of the week of Spring Break backpacking in Grand Canyon on a trip spanning the gamut from near-glamping comfort to white-knuckled difficulty.  Some things worked as expected, others unexpectedly did not; but in the end a good time was had by all. 

Prologue: The hike that didn't happen 

Our original plan was to hike the Royal Arch Route, a challenging hike in a beautiful but remote part of Grand Canyon far to the west of the busy central area. I had done this hike once before, with Tom and Larry, and had always wanted to go back. On this trip, we planned to enter via the shorter but harder Point Huitzil Route, which none of us had hiked previously.

We drove up on March 1.  Despite a wetter-than-normal February, the dirt road to the trailhead was in much better condition than I had expected.  The road passes through a section of the Havasupai Reservation, which was closed due to the Covid pandemic, so we parked on National Forest land outside the Reservation, several miles from the park boundary, and set out on foot towards the Rim.  Our packs, loaded with rappelling gear, food for nine days, and water for an overnight dry camp, weighed in at over 40 lbs.  The terrain was mostly flat with scattered brush and junipers, and the dry ground made for easy and pleasant hiking.  After a brief stop at an old abandoned Ranger Station we made camp in a wooded area about a quarter mile from the Rim.

Abandoned ranger station

Our campsite the first day

We were on the trail by 7 the next morning.  Once we dropped down below the Rim, the trail grew rugged and descended rapidly.  Partway through the Coconino Sandstone layer the "trail" ended abruptly at the top of a smooth vertical wall: a pile of stepping stones at the bottom indicated that we had to get down this wall, and the only way to do so was by lowering ourselves down off a precarious handhold at the top.  We then found ourselves on a steeply sloping expanse of smooth sandstone with a high vertical cliff above us on one side and a high vertical cliff below us on the other.  To make things interesting, a cold wind had picked up and was  gusting hard and swirling unpredictably—the weather forecast had an advisory for wind speeds over 50 mph—and threatening to knock us off balance.  At one point a gust hit my backpack, which was lying on the rock, and almost blew it over the edge of the cliff before Tom grabbed it.  

The "trail": steep

The "trail": steeper

Layne sheltering from the wind

A fossil lying on the trail

We found ourselves stuck: there were some ducks (small cairns) nearby but, try as we might, we couldn't find a way forward.  We thrashed around for a while, including downclimbing a crack in the rock face and lowering our packs with ropes, then turning around and climbing back up after yet another futile search for a way to make progress.  Eventually, faced with increasing fatigue and no obvious way forward, we abandoned the hike and headed back up the trail.  Hauling our heavy packs up the steep trail was tiring, and we still had a long walk back to where the truck was parked.  We were pretty exhausted at the end of this effort and well behind the schedule on our permit, so we drove back to Tom's cabin at Valle to rest and recuperate for a day.

We drove up to the GCNP Backcountry Information Center the next day and, to our delighted surprise, the Ranger we spoke to agreed to modify our permit (as opposed to charging us for a new one) for a six-day trip to Utah Flats and Phantom Canyon. Not surprisingly, there were no vacancies at Bright Angel Campground, which meant that on the first day we would have to hike all the way down to the bottom and then hike back up over a thousand vertical feet to camp at Utah Flats, then reverse this on our last day.  Those would be long days, but still we were happy and excited as we drove back to the cabin to get our gear and supplies ready for the hike.

Day 1: Rim to Phantom Ranch

We started down South Kaibab Trail around 7.  The trail was nice and dry, the sky cloudy and overcast with a wickedly cold wind blowing.  At one point a pair of condors, huge and magnificent and graceful, floated by.   The trail, which we had had pretty much to ourselves when starting out, gradually became more crowded, but as the morning wore on the thick heavy clouds dissipated and the wind died down, making for very pleasant hiking.  

There was quite a bit of trail maintenance going on—something that I hadn't encountered on previous hikes down this trail and hadn't really thought about.  The problem is that the parts that most in need of repair tend to be in steep sections, typically with sharp switchbacks, and there's no easy way to haul rocks and gravel there.  We saw two ways this was being done: in one section little motorized wheelbarrows were being used to bring crushed and broken rocks to be dumped on damaged parts of the trail; in another portion of the trail, which was too rough for the wheelbarrows, the crushed rock was brought by mules.  It seemed slow hard work, constantly interrupted by hikers heading up or down the trail.  

We reached the Colorado around 12:30 and walked over to Phantom Ranch, where we sat in the shade by the canteen, relaxed, and had lunch.  None of us was feeling particularly eager to jump on the steep 1,500-ft climb up to Utah Flats, and it was really pleasant to laze in the warm sunshine, so we procrastinated and procrastinated.  At some point, on a whim, we asked about the availability of cabins and found that there was in fact a cabin available for the night.  We decided to take the cabin and soak up all the creature comforts that suddenly became available to us (hot showers! comfortable beds!!).  Dinner was at a picnic table on a patio behind the cabin, with Bright Angel Creek burbling softly just a few yards away.  A family of four deer, completely unafraid of us, wandered by as we ate.  It was a delightfully relaxing evening.  We agreed, somewhat reluctantly, that maybe the occasional bit of glamping wasn't that bad after all!

Glamping

Day 2: Piano Alley, Utah Flats, and Phantom Canyon

The trail to Piano Alley and Utah Flats starts at the very edge of Bright Angel Campground and almost immediately heads straight up a loose rocky slope, gaining 900 vertical feet over a distance of about 1/3 mile. This brings us to a saddle where the slope eases to merely "very steep", gaining 400 vertical feet over the next 0.2 miles to reach the mess of massive house-sized boulders that give Piano Alley its name (from a distance they look like a bunch of grand pianos lying on the ground).  The boulders bunch together as we get higher until at the top there's just one big crazy jumble of giant boulders that one has to scramble over.

The hike up to Piano Alley

We got on the trail at 7:30 and made our way up slowly and carefully.  Conditions were delightful: the warmth of the early-spring sunshine just about offset the cool air temperature, and once we were done with the slog up Piano Alley the trail across Utah Flats was pretty level and mellow.  Tiny little plants were beginning to put out tinier little flowers, bright little dots of cheery optimism in an otherwise arid landscape.  

The hike to Phantom Canyon

Once away from Phantom Ranch we saw only one hiker through the rest of the day: someone who worked in GCNP and was day hiking over to Haunted Canyon on his day off. He stopped and chatted with us briefly before heading off.  The silence and solitude was a wonderful contrast to the crowds and congestion of South Kaibab Trail and Phantom Ranch yesterday.

Eventually, at a point below Isis Saddle, the trail dropped down into Phantom Canyon.  We picked our way carefully down the steep loose rocky slope.  Once we reached the bottom we headed upstream.  The trail quickly grew faint, then disappeared (or maybe we lost it), leaving us to bushwhack our way.  We reached the Overhang, our camp spot, around 4 pm.  

Days 3 and 4: Phantom Canyon Camp

Lazy days!  There was no pressure to get out and on the trail early, and it was delightfully decadent to be able to lie in the warm comfort of my sleeping bag as the darkness faded and the world outside my tent gradually grew light.  We had an unhurried morning and eventually started hiking upstream. 

After a while Tom began feeling a bit under the weather and headed back to camp, and Layne and I decided to hike up Haunted Canyon.  Even this remote area wasn't immune to trash blowing in: we came across the remains of two large mylar "Happy Birthday" balloons that we brought out. The steep loose bouldery brushy terrain made for hard bushwhacking, and after going a short distance we decided it wasn't all that much fun and turned around.  The rest of the day was spent lazing around camp. 

Views from Phantom Canyon

The Canyon was right at the cusp between winter and spring at the time of our hike.  Although there wasn't much snow at higher elevations nor rain lower down, but both Haunted Creek and Phantom Creek had a good amount of water.  The cottonwoods lining their banks were covered with buds, and although the branches looked skeletal and bare from a distance, they would be covered in bright new neon-green foliage within a week or two after our trip.  There were lots of bees flying around, with a steady low hum just barely audible over the burbling of the water, sipping from the tiny cottonwood flowers.  A raucous chorus of frogs sang their hearts out in the creek.  The entire landscape seemed to be thrumming with the promise of awakening.

Although our first day at camp had started out clear and sunny, thick gray clouds moved in as the day went on.  The sky was gray and overcast when we came out of our tents the next day, and by mid-morning it was drizzling.  None of us had any enthusiasm for bushwhacking in rain so we stayed in camp until the rain let up.  The sky cleared towards mid-afternoon, but at that point it was too late to do any interesting hiking so we stayed in camp, relaxed, played chess on Layne's portable set.  The day wound down and shortly after dinner we headed into our tents.

Days 5 and 6: The hike back

We packed up camp and were on the trail by 8.  The initial stretch is nice flat easy hiking along Phantom Creek, changing abruptly to a steep and rough uphill once we start climbing out of the canyon; plus, we'd had to bring extra water for a dry camp overnight on Utah Flats, so our packs were on the heavy side.  But the weather was perfect, with the sun just warm enough to make up for the cool of the air, and the hiking felt wonderful.

Once we were out of Phantom Canyon, Layne generously volunteered to run ahead and down to Bright Angel Campground to see whether there might be any vacancies.  Our permit had us camping at Utah Flats tonight, and it's a relatively short and easy hike to get there, that would mean a long and hard hike out the next day, with a 1500' (about 450 m) descent down a very steep and loose slope followed by a 4,700' (about 1400 m) climb out from the bottom of the Canyon; a campsite at Bright Angel Campground would balance the two days out a bit.  So Layne went ahead, and we very quickly lost sight of him.  Tom and I followed at a more sedate pace, enjoying the scenery as we retraced our steps back to Utah Flats.  

When we reached Utah Flats, Layne's backpack was on the ground at the top of the gully leading down to Piano Alley, where we had agreed he would meet us.  We wandered around and explored for a while, enjoying the sunshine.  Layne came back up around 2:30 -- an amazing pace considering the ruggedness and difficulty of the terrain he was covering -- with news that he had managed to get us a spot at Bright Angel Campground.  We were elated, and as soon as Layne had caught his breath and grabbed some lunch, we headed down towards the campground.

Utah Flats

The hike down Piano Alley was just as steep and loose and rocky as it had been going up, though the descent was more treacherous than the ascent because of the myriad little pebbles ready to roll under our feet like a million ball bearings.  It took us about two hours of slowly and carefully picking our way down before we reached flatland.  After thanking the park ranger profusely for letting us use the group site, we set up camp.  The evening was pleasant and relaxed, and after sitting around and admiring the brilliant display of stars above us for a while we headed into our tents.

It was still dark when Tom and I headed out just after 6 the next morning.  The plan was for Layne, who is a much faster hiker than us, to get a more relaxed start a bit later and catch up with us on the trail.  There were very few people on the trail at first, but more and more people joined in as the morning progressed.  Many people passed us; others, moving at roughly our speed, played leapfrog.  Layne caught up with us a little below Skeleton Point and we moved up the trail slowly but steadily.  The miles gradually fell away.  We reached the Rim in the early afternoon.

Grand Canyon (Escalante Route): November 2023

Early in November 2023 Herman and I, together with a friend and colleague, Eduardo, did a four-day trip across the Escalante Route in Grand Canyon. It was Eduardo's first "real" backcountry trip, which was exciting. As we found out later, that wasn't the only reason the hike would turn out to be memorable. But we didn't know that at the time. 

 Day 0

Eduardo and I let our students out early and headed out from Tucson around 2 PM. The drive was uneventful except for some nasty traffic congestion while going through Phoenix. We reached Mather Campground around 8 PM. Herman had gotten to our campsite earlier that afternoon and sent us directions, which made finding the place easier.  We didn't wait very long to set up our tents and crawl inside. 

 Day 1: Tanner Trailhead to Tanner Rapids

The night had been clear and cold: the temperature outside was 27°F (–3°C) when we rolled out of our tents at around 4:30 AM, the stars glittery and bright above us.  We moved through the morning routine quickly and headed towards the trailhead at Lipan Point as the sky began lightening.  The roads were deserted, the parking lots almost empty.  We started down Tanner Trail around 7:30, just as the sun peeked over the horizon.

 

Tanner Trail: the hike

We had perfect hiking weather: not too warm, not too cold, and we made good time, though by the time we'd dropped below the Redwall layer our knees were feeling the effects of the steep and relentless descent.  There were some familiar landmarks from previous trips down this trail: lunch, for example, was in the shade of a small overhang where, a few years earlier, Herman, Nancy, Tom, and I had taken shelter from the fierce sun.  There were very few other hikers on the trail—I think we saw just a single party of five people heading downhill—and the silence and solitude made the hike even more enjoyable.  

Tanner Trail: the views

We reached Tanner Rapids around 1:30-ish.  The afternoon was quiet and lazy: we sat around in the shade of a mesquite tree, relaxed, watched some kayakers go by below the rapids.  It got dark around 6, I crawled into my tent around 6:30-ish, and fell asleep soon after to the roar of the rapids.

At Tanner Beach

Day 2: Tanner Rapids to Escalante Canyon

The original plan for the day was to hike ten miles from Tanner Rapids to Seventyfive Mile Canyon.  But we were tired from the hike down Tanner the previous day and ended up sleeping later than planned—I didn't come out of my tent until after 5!  After a slow morning where we didn't push terribly hard to get going, we were on the trail by 7:30.

The hiking was very pleasant.  We reached Cardenas Canyon, about three miles from Tanner Rapids, a little before 10.  Just west of Cardenas Canyon the trail veers south and begins a gradual climb as it skirts some sheer high red cliffs overlooking the Colorado; across the river, on the opposite bank, is the big wide sweep of Unkar Delta.  We took our time, stopping every so often to admire the landscape. 

The hike to Escalante Canyon was more work than I remembered.  Starting at an elevation of about 2,800' at Cardenas Creek, over the next 3-ish miles the trail climbs about a thousand feet to an elevation of about 3,800', with several tricky sections where we had to hike across boulder piles where the trail had been buried in rock slides.  We were tired enough when we reached Escalante Canyon Beach that we decided to camp there overnight instead of pressing on to Seventyfive Mile Canyon.

While setting up camp I discovered that I had managed to lose one of the hoses I needed for my water filter.  At first I thought (hoped) that maybe I had dropped it somewhere nearby while unpacking, but searching around didn't turn anything up.  I was resigned to having to resort to my backup chemical water treatment when Herman figured out a way to use a component from his water system to address the problem.  Yay Herman!

As we were eating dinner a helicopter suddenly flew upstream, flying very low—well below the Rim, so definitely not a commercial sightseeing flight—banked above us, and headed back downstream almost at river level!  We thought it had to be a rescue flight, and considering how low it was flying we thought the rescue would likely be not too far away.  We didn't see the chopper take off, so it must have flown down-river once it had completed the rescue.  

As usual, I went to bed not long after dusk and fell asleep soon after crawling under my quilt.  I woke up around 1:30 AM and went outside.  Thin hazy clouds hid some of the stars overhead, but what I could see through gaps in the clouds still shone brightly.  It was a beautiful sight.

Day 3: Escalante Canyon to Seventyfive Mile Canyon

This was the "rest day" of the hike.  We all slept late—I didn't roll out of my tent until the unheard-of late hour of 6:30 AM, luxuriating in the laziness.  After an unhurried morning routine we hit the trail around 8:30.  Had we stayed with our original plan and hiked to Seventyfive Mile Canyon on Day 2, this would have been a lazy day of mellow day hiking up Seventyfive Mile Canyon.  But we had chosen instead to camp a few miles away, at Escalante Canyon, so it turned instead into a short walk from Escalante Canyon to Seventyfive Mile Canyon with our backpacks on followed by a mellow day hike up Seventyfive Mile Canyon.   

Upper Seventyfive Mile Canyon

Once we got to Seventyfive Mile Canyon we dropped our packs slightly up-canyon from the trail junction and day-hiked up the canyon.  The canyon floor was mostly soft sand, and other than a couple of small scrambles the hiking was easy.  A little way into the hike we came across a lovely surprise—a little trickle of water on the canyon floor and a couple of small water pools, with thickets of healthy-looking vegetation all around: a little oasis of green in the middle of rocky desert cliffs.  

At first the trail up Seventyfive Mile Canyon generally meanders south-ish, but after about half a mile or so it takes a sharp turn and continues due east.  A little while later the Desert Watchtower, far away on the South Rim, appears as a tiny little bump on the skyline.   We hiked along until we got to a place that needed just enough of a scramble up a steep rock face that we decided to stop and turn around.  

Seventyfive Mile Canyon has a strange split personality.  The portion up-canyon from the trail junction is wide and shallow and bright with sunshine; by stark contrast, the lower canyon—from the trail junction all the way down to the Colorado river—is a dramatic slot canyon.  As the canyon narrows into a dark passageway that winds along between towering vertical walls, the neat horizontal layering of rocks changes abruptly into a writhing twisted mess of fantastical shapes.  It boggles the mind to imagine the forces that could have done this!

Lower Seventyfive Mile Canyon

The afternoon was quiet and pleasant.  We found a cozy little camp area, right by the river that was sheltered by thick stands of vegetation, and sat around and relaxed.  Dinner was early.  Sunset was spectacular.  Soon after it got dark we headed into our respective tents.  As I lay in the darkness I could hear a loud chorus of either frogs or crickets singing their hearts out by the river, loud enough to drown out the roar of Nevill Rapids just downstream from our campsite.  It seemed like a fun way to bring to a close a delightful trip.

Day 4: Seventyfive Mile Canyon to New Hance Trailhead

This turned out to be something of an epic day.  But we had no inkling of that starting out.

We had a total of 8.5 miles to the Rim: two relatively straightforward miles from our campsite at Seventyfive Mile Canyon to Hance Rapids (albeit with two spots, Papago Wall and Papago Slide, which—although not really difficult—can be intimidating), then 6.5 miles on New Hance Trail, the first 1.5 miles of which are easy and flat followed by five very steep miles to the Rim.

We woke up early, around 4:30, and were on the trail by 6:30 AM.  I had expected that, even hiking at the modest rate of 1 mph we would be out of the hike by 3 PM or so.

Papago Wall

Papago Wall

Papago Slide

Papago Slide

Unfortunately, it took us a lot longer to get through Papago Wall and Papago Slide than I had anticipated, and we didn't get to Hance Rapids until about 10:30 AM.  It had taken us four hours to cover those two miles.  

We were well behind schedule, with an important corollary that I didn't realize at the time: we were starting up New Hance Trail with correspondingly less water.  My big worry at that point was running out of daylight before we got to the top and having to finish the (challenging!) upper sections of the trail in the dark, and it didn't even occur to me to refill our water at Hance Rapids—something that would have added yet another not-insignificant delay to the hike.  So we hiked on with whatever water we had.  In retrospect, this turned out to be a mistake.

Red Canyon

Progress up New Hance Trail seemed to be going at a reasonable pace.  We went off trail at one point but caught the error and recovered with little delay.  But we slowed as the day wore on and the sun climbed high. We didn't reach the top of the Redwall Layer until about 2:30 PM; at that point we were averaging less than 1 mph.  Lunch had not been a very large meal, and I was beginning to get tired.  Somewhere around 3 PM I ran out of water.  We were still over two miles from the trailhead and 2000 vertical feet below the Rim.

Between thirst and overall fatigue, I was moving quite slowly.  After a while Herman volunteered to go up to the Rim, grab some water from Eduardo's car, and bring it down to us.  With no better option, we split our group into two: Eduardo and I watched Herman head up the trail.  Daylight gradually faded and it was pitch dark by about 6; we plodded on by the light of our headlamps.

Eventually I simply couldn't push on any further: I sat down to rest and promptly fell asleep.  This break helped me recover sufficiently that after about twenty minutes we were able to resume our "one foot in front of the other" shuffle, but I think Eduardo was pretty spooked at that point (I don't blame him, I would have been spooked too).  

Our thirst was pretty fierce—I could barely get any saliva in my mouth, and Eduardo's mouth was so dry that he could barely speak.  Thankfully it was cool enough that, while deeply uncomfortable, the thirst was not incapacitating; with a rest stop every so often, we were able to keep trudging forward.  By and large the trail was not too hard to follow, though there were several times where we lost the trail and had to rely on the GPS app on my phone to find it again.

The wind picked up as the evening wore on, and soon it was gusting so fiercely that it was throwing us off balance.  The upper portion of New Hance Trail is steep and rocky and rugged enough that keeping one's balance and avoiding falls takes a lot of focus and effort even in daylight under normal hiking conditions; hiking as we were in our depleted state, on a steep rocky trail skirting deep dropoffs,  and with everything around us pitch dark outside the little pool of light from our headlamps, and with fierce and unpredictable wind gusts trying to blow us off our feet, it was challenging indeed.  The wind became ferocious enough that,  in an attempt to offer a smaller cross-section, I began to drop down into a defensive crouch each time a gust hit.  At one point we considered waiting until the wind slackened, but with no food and no idea how long that might take, this did not seem very promising.  We kept moving.

All this time we had seen no sign of Herman.  As the clock ticked on, our anticipation of Herman bearing jugs of water turned to worry over his absence, at the possibility that he might have fallen and injured himself trying to hurry back to us in the dark.  At each bend and switchback on the trail I found myself checking for a human form slumped by the trailside.  The last thing we needed at that point was another member of the team rendered hors de combat.

Gradually, the little dot that was us on my GPS app crept closer to the trailhead.  It was past 10 PM now, and we had been without water for over six hours.  Our thirst was excruciating, but we were so focused on reaching the Rim that physical discomfort seemed quite secondary.  One foot in front of the other, then the trail flattened and the rocky cliffs gave way to a pine forest, and then we saw Eduardo's car in the distance with Herman's trekking poles lying nearby.  We reached the trailhead around 10:30 PM.

Herman was parked at the trailhead in Eduardo's car, with several bottles of Gatorade that we quickly and gratefully guzzled.  It turned out that once he reached the top (well after dark) he contacted GCNP Emergency Services, who declined to come find us since there was no medical emergency.  He realized that he was too fatigued to try to go back down the trail, which was absolutely the correct decision given the circumstances.  We messaged various folks back home, recovered Herman's car from the Lipan Point parking lot, and headed towards a hotel room in Flagstaff.  The hike was done.