My first memories of the esplanade are not that old. KB had always wanted to go south to the edge of the Grand Canyon, but was hesitant to make the trip with just the two of us as she was convinced that we would get stuck and probably die. We wrangled Papa Brinkerhoff into driving his truck (providing a back up) while we went down in the Element (Mooseknucklermobile 1.0).
We got there without any issues, had lunch on the edge with the family and wandered around on the sandstone. I remember looking east and thinking about the possibilities of the area. We promised ourselves we would return soon. A promise that is always made before the long, rough ride back from the canyon where it needs to ruminate before one is willing to make the journey again.
That gaze across the sandstone stuck with me and while it took us a bit to go back alone, we did go back. We did things on the edge and I gazed east across the rim. We then rode bikes to the edge, spent a day doing almost nothing and rode our bikes back home. Then again when looking across the esplanade spawned a religion. This last time we even walked a bit that direction, found a spring and I continued to wonder about what was around that next bend.
This fantasy turned into almost a full blown obsession leading up to this weekend. I started to actively look at how I could explore the area. Backpacking is possible but requires carrying a shit ton of water or starting on the opposite side of the trail. The conditions weren’t quite right for that, but the more I looked into the possibilities the more excited I got about that land of sandstone in the middle of nowhere on the edge of a really big ditch.
I’m giddy.
We are just over 4 miles in. The old jeep road that was more like two parallel pieces of singletrack is gone. We are now following some of the narrowest trail you can find through a sea of black brush and cactus. The trail is easy to lose and it doesn’t exactly avoid the prickly pear. More than once I’m forced to stop because the trail just disappears into a patch of cactus.
The expanse of the place is getting bigger the farther we are from the car. I had hoped to get to a certain point I’ve always fantasized about seeing around its corner, but I have realized there are quite a few more side canyons to negotiate than I had predicted. Most places get smaller when you enter them and remove the unknown. This one is the opposite. Mostly because the small jaunt into it isn’t big enough to remove any of the mystery. It just makes it bigger.
Somewhere, just a little past mile 3, the old jeep road ends and the route begins. The jeep road is worth the short hike, but things really take off once you leave the last semblance of civilization. I’ve told many an adventurer that the view from Toroweap is one of the best in the world. I still think that is true, but the one from just a little farther east, is even better. The river bends below the sandstone and jumps out of the edge. OMG!
As the miles begin to tick by and time is getting short, I realize I have zero desire to turn around. I don’t have enough food, water or shelter to continue into this sea of sandstone and crypto, but I have every intention to do so.
We make it to mile 6 and the route has all but disappeared. There haven’t been any foot prints for a hot minute and there are very few cairns for me to kick over. Running has slowed to short little bursts in between route finding. Just because we can, we decide to go far enough that this foray into no man’s land ends with us doing a half marathon.
The Garmin ticks off 6.73 and I stop. I know we have to turn around, return to work, get back to the connected disconnect we call reality. I stand and gaze east across a whole new ocean of rock.
I’ll admit it. I was giddy about the crypto.
Growing up in a desert where cows are the only real reason for public lands, where the bovine are expected to graze, trample, eat and shit everywhere and on every thing, crypto isn’t as common as it should be. And especially not patches like these.
That old jeep road I mentioned, the two parallel tracks, yea, it had crypto popping up in between the trails. Once we left that road, the entire ground was alive. Crusty mounds abounded. There were reds, dark greys and greens in every direction. I just wanted to stop moving quickly and take countless photos of soil. It was glorious. The only thing breaking up the soil was sandstone and the incredibly thin ribbon of trail I was attempting to follow.
If you’ve never admired a giant patch of living soil, it is much like a tiny grand canyon. The only difference is the canyon is pulling everything down and crypto is building everything back up. Erosion versus growth. There are spires that mimic hoodoos, drainages that lead to tiny little canyons and collapses that are like giant rock falls.
Each step back toward the car feels like we are returning too quickly. The couple of hours we have spent isn’t enough. This run has done nothing to quench my thirst for this geologic formation. Quite the contrary, all it has done is made me wonder even more about what is around the next corner, make me wonder if the views are so spectacular that making the effort would be more than worth it, make me wonder if those views would be so superfluous that they would become common.
Our little half marathon is a tiny glimpse into this route. If nothing else, it cements the fact that we will be back and we will spend some more time. The memory of looking east across the sandstone has been expanded but the fantasy has not been realized.
P. L. and R.
