The Canyon

When I lived in the West, every ski season was followed by an almost obligatory trip to the desert. The trip would serve as a symbol for the warm weather to come and for the imminent change of the seasons. Skiers spend three seasons waiting for winter to come. But each year there is one brief period in time -- the end of ski season -- when, not without some bittersweet feelings, we long for the sunny days of summer.

I have been an East Coaster for 10 years now. Several of those years I still made it to the desert. But not since 2006. This year, however, Ali and I returned loaded our packs, met the Frenches, and hiked 20-some miles over 4 days and 3 nights in the Grand Canyon.

I will mention that I personally covered 24 miles. I handled the car shuttle, which is to say that I dropped my partners at the trailhead, drove back to drop the vehicle at the terminus of the trip, and then ran the 4 miles back to the trailhead. The trip wasn't overly physical, but it covered plenty of rough terrain and through a variety of zones. We camped one night on the trail, one next to the Colorado, and one on the Tonto plateau. We got water from the river, from a side stream, and from a beautiful spring -- and otherwise encountered nothing for water sources. Above all, we found ourselves amazed and confounded by the vastness and beauty of the place. No matter how often you visit, you'll never fully grasp the magic of the Canyon. You just learn to accept that it's beyond human comprehension.

(Although this doesn't necessarily mean I have skied my last run of 08-09), now that we've made this year's foray to the desert, I officially deem the ski season closed.