We each looked at each other, winked, and stepped over the edge. And then we saw them.
As we were just stepping over the edge, they were coming up the trail, about to finish their trek. There were five of them - one older guy (25-ish) and four jr. or senior high age boys. And they looked like hell. These boys looked like lost souls out of some modern day Dante flick, doing penance for a litany of sins. Hollow-eyed and weary, sweat-ringed and dragging their tails. I'm not sure what kind of trip they were completing. The older guy brought up the rear, doling out minimalist shouts of encouragement: "Come 'on, guys...almost there." The boys never responded.
As we passed them on the trail, our eyes met each one, but never a word was exchanged. I tried to read their eyes, much like we'd read the eyes of the rim folks. Although not for certain, my gut told me these boy-eyes were saying, "Turn back now, while there's still time. Beyond this point, all hope is lost." As I said, I don't know what kind of trip these boys were on. Were these troubled teens on an introduction to nature trip? Were they pampered rich kids sent by their parents on a toughen-'em-up weekend getaway? Were they young christians, led by their youth minister, and they'd been out communing with God? On some level, it felt like they were a combination of all of the above. Young, pampered, troubled christians, led by an older guy, with an intention on toughening them up and showing them a little of God beyond skateboard parks and the food court at the mall.
As they passed us, I wonder if they could read our eyes? Could they tell that we were a little older, pampered, troubled christians, led by an unseen force on a trip through the canyon, with the intention of finding something we felt like we were missing in our lives? I kinda doubt it. The only thing they were focused on was the rim, getting back over the top to whatever life they'd left however many days ago. There are those who hike the Grand Canyon and remain unchanged. It's just a notch on the belt, something to brag about with friends back home, as in, 'Yeah, I've done the Grand." It's a trophy, of sorts. That is the attitude of the young boy. Trophies. Whether it's canyons, deer, or girls, the goal is to conquer it and put it on the wall or joke about it in the locker room. We were a little further down the man-road; we had no desire to conquer it. We wanted this place to swallow us up, conquer us, put us on the wall, or leave traces of our lives in the rocks to whisper to future travelers.
The first mile was a winding combination of chalk-like ground and the shade of pines. A few spots of challenge every now and then. But then we were greeted with a landscape straight out of the Old Testament. Rocks and heat and lizards and sand. I fully expected a hoary John the Baptist to emerge out of the rocks and exhort us to, "Repent, for the kingdom is at hand." Our upright postures quickly lowered to a hunched-over scrambling, using hand-holds to stabilize our steps; we'd gone from hiking to boulder-hopping. We immediately felt like some prophetic angel had taken a flaming sword and shoved it into our knees.
I've mentioned that the men on this trip included myself and two friends. But I've not yet spoken about the fourth member of our team, someone/thing that began as supposed friend, but quickly turned enemy. It's name was the Bitch. And it followed us our entire trip. And it gets it's own post...
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