Just when I thought I was done with another Grand Canyon river trip adventure, I relaxed, patted my self on the back, sighed, and then got my butt kicked by the Grand Canyon. Let me explain.
River to Rim is a Mighty Long Walk
Last June, our small group of river buddies hiked out from the Colorado River on the Bright Angel Trail, sadly departing on day 8 from a private river trip to return to our families and lives. The rest of our river tribe was still down there, preparing to run the big water of Granite Creek, Horn Creek and the giant waves of Hermit to continue down the river. We were the departing half-trippers, done for this cycle. As savvy veterans of previous trips, our hike-out group had Gone Big in the early whitewater, charged the river play holes, enjoyed the layover day at Nankoweap Canyon, surfed our kayaks to private glory at every glassy wave, protected our feet, knuckles, brain and skin cells from the brutal punishment the Canyon and river trip fun habits can dish out. We saved just enough stamina for, and worried just a bit about, the famously steep and hot Bright Angel Trail (4400 feet of elevation gain, 9 hot miles, with routine June temps in the 100+ by 3 pm). At Cremation Creek camp on our last night, the traditional changeover night party was ended by a sky-breaking lightning storm and glorious downpour that sent people giggling into the tents. Summer monsoon season had begun in Grand Canyon. 
Slightly hungover and slightly depressed the next morn, our group of 4 hikers meet at one raft in the predawn eddy and loaded up. AJ, one of the boatman, was ferrying us down past Phantom Ranch to Pipe Creek to start our hike, shaving a couple of miles off the hike. AJ would drop us and wait there in the eddy for the other boats. We floated quietly down past the Bright Angel Creek riffles and silently shared a last few miles on the great river together. It had been a beauty of a trip, and now we had a sense of mission for the hike.
Experience Allows One to Avoid Mistakes
The departure hike to the rim went as planned: we said our goodbyes and were started before the sun was over the rim, we hydrated well, dressed in hats and lightweight sunscreening outfits, ate light, and carried plenty water, we were past Indian Gardens rest spot before noon, and rimmed out, a bit light-headed and winded, but still feeling prime, into the hub-bub of South Rim by 2 pm. Dayhikers of all ages, tourists in sneakers with video cameras running, and National Park concession workers surrounded us in a summer-at-the-National-Park swirl that made my head spin. My Country Tis' of Thee. ..we were back in America.
As always after a long GC river trip, the onslaught of cars and buses, dozens of new faces, and general return to the world was jarring. We were cheerful, still a tight river group, and we hid offtrail in the shade, eating our last energy bars. Mentally, we each considered our private mix of thoughts of our coming re-entry work, tomorrow's Flagstaff flight times, mixed with the fading euphoria from the powerful glories of recent days in the river canyon. We had once again navigated the perils of the Colorado River (upper 80 miles this time, anyway), playing hard and strong, with no paid guides, and relying on our experience and our tight-knit group of friends, the river tribe, to keep us safe. We were mighty. OK, high fives, and lets go into Flagstaff and get some beer and a hot shower. Oh, yes, pride cometh before the fall.
Wait, the shuttle car was nowhere to be found.
We had paid a shuttle guy to leave it here, but, hey, glitches with shuttles are part of a million river trip stories. No big deal for Grand Canyon vets like us. Lets spread out and check the parking lots. Probably out in that vast Remote parking lot. Agreed to meet at the South Rim Bus Shuttle stop.
And so, five minutes later, after reaching the far end of the vast Remote lot, I looked up from searching license plates and noticed the temperature had dropped 20 degrees, and a black wall of cloud with lightning flickering from the bottom was sweeping in. Ah, cool, I thought; an afternoon canyon storm to send us off. I am one with the canyon, and will enjoy the Thunder Gods. But, perhaps I will leave this open, metal-filled, parking lot before the lightning reaches it.
The hard rain started suddenly, with crashing thunder, as I walked back towards the bus stop. In my cotton pajama pants and T-shirt, I was soaked instantly. I had hiked out with only a light daypack, with water and sunscreen, no change of clothes or shell because I had some in the (still missing) shuttle car. Then rain changed to hail, big, honking, serious, hail, and more lightning, very close now,setting off car alarms and the hail dinging car paint on all sides, ricocheting hard off car roofs, and hurting my head. I speed up towards the distant shelter, my tired legs cramping slightly with lactic acid. I was no longer too cool to run out of the rain. Monsoon was on!
Oh, The Humanity
By the time I reached the open-sided shuttle bus shelter, it was like a refugee scene. Sixty people crowded in there, all getting completely soaked in a howling rainstorm. It was huddled masses, ponchos flapping, families yelling at each other, babies and children wailing, rain and hail downpour forming sheet flow off the roof, which was then blowing in waves over the wretched crowd. Instant streams had formed in the street, and waves of hail would occur, drumming onto every exposed surface. Too loud to talk. Mothers cradled their children like biblical exiles, and a young woman near me was sobbing openly as her husband cradled her and both cameras. It was a full-on Grand Canyon summer downpour, ready to blow the tattoo off your arm. And I was caught out: almost naked in my cotton, chilling fast, exhausted, soaked, with no warm gear, no shelter, no car, crouched in the wind shadow of a concrete roof support. And on cue, the wind, thunder and rain doubled in intensity, and I realized the hail was now accumulating to several inches deep. Instant icy snow drifts were forming along the Bus Shelter, in June. Grand Canyon weather is strong.
The Bus Stop storm view over the rim was utterly spectacular, with steady lightning strikes in the near and distant vista, purple light coming thru the black raincloud, and sun still shining 3 miles away on the North Rim. The temperature had dropped probably 50 degrees colder than it had been hiking, and within 10 minutes, I had uncontrollable body and jaw shivering, and the detached perspective of early stage hypothermia. My partial exhaustion from the long hike (and my all cotton outfit) made me extra vulnerable to the heat loss. My friends had been caught near various South Rim buildings, and were not to be seen. A long train of shuttle buses came, and the soaked crowd loaded up and left, until I was all alone in the blowing rain, hunched over, semi-fetal on the ground and shivering.
The light bulb in my head was dim and flickering. I almost dozed off.
A piece of my brain said, get up, get warm, start walking. I walked in the now steady rain for several hundred yards along the South Rim road, a drowned shivering rat, and into the lobby of the Bright Angel Lodge. It was jam-packed with tourists in any rain gear they had, a flock of fleece and Gore-tex birds, waiting out the storm. With no money, no ID, empty pockets, my body core temperature dropping perilously, dripping wet, I found it quite strange, almost hallucinatory, to be suddenly among so many dry, well dressed strangers. The crowds parted to avoid touching my wetness, and I slid into the hotel lobby Men's Room. There, I took off and wrung out my T-shirt, my pajama bottoms, and then still shivering uncontrollably, lay down on the tile floor in my underwear and river sandals under two hand dryers, and began to hit the silver On buttons repeatedly, bathed in the electrically heated air. I remember thinking, "Thank God for the Handicapped Access Code, it made them put the hand dryers closer to the floor". Even when you are freezing, it takes a lot to overcome the unwritten social taboo against laying in your underwear on a public bathrooom floor under the hand dryers. I know, because I've been there. I knew it was wierd, but I did not care.
The next couple of tourists who came in the Men's Room looked at me with great fear or suspicion, and did not dare approach my dryers after rinsing their hands. Then two guys with backcountry experience arrived, realized I was hypothermic, rushed over, asked me simple questions, looked in my eyes, and offered some of their clothes to put on. Very interesting human experience, there in the Bright Angel Men's Room. After 20- 30 cycles of hot air from my twin dryers, I was recovered enough to dress and leave.
I stole a yellow rain slicker from the bathroom maintenance closet to put over my damp outfit, and walked back to the bus stop in the rain. Hallelujah! My friends had the car, they had dry clothes, food, they were searching for me, they embraced me, all was not lost. The rain was stopping. We loaded up, we returned my lifted rain slicker to where I found it, and we left the South Rim for Flagstaff. Ambulances came blazing into the park with sirens on as we left. Hikers had been hit by lightning, waterfalls had formed and closed the trail we walked up, workers on the roof of the Lodge were looking at wind damage. Wasn't that a mighty storm. Good thing we were done the hike early, we mused ...wonder where on the river our group was when it hit? Later, we would learn the main Colorado turned red from flash floods entering from side canyons that afternon.
But Remember, Experience is Gained by Making Mistakes
The funny thing about hypothermia, is how quickly you can recover from being a shivering zombie, almost catatonic, back to being a dry, warm, functioning person. Then the recent memory of your condition seems like a dream state. Just before I fell deeply asleep in the back of that warm car headed to Flag, I thought, how ironic;
Me, with my years of Grand Canyon trips, after weeks of my river time and exposure, taking chances and living large on whitewater adventures, using my skill, my specialty river gear and my preparation, carefully gauging risk-versus-reward behavior to best enjoy the mother of all great rivers. Then, I relaxed at the end and got my ass kicked when I least expected it, in a South Rim tourist bus shelter. What a lesson; After you scout the run, make your entry, and make the key moves, Finish Strong, bucko, and do not drop your guard until the rapid is done.
Never underestimate the ability of the Grand Canyon to hand you a powerful life lesson, a dangerous thrilling experience, and a glorious view all at the same time.
