“This SUCKS!” I thought, as I made my way down the first few switchbacks that – if you continue down 5,000 feet – take you to the bottom of the Grand Canyon, our day one destination of a three day backpacking trip.
My Osprey pack was firmly strapped to my back, stuffed with food clothing and shelter. But man, my mood! I wasn’t carrying an ounce of self-actualization as I stewed, keeping ahead of rest of the party – Chad, his mom and his cousin – trying not to let my annoyance spill over onto them.
The source of my irritation? The commercialization of the wild. The bus that dropped us off at the lip of the canyon, the parking lots overflowing with people and cars – internally I felt as rested and connected to nature as I do in a shopping mall, and those at least have a food court.
A group of about five Instagrammers tittered and whooped as they scrambled ahead of me. Makeup on point, they splayed and draped themselves into all sorts of poses. Focusing more on how they look with the canyon as a backdrop; the image of them more important than the real experience, the real thing itself.
Over and over, I was forced to step aside for people. It was Rodeo Drive on a Saturday.
I scurried down, past the melee occurring at the canyon’s top layer, made up of 250-million-year-old Kaibab limestone.
When I reached Redwall limestone a few thousand feet down, I settled on a flat rock with canyon views below waiting for the rest of the group.
Perhaps it was the exercise endorphins. Or I just wore the mood out. Regardless, the crowds had thinned, and my irritation was evaporating with the steadiness of steam released from an Instapot.
There was no one around. A breeze picked up, and two crows drifted below. Above were views of the canyon’s rim, and beyond that, bright blue skies.
I fished out a spoon, unscrewed the lid of my almond butter, and enjoyed a few spoonfuls of quick and easy calories, followed by some water.
I thought about the incredible and remote places Chad and I have been, and the peace and disarming I’ve felt. As we descended deeper into the canyon, that same feeling crept back in.
It’s a feeling I sometimes get when visiting a cathedral. When walking through, admiring stained-glass windows, the high arched ceilings, relief sculptures, and breathing air heavy with incense, I admire it all. Including the urge inside human beings to create something beautiful to honor and connect with the divine. (I’m agnostic, so this is obviously an over-simplification – yet I still feel this.)
How easily that feeling would be lost if the Instagrammers waltzed in with laughs and whoops. Made a beeline for Jesus on the cross, and took turns draping themselves around his outstretched arms, flashing a peace sign…
I realize that what draws me to nature most is peace. There, I can hear my thoughts. Let down my guard, unencumbered by noise and distraction. It’s then I feel most like myself, content and alive. Living in these environments with only a thin layer of metal protecting us from the Great Outdoors has become more normal than places where concrete freeways snake dangerously around each other – three lanes are fed into three more, and there’s no escape.
I love every form of the wild, and the Grand Canyon didn’t feel wild, at least not initially. I think many people travel to National Parks to behold nature’s beauty, and there’s nothing wrong with that. But I’m realizing, I’m drawn to remote undeveloped areas, because no one else cares about these places. There, I can access harder to reach parts of myself. It’s the best way to not return to a numbed-out state, caught in the revolving door of routine.
It sounds really elitist and entitled, getting annoyed at other people for wanting to enjoy nature. I think what I need to work on is preserving and protecting my peace, in spite of the world around me.
Disappearing is the easy way out.
TRAVEL & ADVENTURE 