New Year

 

Sunrise over the Grand Canyon 1.1.19

I awoke in the dark. My phone read 5am. I could feel Sam stirring beside me. Deke, curled into a ball between us, was determined to sleep as long as possible. I slowly unzipped the side of the tent and peeked out at a winter wonderland. Stars twinkled through the pine trees. The storm had passed leaving eighteen inches of fresh snow. I realized that it was January 1st and suddenly an idea popped into my head. I turned to Sam and said, “want to see the new year’s sunrise over the Grand Canyon?”

We scrambled into gear, excavating ourselves from the blanket palace that our tent had become. We had arrived two days prior, driving in the open gates of Grand Canyon National Park in the fog. The federal government was shut down. No one was manning the entry stations at any of the national parks. No one was plowing the roads or cleaning the bathrooms. The private hotel was bustling, but otherwise, only a few bundled up strangers braved the weather and wilderness. We walked the rim for miles hoping for a break in the clouds, but the entire view was socked in completely. There were plenty of empty campsites so we pulled the Toyota into a secluded spot and set up shop. 

Nine days into the trip and we had our winter camping system down perfectly. The truck tent unfolded off the driver’s side. The tailgate dropped and our dry bins opened to reveal piles of blankets and warm clothes. As Sam prepared the beds, I prepared the stove with endless cups of hot cocoa and quesadillas. Deke would scamper from his backseat blanket and make a speedy round of all the neighboring campsites, marking each as his own. 

The snow fell all day and night of New Years Eve. We tried to brave the storm and explore, but there was nowhere to go, nowhere to be. We whittled away the day playing cribbage and eating Christmas cookies. After first putting up a fuss, Deke took up residence in the tent and soon refused to leave. As New Year's Eve celebrations carried on around the world, we holed up in the little truck tent as snow pummeled down on us. Most neighbors in the campground departed over the course of the day, pulling up tent stakes and seeking shelter in Flagstaff hotels before they got snowed in completely. With our Tacoma having proved itself a dozen times in the past week alone, we relaxed comfortably as the snow continued to fall. Darkness settled by five o’clock and we were asleep by six, nestled beneath piles of quilts. 

Twelve hours later, with the promise of a Grand Canyon sunrise looming, we piled all of our belongings into their crates and dusted seven more inches of snow off the hood. I shoveled wheel ruts out of the campsite to give the truck a running start. When we reached the main road, we were shocked to find it plowed, but only for a mile. The snowplow sat in our lane, lights flashing in the darkness. The driver had gotten out to unlock the Rim Road gate which had been closed in the storm. As he swung the gate open and started walking back to the snowplow, I looked at Sam and she nodded. I gunned the engine and we raced through.

Eighteen inches of fresh powder swirled in our wake as we plowed fresh tire tracks along the Rim Road. Flecks of dawn appeared to our left as we glided through a wilderness of snow. A large pullout appeared and the Grand Canyon yawned in the gloomy darkness, a black hole fenced by white rails. I slid the truck sideways into the parking lot, whooping with joy at the feeling. We donned all of our warmest clothes, leashed the dog and started walking towards the edge. In the dim twilight, we could see the tell tale ribs of various ancient rock formations appearing. As we post holed through the snow towards the point, closer and closer to the edge, more and more eons appeared below us. 

Suddenly, a large shadow crossed our path. Then another. Then another. We had stumbled into the middle of an elk herd, bedded down just a few feet from a few thousand foot precipice. Many of the elk were already awake, bobbing slowly through the snow. Our presence rousted the remainder of them and they glared balefully at us and the very alert Deke on the leash just a few yards away. 

We carried on past them towards a rocky outcropping that protruded out into the world’s largest hole in the ground. I kicked around in the snow, clearing a spot for us to sit. We sat for minutes as the glow grew greater. Black turned to purple, to maroon then orange. The snow muffled all sounds besides our breathing. Deke sat at attention, as if aware of the moment. I pulled out my camera just seconds before the sun erupted from the east, casting a golden glow on uncountable layers of geologic time. We watched in silence at the unforgettable dawning of a new year…

Song of the post: Adventures of You and Me, Ryan Bingham

Moments after sunrise... 1.1.19