Mending the Chasm at the Grand Canyon

Because sometimes we have to expose the deeper parts of ourselves…

Here’s how a long-awaited trip to the Grand Canyon reminded us that, despite a few cracks, all was right with the world.

Let’s begin by agreeing that there is a lot wrong with the world. And if you could ask anyone from the past, they would say the same about the times they were living in. Today is no different.

I last wrote a post about a year ago and, even then, it was evident (perhaps only to myself) that I had already begun to crack…

I have traveled around the world with a checklist of sorts. I’d visit places on my list and check them off as if I was never to return. The Grand Canyon has always been somewhere on my list but I never made it a priority because I figured that, if it’s been around this long, it will probably still be there when I’m done seeing the rest of the world.

Besides, it has always felt so elusive to me. When I wrote about it a year ago, I said that I had such high and dreamy expectations about what some call the “all-American” road trip, that I feared disappointment. I dreaded the idea that I might drive all the way there and stand at the brim of the Grand Canyon, only to see that it wasn’t really grand at all. That it would look nothing like what I had seen in old postcards and that it would lack all the wonderment they often played up in movies. 

I was scared that it would resemble life somehow with all of the expectations and dreams that we once had for ourselves…the ones we’ve had to alter along the way, because nothing is really as it seems. I was worried that this nostalgia thing I use to cope with in life, might really just be a fluke.

And so it was that the Grand Canyon trip stayed on my list for at least 20 years without so much as a thought – until now.

Let’s pack up the car and head out west. We can let the radio play softly in the background while we chat for a bit. As we stare at the road ahead, we can consider the sheer size of the chasm we’re about to witness, and wonder how it is that it came to be. We can talk about those things that break us…

The last couple of years have been difficult for me, but from the outside, I bet you couldn’t tell. Because that’s how it is when you look at things from a distance. Remember that 90s movie: Clueless? That scene where Cher comments on someone’s beauty from a distance by referencing the artist Claude Monet, who is believed to have brilliantly captured light and atmosphere in his paintings… “She’s a full-on Monet. It’s like painting, see? From far away, it’s okay. But up close, it’s a big old mess.”

There have been countless stories of explorers and adventurers who have come upon the very edge of the Grand Canyon, yet couldn’t even begin to understand the depth of what they were seeing, but they were on a journey and they were determined to keep going – even if it meant figuring out a way through it.

That’s how it’s been for me. I’ve spent the last 8 years as an accidental caregiver for my grandparents, mother-in-law, brother, and most recently, my estranged father. I didn’t plan on it and I most certainly wasn’t ready for it. I just happened to make myself available when no one else would. And through it all, I’ve continued to travel, write, act, and fight for my dreams, despite all of the turmoil going on at home. 

Along with all the caring, came some mourning. The dying process – whether physical or emotional – was different each time and the pamphlets they give you, don’t help with anything except to let you know how that final breath will sound. The one you don’t hear anyway, because you’re so consumed with the next thing in life.

When you do this a few times, and make it through seemingly outwardly unscathed, people get the idea that you are “strong.” That you can handle anything. That you know what you’re doing. That you can solve all of their problems. And so in the midst of all that is going on, just as you’re beginning to pick up the pieces and compose yourself, they come running to you for help. One after another, they come, relentless taking from you, and never offering anything in return. If they need help with their family troubles, paying bills, finding a job, even simply Googling something, they come to you. Suddenly, devoid of any semblance of yourself, you become “caregiver to the world” — and one day, under all the weight of things you were never intended to bear, everything within you begins to breach.

I read all the books about “The Making Of” the Grand Canyon and still can’t even begin to understand it all. How mystical winds, water, pressure, temperature, and time, all banded together to form something we couldn’t even recreate on a canvas if we tried. 

We arrive at the Grand Canyon and I’m nervous as I walk toward the edge, not only because I’m terrified of heights, but because I can’t seem to fit it all in my mind’s eye. I can see it, but it is so massive, that I can’t even begin to frame it in my head, let alone in a photograph. Any fragment of this place that we might be able to capture on film would hardly warrant the caption: “This is the Grand Canyon.” 

It’s long, it’s deep, it’s wide, and standing on the edge of it, with no railing in front of us, and with the weight of the world on our shoulders, we are like the tiny pebbles that surrender and quietly roll off its side at daybreak.

There are many ways to cope. Some better for us than others. My coping mechanism is nostalgia. 

For the last 3 years I’ve been writing about and researching nostalgia. About its effects and benefits. And all it really comes down to is this: You choose how you want to view life. Whether you want to move forward or in reverse. You decide whether you want to be happy and see the good in things or sad and cling to the bad. It’s your choice whether your sky is colored in rosy tones or pitch black. Whether the stars will shine for you or fizzle out. Whether you live or die in your brokenness. 

Here at the canyon, we learn about the Kolb Brothers. They were Ellsworth and Emery Kolb, they were dreamers and they were fearless. Author Roger Naylor described in his book The Amazing Kolb Brothers of Grand Canyon, how they “dangled from ropes, clung to sheer walls by their fingertips, climbed virtually inaccessible summits, ran seemingly impassible white-water rapids, braved the elements, and ventured into the unknown wilderness – all for the sake of a photo. Well, a photo and a thrill. Sometimes it was hard to tell which was more important.”

As we take a break, I pick up Naylor’s wonderful picture-filled book at the gift shop and can’t put it down. He captures their life of adventure so well, but what stands out to me the most, is something he says in his introduction. He speaks of the way they created tourism photography, became the first independent filmmakers, produced the first reality show, invented the first selfie, introduced trail running, and put white-water rafting on the map. But it’s what he says before all of that which makes the most sense as I stare out over the canyon, in the same way that I’m certain the Kolb Brothers had so many times.

“They did it on their own terms…

They carved out a way of life that didn’t exist.”

It’s a daily thing trying to figure out life. After all, it’s our first time doing it. We just need to carve out our way in it. And its okay to use something as hokey as nostalgia to get by. The Kolb Brothers used it. They were dreamers. That’s what brought them out west.

When we are hurt, all we want to do is close up the wound. To cover it up and hasten the healing process. But sometimes we can’t. Some wounds are meant to stay open, gaping wide, and obvious. They serve as our legacy. Our way of impacting those who are to come. 

With time, those wounds will harden that way. They will scar and toughen up.

They will form up new walls, boundaries, places within us where other things can attach, grow, and perhaps even flourish. 

Sadly, we learn about the Kolb Brothers’ story too late and aren’t able to visit their studio which still hangs anchored to side of the canyon.

Night has fallen and as we stand just outside the gift shop, we catch a glimpse of a postcard in the hand of a passerby. It reads: “Half the park is after dark.” To find out what it means, we follow the crowd heading out toward the rim in total darkness. We gaze up toward the sky and wait as our eyes adjust. Here we learn that life goes on once the sun has set.

We end the night this way, imagining the Kolb Brothers standing on the balcony of their studio and looking up at the stars that now sit so close we are almost certain we can touch them. 

And we realize what we’ve known all along…that despite a few cracks, all is right with the world.

First-timer Tips for a Nostalgic Sunset Experience at the Grand Canyon:

1. If you are on a road trip and are limited on time like I was, but still want a genuine sunset experience, be sure to arrive at the South Rim entrance at least 2 hours before sunset. 

2. Start at the Desert View Watchtower and ooh and ahh for a bit as you realize how big the canyon actually is – with the safety of a railing in front of you. Take a few photos so you can record your first impression of the canyon, but there are many more photo opportunities down the road.

3. Hop back in the car and make your way down Desert View Drive to the other lookout points: Navajo Point, Lipan Point, and Moran Point. Be sure to get out, explore, and take photos for a few minutes at each of the stops. Watch your step at these lookout points, as there are no railings here. Along the way, as the sun begins to set, you’ll notice the changing colors on the canyon peaks and across the sky.

4. If you have more time to spare, you can make your way to some of the farther points on the canyon. If not, a great ending would be to stop at Grandview Point for the spectacular sunset finale. Take all the time you want here. Take photos, have a seat, grab a snack from the car, or use the rugged steps hidden along the sides to explore a bit further down the canyon. Be sure leave plenty of time to hike back up once the sun has set – it gets very dark out there! And of course, at some point, put aside the camera lens to take it all in for yourself and allow the nostalgia to settle in. 

*Because some things we just have to see for ourselves… Subscribe to the blog & don’t miss the Vintage Featurette (video) for this trip – coming very soon!