Quick Summary
- It's easy to make in-the-moment decisions that lead to low-impact outcomes, like deciding to sleep in instead of getting up and out the door for a unique and often high-impact experience. Diana Davis shares how a recent canyoneering trip served as a potent reminder to err on the side of effort–the reward is almost always worth it.
Words by Diana Davis, Photos by Brett Davis
It’s past midnight. The only light radiates from our headlights as we bounce along a rugged four-wheel drive road. We are hours from the nearest town, and it’s been hours since we have seen another vehicle.
The fatigue of a nonstop work week has me questioning my decisions. I have a long weekend. Life has been busy. With my cherished free time, I could sleep in, go to barbecues, take naps, have a margarita, and play yard games.
The road winds and dips, the truck slogs up and bounces over chunky rocks. I can’t see anything but pinyon juniper trees and darkness. I am already tired, and I haven’t started any of the human-powered portion of our trip. Frustration and fatigue over the late-night travel wash over me and radiate out into the endless desert night.
We finally park at the corral at 1 AM. My adventure/life partner, our two friends, and I quickly settle in for the night with plans to wake at sunrise.
The sun comes early and strong. The morning light paints the desert in a stunning glow of endlessly layered canyons. Each layer breaks away to another in a vast expanse that is the Grand Canyon. Each level depicts its own history carved by water, wind, and time herself.
In the far-off distance, I see the light fade into shadow and into those darkened depths where we are headed.
Despite the short night, I feel my energy rise. There is just something about the wilds of nature that sustains me. I heave my loaded Windrider pack with my packraft securely fastened on top. The weight feels heavy, but somehow, I feel lighter.
It is slow-moving as we hike and scramble our way down toward the Colorado River. The pace is steady, the heat is real, our bodies grow fatigued, but the energy remains potent. There is so much life force seeping through these millennia-old walls. We detour around blooming cacti with sharp spines and quickly dart away from coiling rattlesnakes. We watch lizards scurry between rocks and birds soar overhead. There are so many vibrant creatures among these layers.
The canyon steadily narrows until it sharply drops. The wide-open expanse transitions to narrow, sculpted stone forming into tight slots.
It’s time to start rappelling.
My pack slides and scrapes down the wall as it is lowered to the next canyon layer. My body soon follows as I descend into the narrow, unknown depths. I feel the jagged abrasions on my knees and arms as I try to hold my position on the rope. But, like my gear, I seem made for these rugged lands. Even with some new scratches and aching muscles, I am energized.
There is such a presence to this present time. Even those of us with wandering minds can’t help but stay anywhere but here. Midway into the canyon, I am hours from anywhere. I am simply here. There are no grocery lists, to-do lists, work woes, or worries radiating through my brain. There is just a seemingly endless canyon that makes me feel so small in the most beautiful way against the sheer expanse of looming and stunningly carved walls.
We don’t quite make it to the river on our first day. As we begin to lose the canyon light, we settle into a slick-rock camp next to a pothole with surprisingly fresh water. Mating frogs perform a cacophonous concert that echoes through the desert night.
I listen to the wild sounds as I stare up at the starry skies. I think about how a long weekend is still a relatively short amount of time. I am filling mine with bushwacking, rocky traverses, sketchy ledge navigating, and spectacular, awe-inspiring views around every curved slot. We will eventually make our way to the emerald Colorado River, cross it, hike up to another canyon, paddle back down, and then ascend our canyon all the way back out to the truck. There will be no shortage of energy outputs, but every bit of energy I expend will come back to me with interest.
Time will always leave a mark. Energy will ebb and flow. The texture of our lives is formed like these majestic canyon layers–they stack upon themselves to create who we are, who we are becoming. We carve and sculpt our lives by the little daily decisions we make. By the intentions we set, the people we surround ourselves by, and by the weekend trips we take–or don’t take.
As the frogs continue to bellow, I drift off thinking about how close I came to staying home. In our busy lives and busier world, it can be so easy to cancel. As I breathe in the cooling canyon air, I am filled with gratitude and appreciation. The canyon night settles in around me, and I know another great adventure day will be waiting for me tomorrow.
Diana and Brett Davis enjoy exploring the natural world by human-powered means...by boat, bike, ski, or just on foot. Check out more photography, stories, and life lessons forged through adventure on The Lesson Collective.
