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| Grand Canyon, cont. ~ |
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| The original trail down to Horseshoe Mesa was carved out by a hearty old miner, who spent a good number of extremely difficult and very lonely years here. Although he later built the Southern Rim and Mesa into a tourist spot, the only remains of his existence at the bottom is a partial foundation for his cabin, and some tin cans and mining equipment, strewn about. |
| Assorted tin cans next to a Sisal |
| When we returned from collecting water, and finished rigging our campsite, we noticed a few boomers forming in the distance. As the Grand Canyon creates it's own weather patterns, we watched the dark clouds forming over the winding Colorado River, which ran a few hundred meters below us. |
| Me & my belly watching the boomers roll in. |
| The storm went from wet to dangerous, when lightning began to appear off in the distance. |
| We ended up spending the rest of the evening hunkered down inside the tent, listening to the power of what wind and rain |
| is really capable of, in the Grand Canyon. |
| The next morning, we packed up our soaked, muddy gear, and hiked up, into the mist that surrounded the upper rim. At the top, we met a couple that came all the way from France to view the Canyon. Visibility was zero, and as I walked towards the car I heard them say..."We came all the way from home, for, for this??" At least they were dry... |
| Near the Upper Rim. Behind me...the Canyon...somewhere. |