This is where I wrote The Light Lies Down passage after our escape from Phantom Ranch. The title phrase is borrowed from a Genesis song which tells of the passage by the protagonist through an alien landscape — Times Square. Our mood in the moment of escape through Bright Angel Canyon followed by this scene when we emerged at the river’s edge made me think of the song.
Edvard Munch-like apparitions referenced in the book fed the disorienting endogenous effects generated from the cold and the drama.
Colorado River rocks like the ones specified by Mary Colter to build Phantom Ranch, as as told by Jeff in the novel.
Chaos compression in 50mm from the Canyon Floor near the Bright Angel Trail.
On The River Trail near Phantom Ranch. Professionals demand I crop out the patch of sky. I regret there was not more to show.
On The River Trail
Likened to Fyodor’s “House of the Dead” in my book. This walk along the Colorado on the Bright Angel was impossibly spooky leading to all sorts of bad thoughts of which chapter and verse appear in the book.
From The River Trail along the Colorado leaving Phantom Ranch. Love those clouds.
Young man on whom I based “Loren from Paris” in THE CANYON CRAWL novel. In real life, he’s from Luxembourg. He darted through the Canyon popping up everywhere we went. His dexterity and agility were unfathomable to us. But having hiked in the Alps myself, I should have not been surprised.
The sparkling steely Colorado from The Bright Angel Trail.
Quiet and majestic. You can hear yourself think.
Hiker surfing Bright Angel rockface. Morning, 01/29/14. My favorite photo. Certain scenes along the way made me think of surfing. If it sounds crazy, be patient. This hiker was shooting down an inclined path cut narrow into the rockface preparing to cut right at the bottom of the slope. The incline to the rear evokes a rock wave rising up from behind to shoot him forward and down into the jaws of gravity like a wave throwing surfers onto coral reefs. And like great surfers, skilled hikers map their weight and physical prowess perfectly to momentum generated by slope and surface conditions. This guy was locked-in, one with the trail. His movements gave him away as did his pace when he blew past and resumed the climb to the South Rim. At his pace, he had two… three-hours max, to go. I may as well been wearing concrete hiking boots. For the fit and skilled, hiking in Grand Canyon appears to be pure joy on a par with that experienced by surfers on the North Shore of Oahu, and accompanied by the same level of terror and wonder. Nature is no one’s loving mother. It kills us without qualms. Yet we return, again and again.
Cañon Del Grande 