We used the headlamps to find our way to the canteen for breakfast. Even though the mules would be doing most of the work, it seem reasonable to fill up with a hearty breakfast of pancakes, eggs, and meat.
Our group saddled up. We lost the party of three, daughter-and-parents, who were spending another night at Phantom Ranch, and gained a party of two, a couple who had spent the previous day hiking. Our mules seemed a little cranky. I wondered if they had hoped we’d be spending a layover day so they could rest up. It was early light by now. The wranglers reversed order, with Dan leading and Bill following, as we went through the oasis, out to the Colorado River, and turned left toward the suspension bridge.
When we got to the Anasazi ruins, Dan said: “Put ‘em in park and I’ll tell you ‘bout these ruins.”
Putting them “in park” meant to drape the reins over the saddle horn, to keep the mules heads high enough so they couldn’t eat.
Dan explained that the history of the area is largely a mystery, but a large number of people carved out a life here, long ago. In front of us were the ancient ruins of their homes, store rooms, fire pits, and a worship area called a kiva.
Later, Hannah described this moment. “As I sat on my mule overlooking the ruins of a kiva, overlooking the Colorado River, and looking up at the walls of the Grand Canyon, I thought: There has to be a God.”
“Take your mules outta park and motivate ‘em on up,” Dan said.
We crossed the bridge, passed through the tunnel, and headed up a different trail than the one we’d come down. This was the Kaibab Trail, quite different than the Bright Angel Trail. This was steeper and exposed to the sun. There was less vegetation. Our mules worked hard. Every 15 minutes or so we’d stop and let them rest. The switchbacks were unrelenting.
I loved the few moments of listening to our mules breathe hard while we surveyed the scene; it was the ultimate luxury. In a few moments it would be time to start them up again. We were in the sun and there was a bit of a wind on our cheeks.
“Take your mules outta park and motivate ‘em on up.”
For the first hour, the vegetation we passed was mainly cactus. This part of the canyon seemed to be a completely different ecosystem from the day before. Everything was dirt and clay and pebbles, very dry. Instead of a sheer drop, the canyon had shoulders here, a long scrambling way down, except where there were vehicle-sized boulders.
Our mules had been laboring for about an hour when we saw bighorn sheep. There were four of them, and they seemed to be as curious about us, as we were about them. They not only stood and watched as we went by, they followed us. Every time we switched back, we could glance over our shoulders and spot them again. Riding on something four-legged and hooved must have made us seem a lot less threatening than if we’d been on foot.
As we ascended, the view became more grand and the canyon walls steeper. The shoulders disappeared and we switchbacked along steep walls, above and below us. At one point we came into open air on both sides and Dan said very drily, “This here is Poison Point. Any idea why it’s called that? Because one drop is all it takes.”
Someone asked him, “How often do people fall in the canyon?”
He answered: “Only once.”
Later I learned this statistic: between 12 and 14 people fall into the canyon every year and 98% of those falls are fatal.
Our mules climbed all morning. At one point they carried us along a ridge. To our left the mountain dropped, and to our right the mountain dropped. To say the view was “spectacular” does not do the experience justice. The view was 360 degrees of spectacular.
Along the way, Dan pointed out some ancient petroglyphs.
After about three hours in the saddle, we arrived at an overlook area. There were pit toilets. This must have been one of the destinations that day hikers shoot for, because there were lots of people taking photos.
We remounted for the last hour of the ride. I was feeling sad that the ride was almost over, and consciously tried to take in every view with my eyes. It almost reminded me of how you open your throat to swallow a lot of cold beer when you’re hot. I was like that with the view, wanting to gulp it down.
After the rest stop, the number of hikers we passed steadily increased. I can only imagine how busy it is in the summer! I felt one part celebrity, and one part dolt for sitting on a mule. Obviously I had taken the easy way out. But mainly I ignored the hikers and concentrated on each creak of the saddle, each glimpse of the vista, each brush of sun and wind.












