Grand Anticipation

The gentle jostling of the rail car as it traverses the high plains of northern Arizona is very relaxing, but I can’t quite relax.  In less than two hours, our train will arrive at perhaps the world’s most ancient and spectacular wonder and I’m searching maps for options to best take advantage of my priceless, limited time.  I’m a lucky man.  This will be the third time in my life I've visited The Grand Canyon: once as a young child, once as a guiding parent, and now as a self-indulgent, unencumbered adult.  This time though, the excitement is more mature; more introspective.

Arriving in mid-winter, the crowds will be minimized.  Snow covered outcrops and viewpoints won’t be overrun with skittish young boys and their worried mothers, or large groups of ranger-lead tours.  Choosing to walk briskly away from the depot along the rim trail should thin the crowd with each passing step, eventually leading to moments of solitude at the world’s most impressive outcrops.  The old couple next to me on the train won’t have the strength to wander out to where I’ll push myself.

The weather looks to be perfect as well: fifty five degrees, clear deep blue skies, bright snow patches on the ground, and just a gentle breeze… all of which will only add splendor to this much-anticipated experience.  The color explosion about to hit my eyes and viewfinders should be mind-blowing.

The time I’ll spend at this humbling place will be limited, and so, each second will be cherished; burned into my memory.  The camera will inadequately capture sterile images and I already know that words will be unable to describe the experience I’m about to have.  So I won’t even try.