Overheating in the Grand Canyon
And why well-fitting footwear matters on trail
This post is part of my Type 2 Fun series, where I write about the less glamorous side of my outdoor adventures. Not familiar with the concept of Type 2 fun?
As I write this, the heat index in Chicago is over 100° F and I am hunkered inside with the blinds drawn and the air conditioning on. Some people enjoy the heat, but I am not one of them. So, it should be no surprise that my family’s trip to the Grand Canyon in June 2013 has been filed under Type 2 Fun.
I didn’t have a car at that time, so my outdoor recreation mostly consisted of walks on Chicago’s flat, paved Lakefront Trail and the occasional short loop at Lapham Peak when I visited my parents near Milwaukee. This is to say, I was not in peak form to hike 14 miles with 5,850 feet of elevation change from the North Rim to the Colorado River in a single day. Or to do the return trip the very next day. And definitely not in temperatures exceeding 100° F.
My struggle began before we even stepped foot on the North Kaibab Trail. Somewhere between Chicago and the Las Vegas Airport, my feet began to swell and when I stepped off the plane into the Nevada (and then Arizona) heat, they didn’t recover.
Our first full day at Grand Canyon National Park was low key. We day hiked around the North Rim and drank beer on the patio in front of the lodge. Sounds idyllic—except that while hiking, I made the painful discovery that my boots no longer fit.
Initially, there wasn’t a lot of patience or sympathy for me straggling behind the rest of the family. Warranted or not, I had a reputation for being a bad hiker. When I was ten, I had complained about being forced to hike while on a camping trip, so fifteen years later it was still expected that I would be slow and grumble the whole time.
However, my family’s tune changed when they saw the indents on my puffy feet where the boots rubbed and pinched. My shoes obviously weren’t fitting correctly, but where can you buy new ones in a park? There was even a discussion about finding an extra night of lodging for me on the North Rim while they headed down to Phantom Ranch. However, I didn’t want to be left behind, so ultimately, I removed the insoles to create just enough extra space in the boots to make them tolerable to walk in.
The next morning, we were at the North Kaibab Trailhead at sunrise, ready to slackpack1 down to Phantom Ranch where a cabin and a steak dinner awaited us. Temperatures were in the fifties and I could wear a fleece sweatshirt and gloves—perfect hiking weather!
Sadly, those lovely temperatures didn’t last.
Our early start was due to warnings about heat in the Box, a stretch through the Inner Gorge with walls of black rock. Per the trail description from the National Park Service:
“Though the trail here is not challenging from the perspective of elevation profile, be aware that this is a particularly dangerous stretch of trail during summer months. Because the entire 7.2 mile stretch is at low elevation, it becomes extremely hot from early morning to late afternoon. The gorge of black rock through which the trail passes becomes like an oven and can be compared to walking through a parking lot in Phoenix or Las Vegas in summertime. Always plan on reaching Bright Angel Campground before ten in the morning.”
We didn’t get there before ten in the morning; my recollection is that it was more like 1pm. Temperatures reached around 110° F as we plodded through the bottom of the canyon, but it was preferable to keep moving rather than sit in some meager shade in an attempt to wait out heat that would last until sunset2. It was going to be hot no matter where we were, so there was no point in potentially missing our dinner reservation at the Phantom Ranch Canteen.
Those last seven miles that the park warned us about all blended together—I could see decently far down the trail, but the gentle ups and downs through prickly pear and agave never seemed to get us closer to our destination. When we finally arrived at the cabin, the relief at being able to take off my boots cannot be overstated. Even with well-fitting footwear, my feet would have been tired, sweaty, and sore after a long hike that they were not prepared for. The boot issue just amped everything up.
After settling in, we headed down to the water. If we had hiked down from the South Rim, we would have crossed the bridge over the Colorado River to get to Phantom Ranch. Since we came from the North Rim, we hadn’t laid eyes on the river yet, so I had to jam my feet back into my boots to hobble down there.
It was worth the pain because dipping my swollen feet into the Colorado River is my most cherished memory of the entire trip. There was a spit of sand that ran parallel with the bank and created a shallow pool of water with no current—the perfect spot to cool off and soak my tender skin. I almost felt human again.
That was day one on the North Kaibab Trail—exhausting, hot, and mostly uncomfortable. Day two was worse.
You know the saying, distance makes the heart grow fonder? There had been no distance between any of us since my family met up at baggage claim in Las Vegas and hopped into a rental car for a nearly five hour drive to the park. Upon arrival at the North Rim, we ate every meal together, hiked together, and relaxed on the patio together. Even the small amount of downtime before bed was spent with my older sister, who shared a room at the lodge with me. Then all of us hiked 14 miles together—with mismatched hiking paces and preferences—before sleeping in bunkbeds in a one-room cabin at the bottom of the canyon.
That’s a lot of family togetherness.
Grouchiness emanated from all of us as we made our way back up the trail. My feet rebelled when I put them in my boots that morning and no amount of intricate lacing to reduce pressure would quiet them. Concerns about getting back to the North Rim in time for our dinner reservation at the lodge meant that we hit the trail early once again. (Do you recognize a pattern here?)
Leaving Phantom Ranch, there was a geyser on the side of the trail that had not been there the day prior. We would learn later that a water main had burst and potable water had been shut off to the bottom of the canyon. Luckily, we had already filled our bottles and hydration bladders.
Every step I took was a still a shockwave of hot pain through my feet, so my parents took turns to hang back and shepherd me along. My sister and dad ended up ahead by a hundred or so feet at one point and startled a rattlesnake, who darted across the trail and then vertically up the rock face.
Around the halfway point, I found a bench to give my feet a break. The heat was in full force, so I was pink and sweaty and didn’t look particularly happy to be there.3
Of course, a ranger walked by right at that moment and came over to check on me. If my face hadn’t already been flushed, I would have burnt up with embarrassment. I put on a smile and gave lighthearted and perky responses to his questions until he was convinced that I wasn’t going to need medical assistance to get myself back up to the trailhead. After snacks were eaten and wet towels were draped around our necks, we continued on.
The last seven miles featured over 4100 feet of elevation gain and the continued clash of my family’s mismatched hiking styles. My sister strongly pushed for setting a pace that we could go at indefinitely, without taking breaks. I was hanging on only by the promise of each upcoming opportunity to pause and lean against a rock to take pressure off of one or both of my feet for a moment. Her compromise was we could go slower, but slower steps to me just meant more time with the soles of my feet painfully pressed against the ground.
Based on this laundry list of things that went badly, it would be reasonable to guess that we barely managed to drag ourselves back up to the North Rim before sunset and that we missed dinner at the Lodge. But, you would be wrong.
Somehow, we made it up faster than it took us to go down the day before. We were so early that even after we showered and changed clothes, we still had hours before our dinner reservation. (Luckily, the restaurant was able to squeeze us in early since none of us could fathom waiting any longer for food.) I guess misery makes the time fly?
Even if my boots had fit perfectly, this trip would have been challenging. But with my feet screaming at me the whole time, I wasn’t equipped to face the hard parts with grace.
This trip taught me to be a lot pickier when buying hiking boots.4 A wide toe box with enough length that my big toe won’t slam into the front on every steep downhill. A collar that reaches past my ankle so I can lace the upper holes tightly to keep the shoe secure without putting pressure on the top of my foot. Lightweight materials instead of leather. Trying on boots with the thickest hiking socks I own, ideally at the end of an active day when my feet are at their puffiest.
One day, I will take a redemption trip to the North Kaibab Trail. I will wear the right boots. I will plan for the heat. I will leave enough time that I’m not rushing to get to dinner. And maybe, I will get through it without a ranger asking if I’m about to keel over.
Slackpacking is like backpacking, but without your full kit of gear in your pack. Since we were staying in a cabin, we didn’t need to bring tents, sleeping bags, or sleeping pads. We also didn’t need to bring a cooking setup because we had preordered dinner, breakfast, and a packed lunch from the Phantom Ranch Canteen. For this trip, our packs only held snacks, pajamas, first aid necessities, and LOTS of water.
Our decision to keep hiking should not be taken as advice for your hike in the Grand Canyon. The park’s recommendations are meant to keep visitors safe, so always consult with a ranger if you have concerns about your itinerary or abilities.
I have since figured out a cocktail of electrolytes that keeps me going on warm days. A few shakes of Morton Lite Salt (a sodium and potassium blend) in my water, SaltStick Electrolyte Caps every hour or two, and potato chips or a salty snack mix to munch on.
I’ve been infatuated with the Salomon X Ultra 4 Mid with Gore-Tex for the past couple years. This is not an advertisement, I just love my boots and tell everyone about them.
The biggest boot mistake I made was on an 11-day backpack trip in the Sierra with one of my old GS buddies. The boots themselves would have been fine, but I decided to use elastic boot laces. Did I mention this was in the mountains, where you're either going up or down 90% of the time? Oh, and I went with a pair of thin socks instead of my tried-and-true silk liner with thicker wool. Big mistake. Got blisters on day one and just had to deal with them the rest of the trip. My buddy loaned me a pair of her thick socks, which helped a lot. We had arranged for a horse packer to meet us at a trail about halfway through. They didn't show at the time we had agreed on. We eventually found our box of food in the bushes about a quarter mile away. That meant we carried our trash, empty fuel cans, and the box the rest of the trip. At least we were able to keep going. It was a great trip, despite some T2F.