It was the kind of morning that I dreamt about. Clear, crisp, with a dusting of snow along the upper reaches of the Grand Canyon. A big blue sky of the kind that simply doesn’t happen back East. Even though I had seen it before, the view was awe-inspiring. And this time, I was going down, along with two friends.

We spent three days in a place where time moved in a different rhythm. Time was measured in how long it took to ascend a series of switchbacks, in how much daylight we had to set up camp, in the arc of the moon as it traveled across the night sky, in how long it took to boil a liter of water and if we would have enough fuel for a hot breakfast the following morning. Time wasn’t hours or minutes, but an organic sense of change.

Thousands of visitors come to the park each year, and only a tiny fraction hike down to the Colorado River. It’s a descent of some 5,000 feet. In hiking terms, it was 7 miles along the South Kaibab Trail from the rim to our first campsite on the canyon floor. We slept that night listening to the sound of a stream as it wound through the valley, with mule deer for visitors and a helping of red wine-in-a-box from the Phantom Ranch canteen. The canteen had a small assortment of board games, including a version of Jenga, which we took advantage of at nightfall. Hikers had added their names and hometowns to the wooden pieces. We wrote ours in, wondering if someday we might come back and be able to find the pieces again. I liked the idea of leaving something behind, of having something tangible waiting for me if I should return.

On the second night, we had to weight one of the tents down with rocks as 50mph winds gusted through the valley. I slept with my gear and pack inside, afraid that it would be blown away if I didn’t. Before the winds had kicked up, we lay on our backs looking up at the stars, which were bright and wild. The moonlight threw sharp shadows across the campground, which was comforting on such a night.

Dawn broke calm and we ascended the last 4.5 miles up the Bright Angel Trail, gasping at the magnificent views and the distances we covered. We were overwhelmed by the magnitude of the landscape in which we traveled. And tired, yes. Footsore. Thirsty. Ready to return to Las Vegas and civilization and hot showers.

The hike was such stuff as dreams are made of, and there’s a part of me that hasn’t woken up yet.

PS Lots of advice floating around on what to pack/what not to pack for hiking the Grand Canyon. A separate, painfully practical post on what might be useful to bring is forthcoming!