Even now, miles and years away from her, I hear her siren song.
It was early July and I had just completed a 47-day bicycle ride from Seattle to Atlantic City. My fiancé welcomed me warmly at the airport in Phoenix.
I had already signed a contract for a third season at the North Rim Clinic when she announced her decision.
She wouldn’t drive up to visit me again at the Grand Canyon, and might not be waiting for me when I returned in October. Thus, the Ultimatum: I must choose— the Grand Canyon or her.
I’ll always be glad for the choice I made.
If I had chosen The Canyon, I would have missed out on seeing Joe learn to swim, ride his bike, would have missed long conversations about everything and nothing, hikes and campfires under Arizona skies.
Twenty years is not nearly enough time to love a son.
I will admit there were times I wished I had chosen The Canyon. The Canyon was always calling.
Barry Goldwater said, “If I had a mistress, it would be the Grand Canyon.”
I chose to stay in the city, get married, start a family. My wife’s fear was that I would leave for someone younger. I was faithful. That would not happen.
Many evenings I would pore over guidebooks and maps imagining another canyon adventure.
I still wonder if my Canyon obsession was an infidelity. The Canyon seduces.
She always seduces.
No femme fatale has ever been as attractive, as enticing to me as that scorched and shadowy chasm.
I dream of Monument Creek, Hermit’s Rest, Lava Falls, the Esplanade, turquoise waters of Havasupai. I dream of solitude and silence surrounded by ancient rock.
When has Life ever offered a perfect choice?
My lover is beautiful, deep, mysterious, endlessly intriguing. She is mesmerizing, capricious, and dangerous.
Peaceful, warm, loving one minute, the next, violent, even malicious.
There are three kinds of people who love the Grand Canyon:
Some visit her, traipse along her rim, watch her like a TV show. They take a few pictures, eat lunch at the lodge, go home and check her off the bucket list. They tell their friends, “I’ve been to the Grand Canyon.” Some even say, “What’s the deal? It’s just a hole in the ground.”
A few penetrate a little— they hike Bright Angel Trail to Phantom Ranch or run Rim-to-Rim in a day— one-night stands who check one more item off their list and brag, “I’ve hiked the Grand Canyon.”
Finally, there are those who visit her and feel pain when they have to leave. The ones who want that endless kiss, who get lost inside her, returning over and over, each time feeling they haven’t had enough.
The ones who, whenever they are away, are haunted by her song, relentlessly yearning for her embrace.
We are the ones who suffer for her. We protect her, nurture her, explore her. We sacrifice relationships, fame, fortune for her. We give up everything for one more second with her. We are infected, dangerously obsessed.
The Canyon makes us cry with her beauty, takes our breath away with her grandeur. We sing, and The Canyon echoes.
Desert Dweller 