May 27th
Normally, after a full afternoon of hiking and a full evening of wrangling shuttles to a sunset view, it would be time to crash in the RV. However, couchsurfing interfered in the best way possible: through the site, Amanda had gotten in touch with a geologist who worked at the canyon who offered her RV camping advice (we would sleep in a parking lot that night, on the geologist’s advice, and hope the police didn’t hassle us). The geologist invited Amanda and I to a “dress like a tourist” party she was throwing that night in Tusayan, a town just a couple miles south of the GCNP entrance. We parked in the lot where we’d spend the night. Then, dressed as tourists (AKA, exactly like we’d been dressing the past few days), we walked through lamplit darkness the two and a half blocks to a house tucked away behind an RV park. We heard guitar music, laughter, and conversation, and we both hesitated. Then Amanda boldly stepped into the circle of light, introduced us, and we were swept into the party without any further questions.
It turns out, the geologist was throwing the party for a bunch of people who worked or volunteered in the canyon: her abode housed several of the guides, and several more came to visit, decked out in crusher hats, Hawaiian shirts, reflective vests, fanny packs, shorts with pulled-up socks, and a host of other tourist clothes. Never have I met a group of such open and socially adept people: I guess that’s what comes of being friendly to people all day long for your job. I ate two pieces of cold pizza, drank water instead of the booze, chatted with several different guides and volunteers, hung out a bit by the bonfire, got hit on by a drunk 60-something-year-old, and watched as some of the guests trooped to the backyard to hang up and smash a homemade piñata in the shape of the National Parks Department emblem.
As usual, the experience was an insight into a fascinating sub-culture. One of the guides talked about how jaded she gets to the canyon’s beauty, while another insisted that he’d never grow tired of looking at it. They talked about different kinds of volunteers: the ones who last, the ones who don’t, and all referred to river guides as if they were the top of the hierarchy (“Why is the Grand Canyon so big?” one of them riddled. “Because it has to fit the river guides’ heads”). They came from all over America, united in a fascination with the canyon. They asked me about the places I’d been, both on this trip and in the past, and some people lit up when I mentioned different places. “What did you think of Washington?” one redheaded guide asked me, his eyes wide as if begging me to answer with love for his home state. Fortunately, I was able to show all the enthusiasm he was eager to hear, and we talked about the wonders of Washington, me with the appreciation of a tourist, him with the memory of home.
My favorite conversations, however, were the exchanges as the guides shared stupid things that tourists have said to them and people they knew. Here’s a sampling of my favorites:
(Asked at 6:00pm) “So what kind of half-day hikes can we do today?”
“Where’s the highway that goes down to the bottom of the Grand Canyon?”
“At what elevation do the deer turn to elk?”
TOURIST: So, where’s the mountain?
GUIDE: Uh… do you mean the Canyon?
TOURIST: Yeah, whatever.
(And, my personal favorite…)
(Looking across the Canyon from the South Rim) “Is that Canada?”
Amanda and I stayed at the party until well past midnight, then departed the firelight and crowd to head back to the trailer, exhausted but grinning.
~Lisa Shafter
Money spent on 5/27: $0
Deficit: $18.34
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