When I was a child, my family decided to take a trip to the Grand Canyon. It was winter, and the trip would serve dual purposes. First, we would all get to marvel at the awesomeness that is the Grand Canyon, and secondly, we would get to play in the snow.
We borrowed some snow suits from some of the neighborhood children we were friends with and set out. My memories of most of the trip have been lost to time, and I'm sure to the trauma of having to ride (anywhere) in the car with my mother for 5 hours. What I do remember is this...
We got there and took some pictures. There was relatively little snow on the ground, which was a blessing for me, since I disliked how cold snow inevitably makes my hands. I remember the gift shop, and my dad buying me a heart-shaped worry stone.
Here we are, blissfully unaware of how my life was about to change forever:
At some point, the decision was made to hike a little ways down the trail. My mother objected, she never had the adventurous spirit my dad did, and so we left her at the top while the three of us began our descent.
There was snow sprinkled about on the rim, and on the sides of the trail. The trail itself was mostly clear, but there were isolated patches of ice. This should have been a red flag, clumsy child that I was, but we were high on adventure, bravado, and the knowledge that my dad had hiked the canyon a million times, so we continued undeterred. We rounded the third switchback, and my feet flew out from under me.
I slipped.
What actually happened, I can't say. But in my eight year old mind, I fell off the edge and was left dangling into the mouth of the canyon, clinging desperately to my dear father's ankle. In my child's mind it was life-or death. I KNOW that I did grab his ankle. I distinctly remember the feeling of my tiny, frozen hands against his boot, and staring at the tread of his shoes against the ground. Whether or not I was actually over the edge, my body dangling in the cold winter air, facing my own mortality and impending doom, no one can say. (Logic however, says that since there were switchbacks in the trail, I wouldn't have fallen THAT far.)
Dad pulled me to my feet, and we walked back up. I'm sure I was probably in hysterics, given my reaction to Space Mountain the preceding summer, but I don't actually recall. We never spoke of it again. And we certainly didn't mention it to my mother.
What I do know, is that this incident cemented two beliefs firmly into my supple young mind: Snow is evil, and the Grand Canyon is a death trap.
I did return to the canyon later with my grandparents, but stayed dutifully above the rim, and far from the railing at the looking points, still shaken, and terrified the canyon would take me at any moment. It didn't but I'm sure that's because I didn't allow the opportunity to present itself. I left believing that it was still out there...waiting for me.
My pathological fear of snow still persists. I am firm in my belief that it is evil, and one of the harbingers of the apocalypse. And truth be told, I'm not entirely convinced that the Grand Canyon isn't out to get me. But at this point, it's time to battle this out. I ventured out into the snow (accidentally, but ventured out nonetheless) this winter, and survived (despite the copious sets of MASSIVE bear tracks- shouldn't bears hibernate? I feel like they should have been hibernating...). Out of the two things, snow was (IS) the bigger issue, so if I can face the snow, I'm more than ready to battle the canyon.
Childhood memories be damned! I'm headed back, and hopefully this time, I'll be a little more sure footed. :)
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