… and weather so warm we stripped down to one layer.
UD sat in the winter sun well away from the edge as Mr UD followed our guide to the rim.
Light wind. Supremely clear sunlight. Tibetan temples abounding.
The soft shadowy green plateaus looked like Scotland.
Our guide talked about a mountain lion that somehow got itself down to the bottom of the canyon, where there aren’t any elk. It was an object of interest for awhile, but when it began gazing at hotel guests through their windows, it had to be shot.
Plenty of stories too – natch – about mishaps, missteps, mischancings. A woman whose family had to talk her into taking a mule died when the animal had a heart attack and collapsed, throwing her down the canyon. Our guide, last year, witnessed – along with many others – a suicide off the cliff. “He dove. He put his arms out and dove.”
UD watched with amazement as people frolicked inches from the fall.
“What does the Grand Canyon makes you think about?” our guide asked me.
“You know Freud’s theory of the death wish? That.”