Megan Parker Artist

Words can’t describe the magnificence of the Grand Canyon. It must be seen and felt.  I will forever carry the feeling of racing the sunrise down the Bright Angel Trail of the Canyon to Phantom Ranch and the exhilaration and exhaustion of cresting the North Rim up the North Kaibab Trail to the welcome and congratulations of complete strangers – how few of them would ever drop below the rim, see the red rocks turned purple by the first light of sunrise and know the feeling of going rim to rim in just 8.5 hours. 

The emotion of completing the trek was very complicated.  The effort was immense and the immediate aftermath was a vulnerable time for me emotionally.  I was physically and mentally exhausted.  I was overjoyed, and so proud of my preparation and accomplishment, which was a reflection of decades of dedication to my physical health and fitness.

To the extent that completing this effort living with CF makes it all the more satisfying for me personally, it is a quiet contentment, a treasured experience that can never be taken away by any decline. I will always remember the purple of the sunrise, the green oases of cottonwoods next to water only feet below cacti and desert, the bluest sky, and the reds and greens of the North Kaibab trail.

Not surprisingly, I have some thoughts about this experience.  The Grand Canyon is immense.  I did not see very much of it, and the Canyon was unaffected by my presence.  The Grand Canyon didn’t care if I hiked across or if I succumbed to heat stroke and died.  In this respect, the Grand Canyon isn’t good or bad.  It just simply is. 

The Colorado River is destructive and creative, destroying much in its forming of the Canyon. My life with CF isn’t so different, and perhaps that means that CF isn’t so different.  It feels better not calling CF an enemy, not something to fight, but rather something to traverse.  Taking reasonable risks mitigated by preparation, self-knowledge and the help of others to turn devastating power into a creative life well lived.

The North Rim is covered in pine forest, towering above the desert at the bottom of the Canyon.  Some of this forest was extensively burned by a massive forest fire a few years ago. Driving through the burn after my rim to rim hike, looking at acres of destruction, I saw a single tree standing in the midst. Seeing this, and the obvious metaphor that came to mind cut short a lot of my immediate joy in my summit. 

Why that tree?

Why me?

Why do I get to do this when so many others, so few, with CF never even had the chance? I don’t have any answers for that.  I can only be thankful that I am.  And I am thankful.