From Las Vegas, the family drove to Kingman, Arizona to stay a night, then started out toward Grand Canyon National Park in the morning. The landscape slowly became more green, but the rocks, boulders and gravel were a constant along the route. Once at the park, they left their rented car in lot C, by the mule stables, then strolled down a paved path toward the Bright Angel Trailhead.
At the first overlook condors were circling and soaring in the vast nothingness between the canyon walls. Condors where interesting birds, but not the best bird in Astrid’s personal rankings. Then she saw them–ravens. The first one she spotted flew up and up and up on the updrafts coming out of the canyon. It flew so high, until it was just a speck of black on the blue sky. The presence of ravens was a blessing to her on that cold chilly day, and later as they hiked part of the Rim Trail, she would get a closer look at the beautiful birds.
How to Tell a Raven from a Crow: The more subtle differences, as observed by the author.
There is a group (or murder, if you must) of around six crows that frequent Astrid’s neighborhood in Michigan. They hung around the neighborhood, perching on rooftops cawing and looking for food, chasing red-tailed hawks, eating dead bunnies, and small vermin. Astrid liked to see them, she even fed them at one time (but stopped because Leave No Trace).
Both crows and ravens belong to the family Corvidae, are all-black in adulthood, and are very intelligent birds, but there is something subtly different and set-apart about ravens. Anthropomorphically speaking, Astrid would say they are more soul-intelligent. They play, they soar, they seem to love being alive. At times, their behavior seems to sing a song of praise to their Creator. They love updrafts. They love their mates (for the most part), and usually stick by them. They are poets of the wilderness, but not through their rough croaky cricks and growls, but visually. They move like dancers, jet black on a background of the canyon colors–muted by snow, enhanced by mid-day sun, accentuated by the dim of dusk–soaring up and up until they are only a speck of black, then sailing back down into human territory.
In true trickster fashion, around noon, one raven circled down from the sky, blotting out the sun, drawing Snorrie’s attention. He looked up and winced. “It tricked me into looking right at the sun.” Ravens often play “The Trickster” in folklore and fables.
Marzluff and Angell, in their book, In the Company of Crows and Ravens, describe the difference more concretely: “Ravens are large … with prominent beaks, diamond or wedge-shaped tails, and broad wings spanning more than 4.5 feet (1.4 meters). Crows typically weigh less than 1 pound, with shorter and narrower beaks, fan-shaped tails and wings spanning less than a yard. … Ravens often soar in flight, but crows usually flap …”(pg 54). Ravens live in extreme areas like California’s Death Valley, the Himalayas, or the northern Arctic. Crows are rarely far from humans. “Ravens scream, trill, knock, croak, cackle, warble, yell, kaw and make sounds like wood blocks, bells, and dripping water. … At a higher pitch, crows can scream, rattle, whine, and coo, but nine times out of ten, they caw (and caw and caw!)” (pg 55).
Further down the trail they stopped in at the Kolb Studio where the Kolb brothers lived as they explored and photographed the Grand Canyon. Further on down the trail, at the Bright Angel Trailhead, Astrid stood looking down at the dry, gravely switchbacks leading into the canyon and noticed three backpackers standing nearby, all bedecked and ready for a backpacking trek into the canyon. She had been backpacking for a week at Porcupine Mountains Wilderness State Park the previous June, and despite the low mileage, high-joint pain adventure, she would do it again, with even more miles (and more preparation), in a heartbeat. There was a draw to living out of a backpack, with not much else to do but survive, deal with yourself, appreciate your surroundings and read a book if you remembered to bring it. There is a richness of experience one gets while backpacking-even for a few days-which can’t be had on a day hike. As she watched these backpacked and walking-sticked adventurers, the desire to go whispered, called to her. She wanted to go down the trail, hike through the soreness, sleep in the wilderness. But she wasn’t prepared, they weren’t there for backpacking that day, so she tamped down the impulse and looked around to appreciate the tiny slice of the canyon she could see.
They ate an early lunch at Arizona Steakhouse, along the Rim Trail, then the family walked two miles on Trail of Time. It was a paved trail with archeological displays explaining the geological history of the area. Before she was too far on the trail, a familiar sight floated down from the sky–snowflakes. Then snow, then downright white-out conditions. But they were in Arizona.
As a slightly naive Michigander, when she thought of the Southwest, and especially Arizona, she thought of cacti, deserts, hot, dry, sun. The white storm blotted out the canyon for half an hour or so, then ended with a rainbow.
They hopped on a shuttle at the Geology Museum and got off at the Grand Canyon Visitor Center where Astrid searched for a patch at the Park Store. It was still snowing significantly, so the family joined an older couple in a corner of benches to wait out the snow storm. The couple had been traveling in an RV, with a group of people, some of whom were family.
The gentleman was a pilot at one time, a Vietnam War Vet. Bjorn and Astrid talked of their parochial travels, of Michigan and how the snow that was presently pelting the Canyon wasn’t all that novel to them, but they sure didn’t expect it in Arizona. The couple spoke of how they lived in southwest California, how years ago the husband had taken a white water raft through the canyon and the wife had ridden mules through it. As the snow and conversation waned the older couple’s group was seen outside the window and they said goodbye, Astrid thanking the gentleman for his service to the country, and thanking God for friendly people who like to make good conversations with strangers.
The rest of the day was spent watching out a bus shuttle window, seeing the edge of the canyon, deer, and popping on and off shuttles as it made its way up and down the Hermits Rest Route in the park. National parks often have shuttles that travel around the park, to cut down on car traffic and pollution.
After the shuttle, they said goodbye to the canyon and drove to a potential sunset spot for photos, but the sunset had already been magnificent there, and had disappeared below the horizon, so they headed south toward Flagstaff, where they would be staying that night.
Arizona snow was not done with the unsuspecting Michigan family. On the way, a shorter route was suggested by GPS lady, so they took it. As they drove, they noticed they were going up – 6000, 7000 feet of altitude. But before 8000 feet, Michigan revisited them, calling them back to mind with the snow falling thick, whiting out their view, adding to the tall piles on the side of the roads.
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