The Grizwald Vacation

In spirit of dad stories, I'm writing about our last family vacation growing up.  My tone in this story is sarcastic, in my true emotion at18. Because I aged about five good years during this vacation. Yet I wouldn't take it back for anything you could give me for it. :)

The picture here is my dad, Tommy LaMaster, at the Grand Canyon. 

It's much nicer from the top of the canyon.  TRUST ME.  

Dad had this Grizwald Vacation idea, where we would tour the west for two weeks- the Hoover Dam, Vegas, Grand Canyon, Hollywood.  So, we fly in for $69 bucks a person to Vegas. We drive over to start at the Hoover Dam for a day then next on the list is to the Canyon.  Dad not being much of a planner thinks you can just walk up and rent a mule for the day...sadly to find you have to book them months in advance. Insisting to make this trip memorable, dad talks us into hiking to the bottom. On our feet. "Its only like 5 miles to the bottom" he says. Mom immediately despises the idea and says she's staying back with Cheri LaMaster (5) and Gina LaMaster (9).  Of course, the little sisters were upset they couldn't go with us... so we promised we would video it for them to show what they didn't miss.

We see the warning signs and tired people walking up, but don't really pay any attention because you know they don't really apply to us. I mean it's only "like five miles" to the bottom and I'm a cross country runner, plus we're young. Here is a picture of us before we started the hike. We are pretending to be hot and dying. Ha ha - we are funny. 

So off we were - it's me, Gary (19), Cindi (14), dad (40 something) - packed with the "necessities" for a quick easy hike and one night camp out at the bottom at the ever famous Phantom Ranch.  We have sleeping bags, tents, clothes, toiletries, cans of food, water, all packed in our back packs.  For the first three or so miles we video and pretend it was totally lame and boring and that we wished we hadn't hiked because it was so hot and long.... just so my little sisters would feel they were glad they did not come. Walking along moving out of the way of the mules, every time a new tour came through.  You had to push your self up to the side of the slim trail's canyon wall and let them pass - it was the mule rule. Stupid mules. 

Then we get to the five mile point...to find its only the half way point!  "Oh its not that much further" dad says... 

SIX. GRUELING. TREACHEROUS. HOURS. IN THE JUNE DESSERT HEAT later... We are so hot and tired. We are like literally dying....
Then it gets even better --- WE RUN OUT OF WATER. Of course, its all dad's fault.  I was so mad, but since I was dying of heat exhaustion I couldn't even yell at him.  I'm going to die of heat exhaustion. 

Now we get to the flat part of the Canyon, where the Colorado River runs through the Canyon. There is a huge sign warning not to attempt to swim, drink the water or camp.  There are literally guided raging rapid float trip boaters hanging on for dear life in their canoes flying past us. Dad's going to make up for it somehow.

Somehow, in our packed necessities is this long rope, probably part of a tent. Dad starts to tie this rope around his waist.  One at a time we tie the other end around us and we each wade into the river.  These floaters are looking at us like we are totally nuts, partly because we were at that point, we were in survival mode.  The water was ice cold, and it's 105 degrees that day, so immediately our muscles cramp up.  Every single muscle.  Dad!!!  There are two more miles left - AND NO CAMPING ALOUD HERE the sign says.  We fill our bottles with the dirty water and drink and drink..... and carry on to Phantom Ranch.

Next we are at the bridge to cross the Colorado river to get to our camp. I'm dragging my legs at this point, so mad, so tired, so dying. I'm dying. Can't even find anything to pick on my sister for, I'm that so dying. This long metal bridge should have been scary and looked really cool and exciting, but it wasn't, because I was that dying. "But, the Phantom Ranch is going to be so worth it, there is food there, there are cabins we can rent and air conditioning" dad says.  OK so at this point he would make up for it and rent a cabin.  We'll live.  Keep hiking. 

TWO ARID EXTRA EXTRA DRY DESERTS LATER we finally arrive at the Phantom Ranch. We immediately run up to the little restaurant because it is way past dinner time. At this point we are starving and thirsty.  Really we are more like extremely dehydrated and delusional. We probably should've gotten checked out and put on IV bags to replenish our fluids. All these happy mule riding people are finishing up their full course meals - steak, salad, potatoes, soup, rolls. They are clearing out ready to go relax in their comfy cabins and explore the ranch.  Yea! Now, move mule people, make room for us - we are hung-arrry. Hangry hungry.

The menu has all this grear stuff, it's like $50 a person, but it's so worth it. Because it's our last supper and it's all that matters. I'm going to eat a steak at this point and I don't even eat meat. Medium well. Some A1 sauce. Hell's yeah, give Chelle a steak!  The waitress comes over to take our order. We start reciting our requests so relieved we are alive.  She stares at us mid-order, with a little bit of concern and a tad of enjoyment in her hidden smile, and interrupts us with, "I'm soooo sorry. We just ran out of steak... and potatoes... and rolls...and soup. We do have bagels and apples."  Bagels and apples!?  Are you being serious at all right now? That is our last supper.  And, you don't even have cream cheese!? 

The mood at this point goes from extreme exhaustion to complete anger.  My sunburned, chapped lips are pressing so hard, my lips are numbing, my teeth are gritting and I'm flaring my nostril.  I'm staring at my dad, he's avoiding my glare. I'm questioning his decision making skills. How could you think this was going to be remotely enjoyable, or safe. What were you thinking?!  How did they ever even release me home from the hospital with you?

Now what is left? It's way dark, we are dying, it's hot.  Let's go find the camp ranger because someone is going to get us out of here. We are NOT walking back to the top. Cindi and I walk up to the ranger's cabin, with it's big swamp cooler running, and knock on the door.  They open it and we both are crying and I ask in desperation "how much for a helicopter to get us out of here?"  The ranger silently laughs and says we don't do that.  Only in dire emergencies, if someone CAN'T get back to the top.  "But we CAN'T get to the top, pullleeassee?!"  

We walk away devastated.  We will make it so we CAN'T get out of here somehow. I'll break your leg! No you break my leg. We CAN'T get out of here alive. 

This picture - It's the "We have to walk back to the top tomorrow and what the *&^% was my dad thinking" face picture. The "I'm so mad at you for talking me into this %&^*+^& hike, that I don't even want to ask anyone to include me in this picture" picture.  "We are GOING to die tomorrow".

...TO BE CONTINUED.