Grandview / Tonto / New Hance

A welcome trickle of light brought my surroundings into a soft fade, and I paused my forward shuffle long enough to turn off my headlamp and shove it in a pocket. Finally. After three hours, three long, dark hours, the sun was finally rising over the Grand Canyon. This morning had started just after three with a pitch-black road walk along Desert View Drive - no cars, no headlights, and only a disgruntled herd of elk bugling through the forest to disrupt the quiet. The miles of road between New Hance and Grandview Trailheads had passed by slowly, and then I started down from Grandview in the dark. Only now, beyond the Coconino Saddle and approaching Horseshoe Mesa, that I could get a glimpse of the trail and the land around me.

It was the fall of 2021. The last time I was in the big ditch was earlier in the year, an in-and-out along the treacherous and remote Nankoweap Trail, and that adventure had planted a seed in my mind. Could I hike all the main trails in the Grand Canyon? The North Rim is straightforward. Most of the trails were like Nankoweap, long drives and simple in-and-out routes. The Tonto Trail on the South Rim presented a more challenging puzzle, as it runs parallel to the Colorado River, never once touching the rim, with no drive-accessible trailhead. Nine trails (depending on how you count them) drop off the South Rim, granting access to different sections of Tonto. Trying to hike “all the main trails” meant starting down one of these trails, following Tonto for a bit, then hiking back up another, with a shuttle connecting the ends. Or, you could be like me, and just hike the gap between the trailheads before any road traffic.

Today I was on one of these, an easy and short one. Down Grandview Trail, east on the Tonto, and back up New Hance. Mileage on the Tonto would be short, and Grandview was one of the easier South Rim trails. There wasn’t much water along the route, and New Hance is one of the harder trails to follow. That’s a problem for future Jacob. I delayed worrying about it, enjoying the early light, and soon came upon Horseshoe Mesa with the sunrise, right on time, and checked out the old mine at the junction.

This junction presented some interesting options. The trail technically splits into three here: west drops down to Cottonwood, north continues on the mesa before descending the far side, and east drops to Hance Creek, the most reliable water source out here. I turned west. This would add some miles onto my route, as I would have to circle around the entire base of Horseshoe Mesa before continuing east to my climb up New Hance, but it would also make completing this network of trails easier on future trips. My choice started easy before suddenly plunging down a steep drainage, looking more like a game path than an actual trail.

The drop was short and sharp and I was soon walking along the rocky, cluttered creekbed of Cottonwood Creek. A tributary joined in from the west, bringing a small trickle of water. I still had a liter or two of water in my pack, so I didn’t stop to filter, planning instead to tank up at Hance Creek. Trotting along, I made quick time on this section, jumping up to follow the Tonto Trail where it crossed the creek and starting the steady curve around Horseshoe Mesa.

One thing that had been on my mind during my planning was a sideways slope. I was walking a trail that worked along the slope of the Grand Canyon… wouldn’t it make for awkward, slightly twisted walking? This was barely a concern. Tonto Trail was incredibly flat, with only a few sections of obvious slope. In fact, the land was so flat and continuous that the inner gorge disappeared, easy to forget that there was over a thousand feet more to drop before the Colorado River.

The trail curved around the first prong, swung inwards, and then curved around the second prong of the horseshoe. I slowly warmed in the morning sun, a welcome reprieve from this morning’s early chill, which had me wearing extra layers and still shivering on the road. Those layers were now shoved in my pack, adding a little weight. Who knows, maybe I’ll be pulling them out again before the day was over, if my hike lasts long into the evening.

The second prong led me to the deep cut of Hance Creek, and my trail became squeezed between Horseshoe Mesa on one side and a steeply-sided canyon on the other. Okay, the slope was more pronounced here. I didn’t mind that much. Only two miles to the Hance Creek crossing, where dependable water and a small campsite lay sheltered under the heights of Coronado Butte. Soon I entered that shade and headed to a flat rock, pulling out my bottles and filter. I only had capacity for four liters, so I filled up, drank deeply, and filled up again. There might be water in Red Canyon, or I could filter out of the Colorado, and both of those were a maybe. If they both failed me, maybe this refill would give me enough to finish the hike.

With a freshly full pack of water and the sun peeking over the cliffs behind me I continued on my way. In my mind I was halfway done with the Tonto. Six miles since I entered Cottonwood Creek, and six miles left until I reached Red Canyon. These next six miles trended downhill. That thousand feet of drop to the Colorado River? Yeah, I would have to drop down that, as the Tonto Trail drops all the way to the bank before meeting up with Red Canyon.

These six miles absolutely cooked me. The sun was directly above me, pouring heat into the canyon, which reflected it back around me, bathing me like a solar oven. I struggled along stubbornly, telling myself that filling up on water at Hance Creek had counted as a break. When I reached Mineral Creek, though, my legs demanded a break, so I ducked into a pocket of shade and sipped water. This was tough. Nankoweap had also been tough, walking along the creek bed at this low elevation, and I had tried to forget that struggle. Today those memories came back in force, and I wondered idly how crazy a complete flip of the day would have been. Tackle the higher, cooler elevations during the day, and then hike the canyon depths in the cool of night.

The rest of those six miles dragged, even with some good river views and fun obstacles along the way, and I reached Hance Rapids and the sandy shore of the Colorado River after noon. I squirmed under a nearby mesquite tree and rested, sipping water and closing my eyes. Only two liters remained of my water, and the Colorado was running too muddy for easy filtering. I know there are ways of dealing with this, specific chemicals that clump the silt together or buckets and patience. Without either one, I could only look out over the angry river. When it was time to push on I did the best I could - soaked my shirt in the cold water - and then turned south, gazing up at the rim above. That distant view - that wasn’t really where I was heading, was it?

The next few miles passed by in a bit of a haze. Walking along the bottom of Red Canyon was tough, the soft ground underfoot slipping, and I was slightly embarrassed to bump into some fellow hikers from hikearizona.com during this section, with my soaked shirt half-buttoned and the sweat pouring off of me. They understood the struggle, though, and were planning on waiting until the afternoon cooldown to try the hike out. I wished them well and continued on.

When the trail cut up the eastern bank I stuck to the dry canyon, hoping that a water source would be “right around the bend”. There were drainages that cut across the trail and led down to this canyon, so I planned on using one of those to reconnect. The water source didn’t arrive, and the drainage? It cliffed out. I wasted over an hour trying to find water, or a connection back to the trail. After backtracking and tackling a crumbling, overgrown slope, I swore to stick on the trail and just finish the darn thing.

My climb became a slow slog. Five steps forward, catch my breath, then five more steps. Every hour I gave myself a half liter of water, and then I dropped that allotment down to a quarter liter as the day stretched. When the sun slipped below the buttes and granted me shade I was incredibly thankful. My legs threatened cramping and my throat parched, but at least the cooking had stopped.

The last half mile was by headlamp. I had slipped into a half-trance by then, a few steps at a time, and when the trail suddenly flattened I fell over, my legs confused by this weird “flat ground” that showed up. What was this? Struggling back up, leaning on my trekking poles, I made my way back to the road, and then back to the car, where I greedily drank my fill of water that I had stashed. While I probably should have stopped and rested, catching a few hours of sleep, I was utterly done with the canyon for the day. I drove home, wondering how I had tricked myself into this foolhardy idea of dayhiking these trips. Somehow, though, I knew I’d be back, in just a few months, aiming to knock out another section of the Tonto Trail.