A Rim-to-Rim at the Grand Canyon involves hiking from the North Rim to the South Rim, or visa versa. There are only four trails that allow one to accomplish this in a semi-easy fashion: the South Kaibab and Bright Angel on the South Rim, and the North Kaibab and Old Bright Angel on the North Rim. These trails are in the "Corridor" and connected by a bridge at the bottom. Crossing the Colorado River, the barrier betwixt the North and South Rims, without a bridge is considered deleterious to one's health.
A winter Rim-to-Rim is a whole other ball of melted candle substance. Along about mid-October, depending on the snow situation, the North Rim closes down. The roads are blocked off. They are not plowed until mid-May or so when the Park Service and Park Concessions decide to shovel out the North Rim Lodge and environs. Thus a winter Rim-to-Rim involves skiing 43 miles from Jacob Lake to one of the above-mentioned trailheads, then donning one's skis and hieing oneself across the abyss.
It should not then come as a surprise that, in 1976, only four persons had every finished a winter Rim-to-Rim. All four of these were of the male persuasion. This, of course, presented a pretty scenario. If I could manage to complete the winter RTR, I would be the first woman to do so. I'd never been the first woman to do anything, yet. That sort of thing looks good on one's resume.
At this halcyon time, one could call the Backcountry Office and not only speak with an actual ranger, but obtain a permit on the spot. Subsequently I called to find out what the regulations were regarding winter camping on the North Rim and was told gently that the North Rim was closed: probably due to the fact that there was 10 feet of snow on the ground. I explained that my plan was to ski/ hike across, snow or no.
The exasperated ranger snapped, "Is this Slim?". Caught in the act, I admitted it. Ranger Green sighed a long-suffering sigh and ordered me to present myself in person to apply for this particular permit. On my next Canyon venture, took a few minutes out to convince an unimpressed ranger that, since I had done things almost as stupid within the confines of the Canyon, I could probably manage this without vanishing into a crevasse. He was highly skeptical, but granted permission, more grudgingly than graciously. He left me with the distinct impression that he fully expected me to vanish into the Northern Climes, and he wouldn't lift a digit to find me if I did.
There were, of course, several things wrong with this Rim-to-Rim idea. Paramount among them was the fact that, while I was an experienced Grand Canyon backpacker, both on and off-trail, I had only been X-C skiing for a few months. Ignorance being bliss, I figured that since I could hike 20 miles in a day, I could ski 20 miles in a day, so it would only take two days to cross the Plateau. I could almost hear that Backcountry Ranger's evil cackling at that notion.
I got a friend to drop a gaggle of us off at Jacob Lake late one afternoon. We skied for a mile or so on a road which, if not plowed, had obviously seen four-wheel drive traffic. We had a semi-groomed route. This would be a snap! Then we reached the gate closing the road for winter. Suddenly the snap unsnapped. I had figured there would be snowmobile tracks or something. That was the second thing wrong: no one had apparently passed that way since the first snow fall.
That night everything froze. Well, duh. We were camped in the snow, after all. When it doesn't freeze, snow reverts to water. Kirshfink, who never carries dried food if he can get away with it, found his fresh apples frozen solid. The water froze solid. The boots froze solid. The socks -- well, you get the idea.
Everyone wimped out. Dan, Kate, Kirshfink, all turned around to hitch a ride back from Jacob Lake. Suddenly we were down to a two person party. But gamely, stubbornly, dare I say stupidly? we pressed on.
The third thing wrong was that I had borrowed an internal frame pack from a friend who outweighed me by a good 50 pounds. I couldn't get the waist belt to tighten, and it slipped and slid on my shoulders as I tried to ski.
The fourth thing wrong was that we had waxed skis. Admittedly, in 1976 waxless skis were not state-of-the-art. It was hard to get a pair that would climb hills and glide at the same time. Also, I had learned to ski from purists who felt that using waxless skis was cheating. In some areas of the country, like Colorado, one can ski all day on one or two colors of wax. In Northern Arizona in March, we had to change waxes every hour or so. In the morning we would start on ice. By noon we would be on slush. Sometimes powder snow would blow into the path onto wax designed for slush and hopelessly clog up the skis.
The fifth thing wrong was my stove. I knew enough to bring a stove to melt snow for drinking water, but mine was an itty- bitty Svea. Suitable for backpacking, but not hot enough to melt snow for gallons and gallons of water. Melting the stuff took forever, and I was running out of gas.
Back to the first thing wrong. There was no way we were going to make it across the Plateau in two days. I'd have probably been able to ski 20 miles a day with no pack and a groomed track. With a heavy pack that had a mind of its own and no trail, I could only slog. There was a full moon, so we skied far into the night, trying to make as much distance as possible. We had backpacking reservations for Cottonwood Camp three days hence, and at that time, if you didn't check in after a hike, they sent out a ranger to look for you. That ranger had not wanted to give me that permit, and had all but predicted my ultimate fate as the object of a Search and Rescue mission. I didn't want to prove him right.
The nights were cold, of course. We had a tent, and I had a winter-weight sleeping bag. I had even bought a super large size, so I could take my water and clothes and boots inside to keep them from freezing. What a cozy thought! Just curl up with the canteens, the wet socks, and the smelly boots. But it was cold getting up in the wee hours of the morning, and we needed every wee hour to get further along on our quest.
There was no sign of another person except for a set of ski tracks we saw on and off in the ice (who is that guy?). These turned off at the road to Point Sublime, and then we were in unmarked snow. When we entered the Park Boundary, someone had left the radio turned on in the entrance station. It was unutterably weird to hear rangers discussing SAR missions in the Inner Canyon which seemed to involve dehydrated hikers while we sat on a dry patch of cement step for a snack surrounded by nothing but snow.
The sixth thing wrong was that the North Kaibab trail was closed. There was so much ice, the ranger told us not to even try hiking down it. He re-routed us to the Old Bright Angel, which was longer than the North Kaibab and further away. We had to ski south to the road junction, then several miles back north to the dirt road leading to the Old BA.
I had never been on the Old Bright Angel. That didn't bother me: I could follow any track in the Canyon, but I didn't know where the trailhead was (I do fine on trails: I just get lost on roads). Once we turned off onto a narrow dirt road leading to the trailhead, the only way I could stay on track was to look for names carved in the trees on either side of the road.
When the track ended at the Kaibab cliff, that was a helpful hint that the trail must be somewhere in the area. Luckily, no one had stolen the trail sign. Also luckily, the Old Bright Angel descends a canyon that faces south. This meant the route was nearly snow free. We had taken three and three-quarter days to ski the 43 miles: now we had less than four hours of light left to get to Cottonwood Camp.
We tied the skis and poles to the packs and dug out the hiking boots we had carried for 43 miles. There are cross-country ski set-ups that allow one to wear hiking boots, but my skis took three-pin boots, which are not comfortable for walking. Since the soles are slick leather, they are also not quite secure for Grand Canyon trails. The skis had some interesting arguments with overhanging trees along the route.
We made it down the 7.8 miles of Old BA to the junction with the North Kaibab by dark. We stumbled along to Cottonwood by the light of the full moon and collapsed. We were finally back on schedule.
The next morning we walked the seven plus miles to the Colorado River to clamber out the South Kaibab. The campground and the Ranch were full of college students on Spring Break. We received some piercing looks regarding our skis. To those who ventured a question, I replied: "What, you didn't bring yours?".
We met one hiker without a permit who asked if he could have ours "because the rangers don't look at them that closely." I replied that yes, they did, particularly in the corridor, and ours wouldn't do him much good in any case, because hardly anyone would believe he'd done a Rim-to-Rim with no skis.
I was beat. We had pushed hard for three days, and I haven't been so tired hiking out of the Canyon since I was a brand-new hiker. I was panting and wheezing when who should appear but Dan, Kate, and Kirshfink scampering their way down. They had hitched their ride around to the South Rim and snagged reservations at Bright Angel Campground, the wimps.
We dragged ourselves out to the car we had left four days before. We had done it. The fifth and sixth person to do the winter Rim-to-Rim, and the first woman.
That spring in a fit of coincidence, that May I led a commercial trip down Kanab Canyon, and a Park Ranger came along to make sure we were upright, law-abiding, and Leave No Trace. I told him with some pride that I had completed the winter Rim to Rim in March, and he said, "Did you see ski tracks?"
"Yeah," said I. "We had the only permit to be there, so I couldn't figure out whose they were."
"They were mine, and when I skied back out of Point Sublime, I couldn't figure out who made yours!"
We were very lucky that the weather held. It would be most unpleasant and downright dangerous to be caught on the Plateau in a blizzard. I'd like to do the trip again someday, with my waxless skis, my MSR stove, and my own internal frame pack (that fits!). I worked two winters teaching XC sking, so I probaby would do better this time. I would allow at least four days to cross the Plateau. I understand the permits are just as difficult to get, and I have heard rumors about requiring a cache of clothes and gear at the North Kaibab. The North Kaibab trail is notorious for ice in winter -- in March of 2000 a hiker fell and suffered severe head injuries while we were luxuriating at Bright Angel Campground -- and the Old Bright Angel might be a better choice even if it adds another day to the trip.