Grand Canyon I

"What's your route?" is easily in the top five most annoying questions a pilot gets asks. My routes generally keep me far away from the massive trench of the Grand Canyon, although every once in a while I get a nice view of it from a few miles up. Much earlier in my career though, when I was a flight instructor working out of Phoenix, I'd frequently take students on cross-country flights up to Prescott, Arizona and then north to the canyon's southern rim where we'd take a turn to the east towards Tuba City and then onward to Page on the shores of Lake Powell, arriving just before dark.

We’d then borrow the airport’s car—a beat-up Chevy of underminable vintage—grab food in town (normally pizza or Mexican)—and then return to the airport. We’d eat leaning against the wing of our trusty steed, and then with full darkness hovering over us, we’d launch southward, reversing the route, gliding over the invisible terrain initially just a few thousand feet below our wings as it slowly dropped away beneath us the closer to Phoenix that we got.

Despite seeing the canyon from this vantage point several times a month for almost two years, it wasn't until 10 years later that I got to see its snow-dusted, massive vastness from the ground, while on a trip with my father.

Grand Canyon National Park, Arizona 2019

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