Adventure, Anchored in Care - Grand Canyon West

Read first - Megswildwords.com/nevada/compassion-in-concrete-hoover-dam

An hour after leaving the Hoover Dam, we stopped at Arizona’s Joshua Tree Forest. I stepped out of the car and entered a small trail opening alongside a family. I walked the trail for a few minutes, taking photos of the unique forest, enjoying the sun on my skin, and examining the desert plants. On my way back, I overheard a father explaining to his daughter how Joshua Trees can survive extreme heat and freezing nighttime temperatures. I smiled, thinking of my own father and wondering if he’d be busy searching for desert creatures or admiring the plants with me. I already knew the answer—as a small lizard scurried to a nearby rock, I smiled again before climbing back into the car.

Winding roads and small towns passed by with every mile our tires drove. We didn’t stop again, as there was nowhere worth stopping. My mind wandered in between moments of dancing and car singing. As little homes, miles apart, flashed by, I wondered if the people living there felt isolated. Did they have a community to lean on or a friend to laugh with? We saw fewer than a handful of people outside during our two-hour drive through these areas, and each time, they were alone. I didn’t know their stories, and to assume how they felt wouldn’t be fair—but still, I wondered. I hoped for them. Even out here in the most remote stretches of desert, I hoped they had someone.

At 1 p.m., two and a half hours later, we arrived at Grand Canyon West, part of the Hualapai Reservation. It’s not considered part of the National Park and costs more to enter. These are protected lands of the Hualapai people, carrying deep cultural and spiritual significance. Although hiking was limited, we were honored to explore and learn the history. After gathering on shuttle buses, we were taken to two sites: Eagle Point and Guano Point.

Eagle Point—named after the rock formation within the canyon—was magnificent. Standing near the edge, a delicate chain served as the only warning of the deadly fall beyond it. My adventurous spirit couldn’t help but peer downward at the colorful layers of rock below. Perched on a rock above one of the eagle’s “wings” was a formation shaped like a curled-up pup, aptly named Sleeping Dog. It was the second time that day a dog had made itself a landmark on our journey—a beautiful reminder of the universality of companionship, across cultures and landscapes.

As we walked the path, reading about the historical significance and traditions of the Hualapai tribe, I learned about the roles within the community, how their shelters were made, and how they cared for one another. It was a testament to human resilience—and the way people, throughout time, have survived not just through strength, but through connection.

At Guano Point, we hiked around the rock formations with countless others. At one point, Chris—who is afraid of heights—walked in front of me along a narrow trail with a drop so steep that my legs quivered and my anxiety spiked. I shouted after him, worried. If I was nervous, I could only imagine how he felt. When I caught up to him, he was determined to continue, though his tense shoulders and sweat told a different story. I convinced him to turn back, kissed his cheek, and admired his courage. Love often asks us to step into discomfort—not to prove anything, but to walk beside someone, even when it’s hard.

Once back on stable ground, I continued hiking upward to the top of the formation. I stopped occasionally to take in the river below, snap photos, and catch my breath before ascending again. At the top, I took in the full 360-degree view—deep canyons, layered in reds and browns, stretching to the horizon. Hundreds of people lined the trail below, taking photos, laughing, talking, and occasionally shying away from the edge. A few others stood with me at the summit—some eating snacks, others quietly absorbing the view. In all that vastness, it felt like we were part of something shared.

As we made our way down, I snapped a selfie with Chris, and a sweet couple offered to take it for us. We returned the favor. As we walked back to the shuttle, we reflected on the kindness of strangers and the quiet threads of connection woven throughout the day—from the Hoover Dam to here, from Sleeping Dog to human courage.

The ride home was long. Exhausted from the day’s adventure, a quote I once read came to mind—one that attributes a powerful insight to anthropologist Margaret Mead. In response to a student asking about the earliest signs of civilization, she supposedly held up a healed femur and said:

“Evidence of the earliest true civilization was a healed femur. Such healings were never found in the remains of competitive, savage societies. There, clues of violence abounded—temples pierced by arrows, skulls crushed by clubs. But the healed femur showed that someone must have cared for the injured person—hunted on his behalf, brought him food, and served him at personal sacrifice.”

This quote appears in Fearfully and Wonderfully Made by Dr. Paul Brand and Philip Yancey (Zondervan, 1980). While the exact origin of the quote remains unverified and its attribution to Margaret Mead is widely debated, Brand and Yancey share it as a powerful metaphor for the beginnings of human compassion and community.

And today, in the midst of rocky trails, cultural teachings, and quiet moments of courage, I saw that compassion reflected in unexpected ways. Adventure may have brought us here, but it’s love, care, and connection that left the deepest imprint.

Recommendations:

📍Hoover Dam

📍Grand Canyon West - 2.5-3 hour drive from Vegas

Visited in February

Temperature 60-80 degrees

More pictures will be uploaded by 6/10/2025

Citation: Brand, Paul, and Philip Yancey. Fearfully and Wonderfully Made: A Surgeon Looks at the Human and Spiritual Body. Zondervan, 1980.

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