Archive All Issues July 2020

A QUIET WALK IN THE PARK

Share:
Facebook X
On April 1, Grand Canyon National Park was closed to protect the park''s fragile resources - and the people who live and work there. Among the many side effects, an 85-year-old Easter tradition was interrupted, the air cleared, and our photographer had the South Rim all to himself.

Featured in the July 2020 Issue of Arizona Highways

A lone Douglas fir grows in a crevice between columns of rock on the Grand Canyon's South Rim. This image was made after the park closed on April 1.
A lone Douglas fir grows in a crevice between columns of rock on the Grand Canyon's South Rim. This image was made after the park closed on April 1.
BY: Mike Buchheit

A QUIET WALK IN THE PARK ESSAY AND PHOTOGRAPH BY MIKE BUCHHEIT

STANDING AT THE EDGE of the Grand Canyon, with the natural wonder playing hide-and-seek through a light fog, the absence of human activity is palpable. Like being alone on a subway. On any other Easter morning at Mather Point, the space surrounding the scenic overlook would be filled with the sounds of hymns, prayers and the prose of the pastor. And the energy of hundreds of onlookers. The annual sunrise service has been a sacred tradition at the Grand Canyon since 1935. It took an undiscriminating virus and the closure of a national park to interrupt the ritual. As one of 3,000 park residents, I'm allowed to stroll the South Rim with unfettered access to so many breathtaking views. My feeling this morning, however, is bittersweet. I'm privileged to have this rare opportunity to walk alone in what has essentially become a 1.2 million-acre gated community. Still, the reality of why surrounds me like the fog. I'm alone at Mather, but like every other year, I've set up my tripod. The perspective I have offers an unobstructed look at the steep cliffs that buttress the point. Named for Stephen Mather, the first director of the National Park Service, Mather Point tops a promontory that juts sharply into the Canyon. There's room for dozens of visitors to elbow in, look out and grasp the spectacular magnitude. My plan is to make a photograph, one without people, and juxtapose it with a similar shot - the latter showing a shoulder-to-shoulder crowd peering past a portable crucifix to watch the sunrise.

FULL PARK CLOSURES ARE RARE. Historically, they're the result of political wrangling in the nation's capital. Today's shutdown is the result of a public health emergency. It's the first time that's ever happened. Not even the Spanish flu, which claimed the lives of approximately 600,000 Americans, was enough to close the gates of the brand-new park in 1919. But today, on the heels of spring break, at a time when the South Rim should be swarming with tourists from around the world, it's quiet. Hotels,restaurants, gift shops and visitors centers are closed. Commercial hiking, ranger talks, mule rides and whitewater rafting trips are all canceled. The "trip of a lifetime" for hundreds of thousands is put on hold. Or, worse, gone forever. What's more, the economic impact of a shuttered park will be devastating. In 2018, visitors to Grand Canyon National Park spent $947 million in communities near the park. That spending supported 12,558 jobs in the area and had a cumulative benefit to the local economy of $1.2 billion. Those numbers will almost certainly be higher for 2019, when the park celebrated its 100th anniversary. The excitement of the centennial, however, and the economic boost, came to a halt on April 1, 2020. The closure was weeks in the making. Other national parks, including Yellowstone, Yosemite, Grand Teton and Great Smoky Mountains, had already closed. In regard to the Canyon, everyone from the Grand Canyon Chamber of Commerce to the National Parks Conservation Association had come out in favor of suspending park operations. The conventional wisdom was that it would help protect the Canyon's fragile natural and cultural resources, which were at heightened risk in the face of ranger staffing shortages. And, of course, closing the park would decrease the risk of coronavirus exposure to frontline employees and park residents. The final determination was left to the secretary of the Department of the Interior, who decided to close Grand Canyon National Park upon receiving the recommendation of the health and human services director and the chief health officer for Coconino County. In a matter of days, the alreadydwindling crowds sputtered to nil.

restaurants, gift shops and visitors centers are closed. Commercial hiking, ranger talks, mule rides and whitewater rafting trips are all canceled. The "trip of a lifetime" for hundreds of thousands is put on hold. Or, worse, gone forever. What's more, the economic impact of a shuttered park will be devastating. In 2018, visitors to Grand Canyon National Park spent $947 million in communities near the park. That spending supported 12,558 jobs in the area and had a cumulative benefit to the local economy of $1.2 billion. Those numbers will almost certainly be higher for 2019, when the park celebrated its 100th anniversary. The excitement of the centennial, however, and the economic boost, came to a halt on April 1, 2020. The closure was weeks in the making. Other national parks, including Yellowstone, Yosemite, Grand Teton and Great Smoky Mountains, had already closed. In regard to the Canyon, everyone from the Grand Canyon Chamber of Commerce to the National Parks Conservation Association had come out in favor of suspending park operations. The conventional wisdom was that it would help protect the Canyon's fragile natural and cultural resources, which were at heightened risk in the face of ranger staffing shortages. And, of course, closing the park would decrease the risk of coronavirus exposure to frontline employees and park residents. The final determination was left to the secretary of the Department of the Interior, who decided to close Grand Canyon National Park upon receiving the recommendation of the health and human services director and the chief health officer for Coconino County. In a matter of days, the alreadydwindling crowds sputtered to nil.

I PUT MY CAMERA AWAY and stroll to the end of Mather Point. The graveyard stillness is unsettling. Shafts of sunlight pierce the lifting fog bank, bathing the inner Canyon below in a heavenly glow. An overnight rain that saturated the rocks, soil and plants gives their signature reds, golds and greens even more brilliance. The air has never looked cleaner a likely result of the pandemic-fueled reduction in pollution. In the absence of the chaos and clamor of the crowds, it feels like the dawn of time. Gone are the selfie-snapping lovebirds, the multicultural oohs and aahs, the adolescent yodelers, the pungent hikers, and the ubiquitous droning of air, rail and road traffic. Caught up in the spiritual moment, I reach back to my altar boy days and whisper an Our Father or two. The words disturb the quiet. But no one hears my solitary effort to keep the Easter tradition alive. AND Mike Buchheit is the director of the Grand Canyon Conservancy Field Institute. He's also a landscape photographer, photography instructor, author and longtime resident of Grand Canyon National Park.