recreation

Like many other not so over-the-hill folks, Fritz Woiwode has found thatchallenging the grandest canyon can become a habit that's hard to break

FRITZ ANDGRAND HIS CANYON

Fritz Woiwode is addicted to the Grand Canyon and freely admits it. The 66-year-old man struggles to explain why he travels from California for five days each year to carry a 45-pound backpack, sleep on the ground, and trudge some of the more difficult trails in the Canyon. With his German accent, he tries words like magical, mysterious, spiritual, then shrugs and grins. "It's just an obsession, I guess," he says.

Fritz is not alone. He is part of a growing number of visitors more than 60 years old who return year after year to challenge the Grand Canyon. With reasons as varied as their personalities, they use the Canyon as a measuring stick in their battle against age, an escape from the problems of life, or just to enjoy the beauty and peace found in the unique world below the Rim.

Photographer Bernadette Heath and I traveled to the South Rim of the Canyon to they warned. "You can pass Fritz five times, and he's still always ahead of you." This didn't sound good. My pride was going to take a beating. I planned to hike partway with Fritz, then return to the Rim to go with other senior hikers the next day. I hoped I could keep up with Fritz long enough to get the "feel" of the Canyon be-fore he left me in the dust.

Fritz seemed anxious to start when we arrived. He explained he left his troubles behind on the Rim. "No troubles go down the trail," he said. "It is just me and the Canyon." I had an uneasy feeling that although Fritz might leave his troubles behind, mine were just starting.

Fritz led out, and for a time I kept sight of his white hair and en-joyed his description of the trail. I knew he was in the element he loved. Earlier, with tears in his eyes, he had related his favorite scene in the Canyon: "I think the greatest ex-perience is the arriving of a new day. Nowhere else can you experience this. When you're in the sleeping bag, you wake up early, look at the sky, and watch the stars slowly disappear. The dark curtain that is in the Canyon gets thinner

'You must learn to respect the Canyon,' Butchart said. 'Its serene appearance can be

hike with these seniors. We arranged to meet Fritz at the top of Hermit Trail, a path characterized by the National Park Service as steep, rocky, and not regularly maintained. That description worried me. I was the youngest member of our hiking group, but I'd bet I wouldn't be the leader of this party.

On the shuttle to the trailhead, we met some young men from Michigan who hike the Canyon yearly. When we explained our purpose, they replied in unison, "You need to talk to Fritz."

They knew Fritz from previous hikes and considered him somewhat of a legend. When we told them we were hiking with Fritz, they laughed. "You two will never keep up,"

and thinner until it lifts, and the Canyon walls reappear. And finally, after all the procession, comes the grand entrance that is the sun. It arrives in the Canyon and signals a new day. It's unbelievable. The morning, when the sun comes up, is so quiet. It is one of the most peaceful moments in the Canyon."

Sunrise in the Canyon sounded wonderful, but if I kept Fritz's furious pace, I wasn't going to live to see the light of another day. He was soon out of sight, and all I could hear was the rhythmic click-click of his hiking stick. I shouted, "I'm turning back now!" No one heard me but the bird I scared out of a juniper tree.

I sighed and started back up the steep and rocky path. The Park Service hadn't lied. The top end of this hike was rugged, and I soon had all the "feel" of the Canyon I wanted, right in the back of my legs.

I thought of 89-year-old Harvey Butchart, who hiked the Canyon until he was 80 years old. When I visited with Butchart at his Sun City home, I was impressed with the man who, over 42 years of hiking, spent 1,025 days in the Canyon. Butchart followed 116 different ways to the Colorado River and climbed 83 named summits within the Canyon. A former professor at Northern Arizona University in Flagstaff, Butchart conscientiously kept a log of his trips, now more than 1,000 pages of typescript in the Special Collections Library at NAU. He also has written some of the best guides to hiking the Grand Canyon. Butchart told me stories of broken wrists, ribs, and heels. Once he got tangled in his climbing ropes and hung upside down during a cold December night, nearly dying from hypothermia and exposure.

deceiving. Hikers who do not respect the Canyon quickly learn it can be unforgiving.'

"You must learn to respect the Canyon," Butchart said. "Its serene appearance can be deceiving. Hikers who do not respect the Canyon quickly learn it can be unforgiving."

Other hikers had warned me of these dangers. Charlie Rice, a 66-year-old former schoolteacher from Scottsdale, stressed taking enough water and not attempting the Canyon unless you are in good shape. Rice ran, bicycled, and climbed Squaw Peak in Phoenix to get in condition to carry a 50pound backpack on an 11-day hike.

Rice's pack carries a passenger: Buddy, a teddy bear. The teddy bear started as narrator for the slide shows Charlie created for his students, but now Buddy comes along as a good-luck companion.

I asked Rice when he planned to quit hiking the Canyon. He grinned before he answered, "Well, if they have to rescue me three times, then I'll think maybe I'm too old."

Rice sometimes hikes with the Grand Canyon Field Institute, whose hike leaders also teach botany, geology, and the Canyon's ecosystem. I arranged to visit with Mike Buchheit at his institute office in the Kolb Studio on the very edge of the Rim. I admired his office window that looked out Colors, hues, and panoramas transformed in kaleidoscopic arrays. I was on the Grand Canyon. Buchheit agreed the view was spectacular, but he reminded me that more than 425 people are rescued from the Canyon yearly.

"One thing we battle here," says Buchheit, "is the difference in elevation. The top of the Rim is 7,000 feet, and the river bottom is roughly the elevation of the Phoenix valley, 1,092 feet. It is hard for some people to realize that it can be 30° F. or more warmer at the bottom of the Canyon. What is nice hiking weather at the top can be brutally hot at the bottom. Most of the fatalities in the Canyon are related to heat."

I kept putting one aching foot in front of the other as I climbed up the Hermit Trail and thought about Buchheit's warning. "Here at the Canyon you start your hike when your backpack is the heaviest. You are going down this knee-jarring, thigh-pummeling descent, and it is very hard on the legs. When you're coming out, you are tired, and you have to climb back up to 7,000 feet elevation. It is hard to get your breath. This is the opposite of mountain climbing." I knew exactly what he was talking about. Hiking the Canyon isn't for anyone out of shape, regardless of age.

I topped out of the Canyon and was ready for my bedroll. The cool breeze in the pines and a good workout made it easy to sleep. When Bernadette Heath pounded on the camper door, the night was still black. To see sunrise over the Grand Canyon, I had to get going.

I've never been a fan of sunrises; they happen too early in the morning. But the Grand Canyon puts on a show worth crawling out of a warm bedroll for. The scene changed minute by minute as the sun highlighted one feature then another. Colors, hues, and panoramas transformed in kaleidoscopic arrays. I was spellbound. I knew, far below, Fritz was enjoying one of God's greatest shows.

The sun had just finished coloring the Canyon when we met with Stan and Joan Braun, Jim Droll, and Bill Moore to hike down the South Kaibab Trail. The group of friends were all more than 65 years old and regularly hiked in the Superstition Mountains to keep fit.

Heath was going all the way to the bottom with this group. I was going as far as I felt like it. Tomorrow she would hike across the Tonto Basin Trail to meet Fritz on the Hermit Trail. The rest of the group would hike back up the Bright Angel Trail tomorrow.

Droll had had two heart surgeries, and I admired his courage. He admitted this hike was difficult, and he would have to set his own pace, especially hiking out. But the Canyon isn't a racetrack. Everyone should enjoy it at their own particular speed.

This would be a special hike for Moore. His son and grandson were along, making it a three-generation hike. There aren't many 71-year-old men who can say they hiked the Canyon with their 45year-old son and 19-year-old grandson.

Joan Braun will go only part of the way down the South Kaibab Trail with him. She and her husband, Stan, used to hike this trail together, but now the trip is too difficult for her. Stan is 69, but he thrives on the challenges this trail offers. He hikes down one day and out the next.

The air was cool when we started down the switchbacks. Walking was easier than on the rugged Hermit Trail, and I could watch the Canyon instead of my feet.

Soon the group was far ahead of me, setting a pace designed to get them to Phantom Ranch before noon, when it would be 94° in the bottom of the Canyon. I didn't mind being alone. Each turn in the trail revealed another magnificent scene and beckoned me to explore farther. Eventually, but reluctantly, I turned around and plodded back up the steep trail.

Bernadette Heath had invited Stan Braun to experience the Canyon from Fritz's point of view, so tomorrow morning Braun would hike out and join Heath's son-in-law and grandson on the Rim. He would hike down to Hermit's Rest and spend five more days exploring the Inner Canyon, experiencing the sunrises, watching the Colorado River flow by, and even looking for a herd of big-horn sheep.

Braun had told me, "You don't really see a place until you hike it. No matter how many pictures you look at or how many lookouts you stop at, you don't really know a place until you've hiked in it."

I knew he was right. I found myself making a vow to get in shape and see more of the Canyon's wonders for myself. Suddenly, I realized I'd better watch out. I could end up as addicted as Fritz.