Outdoors: Ernie Cowan

Mystic power of the Grand Canyon

Memories of a mystic encounter more than 20 years ago swept over me last week as I stood at the wild edge of the Grand Canyon waiting for the moon to rise.

My hands were jammed into the pockets of a down jacket as a gentle breeze made the 34-degree temperature seem colder than it was. It was a replay of similar events from years ago, but so far without the nocturnal encounter.

Like my previous visit, I had come to photograph the beauty of the Grand Canyon by moonlight. On that trip years ago, I had driven several miles away from Grand Canyon Village to avoid lights of passing cars or other tourists.

I parked at a wide spot and hiked off through the juniper forest until I came to the edge of the yawning canyon. It was early March and there was snow on the ground and a bite to the chilly air.

The sky was clear, and a heaven filled with stars hung over my head.

The full moon began to creep above the eastern horizon.

Anyone who has been out in the wild during a full moon knows how bright it can be, but with snow on the ground, the lunar glow seemed magnified.

My tripod was set and camera mounted. I began taking long-exposure photographs and in the chilly darkness just gazed out over a breathtaking landscape. I understood why the Grand Canyon is one of the seven natural wonders of the world.

Before me was the history of Earth’s creation, cut away by millions of years of wind and water. How humbling to be there as a speck of humanity in a vast universe displayed all around me.

As I gazed off into creation, I sensed a presence.

Without a sound, a young man had approached and was standing right next to me. For some reason I was not startled or felt a sense of alarm. He, too, seemed focused on this moment of grand cosmic design.

He was a 21-year-old Navajo who worked at the famous El Tovar Hotel in Grand Canyon Village. He had spent his day off hiking to the Colorado River, 4,000 feet below.

I asked him what trail he had taken.

“It’s a pathway of the ancients and not on any map,” he told me.

I also commented that he didn’t seem to be carrying much for a full day of hiking. “I get everything I need from the land,” he said.

For a while we stood silently gazing out over the canyon. It’s hard to describe how beautiful it was on this crisp, clear winter night by the whispering light of the full moon.

There certainly was a shared reverence for this place and as he spoke of his connection to the land, I was touched by the deep spirit of the Navajo.

A few minutes of silence passed, and he softly said, “I see that you love this place as much as I do.”

I assured him that I did. A moment later I turned, and he was gone.

What are the odds that two people from completely different backgrounds would meet in a snow-covered wilderness at the rim of the Grand Canyon?

That encounter from two decades ago is etched in my mind and while I knew it would never happen again, the memory still played clearly as I returned to the canyon rim with hopes of capturing a moonlight photograph.

The image was not to be this time. Cloud cover and canyon fog killed any chance for moonlight photos. Standing again at the canyon rim hopefully waiting for skies to clear, there was not another encounter with a visitor in the night.

I did return for one last canyon look early the next morning.

As I turned to go, I heard the caw, caw of a passing raven.

Looking up, I saw him flying ahead of me.

In Native American culture the raven is a messenger from the cosmos.

Perhaps I was again visited by the spirit of the Navajo.