Granite Rapids Epic
Granite Rapids, 11/21/2025
After wandering for miles through the moonless depths of the Grand Canyon, we found it! For hours, the trail was solely illuminated by the light of our cheap headlamps. We were unsure if it was even a trail at all, or just some random dry stream bed we haplessly wandered into, which may result in impasse or worse…
We had started on the right trail. It was majestic - rising cliffs and plunging depths at every turn. However, we had gotten a late start. 2 pm. The backcountry ranger said we may have to do a little headlamp navigating. “A little,” he said.
To go over 10 miles, descending 8000 feet with 40 pound packs was much more challenging that either of us anticipated. It was just me and my 16 year old son. We had seen no other people since the first mile of switchbacks, two couples that were headed out as we began to head in.
The light was waning as we hurriedly ascended the “cathedral stairs” on the Hermit’s Trail. It was like a scene from an epic by Tolkien or C.S. Lewis.
Exhausted after the exertion from climbing and descending the steep “staircase” carved into the hoodoo at the edge of yet another cliff (aka fairy chimneys, jagged rocky pinnacles), we chased every minute of light with gritty speed - fighting through soreness, hunger, thirst, burgeoning blisters, the foreboding dread of the imminent darkness, and the burdensome discomfort of cheap heavy-laden backpacks after miles… for the hope of seeing our first of three trail turns before we lost visibility beyond a few feet in front of us.
We felt relief and a little spark of hope when we could see in the distance a small wooden post and sign, and it confirmed that the trail to Monument Creek - the location of our night one campsite - was to the right in four miles.
As darkness enveloped the canyon, at least we knew we were starting out on the right trail. We stopped to refuel and set up our headlamps. Mine was stronger than his - but still only cast light about 20 feet. It was enough to see the ground beneath our feet and to stay on the trail. Everything seemed okay, and the trail was worn enough to clearly make it out from the surrounding virgin desert.
While illuminated by the cloud-diffused light of the sun, the expansive and inspiring vistas of the Grand Canyon provided enough distraction to prove precarious for our footing. We remained mostly quiet except for the occasional exclamation of wonder or a need for assistance with adjusting the pack (Nate was using a 1970s Jansport scouting frame pack with his gear bundled and clipped in with shock cord and carabiners… it wasn’t ideal).
But now, with the cloak of darkness revealing nothing beyond our next 2-3 steps, our conversation livened up a bit.
“Tell me about your girlfriend, where are you at with her?” I said.
“Honestly, I’m not sure where to take it, Dad… I like her and really enjoy hanging out, but what’s next and how do I know if this is a relationship to invest in - how do you know?” he inquired.
Then things got deep.
“Dad, I feel like I’m lost right now,” he said.
When was the last time you openly acknowledged feeling lost, whether in ministry or in your personal life? How did you recognize that you had lost your bearings?
“Tell me more about what you mean,” I prompted and then gave space for him to respond.
He started to explain. “Well, I don’t know where to go to feel connected to God. I doubt my salvation experience as a kid - especially my baptism.”
“That’s a lot to unpack, son…”
With nothing else to do but stay on the trail, we began to unpack those chasmic questions.
Without any warning, the trail dissipated into a creek bed without any clear continuity. We tried to look for cairns or markers or any other signs of continuity. We tried to go to the left a ways and found nothing.
We went to the right and quickly found ourselves walking into a wall of insurmountable boulders blocking the way. We backtracked a little a tried to go directly across, which led us needing to push past some overgrown brush (not a great sign for a national park trail, but then again there was a recent government shutdown - maybe they haven’t maintained this one…)
It took us a little higher to the right but ended up dropping us right into the boulders that blocked us before. Lost to the left, lost to the right.
“Nate, we are lost…” I stated.
We paused in acknowledgment of the serious situation
“We have to go back to the last place where we knew for sure we were on the trail. Then we need to study the details of the trail map so we can discern where to go next.”
What was the last place where you knew for sure that you were right where God wanted you to be? What were the markers of that season in your life?
No sooner had I said it than Nate replied, half-humored, partly in disbelief:
“Wow, doesn’t seem like a coincidence, considering the conversation…”
Back on the trail, after carefully assessing the map, we realized we needed to follow the creek bed for a few hundred feet. We cautiously navigated the rocks and recently wet ground of the creek bed until we saw an opening on the right that looked like the trail. We took it, and as we traced our turns compared to the trail map, we guessed that we were probably back on the trail to Monument Creek, our permitted campsite for night one.
The Sign
The trail came to a T and we could see the back of a sign. The relief of seeing a man-made marker was visceral - it felt like new strength surging through our tired shoulders and legs.
As we came to the front side and tilted our headlamps up, we saw the sign:
Granite Rapids (with an arrow to the right)
If we went the other way, there was nothing that 100% guaranteed that it was the trail to Monument Creek. We looked over and could see only the abject darkness of the canyon in either direction.
We estimated that, from that sign, Granite Rapids should be about two miles further down, and Monument Creek should be within a mile further up.
We stopped and looked at the details of the trail map and couldn’t located with certainty where we were, mostly because we couldn’t see the obvious landmarks in the distance that the maps used for reference and orientation.
(Days later, as we passed by this spot again, we realized that we were maybe 200 feet away from the Monument campsite and could have seen the ranger-built storage building and composting toilets had there been even the slightest amount of starlight to illuminate the brightly painted trim around the roof)
But we didn’t know that.
We dd know there was a sign pointing to Granit Rapids, and that campsite (our permitted destination for day 2) was somewhere at the bottom of the canyon.
The Decision
No help from our eyes and the meager light of our headlamps. No help from even an extended and detailed study of the map. We had to make a decision.
The trail were were on ended in a trail that went two different directions, each one a viable possibility of ending in a campsite according to our readings of the map, but we weren’t sure which one would be best, safest, and right for us to take that night.
The Wind
We decided to pray and ask for guidance from God.
I kid you not, as soon as I said the words, “God, we are tired, lost , and need guidance! Help us know which way to go,” the stillness of the night was abruptly interrupted by a distinct and chilling wind that hit the side of my face. It blew for a few seconds, then went away as quickly as it had come.
Where have you seen the gentle guidance of the Holy Spirit directing you in past decisions? What may the Holy Spirit be showing you currently?
Clarity and Hope.
In near disbelief, I looked at Nate and saw in his eyes that he had felt it, too.
“Did you feel that?” I whispered.
“It was pointing that way.”
He extended his hand down into the darkness that pointed to Granite Rapids.
With new hope and assurance that maybe the God of the universe sent us a wind, a breath, His Spirit to guide, we set off.
The Descent, Difficulty, Doubt, Perseverance, and Flickering Hope.
Only a few hundred yards down the nice flat trail, we encountered a switchback of epic steepness and razor-thin width. With the limitation of the light of our headlamps, we couldn’t tell if the abyss was dozens or hundreds of feet deep, or how long we would be on that treacherous descent. It was the way we felt convinced we should take, and it was clearly a maintained (albeit backwoods) trail.
We were exhausted after the steep and narrow switchbacks, mainly from the strength required to balance the extra 40 pounds on our backs while descending down a trail the width of two balance beams in some places, but we persevered in the flat portion of the trail until it disappeared completely into a wide creek bed. We could even see across it with our headlamps.
But there was clean flowing water! And we were down to our last two water bottles (we were depending on the steady flowing waters of Monument Creek or the Colorado River for our supply in the coming days), so we filled up all our bottles with the stream and took a rest.
We wandered around in the creek bed for a while, looking for cairns or something to reassure us of the direction to take. Doubt entered, questioning if maybe the wind wasn’t supposed to guide us at all or, if it was a sign, did we interpret it correctly?
At this point, we were too tired to go back up that epic switchback, and we did still have some hope that the wind was a direct response to our prayers for guidance and direction. So we took off in the direction that we remembered the wind had pointed out, which was down deeper into the canyon.
We followed the creek bed for over an hour in the darkness. In the silence.
“Dad, shouldn’t we be able to hear the rapids if we were headed in the right direction?”, Nate intelligently sggested.
His words fueled my own growing doubts.
“This is just a canyon creek bed… it could end in an impassable cliff or waterfall! What would we do then! It’s just this creek bed and the cliff walls on either side of it. Being from South Texas flash flood country, I knew one thing: you don’t camp in a dry creek any more than you would a wet one.”
When doubts arise, what conversations flood your mind and heart? Who do you have these conversations with? What do you hear the Holy Spirit say to you in moments of doubt?
Suddenly, we made a turn, and it was there.
The distant sound of rushing waters.
Our steps quickened (but still mindful that each footfall holds the potential for a devastating ankle roll and emergency extraction).
Around the next turn, the sound intensified.
Suddenly, we knew we were approaching the mighty rapids of the Colorado River. We had reached the bottom of the Grand Canyon.
As the dry ground and rocks gave way to grasses and brush and even the faint outlines of what appeared in the darkness to be trees, we scoured the edges of the creek bed for trail sign.
My headlamp shone on a break in the trail on the right, no more than a deer trail.
Nate follow it for a few hundred feet, then turns off into what looks like a riverside thicket of tall brush and discovers a pad of sand, about an 8 foot square.
The campsite at Granite Rapids.
We found it!
That night was some of the best sleep and rest I have ever enjoyed. Utterly spent from the epic hike, I was safe and warm in a tent and sleeping bag with my son.
Baptized by the constant and undeniable sound of rushing waters shaking the very ground and washing my weary soul.
How do you cling to hope in the midst of uncertainty?
When the breakthrough comes, what do you notice wells up in your soul?
As you wait for the breakthrough and wade through darkness, what keeps you anchored in the truth?
What do you discern the Spirit telling you now about this current season of your life and/or ministry?