After Grapevine and Zoroaster, we arrived at Cremation Camp, about a mile above the famous Phantom Ranch. Long, steep trails from both the North and South Rims of the canyon accessed Phantom, so we were joined now by throngs of hikers, some camping among the cottonwood trees along Bright Angel Creek. Somehow word had gotten out about the two blind kayakers coming down the river, and Lonnie and I posed for photos with several families. From the ranch restaurant, Timmy helped me write a postcard home.

Outside the window of the restaurant, I could hear nearly continuous mule trains carrying supplies up and down the canyon. It was comforting to know those hoofbeats were the link to my family. They’d be carrying my postcard almost five thousand feet up the Bright Angel Trail, and it would arrive back in Colorado in a few days.

That night, we settled into Cremation Camp, and after dinner, we began hearing clanking around the kitchen area. There wasn’t enough wind to knock pots and pans over, so Timmy investigated, shining his light against the rocks. “Ringtail cats!” he exclaimed. “Two of ’em.”

Harlan got up, chucked a rock over in their general direction, and shooed them away from the kitchen. I could hear them scrambling up onto the sheer rock wall right behind the camp. “Ringtails are beautiful, but pesky little critters,” he said. He described them: long, striped tails and big, round ears. “They’re nocturnal, and they get into all kinds of stuff if you leave it out. They’ll chew a hole through a dry bag to get to free food!”

“Reminds me of the coons and possums back home on the farm,” Lonnie added.

Then Harlan asked, “So, Lonnie, how does a farm boy from Indiana wind up kayaking down the Grand Canyon, anyway?”

Lonnie cleared his throat and said, “Well, it started with meeting the folks from Team River Runner and learning to roll in my little pond, but really, the truth of it is, it all started with my daughter Bug and me mowing the lawn.”

Everyone smiled, ready for a signature Lonnie joke, but he was serious this time. He went on, “About three months after I lost my eyesight, after the accident, I was setting around my house doing nothin’, feelin’ sorry for myself, and I got up and decided to go outside. I had no mobility training, but I found a broomstick and used it to walk out through the yard, toward my barn. But before I got there, I ran into a tussle of weeds, about up to my chest. So I turned around and went back up to the house. My youngest daughter was standing there. Her name’s Taylor, but I call her Bug. She was five years old at the time.