Written by: Megan (human)
I waved goodbye to Terry and proceeded on my way to my next stop: the Grand Canyon Airport. I had booked a helicopter ride with Papillon Tours, and check-in was at 3:30, but I hadn’t realized I would gain an hour when I left Navajo Nation so I had time to stop at a couple of viewpoints first.
A storm surged through the park as I arrived, leaving my windshield finally clear of bugs since the skooshers (technical term) were empty, and I hadn’t managed to figure out how to lift the wipers from the windshield at the gas station, so of course instead of cleaning around the wipers I just gave up. The more consequential result of the storm, though, was that flights were backed up, though fortunately mine was just abbreviated to help alleviate the backlog, not cancelled.
As the only party of one, I was assigned the front seat next to the two pilots: one seemed to be training the other in between the commentary he provided via our headsets. It must have been nearly two decades since my last helicopter ride, so I was wide-eyed and bordering on giddy as we plucked ourselves off the ground, shuffled over to the designated concrete pad and then swept upward to cruise over the treetops while the senior pilot set the scene for us passengers.
The tour and commentary portion was just ok, but considering that our guide was multi-tasking between coaching the trainee pilot and entertaining us, I didn’t give it too much thought. Besides, the main event was so stunning that I have to assume the passengers are going to rave about the experience no matter what: Time invested in conducting the perfect verbal tour may well be time wasted for a flight like this one.
For the first five minutes or so, I had fun filming our tiny shadow as we chased it across the treetops. Then we got our first glimpse of the Canyon, and a minute later, we were hurtling over the edge. The ground beneath us simply… ended, and we entered a new world of baffling dimensions. Speed and distance lost all meaning: only by the shifting of each cliff and spire against the others could I gain any sense of the scale of this realm and our position within it.
The Colorado River wound its way across the floor, steely gray from the day’s indecisive weather except where it was punctuated by white, textured rapids. Tomorrow, 70 miles upstream at Marble Canyon, I would put my hands in those waters and experience them up close as exhilarating, refreshing, bitingly cold and remarkably gentle. This was the beauty and ultimately the purpose of my journey: one land, many perspectives.
Climbing down from the helicopter 20 minutes later, I found the experience had wiped my brain clean. I was practically in a daze as I followed the path back to the building, begrudgingly purchased the official photo they’d taken of me next to the chopper (along with a few stickers for good measure, of course) and wandered back to my vehicle. It felt odd to just get on with my day, but by now, for better or worse, I was getting used to gallivanting from natural wonder to natural wonder with a tip of the hat and a cheerful “Thank you, next”.
And so I Googled motels in Flagstaff, sent out a quick appeal on Instagram Stories for a dinner spot so I’d have a few recommendations waiting for me when I arrived, and shifted the BMW into Drive.
Roamward Bound 