THIS PLACE IS COOL

The California condor seemed a windblown thing. Rising suddenly above the wall in front of Grand Canyon Lodge, huge wings spread across half the sky, it wheeled into wind, or away from it, or was blown by it into the course of morning. I watched from the terrace as the condor soared, circled, then disappeared into a recess hidden from my sight, some bend in the wall extending thousands of feet below me to the north side of the Colorado River. From the terrace, the river directly below was hidden. Except that it was responsible for cutting this high North Rim of the Grand Canyon, at this moment, the river had nothing to do with me, with the condor, with the cool of a summer morning.

In fact, in some odd kind of way, except for occasional glimpses of it or forays to various viewpoints, this time on the North Rim was not about the river. It was about forests of ponderosa pines and spruce and firs, about meadows of high grass flowing in an afternoon breeze. It was about the chattering of aspen leaves in any breeze; the sudden appearance of a deer, a rabbit or a Kaibab squirrel, which lives only here; the colors of wildflowers; the cool of a mountaintop without having to climb the mountain. "Cool" is the operative word here: This time on the North Rim was about staying (relatively) cool without having to leave the Canyon.

Maybe that's a way to describe the North Rim and its place in the scheme of nature. At 8,000 feet, about 1,000 feet higher than the South Rim, but essentially flat (barring decisions to venture down into the Canyon), hiking here is like hiking across a summit that covers the world. This is a slight exaggeration, although on the North Rim, I tend to feel this is the world. A place unto itself, a mountain landscape leveled into a high plateau, a respite from the heat and bustle of the South Rim and from so much of the summer world. Hiking almost anywhere on the North Rim offers that solitude of nature that allows me to feel both alone and protected by the Earth's beauty.

The North Rim is a long way from anywhere, one of the reasons I like it so much. It's a place to go deliberately, a thing I learned on my first Canyon visit a long time ago. Driving home to Montana from Window Rock, where I'd gone to do a story, I took State Route 264 toward Tuba City. It seemed silly to be so close to the Canyon and not at least have a look. I imagined a quick stop at the South Rim, a drive to the North Rim for a second quick stop, then on to Page for the night.

That is not how one does this. For one thing, there is no such thing as a quick look at any part of the Canyon. But I didn't know that until I parked the car and walked to the edge of the South Rim. Nothing — no photograph, painting, music, geology book, word of mouth — had prepared me for the vision in front of me. I could only weep. Fortunately, it was late in the afternoon and early in the season, so there was no one around to witness the overwhelming emotion this first view aroused. Mesmerized, I stayed for about an hour before realizing I'd better start driving if I meant to get to the North Rim and on to Page. That was when I discovered the driving route from the South Rim to the North Rim is more than 200 miles, requiring about four hours. Getting from there to Page would be another two and a half. It all looked so close on the map.

I've learned since then. I still misjudge things, but rarely, now, the Canyon. No longer feeling the necessity to do everything on Earth in the next four hours, I now go to one rim or the other. The North Rim is not only higher and cooler but also less visited and wilder. Everything feels less frenetic. Everything is less frenetic. Whatever one needs is available: visitors center, backcountry office, mule rides, service station, a few choices for food — including the restaurant at Grand Canyon Lodge, with windows offering extraordinary views. Advance reservations are absolutely necessary for accommodations or dinner at the lodge, or for the campground about a mile away. A last-minute call might luck out if there's a cancellation.

Some lookouts and hiking trails can be accessed from the main road. Bright Angel Point is a half-hour out-and-back walk from the terrace in front of the lodge. At Cape Royal, accessible from a paved road to the east off the main road between the entrance station and the lodge, a short walk on a paved, level trail leads to a viewpoint with virtually unlimited views east and west. It's a spot for watching sunrises and sunsets, and at both times, there are always more people present than in a more out-of-the-way spot. Some people, including photographers, stay put for both events, marking the changing light from sunup to beyond sundown. But every lookout offers extraordinary aspects of the Canyon: the rock forms, the colors, the light, the marvel that exists on Earth only here.

Elsewhere along the road to Cape Royal is the route to 8,803foot Point Imperial, the highest of the rim overlooks, offering views of the Vermilion and Echo cliffs and Marble Canyon. The Vermilion Cliffs particularly draw me. As a release site for several generations of condors, they seem a sort of hallowed ground. Watching young condors as they decide to lift off the rocks on which they stand, to enter the freedom (and dangers) of sky for the first time, is a huge and astoundingly personal event. Have other onlookers felt as if they were the condors' parents?

This extraordinary scavenger, once common here and in much of North America, began having problems when the creatures on whose carcasses it fed went extinct, then fell victim to human factors such as shooting and lead poisoning. By the late 1930s, there were no condors outside of California; by 1985, only nine birds remained in the wild even there. All were captured for a captive breeding program that has proved marvelously successful. In 1996, six captive-bred birds, the first of many, were released at the Vermilion Cliffs; now, wild-born condors fly the Canyon's skies.

The sight of the Vermilion Cliffs from Point Imperial becomes my chance to pay homage to this spectacular area for its part in bringing condors back from the edge of extinction. That condor I watched from the terrace at Grand Canyon Lodge came from there.

Names in wild country have meaning. The Vermilion Cliffs are vermilion. And how many Dead Man's Creeks, Hellroaring Creeks or Bear Mountains have any of us encountered? Each offers a truth. As does Point Sublime. Accessible with a high-clearance vehicle via a bumpy, narrow, 17-mile road branching west off State Route 67 from south of the entrance station, and offering an almost 360-degree view of the Canyon, it is, indeed, sublime.

The point was named by 19th century geologist Clarence Dutton, who, in three seasons of exploring the Canyon's geology, lived intimately with its light and forms and changing colors. That the word "sublime" may be associated more with poets than with geologists is irrelevant here. Dutton, a brilliant scientist who once imagined studying literature, won a literature medal in his junior year before graduating from Yale at 19. No less moved by the qualities of the Canyon than any of us, he ultimately felt the scientific and aesthetic qualities of the Canyon were inseparable.

His science, in fact, often became poetry. In his Tertiary History of the Grand Cañon District, published by the U.S. Geological Survey in 1882 (when his good friend John Wesley Powell was the director), he writes that the Canyon “is a great innovation in modern ideas of scenery, and in our conceptions of the grandeur, beauty, and power of nature. As with all great innovations it is not to be comprehended in a day or a week, nor even in a month. It must be dwelt upon and studied, and the study must comprise the slow acquisition of the meaning and spirit of that marvelous scenery which characterizes the Plateau Country, and of which the great chasm is the superlative manifestation. The study and slow mastery of the influences of that class of scenery and its full appreciation is a special culture, requiring time, patience, and long familiarity for its consummation."

In other words, find a comfortable viewpoint, then stay there.