From late in November to the end of April, snow may be
expected at any time on the rim, though many of the most delightful days of
the year occur in these months.
Snow usually does not fall until after
Christmas. Some years the winter is almost snowless; other years there is
enough snow to make fine sleighing. June and July are the warm summer
months, with August hot; but the heat is likely to be tempered by the rain.
From the middle of July to about the end of October, rains may be looked
for at any time, and the days after the rains are generally cool, delicious
and altogether desirable. Now and again, both before and after a rain, the
air will be moist and sultry, somewhat as it is in the East, but this
condition is so rare as to cause surprise. Generally the air is dry, and
the sun shines warmly, so that "catching cold" is infrequent.
Late Fall Most Pleasant. In my varied experience at the Canyon, I have
found the months of September, October, and November most agreeable in
spite of an occasional hot day in September. January and March are often
perfect months, and while there may be a little (or much) snow on the rim,
I regard the winter as the most delightful time for trips into the Canyon.
The snow may make the trail slippery and disagreeable for the first mile or
so, then one reaches the dry and snowless region where, practically, snow
never falls, yet where the heat from radiating rock walls is tempered and
subdued by the coolness from the snow above.
May Good for Visitors. May also is a good month for visitors, with more
possibilities of agreeable days than February or April, though the warm
days begin to come on apace soon after the middle of the month.
Fog in the Canyon. Upon rare occasions, fog banks sink into the Canyon
deeps, and even now and again completely hide it from view. Do not let such
a sight disappoint you. The fact is, you are being highly favored. If you
will but exercise patience, you will see many marvels when the sun begins
to work upon the fog. Slowly the great mass begins to show signs of
uneasiness; large and small masses become broken off, and struggle as if to
ascend; then, stretching apart as one stretches a mass of white
cotton-batting, they are speedily dissipated into mist, and disappear.
Below, in the deeper reaches, the fog rolls and tosses as if sleeping
uneasily in its rocky bed. Great detached masses of rock that the eye had
not been able to discern before are now made clear, the white fog behind
them revealing their outlines in startling clearness. Indeed a fog may be
called "the great revealer of the inner mysteries of the Canyon." It
certainly shows forth more of the separating walls and canyons, and the
detached buttes, than the most observant can discover in a month, without
its presence.
Clouds and Rain. There are times, in August and September, when rain is to
be expected, that the whole heavens are patched over with clouds. The sun
shines on and through them, and the atmosphere becomes murky and sultry to
unpleasantness. Then, suddenly, there is a change in the temperature of the
upper air, the moisture is condensed, and refreshing rain falls to cool and
cheer the earth that before was parched and thirsty.
A Battle Royal. One morning I watched a battle of the clouds over the
Canyon. The wind had been blowing hard all night. About five o'clock I
arose, attracted to the rim of the Canyon by a great black cloud that
seemed banked up and resting on the north rim, covering, as with a blanket
of blackest smoke, the long, visible stretch of the Kaibab Plateau. By and
by the sun shot piercing beams of golden glory underneath the cloud, yet,
strong and powerful though they were, they could not penetrate the cloud
itself. There was the great wall of the Canyon; fierce, fiery,
crimson-golden rays shooting in thin streaks above, banked over and pressed
down upon by a towering mass of angry clouds. The wind blew strongly and
fiercely from the east, bringing fleecy-edged clouds with it. Down in the
Canyon the effects were wonderful. The walls reflected the anger of the
clouds, and the fire of the sun. Here and there a wall, a tower, or a
pinnacle would be lit up with a golden glory, but all around was smoky and
forbidding. It even seemed as if a grayish black smoke was ascending from
the depths beneath, through which the sun - invisible behind the cloud
above - shot lancelike beams, which silvered the smoke and made it a little
more gray. On the far western walls, rich purples and reds appeared. Then,
suddenly, a soft and fleecy cloud appeared in the clear blue of the morning
sky, floating towards me. It was awe-inspiring and yet startling, for it
came like a giant battleship, resistlessly and silently shouldering its way
along. Entranced I watched it, almost inclined to run, so as to give it
free course, for it was low down and apparently very near, and moving with
more than ordinary speed. Suddenly another cloud appeared, travelling after
the first. As it came, the earlier one veered to the north, and began to
cross the Canyon, losing some of its serenity and calmness of manner as it
did so; for now, either as the result of conflict from within, or silent
influence from without, it began to writhe and change its shape. Ugly
angles were thrust out from its hitherto smooth sides, and sent waving and
tossing aloft. While this was occurring, the second cloud veered, and when
I gazed again, after withdrawing my attention for a few moments, the two
were one, the subtle yet powerful forces in the air having wedded them.
Together they slowly floated north and east.
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