Bright Angel Creek, 54 Years Later

My buddies and me (far right) at the Grand Canyon in 1972.

Watching the news from the Grand Canyon this past week brought back vivid memories of a trip I made down that same canyon with friends 54 years ago. But our experience could hardly have been more different.

The five of us entered the trailhead at ten o’clock on an 80-degree morning, carrying a woefully inadequate supply of water. By the time we reached the canyon floor, it was a scorching 105. We were parched, baked and frazzled. Bright Angel Creek offered the water we desperately needed, but the treacherous terrain made it difficult to reach.

About a mile short of the Phantom Ranch, we found a small pooling area in the creek and immersed ourselves to revive our depleted bodies. A ranger approached us and, noticing our diminished condition, asked about our circumstances.

After hearing the details of our near-calamitous lack of planning—or any common sense in general—he told us about the many ways hikers had died in the Grand Canyon: dehydration, heat stroke, exhaustion, or falls from the trail or over the cliffs.

One thing he didn’t mention was death by flash flood.

At that moment, it would have seemed one of the least likely dangers imaginable.

But the landscape I knew then has changed dramatically. The massive Dragon Bravo Fire raged across the North Rim in 2025, destroying tens of thousands of acres. Without the vegetation to absorb heavy rainfall, burned areas are more vulnerable to sudden flooding and debris flows.

On August 29, heavy rains sent a destructive flash flood through Bright Angel Canyon. Footbridges were washed out. Dozens of people had to be evacuated. Two hikers have been confirmed dead, and as I write this, another remains missing.

Footbridge washed away from the Bright Angel flash flood. Credit: Grand Canyon National Park.

For my buddies and me, Bright Angel Creek was our lifeline. Watching it become a violent torrent made me think about our own experience differently.

The Grand Canyon has always demanded respect. I learned that lesson in the heat more than half a century ago. This week, others encountered its power in a far more devastating way.

My thoughts are with the families and friends of those who lost their lives, those still waiting for answers, and everyone caught in the flood.

I tell the full story of our ill-prepared journey into the Grand Canyon in chapter 16 of Tent for Seven: A Camping Adventure Gone South Out West, the memoir I wrote with my daughter Grace Ly.