Courage in the Canyon

The Columbian (Vancouver, WA.)
April 09, 1995, Sunday

COURAGE IN THE CANYON DAN MACK'S JOURNEY OF DETERMINATION

BYLINE: by Brett Oppegaard ; The Columbian
SECTION: A section; Pg. A1
LENGTH: 1234 words

    GRAND CANYON, Ariz. -- Dan Mack pulled at his sticky white T-shirt, peeling it from his damp lower back. Choosing one out of a fine selection of pointy rocks, the 46-year-old sat down about a quarter-mile below the south rim of the Grand Canyon and again asked himself why he was doing this.
    Mack tightened a strap on his right prosthetic leg and then removed the left one before staring through unseeing eyes down Bright Angel Trail. His large hands rubbed diaper-rash lotion on a blistering stub.
    "It feels like a nail is being driven into my knee," he said.
    As redness from exertion and a skin-baking sun began to color his flesh, he muttered, "It's going to be a long trip."
    It already had been.
    After taking a flight to Las Vegas and being driven to the Grand Canyon a week ago, the Camas resident was trying to finish a journey he had started many years before.
    Surviving a kidney transplant and missing his legs, eyesight and most of his hearing due to diabetes, Mack has always prevailed over his afflictions by believing in himself. This time would be no different, he vowed.
    On this unseasonably warm Monday afternoon, he put his titanium leg back on, grabbed the arms of his companions and continued down a path he had been visualizing for more than 14 years.
    "I'm handicapped. I've got problems, but I can accept it," Mack said. "I want to show people that they can overcome anything, no matter how bad things may seem."
    Mack was visiting the canyon to prove that point. He wasn't going to let a little discomfort or even throbbing pain stop him.
    He pledged to march the perilously rough trail to Indian Garden, an oasis of green trees and cold water nearly 4,000 feet below the rim of the canyon. The path, zigzagging over some nine miles of rugged terrain, is labeled "very strenuous" the most difficult rating even to hikers in good physical condition, according to the National Park Service. During a three-year period, more than 700 visitors couldn't make it back to the rim from the Bright Angel and Kaibab trails. They had to call park rangers for help.
    Mack wasn't going to call the rangers, he said. He wasn't going to fail.
    "We've had people hike on prosthetic limbs, and we've had blind people hike it before," said Maureen Oltrogge, a National Park Service spokeswoman. "With both? Not to my knowledge. That's a terribly unfortunate condition, but what an amazing thing to do. He must be a pretty remarkable person."
Restless nights
    Early Monday morning, Sue Mack stood in darkness under the cover of a hotel walkway, smoking and pacing, pacing and smoking.
    A cold wind bit into her cheeks, but she wasn't ready to go back to bed. Afraid and unable to sleep, she knew her nervousness would bother Dan.
    Unbeknownst to her, her husband was just as restless. He hadn't slept well for several nights, and it had been especially tough the evening before his hike.
    Within hours, the Camas couple and a handful of companions would be climbing down one of the Seven Natural Wonders of the World.
    An unforgiving, twisted trail awaited them.
Hiking Bright Angel
    Dan did see the canyon once in 1981, before he lost his sight. Even then, he wanted to be on this path, inside these walls.
    Nausea, which later turned out to be kidney failure, kept him from exploring the area on that first visit.
    "I would take out my guitar, sit on a rock and watch the sunset over the railing," he said. "I always wanted to see the rest of it."
    A year later, he was blind.
    Now he was less than an hour and more than 1.5 miles down the Grand Canyon. He picked up the scent of a mule train moments before hearing their hooves clapping.
    "It feels just like I remember," he said. "The air is fresh. I can picture everything in my mind. It's beautiful."
    He smiled broadly, even though his legs were starting to drag.
    At the three-mile point, the dragging had turned to stumbling. Dan was kicking nearly every rock and drainage log in the trail. His companions, who walked alongside guiding him, were being pushed into rocks. Once, his son, Jon, fell.
    "(Dan) hurts like hell," Sue whispered.
    After collapsing near the second rest area, Dan recalled, "In Alaska, (before my health failed), I could throw an 80-pound pack on my back and hike 20 miles. No problem.
    "These legs have no push. It's all with the hips and the upper body. I'm basically pulling myself."
    Dan's face had become a grimace. His eyes fixed straight ahead.
    "What do you guys think?" he asked. "Three miles is pretty good. Not what I wanted, but not bad either."
    No one responded. Only Dan could make this choice.
    The silence was interrupted by a long-haired man moving up the trail.
    "How much longer until the garden?" Dan asked.
    "Not far at all," he responded. "Maybe 30 minutes. There's cold water there."
    The man glanced at Dan's legs, smiled and said, "You can make it."
    That was all Dan needed.
    "I'm not going to get any better," he said after the man passed. "Let's go."
    Dan stood up and started walking. The group reached the 4.6-mile turnaround at 12:15 p.m. After eating lunch, the climb to the canyon rim began.
Going up
    Even though it was obvious Dan was suffering again, he remained somewhat oblivious to the pain. As his grunts became progressively louder and more frequent, his jokes became sharper.
    On the way down, he had walked about 25 minutes for every five- minute break. Going up, the time between rests began to decline 15 minutes of effort, 15 minutes of rest. More than 40 people passed by as Dan struggled upward; most gave encouragement and shook their heads in disbelief.
    At the three-mile marker, Jon left for flashlights.
    Sue and Jon's girlfriend, Sandra Schaad, took over as guides and the climb continued.
    Jon was back with the group by 5:40 p.m., still more than an hour away from the 1.5-mile marker.
    Sue took the children the Macks' 12-year-old daughter, Fawn, and her friend, Kendra McCallister to the top. She had no choice. They were hungry and tired.
    "If he falls, it will be my fault," Sue said as she was leaving. "I'll never forgive myself.
    "All the way up, we were complaining about how bad we hurt," Sue said later. "Then we'd stop and say, Dan's hurting a lot worse than we are.'"
    By 6:51 p.m., it was dark, and the group was alone in the canyon.
    Hours passed as Dan shuffled along under a star-stuffed sky. Around 9 p.m., pressure on a nerve near his kneecap became unbearable. Dan sat for several minutes without saying a word.
    "I'd like to keep going, but my body wants to stop," he said.
    Jon said, "C'mon Pop, we'll drag you out if we have to."
    No response.
    "C'mon, only 15 more feet. We'll take it 15 feet at a time," Jon said.
    Dan slowly picked himself up and followed his son's advice.
    They reached the top at 10:33 p.m.
    After more than 13 hours in the canyon, Dan, Jon and Sandra emerged under a lone parking lot light. Sue ran over with a tray of hot chocolate and coffee. The girls were sleeping in the car.
    "I'm so proud of you," Sue said before kissing and hugging Dan.
    "I'm totally drained," Dan responded as he closed his eyes for the first time, released a huge breath of air and collapsed in the front seat of his rented minivan.
    "That was great," he said. "But I have a big problem now. I can't think of anything to top this."