From the map, we thought we were close to the Canyon; from the guidebooks, I, at least, had different expectations about what the reservoirs would be like. First, we weren't close but two hours and 90 miles away. Second, I was delusional to hope that Blue Mesa reservoir would be any different from any other water dammed in high arid land. Water, imprisoned into an unnatural form, low along its shoreline, below hills so dry the scrub sage is less than spotty, looks not dammed but damned to me.
The Black Canyon of the Gunnison was much better. What other major canyons in the United States haven't I seen? Glenwood Canyon and the Grand Canyon; the Grand Canyon of the Yellowstone; now this. I haven't seen Yosemite, and there must be others.
When we arrove, it was cloudless and hot. While we were there, clouds formed and rolled in. Light rain began to fall, and then more. At the downstream end of the south rim, we stopped for a torrential thunderstorm. To the west, where the canyon plateau fell away into a 60-mile view, we now could not see even to the next bend in the river, but during a brief lull we saw that lightning had sparked a fire on the north rim. The rain closed in again, pounding the car, and when it finally ceased the smoke from that one had lessened, but not gone out--a fire could simmer in the sap of a juniper or piñon through a worse deluge than that--and a second fire, a little farther east, had started. A ranger, who had waited out the storm along with many civilians, said around a wad of tobacco in his jaw that they'd have to hike in to ensure they were out. I would not have felt as assured without the chaw.
The Canyon was only recently upgraded from monument to park, and even if it had had marked trails down, there was no way, capital No, capital Way. We took pictures from the rim, at Dragon Point of Painted Wall, where because of the small fires it looked somewhat like the dragons were breathing the smoke in the air, as well as that on the wall.