Between wonder and despair: The trail that almost killed me

I decided to take on a 30 km hike in the Grand Canyon in just one day. I almost didn’t make it back. The recent death of the young Juliana Marins made me relive that day with a different perspective — one of awareness and respect, not only for the mountain but for nature as a whole.

Arquivo Pessoal

Last Wednesday, June 24th, we woke up to the sad news that the young traveler Juliana Marins, who had been missing for four days, died during a hike on Mount Rinjani in Indonesia. It could have been any one of us who loves to travel, hike, and explore the world. I’ve never been to Indonesia, but I’ve been to many other places worthy of a movie, and I’ve had my share of adventures—like skydiving, hang gliding, rafting and canoeing on the Delaware River, and even diving in the open sea in Florida despite not knowing how to swim.

I confess that jumping into the open sea without knowing how to swim was reckless on my part—a mix of courage and impulsiveness. The first time, I had a life jacket and a pool noodle; the second time, I jumped with just the noodle during a boat trip in Búzios. It was irresponsible—I almost drowned. But today I understand that courage needs to go hand in hand with preparation and respect for one’s limits. Moreover, since becoming a mother, I think and rethink more carefully before acting.

In 2022, before I had my daughter, I did a hike in the Grand Canyon, Arizona. It was beautiful, but also one of the most intense and dangerous experiences I’ve ever had. Juliana’s death immediately brought back memories, because it could have been me—given my reckless attitude at times. I too felt death close when I decided to venture down that mountain trail in Arizona. I’m grateful to God it wasn’t my time to leave this world, but the experience stayed as a lesson.

I remember a sign recommending that the trail should be done in three days. Still, in my naivety (or perhaps recklessness), I risked doing it all in just one day.

I’ve always been a very active person (maybe my undiagnosed ADHD still plays a role). I’ve lived in Ireland and the Netherlands, and in both countries I biked every day. In Brazil, I did many hikes, trained, and even did CrossFit for a while. I rode a longboard and sometimes even tried extreme sports, as I mentioned earlier. Before leaving Brazil eight years ago, I had a medical check-up and, thank God, everything was great. I thought I was ready to take on the challenging Grand Canyon trail.

When I arrived at the Grand Canyon, I drove to the top and stayed in a chalet. On the second day, I decided to hike all the way down because I wasn’t satisfied with just seeing those stunning mountains from above. The desire to challenge myself and my thirst for adrenaline pulled me like a magnet pulls metal. To be honest, I underestimated the warnings, the trail, and the grandeur of the mountains and temperature variations. Mistakenly, I overestimated my physical conditioning, based on my sporadic experiences, and thought the hike would be easy. I was completely wrong, because this kind of activity requires not only good shape but also preparation and responsibility. By doing so, I put my life at risk.

During the descent, I felt great - I walked like a gazelle, light, confident, and fast. I photographed every detail, but on the way back, everything started to change; exhaustion began to take over. I had to stop several times. I heard my heartbeat like a stethoscope on my ears. At times I felt cold, then hot. My breathing was short, and I could barely walk.

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My husband, an experienced hiker, accompanied me and encouraged me to keep going. We started at the Bright Angel Trailhead, passed Phantom Ranch, River Trail, Pima Point, Skeleton Point, and Cedar Ridge, and climbed the South Kaibab Trail. In total, we hiked 19 miles (approximately 30 km) in a single day.

The landscape was spectacular, a different and wonderful feeling at many moments, however, I do not recommend what I did, because being there was a mix of fulfillment and despair. We started the trail at 8 am and finished at 5:30 pm. My only focus became the next step. Looking up discouraged me, three giant mountains still awaited us. I started walking at ant-like paces, taking sips of water and biting into pieces of chocolate and cereal bars along the way. I thought I was going to die.

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If I had given up on climbing back, I might not be here today sharing this experience, as the temperatures in those mountains drop to extremes at night.

In the end, we finished. We started the hike at 8 a.m. and ended at 5:30 p.m. I felt exhausted, relieved, proud, and deeply moved. Because that day I truly understood, in practice, what it means to respect nature, and respect my own limits.

If it weren’t for my husband’s constant support, I might not have finished. He was by my side the entire time.

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Finally, we managed to finish. I felt exhausted, relieved, proud and deeply touched. Because that day I understood, in practice, what it means to respect the mountain, and respect my own limits.

If it weren't for my husband's constant support, I might not have finished it. He was by my side the whole time, as he is in everything I choose to do.

Today, more than ever, I understand: no landscape is worth our life. Nature’s beauty should not blind us; it should remind us how small and vulnerable we are before it. May Juliana’s story not be just another forgotten tragedy but a warning for all of us. Living is worth more than challenging ourselves. I hope she is in a better place and that God comforts the hearts of her family.