After not more than a mile of this drought inflicted land, we round a bend and there, through the trees, a sneak preview of one of the seven wonders of the world. Reaching the path along the south rim of the canyon, the ground suddenly drops away, leaving the awe inspiring sight of the canyon filling the field of view. Ten miles away, the north rim rises majestically above the coloured terraces of the canyon walls. Between the rims, and a mile below us, the Colorado River runs out of sight, hidden in smaller canyons which snake their way through bush covered plateaus.

 Red, white, orange and every colour in between, the layers of rock stretch two hundred and seventy miles along the length of the canyon. At an altitude of 7000 feet, the vista facing us was a tiny section of the whole, but already enough to justify the trip.

Walking east along the rim, we stopped at a small peninsula of rock jutting out of the cliff. Surprisingly, the rim is entirely devoid of fences and railings except at some of the official observation points. Walking out onto the rock, with the wind howling, is not for the faint hearted, but the view is unparalleled with any other along this section of the south rim.

 Left to right, the view spans 180 degrees. Below, a glimpse of the Colorado can be seen; an emerald green thread, crossed by a tiny black line; a 400 foot bridge, being the only object in the canyon giving some idea of scale to this splendorous and unearthly panorama. Directly in front of us, we could see straight up Bright Angel Canyon. Beside the river, where this canyon branches north away from the main course of the Colorado, a few pinpoints of greenery betrays the site of Phantom Ranch, the only lodging in the canyon which is below the rims.

 From the west, one can follow the track of the Bright Angel Trail making its way down the side of the cliff through scores of hairpin bends and along an expansive plateau, before disappearing over the edge, down more cliffs, towards the rivers edge and Phantom Ranch. A walk from rim to river bank and back would take two days, and a miscalculation of the amount of water to be taken could ( and has proved to ) mean death by dehydration. While the temperature at the rim was a bearable 32 Centigrade, Phantom Ranch basks in a blistering 47 degrees.

Eastwards the canyon grows wider, islands of rock standing statuesque, their tips as high as the rims themselves. Given mostly Indian names, these landmarks remind one of the many tribes who still live around the canyon area.

 Three days later we returned to the canyon from our timeshare, two hours drive south in a little place called Sedona. For seven weeks the local police, army, and FBI had been looking for an escaped prisoner, armed and dangerous. Numerous times during the week we were stopped, and the car boot searched.

 Being unlikely to improve on the observations of the canyon a few days earlier, we had decided to return to the canyon by plane. At Grand Canyon Village Airport we boarded a small plane carrying roughly twenty passengers. As soon as we'd taken off on this fifty minute spectacular, the sick bags in front of us suddenly seemed extremely wise precautions. We had been asked by the pilot, before take off, that if we used these bags then we should take them off the plane with us as souvenirs. The turbulent thermals made the planes rather vicissitudinal flight extremely tough on the stomach, much to the misfortune of a little girl in the row behind us, whose mother was sadly unable to grab the sick bag quite in time.

 Flying over a forest of ponderosa pines, we reached the rim, and there below, glittering silver in the reflected sunlight, flowed the full glory of the Colorado River. The sun, now low in the west brought out the full rich colours of the stratum in the canyon. Flying over the Colorado gave a completely different perspective on the massive scale of the canyon. The view from the south rim had obscured the many and varied canyons which ran alongside each other, branching and interlocking, showing the path of what must have been an immense river many thousands of years before.

 Back on pleasant terra firma, an hour later, we joined a myriad other people on their way to the south rim, in order to watch the sun set over the canyon. The car was searched again, and overhead, a police helicoptor circled, one door open with an automatic rifle visible. Armed soldiers were scattered in camouflaged groups along the road. They were serious about catching the escaped prisoner.

We were expecting to see a magnificent splendour of deep golden colours to be drawn out of the rocks in the east as the sun dipped towards the western horizon. Disappointingly, however, the sight did not live up to our expectations, and the best point came and went almost unnoticed. Ironically, though, the industrial gases which are slowly filling the canyon, fading out the colours of the more distant landmarks, gave rise to a spectacular sight towards the west, as a dozen different shades of grey streaked the horizon below a blue-yellow panchromatic sky.

 One day after reluctantly leaving Sedona and the Grand Canyon area, I was watching the news on television in Las Vegas. The escaped prisoner had been caught in a back garden. In Sedona!