Phantom Guitars

The guitar at the Phantom Ranch cookhouse hangs on a wooden peg in the old mess hall, in reach of any hiker, river runner, or Grand Canyon wanderer who comes in and wants to play. It’s an old nylon string cowboy guitar, sturdy and a little battered, with the loving words, “Be Gentle Please” clearly lettered on the side. It has no visible brand, no fancy logo on the headstock, but it has the unmistakable patina of age and seasons, and the touch of countless caring hands.
I took it down off the wall while my raft trip buddies were checking for mail and buying postcards, and I strummed a chord. It rang out loud, in tune and clear. It was morning at Phantom, and the place was quiet. Breakfast had been cleared away, sun was streaming in onto the wooden floor, and outside were scattered campers and chattering groups of tourists, starting their day in the bottom of the Grand Canyon.
And just for a few minutes, I sat at the cookhouse table in a straight-backed wooden chair and I played that old guitar. I played the intro part to Ghost Riders in the Sky to get the cowboy feel, I strummed my favorite dramatic Spanish falsetas, and then I settled down and played Don’t Fence Me In, for the part about the horses, and so I could sing the line about “ I wanna gaze at the moon until I lose my senses.”

The guitar had an easy action and sounded surprisingly good. Some folks came in and some left, my river trip buddies went back to the boats, and I was left to play for myself in a sunny corner of the empty dining hall. The music rang out and no one watched or cared, and to me, my playing never sounder better.
After a few more songs, I knew I had to get back to my boat. I hung that guitar back on its peg, to wait for the next wanderer to find it, and I walked out the door down to the trail along Bright Angel Creek to the river. My trip was almost ready, with the other boatmen rigging their rafts and filling water jugs. The Colorado River was shining in the sun. Big water lay waiting downstream, a string of serious and reverent names like Horn Creek, Granite, Hermit and Crystal. As our group pushed off and my boat swung out into the Bright Angel riffles, I started singing a cowboy song and I think I never sounder better. I can’t wait to play that guitar again.

Joe Hayes