I completed a bucket list hike to the bottom of the Grand Canyon and back. Here's are 11 things I did right and 6 things I got totally wrong.

I've visited the Grand Canyon multiple times over the years, but my trips mostly consisted of gawking at its enormity from the rim before moving on to the next destination on my itinerary.

When I visited earlier this year though, I was there with my best friend to complete a bucket list hike to the very bottom.

According to the National Park Foundation, fewer than 1% of the Grand Canyon's millions of annual visitors ever make it to the bottom. We sought to do just that via two of the park's most famous trails, descending the steep South Kaibab (7.4 miles), and returning back up the no-less-demanding, Bright Angel (10 miles).

Some people told me it's the hardest hike of their lives. Others said it was a walk in the park. I wasn't sure where I'd fall on that spectrum, but was about to find out.

Here's what I did right — and wrong.

Originally, we planned to take this trip in 2020, and then the pandemic happened.

Our plan revolved around hiking to the bottom and staying at Phantom Ranch, known for its utter remoteness and the fact that it's the only lodging below the rim of the Grand Canyon.

Built in 1922, the Ranch consists of a rustic dining hall and a small set of cabins and dorms that are accessible only by foot, mule, or raft, and reservations are awarded by a lottery.

The dorm we initially won a spot in shuttered during the pandemic. And while we lost the lottery in 2021, we snagged a reservation for a cabin in May of 2022.

The delay proved to be an unexpected boon. It gave us two-plus years to research the journey and train weekly. We hiked in intense heat, in the rain, and in ice and snow, to prepare for all climates within the park.

By the time we flew west, our boots and backpacks were broken in. Had we left in 2020 as planned, I'm not sure it would have gone as smoothly.

I came up with a list of essentials and went for a test hike on a local trail at home. I chose one with a fair amount of elevation gain to mimic a fraction of what I'd experience in the canyon.

In the first 10 minutes, my back let me know I over packed.

When I got home, I began shedding items left and right, like my SLR camera with multiple lenses. My friend and I also made a shared document to identify redundant items between us.

Ultimately, I chose to keep a 3-liter hydration bladder, a backup bottle, first aid/emergency supplies, foot care, snacks, hygiene essentials, maps, clothing for multiple climates, and an extra pair of shoes, clocking in at 20 to 25 pounds.

We flew into Las Vegas and rented a car to drive a few hours to the South Rim of the Grand Canyon, where we planned to head down the trail a couple days later.

In the meantime, we stayed in small bungalows with great views of the plunge we were about to take and explored the area.

In our excitement to see and do everything upon arrival, from the visitor's centers to the different viewpoints, shops, and restaurants, I made the mistake of blowing past my 10,000-step daily goal.

As a result, I gave myself arch pain, which only added to my pre-hike jitters.

I'm glad we did this rather than waste time driving or walking over. And while the early wakeup was rough, we avoided extra heat and sun exposure.

We intentionally made many stops for photos and to embrace the awesomeness of the experience.

To force ourselves to take it easy and not overheat — a very real danger that claims the lives of hikers on these trails every year, we set an alarm reminding us to stop every hour of the four to five-hour trek to hydrate, have a snack, rest, stretch, and bask in the views.

It was tempting to charge to the bottom, but the overall journey was all the better for it.

My feet are prone to blisters and I prepared by using good, worn-in insoles, and impromptu applications of Body Glide (an anti-chafing stick) and Moleskin friction pads on our hourly stops.

These precautions saved me, as did the sock trick. For the latter, you stash an extra pair of hiking socks somewhere easily accessible on your pack. When you feel your feet getting sweaty, you stop and change them out, hanging the used pair on the outside of your pack to dry in the sun.

While a dangling pair of dirty socks wasn't the sharpest sartorial move, I didn't get a single blister during the entire trip.

The 20 mph winds whipping through the canyon had other plans for the wide-brimmed hat I brought with me.

Rather than scrambling for it on a precipitous cliff, I pulled out a UPF neck gaiter and used it to shield myself from the sun. I may have looked more like Jackie O than canyoneer, but I escaped a sunburn.

Cinch that drawstring tighter than mine was so you don't foolishly leave a trace behind at the park, or suffer from sun exposure.

With only a couple miles to go, we spotted the gateway to our destination, the Black Bridge over the Colorado River. It's a sign that you're nearly at Phantom Ranch where cabins and refreshments await.

In the rush to get there, however, I regret that we skipped a stop by the beach to soak my feet in the cold water.

Finally, there it was: Phantom Ranch. I found it cathartic to visit its century-old grounds, watch mule deer graze nearby, have a glass of the Ranch's lemonade, and fill out postcards that bear the coveted "mailed by mule at the bottom of the Grand Canyon" stamp, all while sharing the experience with others who made the journey down.

And then there's the food. While the canteen serves chips and other snacks, hikers can book breakfast, a sack lunch, or dinner prior to trekking down.

The meals aren't cheap but my strip steak, served with a baked potato, salad, carrots, and dessert, felt wholly restorative.

Most human bodies aren't used to descending 7.4 miles of rock, with an elevation change roughly equivalent to 460 flights of stairs.

My knees, surprisingly, felt great thanks to the trekking poles I trained with since we first planned the journey. I think they're a simple and crucial piece of gear (and central to the current trend of "Nordic Walking"), and not only saved my legs on the way down, but greatly helped on the way back up, too.

The cabins at Phantom Ranch are no fills, just some bunk beds, a concrete floor, a bathroom, and a sink with cold water. I knew this going in, but other hikers I chatted with seemed frustrated and disappointed by the lack of amenities like in-room TVs.

But, in my opinion, the fact that they exist at all at the bottom of the Grand Canyon, and also have air conditioning, felt like an incredible feat of engineering.

From our cabin, looking back at the top of the South Rim, roughly 10 miles off and thousands of feet up, I felt terrified.

I started to feel anxious about the hike back up, scrutinizing every pain point and the impact it might have on my ability to complete the hike. I maintained a periodic nervousness throughout our two-day stay, which distracted me from the otherwise transcendent vibe of Phantom Ranch.

Instead of taking a day hike to a waterfall, I hung out in our cabin and rested for the return journey. If I could do it again, I wish I would have enjoyed this time more.

After wolfing down a 5 a.m. prebooked breakfast of eggs, sausage, and pancakes at Phantom Ranch, and picking up the sack lunch we'd arranged for at the canteen, we struck out.

Prior to departing, we verified which water stations would be available along the trails, as they vary seasonally. And thanks to our practice runs back home, I knew heat sneaks up on me fast, and put Nuun electrolyte tablets directly into my water bladder to ensure I was well hydrated.

I also knew that on grueling, hot hikes, I get nauseous instead of hungry and I would need to force myself to eat. I did so, choking down bagels, snack sticks, energy gels, cheese, and a crushed-up bag of potato chips, a trail hack recommended to us by a Grand Canyon ranger.

Located five miles in, about halfway between Phantom Ranch and the top of the South Rim, this popular Cottonwood-lined respite offers shade, bathrooms, places to sit, a campground and, most crucially, potable water — the only water source available during our hike.

When we got there, we knew that the hardest part of the ascent was still ahead of us. So after a quick snack, soaking our neck gaiters, and refilling our water, we were off.

If I could dial back the clock, I'd have taken more time to rest, stretch, explore, chat with other hikers, and get ready for the last leg. It's considered to be a sacred site by the Havasupai for more than a millennia.

The final leg of the Bright Angel trail is dubbed "The Wall" for good reason. Here, the path rockets up a few thousand feet in a couple short miles.

And while I was downright gleeful as I started seeing hikers coming down from the rim because I knew I was near the end, I quickly realized I absolutely should have trained more for this portion of the hike to make it less painful.

Eventually, we made it out, and it was a glorious feeling, perhaps unlike anything I've ever experienced, though the pain in my calves definitely lingered.

My favorite part of completing a hike like this was replacing all those lost calories in a lavish way.

We booked a reservation at the historic El Tovar Dining Room in El Tovar Hotel, the oldest continuously operating hotel in the canyon. The restaurant is very popular and we made a reservation three months in advance to ensure that the last thing we would do after hiking 10 miles uphill was hunt for a place to eat.

The food is pricey, but the restaurant is only five minutes from the Bright Angel trail head and I found it to be a grand place to lick my wounds.

As I devoured the restaurant's signature beef stroganoff, I thought the best thing I did on this hike was over prepare and set the right mental note of positivity. It kept me from feeling overwhelmed, exhausted, and ready to give up.