TANDING ON THE SOUTH RIM of the Grand Canyon, I found it impossible to form any intelligent words. Words at all, for that matter. They were plucked from my brain as if swept up by the wind that swirls and dances around the canyon floor, where the mighty Colorado River twists and turns on its way to the Gulf of California. I had the same feeling when flying over this World Heritage Site in a helicopter a few years later, our pilot navigating us just metres from the textured rock walls before landing by the river. Looking up or down, it is