Escalante Excursion: Part 3

Day 3:

During the previous evening's heated cribbage match - featuring Nathaniel's throttling of Mark and myself - the group decided that it behooved us to move eastward in hopes of cutting down on Sunday's drive time. This worked out in our favor since both of the potential slot canyon hikes were on the other side of Capitol Reef from us. We packed up camp and made the scenic drive through Hell's Backbone, hell's kitchen and the rest of hell's own homely comforts. We stopped by the national park's visitor center and got a stern you-city-boys-look-like-noobs look from a patronizing park ranger who told us that we might want to stay away from any technical hiking in the canyons. As if to say we couldn't handle it - as if (!) to insinuate that our frail Coloradan constitutions couldn't handle the wild, unmatriculated wilderness that predominates the eastern washes of the national park. However, in the name of safety, we did consider her advice seriously. Then, we decided that with a forecast of clear skies and bromance, fortune favored the bold. We took on the technical route of Cottonwood Wash. It was the right decision.

The path follows a dry creek bed over decaying flagstone for about a mile, narrows some, continues for about a half mile, and then the real fun begins.

The aesthetically pleasing gateway to the slot canyon. We didn't see a single  other vertebrate organism on the whole hike. Solitude prevailed in the best possible way.

The view from the entryway.

For the first bit, the canyon meanders gently in between 20' cliffs.

The first few obstacles we came across were fairly tame. We wondered if we were in the correct wash for a brief moment or two.

"Technical obstacles? That park ranger must have never seen a 14er before!"

And then things started to narrow a bit...

Nathaniel looking cozy.

The canyon began to get deeper and our walkway varied between two and five feet across.
The next three photos were taken from vantage points all within about twenty feet of each other.

Mark and I chimneying to gain passage over a blockade, while passing underneath a giant boulder.

We didn't always go over obstacles. Sometimes we had to go through them.

Mark - looking comfortable.

Mark - looking less comfortable.

Good times.

My critics may scoff at my form, but this was way easier than the way the rest of the team tried to get across.

The farther into the wash we went, the more varied the terrain became. Sometimes the walls of the canyon would be smooth, and sometimes they'd be pocky like a pubescent cheek. In a bizarre twist of irony, one slab actually had little zit-looking lichens growing on it.

This trip made me want to join the Sierra Club, move into a desert cave, hike all day and never  shower again.

The hike came to an abrupt stop after about 3 miles by an "unpassable thirty-foot cliff," according to our online research. We found a wall that was about twelve feet high, scaled it while laughing jovially at the preposterous locals who don't know adventure from summer camp, mountains from molehills, on and on and so forth. "What ludicrous information - this is totally doable!" we told each other. It seemed fine and dandy, and then we looked up... and up... and up - approximately thirty feet of sheer cliff wall to a tiny notch in what for all reasonable estimates was the sky. I immediately ate my words and made a mental note to have my personal assistant send a formal apology to the good people who provide dedicated, reliable information about hikes in the area. The canyon had spoken - the hike in was over.

End of the road. They were right.

There was a lone tree enjoying a monopoly of sunlight and soil in the basin beneath the notch. It was surrounded by a rocky outcropping, destined to be pummeled into sandy oblivion by the desert's forces of erosion. In the mean time, however, Nathaniel "jumped on" the opportunity to take some suggestive photos. 

Nathaniel... expressing himself on a rock.

This was a fantastic way to spend an afternoon. We packed up our bags and broke land-speed records back towards the state line. That evening, we would dine in the greatest state in the union - sweet home, Colorado!

Rabbit Valley is an extension of my very being. We were on the opposite side of the recreation area from the river overlooks but the clear skies and birds chirping was like a call back to reality. I didn't really begin to feel less sick until we set up camp here Saturday night. What a relief to be home and feeling better.