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.

Escalante Excursion: Part 2

Day 2:

Imagine a music dear reader: a lone, serene bassoon perambulating down the sidewalk of a sweet melody. Nathaniel and Hunter slowly rise to greet the soft morning light - the palpitation of Mark's snoring rises and falls in a well-practiced staccato. The mystical desert beckons us to leave the abode of our synthetic shelter with seductive promises of adventure. She's a cruel mistress, she is - so alluring and yet so elusive. Our protagonists must rise and heed her call, lest her promises fall on deaf ears.

Thus, the day began. A weather system was supposed to move through the area during the afternoon, so our efforts must be coordinated accordingly. We enjoyed a delicious breakfast of sauteed onions, mushrooms and scrambled eggs before weighing down the tent with all our worldly possessions to keep it from flying unencumbered into the abyssal canyon below. We expected a small bit of wind and wanted to play it safe; little did we know of the gale that was to come. More on this later.

Packing into the car, we made the quick drive down to the Calf Creek trailhead:

Its hard to see, but the road you drive on to get into the area is along this ridge, and comes from  the Hell's Backbone junction. A 200m elevation change and a little bit of water makes all the difference between paradise and purgatory out here.

The trail wanders up the western side of the canyon, skirting an ancient livestock grazing area that was paramount to the survival of the various native and invasive settlers to the region through the years. One thing that I unfortunately didn't make a visual record of was the brochure that we picked up at the trail register. There were approximately 14 stops along the 2 mile trail that recounted the history, flora and fauna of the area while amicably reminding visitors to drink loads of water. Granaries and cattle fences still stand that were erected long ago, and in the case of the granaries, we were often left with the question of "how did they get to their granary that was 150m off the ground on the side of a sheer sandstone cliff?" Let alone how they did it when they were hungry with low blood sugar. Folks must have been seriously hardcore to make an existence out here, even in the creek drainage.

What's more is, if you forgot where you put your granary, you would never be able to find it again because it is so well hidden! You'd have to build a whole new one way up on the cliff face. It is at this point that I would like to offer my highly uneducated opinion about the origins of the Fremont hieroglyphs from Capitol Reef: those are pictures of the aliens that helped the natives build their ridiculously-well hidden structures. I am prepared to defend my hypothesis by directing any dissenters' attention to the figures' antennae. It seems to me the most logical explanation.

Mark and I pondering questions of life and existence in the desolate, historical badlands of North America.

This is not a granary for two reasons: a) it is not impossibly high up on a cliff, and b) it does not look enough like a rock.

 As we approached the crossing that would lead us to the falls, a cloak of green dominated the landscape. Much like our youthful spirits, life abounded all around us.

We came around the final curve and heard the rushing of a falls. We had our first glimpse through the trees at what appeared a thin falls coming off the side of a cliff.

I grew up in Colorado Springs - the very heart and soul of evangelical capitalism of the universe. It is home to the for-profit mega-churches that will save your soul and condemn everyone you disagree with for a very reasonable price - comparable to buying a swanky toaster oven on a late-night infomercial. Needless to say, it is not the most "reasonable" or "rational" place in the world, but I digress.  On the city's west side, they have something called Seven Falls - it is marketed as something comparable to Niagra west of the Mississippi. They are very proud of their "seven" falls, and in 2005 (last and only time I will ever visit) it cost me over fifty United States dollars to gain admission. I expected a life-changing, spiritual experience - complete with music and dancing bears and fondue.

Here are some fun plugs for what you get in the Springs (credit to their website for photos):

They extort the local native culture for the
benefit of petty profits!

They posit that the falls spontaneously combust
into a raging tapestry of liquid-hot magma!

There were no dancing bears. There was no life-changing experience. There was no cascade of Tom Cruise's witch-magical fire to engulf the land in a spectre of awe. Instead, I no longer had lunch money for the rest of the week and here's what we saw:

If it was free, I might enjoy it. I payed $50-plus, got attacked by mosquitoes and the girl I went with turned out to be institutionally and incurably nuts - so this sucked.

I digress again, because this is a story of the Calf Creek and not of the controversial marketing techniques employed by local Springsians. 

This story has a happy ending, and it is going to end good!

The Calf Creek Recreation area is apparently world-renown. We heard at least three differently recognized foreign languages spoken by camera-wielding tourists, all of whom were just as wowed by the culmination of the hike as we were. It was as though we had stepped into the very metonymy of paradise. Nathaniel did a tremendous job photographing the scenery, but our cameras simply can't justify how awesome this place really is. 

The dark line you see extending from the falls is actually a  natural, hanging garden shaded from the morning sun. The sandy beach gave way into a shallow lagoon; the green Plantae danced a sweet three-way tango with the crisp, blue water and the deep red of the sandstone cliffs.

Mark and I considering how we could ever follow up this hike with something even remotely as cool. (Note: observe how the pristine shade along the beach provides for excellent meditative potential)

Artistic shot of the spray from the falls.

Yours truly. Definitely one of the high points of the trip.

 A group of tourists (spoke German and no English... possibly from Germany?) were resting nearby. One of them was kind enough to snap a group photo of us with the falls. We bid them a fond "Danke schoen," and turned to head back to the car.

Mark, myself and Nathaniel, dwarfed by the falls behind.

Here are some parting shots of the falls for use as your computer desktop background. They speak for themselves.

 

Upon our return to the car, we found that the weather had indeed rolled in, and that we probably wouldn't want to be out and exposed to the elements all afternoon. We drove a mile west of our campsite along Utah's Highway 12 and backed up the Jeep to the side of a ~10m rock face. I learned a valuable lesson about how awesome it is to own a Jeep here, and I will share it with you now: in the event that there are no rocks or trees to set an anchor to, you can four-wheel your Jeep to the top of the cliff and anchor directly to your vehicle instead. The manifold has a convenient row of carabiner-sized holes, etched into battleship-grade steel, located right behind the bumper! So, with the addition of two quickdraws and a rope, we were in business.

It is my life's great regret that I did not document the level of badness that ensued during the ensuing climb, both from my Jeep as well as from the three of us climbing. We quickly learned that the reason for all of the surrounding sand dunes in the area is because the rock is literally falling apart. Any lateral pressure on any given handhold while climbing meant a 70% chance of the hold disintegrating in your hand. It was a real challenge, and made doubly-so by the fact that everything was covered in a fine layer of dust that mostly eliminated any friction that the climber may normally rely on to, say, stay on the wall. After about four or five routes each (around 3PM), the weather was coming in fully, and the wind was not messing around. During certain memorable gusts on the side of the slab it was difficult to stand and put away gear at the same time. It got cold fast, and we collectively made the executive decision to just throw everything in the car and deal with organization later. The rest of the afternoon was spent beer-drinking (Colorado Native, appropriately enough) in the tent and playing cribbage.

By the time the tsunami of sand and wind had passed through camp, it was nearing dinner time. All of our worldly possessions had been in the tent in order to keep it from blowing away, and yet before we returned to the tent it had migrated five feet over the sand towards the canyon (the bad direction) from the winds. Also, there was the fun fact that, since everything we brought was in the tent to hold it down, everything we brought now had about five pounds of sand in it, regardless of size. In spite of my  sardonic feelings at the time, a quick glance north towards Boulder Peak reported snow in the highlands. We had driven through that area just yesterday and had considered camping in the aspen forests when Calf Creek campground was full. The juxtaposition of 85-90 degree weather in the morning with snowfall and heavy winds in the afternoon would have been unpleasant in a manner reminiscent of the unpleasantries endured by the Duke of Wellington and the Prince of Orange at the hands of Napoleon's armies during the battle of Waterloo. It was clear that providence had cast us a desirable lot in our decision making on this trip, and by golly day two ended good!

We enjoyed more of Josie's campsite fodder, climbed on a sand tower near the campsite that was in a worse state of decay than our climb from earlier that afternoon, and slept the sleep of the avid adventurer encapsulated in the imagination of young children.

Escalante Excursion: Part 1

After an untimely and tragic bout of dudes-backing-out-the-night-before-our-epic-trip, our once-vast legion of brochachos had dwindled to three bandoleers, bound by honor and a wanderlust for the epic outdoors to press on and venture forth into the great deserts west of home. I was very apprehensive about continuing on the trip and had secretly wondered if the universe was trying to give me a sign when this occurred - I had been fighting a losing battle with the head cold from hell for the four days previous to our departure. Could it be divine intervention? Could it be providence's holy hand throwing a holy hand grenade into our wicker basket of outdoor bounty? Ye may never know for sure, but I can safely say that this was an instance where I went against my better judgement. I certainly suffered great personal sacrifice and napped for half of the journey out to the Staircase. That being said, my better judgement be damned! It was totally worth it.

Day 1:

We left the Woolly Mammoth Park-n-Ride in Morrison around 8:00 AM and made great time to Grand County. During a studious break from his awesome and loving and supportive wife some evening, Nathaniel had learned of a free wine tasting room in the heart of cozy Palisade, CO. We enjoyed (read: Nathaniel and I wrestled like starving grizzly bears for first dibs) a much needed bathroom break and mingled with the local terroir host. His name was Lance, he was nice in a trying-to-covertly-sell-you-drastically-overpriced-wine-while-downplaying-the-reasonable-and-delicious-cheap-stuff sort of way. Unfortunately, we didn't get any free swag or photos with him, but he did give us leave to eat a picnic on the lawn furniture in front. Underneath a huge cottonwood tree, I downed some more cold medicine and attempted to taste any of our (I'm told by the guys, and trust based on Josie's culinary reputation) delicious lunch.

Exhibit A: Picnicking in the middle of a Cabernet grove. Groovy.

Exhibit B: Looking north through fields of plenty that will one day produce the nectar of the gods that has made this region of Colorado so wholesome in a high-society boozy-sort of way.

Exhibit C: Looking south east at more beautiful cliffs and the lovely lawn upon which we feasted.

After about an hour's rest, we packed up the Jeep and meandered through the scenic half-block downtown while looking for directions to the interstate. We pointed the car west, threw on some Dragonforce Pandora and we were off. Somewhere around Capitol Reef National Park, Mark offered to drive for a bit and I conked out in the backseat. Nathaniel will have to make an addendum to this post to account for what went on during that short stint.

Rocks. 

Trees and rocks.

The hieroglyphs that we saw all resembled Dr. Seuss characters... the Fremont Indians were way ahead of their time.  

This picture is bigger because we were farther away from this cliff. The glyphs here can be seen left of center. More triangular, Seussical figures. 

You need to visit this place.

Fast forward umpteen hours.

When we finally reached Calf Creek, we were nonplussed to learn that the campsite was full. We had just passed a sign that read "Hell's Backbone -> 25 Miles" and were near Box Death Hollow WSA. Outside of this little creek bed, the surrounding canyons didn't exactly seem... inviting. Nevertheless, we bandoleers made like outlaws and setup camp around four miles south in a sand pit next to a sweeping sandstone canyon.

Hell's Backbone in the distance. Escalante River in the foreground canyon. 

Mark being outdoorsy. The bed of sand, although I'm still washing it out of my clothes, was super comfortable to sleep on.

Nathaniel also being outdoorsy. 

We elected to hike into the canyon and explore since we'd just rode a veritable eternity in the Jeep out there. We were pleasantly wowed by the diversity and textures of the terrain we had stumbled upon. The sandstone was so soft that it would break off it you put too much lateral pressure on the rock anywhere, and so it seemed each slab had a unique personality to it. Where there had been obvious water movement, there were dry pools and curves etched into the rock as it cascaded towards the valley below. I felt very much at home with my background in chemistry when I thought to myself "How great would it be to be a water molecule in a rainstorm out here? This would be so much fun to slide down!" This jovial moment was then followed by the dual sobering realizations that I spend way too much time with eleven and twelve year old kids and that I really need a vacation.

Looking back towards the campsite from the ridge.

Future slot canyon?

Sweet striations!

Trips like this make me want to be a geologist.

The rest of the night was fairly low key. We made dinner on the camp stove and fell asleep early. I felt like I would die walking up the canyon back to the campsite, and my dear companions bestowed on me the honor of cooking and doing all the dishes for the first night. It was awesome - good times. I'm still waiting for the incubation period for whatever alien-engineered death microbe that I had to end for them both, and it hit them when they least expect it bwahahahahaha! Just kidding... mostly.

Night hiking in Stevens' Gulch

Cinco de Mayo - a holiday much loved for its spirit of revelry and camaraderie. This year's celebrations fell on the night of the supermoon - the biggest and brightest full moon of the year.

Nathaniel and I decided that it behooved us to travel west to yon mountainside and enjoy a hike to the highest point along the continental divide - Grays Peak. Normally, when we hike it happens on about four hours notice and with about three hours' sleep. This time, we had the foresight to plan ahead by a couple of days, but apparently hadn't thought through the itinerary very much. We began packing for the evening's excursion at approximately 9:30 PM.

The girls were only somewhat credulous that we were about to go hiking.

By the time we got to the Grays Peak trailhead and were headed up the mountainside, the clock had struck midnight (literally) on the Cinderella story that was our adventure. We started our hike at 12:01AM.

The aperture on my camera is too small to get quality night photos. The hike up the valley was crystal clear, though, and in spite of the large amounts of light coming off the moon there were vast amounts of stars twinkling in the sky above us. We only had to use headlamps for about five minutes during the whole evening. We took a leisurely pace up the slope all night, and enjoyed the night air.

Even through the clouds, the sky was brilliantly lit. This was a sweet hike.

 As we hiked higher, a cloud bank rolled in behind us and obscured the valley. We stopped on the side of the trail around 2:30 AM and enjoyed a delicious cup of hot chocolate around 12,800'. We were immersed in a bank of clouds so thick that even the light from the supermoon was obscured. My one regret from the trip is that I wasn't able to capture a picture of the scene. Imagine you are watching a movie about pirates - think of the scene where the protagonist is trapped in a seemingly insurmountable situation - and picture the ominous fog that the ghost ship of the story's antagonist rolls out of (seemingly from nowhere and everywhere all at once!). The fog that surrounded us was much like that. I half-expected sasquatch to walk out of the mist towards us and announce that he's been tracking us for years, waiting for this perfect moment in isolation to murder us and grind our skulls to make his bread. The squeaking pikas seemed to agree with this feeling. I've never seen anything like it!

Although we had only about three quarters of a mile to go to the summit, we were starting to get tired. We had both been awake since early the previous morning, and had at least an hour and a half hike and hour drive home before we could rest. We made an executive decision that it would be preferable to stick to the flat terrain of the valley headed homeward, rather than risk poor decision-making and motor skills at any higher altitude. We finished up our hot chocolate and headed towards the car - pleased with the night's excursion.

I've heard a lot of tripe about the relative challenge of the class-1 hiking up Stevens' Gulch through 14ers forums or anecdotally with friends, but after this evening's hike I disagree with badmouthing the peaks. If anything, I thought that the ease of accessibility made the rocky crags more visibly appealing.  In the crisp moonlight, I was moved by the dramatic steeps of Dead Dog Couloir and the rest of Torreys' east face. If the goal is to be in the mountains, this was a fine place to achieve that goal. Even though we didn't summit either peak, this has been my favorite hike of the year so far based on the ambience of the evening. This was a special place - I will definitely be returning again with fresher legs knowing what a good time I had.

Alpine picnic, anyone?