Oh how I love southwest Utahs' canyon country, it's mysterious twisting slot canyons call to me like a sirens' song. The only thing better than visiting this amazing place is sharing it with someone special. Understandably, most women aren't wired to enjoy dangling off cliffs and sliding into frightfully claustraphobic spaces. You can imagine my delight when Lisa volunteered to cancel a trip to Hawaii to follow me down the sandstone rabbit hole for a week in late March.
For fourteen hours and fifty minutes of our fifteen hour drive from Portland, Oregon to Moab, Utah, I'd managed to keep just under fifteen mph over the speed limit (the threshold where most cops get upset) but just past the turn-off to Arches national park, my lead foot got the better of me and it wasn't long before the red and blues flashed in my rearview mirror.
"I'm officer ---- from the Utah Highway patrol." stated the healthiest looking cop I can remember, "Do you know how fast you were going?"
I took a deep breath.
"I was going 83 miles per hour, I was speeding, I knew I was speeding, and I chose to do it anyways because I am trying to get to a climbing store before they close which is no excuse for endangering other drivers. Here is my liscense and insurance. I don't need you to cut me any slack."
I'm pretty sure both he and Lisa thought I was nuts. One thing I know about cops though, is that they hate being lied to and they have to listen to bullshit stories all day long. More people ought to realize this and spare our police officers the hassle of our tales of dying relatives and broken speedometers.
When he returned from his vehicle he handed me this piece of paper.
"This is a warning," he said, "and if you don't make it to the climbing store in time this is the phone number for our local canyoneering guide, he should be able to help you out."
'Only in Moab', I thought.
We woke up late the next morning and mosey'd on down to the climbing shop, Pagan Mountaineering, one of my favorites. Good climbers, very little attitude or BS. They gave us the beta (climbing jargon for info) on a short local route we could cut our teeth on; a little climbing, a few rappels, some desert hiking, an arch, and a short slot canyon. I bought a new rope, a map, and after a short drive we were happily wandering up the jeep trail to Pritchett canyon, drying out from another long Pacific Northwest winter.
Lis examines a twisted dead juniper. I didn't devote nearly enough time to these amazing subjects.
I kept a close eye on Lis during our first short class 4 scramble (exposed but not worth roping up), but it became quickly aparrant that she was confident with the climbing. She tested her handholds and footfalls before weighting them, moving decisively up the jumbled sandstone crevice.
At the top of Pritchet canyon Lis empties the rocks and sand out of her hiking sandals, we wear these because they drain water easily after hiking through pools of water.
The beauty of slickrock canyons can't be overstated. Hiking here in the spring, when temperatures are still in the sixties, is chilly in the morning, but quite pleasant otherwise.
...like I just said...
An ancient sand desert carved by wind and water, the entire Colorado plateau is a natural art gallery.
Lis slides down our very first narrow slot.
Lis peeks out from behind a piece of wood jamming the slot, we had to go up and over.
I sort the ropes for our second rappel in the canyon.
We spent about an hour reviewing basic skills. Here Lis is set up to rappel off a single strand of a double line. The rope is set through two bolt hangers, which is normally not acceptable but these hangers have a soft lip designed for this purpose. A double rethreaded figure eight knot insures the line can't pull through. Her rappelling device is double threaded to insure enough friction to keep the descent slow and controlled. From Lisas' waist a prussik cord wraps the rope, this special knot will catch the rope in case of an uncontrolled freefall. With this setup Lis is double protected, and she can switch in an instant from rappelling to climbing back up the rope, which we practiced. This setup is probably overkill, but I like to start people this way because it creates a good basic skill set.
With her usual poise, Lis steps calmly over the edge...
...and onto a very large, and very fun, freehanging rappel.
Next it's my turn.
I love the freedom of hanging on ropes, and take a moment to play a bit.
The next day we drove an hour toward Hanksville, where there are thousands of amazing slot canyons, both deeper and more challenging than the ones near Moab. We drove for an hour on a flat dirt road to the MIDDLE OF NOWHERE, punching through migrating sand dunes in Lisas' ultra low clearance Honda Fit. When we arrived at the Hans Flat Ranger Station, the entrance to an even more remote canyon region, it was twenty degrees outside and blowing snow sideways, inhospitable to say the least. We bought more maps, some water, and spent the rest of the afternoon in the car exploring the guidebooks for a suitable adventure once the weather cleared. We identified Blue John Canyon as our target, a deep tight technical canyon with five tributaries, all challenging enough to be interesting, but still safely within our skill level. This is the canyon where Aron Ralstron, who became trapped here in 2003 when a boulder rolled onto his hand, famously CUT HIS OWN HAND OFF, with a pocket knife, and walked out after four days without food or water. Lisa leaned close to the ranger and asked "Is the hand still in there?" It wasn't.
The next morning when we awoke we had to scrape the ice off the INSIDE of the car windows. We sorted the gear while gulping cold coffee and shivering uncontrollably, and set off through the desert at sunrise, hands and fingers frozen in the early morning wind. Quite suddenly our wash narrowed into a slot canyon and we quickly realized why this was called the Squeeze Fork.
Lisas' shoulders are narrower than mine so she could walk straight much of the time. I spent over half the time walking sideways.
Often the slots were too narrow to walk so we had to climb sideways up higher where the walls were wide enough.
A series of short rappels sunk us deeper and deeper into the surreal chasms.
The light and shapes were spooky and beautiful beyond words...
In the depths of the squeeze fork we rappelled into a section so tight that we both had to walk sideways with feet on the walls instead of the floor. A short distance beyond this rappel is a section where the canyon narrows to LESS THAN TWELVE INCHES wide and you have to slide fifteen feet down in complete darkness and slither sideways for two hundred feet. This is a claustraphobes' worst nightmare. I sent Lis down first because she is smaller than me and I knew that if she got stuck I'd be able to climb out and pull her up to the rim. Even though this is clearly diagramed in the guidebook, we were both pretty concerned about going in there. The next day we met a group of large guys who had backed off at this point and upclimbed the whole canyon, I can't say I blame them! Thier clothes were shredded, and even Lis and I had holes in our pants and backpacks from the abrasive stone passages. This was one of the neater things I've ever done.
Finally the squeeze fork opened up to where at least Lis could walk straight, and eventually into a long sandy wash that connected to the other forks. It wasn't very long before we were both whining about trudging through the energy sapping sand, and wishing for the tight confines of the slots. That day we hiked back up the West Fork, and interesting, but non-technical canyon. I should mention that although this is listed as non-technical in the guides, it contains a sketchy upclimb that I dropped Lis a rope for. You'd want to rappel it if going down. An 80 ft rope would be plenty of cord.
We ended up at this perfect campsite and set out on the road to hitchhike back to the car. We caught a ride with some horsemen who had spent the morning following Butch Cassidy and Sundances' trail through Robbers Roost Canyons. The canyon had worked them and their horses over pretty good and they said "I can see why the sheriff's posse didn't follow them down there." We drove the car back to this perfect slickrock pad, and took great pleasure in emptying the car and sorting the gear on the hard flat stone shelf.
We tried to do some portrait photography in the perfect afternoon light, but looking directly into the bright sun proved difficult.
Lis continues to surprise me with her irreverence and humor while still leading a deeply awake and intuitive existence.
This may be one of the only photos in existence of Lisa with straight hair, it took three days with a hat on to flatten her wild curls. We enjoyed a fabulous picnic and a great view that evening in the tent. Indian food mixed with crushed corn chips may not sound appetizing, but I can assure you that when combined with a cold beer and the end of a nine hour hike, there is nothing more delicious.
The next morning we awoke to temperatures just above freezing and no wind, a welcome improvement from the day before. Brett, the canyon guide, had told us on the phone NOT TO trust the maps in the guide book and to buy a detailed topo map and study it carefully. We were glad we took this advice, the upper washes are shallow and unclear and it would be easy to drop into the wrong canyon. This day we were headed down the Little West Fork, and up the Main Fork.
Even with the map and compass uncertainty was a common sentiment. When I couldn't be sure we consulted Lisas' powerful intuition, I was impressed by her ability to find the right path.
Taking the wrong route wouldn't be life threatening, just dissapointing.
Finally we found the entrance to the Little West Fork, and what passes for a rappelling anchor in these parts. This stack of stones is called a 'dead man', for obvious reasons. The canyons are full of similarly dubious attachment points. Elsewhere in the climbing world one might look at this and say "no way!" but this is just how it goes in the slots. You hook in, weight it, jump on it as hard as you can, and decide to either go for it, or set a new anchor.
The Little West Fork was pure pleasure. Three very fun, clean rappels, and some tight but walkable, interesting slots.
The shallow upper section bathed us in beautiful pink/orange light.
Like the Squeeze Fork, the Little West Fork holds deep mysterious slots, though not as tight and scary. Our rope was a little short for this fifty foot rappel so we had to downclimb the last ten feet.
It's always a little spooky to pull the ropes on a section you know you can't upclimb, but we came prepared with extra ropes, warm clothes, extra food and water, and a bolting kit for real emergencies.
Lis did her share of the work, keeping the gear organized and coiling the ropes. I enjoy the camraderie of doing this kind of work together, when your lives are in each others hands it cuts right through all the muck. A wonderful way to get to know someone.
Lis, looking fully legit.
Where the Little West Fork meets the Main Fork, we found a small sunny spot.
Lis empties the sand and pebbles out of her shoes for the one-hundred-eighty-fifth time.
Lis finds a tumble weed!
Deep in the walking slot. This section is three to seven feet wide, a hundred-twenty feet deep and a little over a quarter mile long.
Before the climbing section we stopped for lunch. Lisa was crazed with hunger!
The amazing climb out of Blue John. There are anchors in here, but a rope really won't protect you in a fall. Fotunately, the climbing is easy and the tight coarse stone walls provide a lot of security. I was mad that the sun happened to be in the perfect spot to ruin this photo.
Then, almost too suddenly we crested the canyon rim and hiked back across the low rolling desert. Wishing to avoid a circuitous route on the roads, I cut us straight across country to land at this spot, a couple hundred yards from the car, a map and compass feat I was quite proud of. Lisa said to me, "After the climb I wanted to tell you I love you, but I thought I'd wait until you got us back to the road." I laughed so hard I almost cried.
With so many amazing canyons to explore we'll never see the Blue John again, but we will certainly be heading back to Utah for more of these beautiful and unique adventures.
(note: full resolution photos of this adventure are NOT available, my camera was malfunctioning the whole time and almost every shot is backfocused, good enough for the web, but not much else.)
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