Cedar & Sand

New Year's in Zion

2012-01-27T11:52:00.040-07:00

We made an impromptu weekend trip to the Springdale/Zion area for the New Year's holiday. We had a great time doing our usual gamut of outdoor activities: hiking, picnicking, geocaching, and checking out local historical landmarks.

Ava and Zoe taste the waters of Weeping Rock during a hike in Zion National Park.

Lunchtime on the lawn at Zion Lodge.

Ava finds A geocache in Black's Canyon.

I thought the old Springdale Cemetery was so interesting the first time I visited it, I had to take the family back to enjoy it.

It's been several years since I've been back to old Grafton. All of the buildings have been repaired and stabilized--something necessary in order for future generations to enjoy--but it has lost some of its original run-down charm.

The Grafton Cemetery.

We were delighted to learn that Springdale puts on a fireworks show on New Year's Eve. We weren't expecting much, but it turned out to be a great show. Plus, I finally got to try out the "Fireworks" setting on my little point and shoot.

I figured Angel's Landing would be just as good as anywhere else to watch the first sunrise of '12. Although I've hiked the entire West Rim Trail, I had never hiked the spine out to Angel's Landing before.

Parking at The Grotto, I hit the trail when there was just enough light to see without a flashlight. I ran to Scout Landing in good time passing a couple on Walter's Wiggles. To make the hike more interesting, I decided to hike the spine without touching any of the chains or railing. I did slip once, though not physically, just mentally as I forgot my goal for a second and put my hand on one of the rails for a moment.

There was one other guy on top that had come up with lights with a very early start. I should have known others would have had the same idea. We didn't talk much other than a happy New Year! greeting, and we took each others photos.

The first rays of sunlight for 2012 look great from Angel's Landing. As for the deal with my hair? Don't ask.

After snapping a few more photos as the sun began to fall on the tips of the western canyon wall, I headed back down the trail. I again passed the same couple that were now about 1/3 of the way up the spine. The girl was not doing well with the exposure and heights, and the guy was literally telling her where to place every step. They pointed out a huge California Condor roosting in a tree overhead that I had missed during my hasty ascent.

Looking down on The Organ from Angel's Landing.

Looking upcanyon toward the Temple of Sinawava and the Zion Narrows.

Looking down onto "the spine" you must climb to get to Angel's Landing. It's about a 700-foot drop to the left into Refrigerator Canyon and a good 1100-foot drop into Zion Canyon to the right--definitely not for the timid. More than one person has plummeted to their death here (including a woman that was allegedly pushed by their significant other some years ago).

Looking up the spine. Note the vertical posts and chains to help balance.

The legs felt light and limber so I laid off the brakes on the downhill and really flew. I was on track to get back to the hotel room just as Susie and the kids would be waking up.

Then suddenly my perfectly executed plan went awry. As I approached my car in the parking lot, I fished in my pockets for the key. Nothing. I couldn't believe it. My key could have been anywhere up on that trail. No point in going back and looking, it could have easily fallen off a number of cliffs.

Suddenly my 4.5-mile run turned into an 11-mile run as I had no choice but to run all the way back to the hotel in Springdale.

Angel's Landing towers over the Virgin River near The Grotto trailhead.

Lower Zion Canyon from the Pa'rus Trail bridge.

Thankfully, by the time I got back, Susie was dressed and ready to go for her run and she was more than happy to head back to The Grotto with her spare key and retrieve the car. When she got there, she found the car unlocked with the key sitting on the front seat! It turns out someone found the key on the trail and was able to find which car it belonged to and was nice enough to fist of all, not steal it, and then to leave the key with a nice note.

I can only hope my luck continues well into the new year!

Looking west toward The Towers of the Virgin from the Pa'rus Trail.

Getting Above the Gunk on Deseret Peak

2012-01-18T20:13:00.021-07:00

We spent a few days in Erda visiting family prior to Christmas. With the well-below-normal snowpack thus far in Utah, I figured it was a great time to get a winter climb in with minimal avalanche danger. Another advantage of going to the mountains was to get out of the gunky valley inversion that had besieged much of the Wasatch Front and West Desert.

I ultra-climbed Deseret Peak a couple of summers ago for the first time and had a blast. It turns out that Deseret Peak is a somewhat popular winter climb, especially for backcountry skiers who enjoy skiing down Deseret's Twin Couloirs on its southeast flank.

With my sights set on Deseret, I arranged to have my dad drop me and my road bike off near the mouth of South Willow Canyon at the crack of dawn. My plan was to stash my bike, walk up the road and to the normal summer-time trailhead, hike up to the summit, return to my bike and coast back to Erda some 12 miles away.

The South Willow Guard Station is in the process of getting a new roof.

It's an easy 4-mile walk up the canyon road to the Deseret Peak trailhead from where the road is gated in winter time. The winter gate is just past a couple of private cabins near the canyon mouth.

Within 5 minutes of walking, the air cleared up, my eye's contact lenses stopped itching, and I could breath easy. Before long, I got my first glimpse of my destination lit up with the day's first light.

The Upper Narrows of South Willow Canyon. These sturdy limestone walls are popular in the summer time amongst local rock climbers.

The canyon road was plowed all the way up to the Lower Narrows where crews had been working on repairs to the road. For the last couple of years, a washout at the Lower Narrows forced the Forest Service to close the road at Medina Flat even in the summer time. With the new repairs the road should be good to go this spring.

Near the Upper Narrows, the snow deepened and I strapped on my snowshoes. I followed tracks from a x-country skier that, from the looks of his/her tracks, had passed though about a week earlier.

Just as in summer, the hike gets really exciting once the trail gains some serious altitude in Mill Fork and you can see some of the higher peaks to the north.

About halfway up Mill Fork, the ski tracks disappeared and I was breaking virgin trail in the deepening snow. Throughout most of the hike up this north-facing slope, the snow was about mid-calf to knee deep even with snowshoes on. At Mill Fork's steep head wall, things suddenly got icy and I was forced to put on crampons. The crampons stayed on for only about 10 minutes because as soon as I reached the saddle on top, I had exposed rock.

At the top pf Mill Fork.

From the saddle it's a moderately steep climb up a broad and treeless slope to reach the summit ridge. The snow was soft enough here to require snowshoes, but once on the summit ridge it was all either exposed rock or packed snow. From there, it's a straightforward climb up the ridge and past a few false summits to the top.

The southeast flank of Deseret Peak.

Almost to the top. Note the wide cornices riding the lee side of the ridge top behind me. These are unstable and should be avoided--walk on the adjacent rock instead.

Looking west toward Skull Valley.

View to the southeast toward the Oquirrh Mountains (mid distance) and the Wasatch (far distance) Range. Mount Timpanogos is the high peak in the upper right of the photo.

Looking south toward the Onaqui (mid distance) and Sheeprock (far distance) Mountains. Black Crook Peak (elev-9274 ft.) is the high point of the Sheeprocks and it's been on my to-do list for some time.

I made it to the summit at about 1:30 pm, had lunch, snapped photos, and then retraced my steps. With an 8:00 am start, it took 5.5 hours to summit.

The return trip was of course much quicker and I was back at my bike and changing into biking shoes by 5 pm.

This is where I fubbed a bit and was not wholly prepared. The sun had set, temps were dropping, and it is a long and fast downhill out of the canyon and on to Grantsville. All I packed for light was a wimpy 3-LED headlamp that is not sufficient for illuminating a pot-holed road at speed. Plus, I couldn't get it positioned right on my helmet in order to throw the light where I wanted it.

The windchill was off the charts. Within minutes, I lost feeling in my fingers. The highway into Grantsville doesn't get a lot of traffic but when cars do come, they're typically going 60-65 mph and there's not much of a shoulder. Also, oncoming cars either didn't see me at all, or they didn't think a cyclist would mind bright lights, because no one was using their dimmers. It was a little scary to say the least.

By the time I got to Grantsville, I'd had enough and called my dad for a ride.

It sure was great to get out of the muck for a day and enjoy the fresh air and sunshine--just like we have pretty much every day down here in southern Utah.

Found!! Stansbury Island Petroglyphs Site #2

2012-01-05T11:57:00.015-07:00

I have a very vague memory of a family exploratory trip out to Stansbury Island as a kid. I was maybe 7 0r 8 years old. I can't recall much--there was a particularly rocky and steep road that seemed too rough for our truck to climb, and there was a stop at a little sandy beach to soak in the Great Salt Lake and build sand castles.

But what impressed me the most on that trip were the petroglyphs we found scattered on several boulders near the lake's shores. It's the first time I can remember being really mesmerized by these cryptic messages from the distant past.

As time wore on, the memory faded, and the rock-art site's location was completely forgotten.

Once again, my brother Eros was able to expertly sleuth out the lost location.

After he told me where they are, I realized they are near the end of one of my favorite bike rides, so I figured I could kill two birds with one stone.

The Stansbury Island Mountain Bike Trail is a very underrated little trail. It starts out with a protracted and challenging climb with a couple of tricky switchbacks as it work its way up to a saddle above the Provo level Bonneville shoreline. The trail then drops back down to the shoreline and follows the ancient shore's well-developed platform for a few miles. The views of the lake and nearby ranges never disappoint. At the end of the singletrack, most trail guides recommend dropping down to a graded dirt road and winding around on the flatlands back to the trailhead. An out-and-back on the singletrack has always made more sense to me.

Snow doesn't stick for long on the island so the trail is typically rideable year round.

Just leaving the trailhead.

View from where the singletrack ends.

Originally flat-lying layers of limestone (blue) and siltstone (yellow), the layers here have been churned up into irregular blebs. This was most likely caused by bioturbation (disturbed by burrowing animals) or by overburden pressure (the silt and lime have different strengths and therefore behave differently when under pressure).

The petroglyphs are on the southeast side of the island. They are very old and the elements have taken their toll. I was in a hurry, so I didn't get to all of them, but here is a sample:

The site is called Stansbury Site #2 in Petroglyphs and Pictographs of Utah. According to the book there is another site on the west side of the island [Eros, I'll be disappointed if you don't find these too]. The book also claims the best petroglyphs are on a large boulder that was removed from the island and is now on display at BYU's Archeological Museum in Provo.

Found!! The Red Man Pictograph of Timpie Valley

2012-01-01T17:22:00.010-07:00

I've seen only obscure references to the Timpie Valley "Red Man" pictograph. All I could surmise from a couple of pictures was that the pictograph was painted on the wall of small cave somewhere in this broad valley at the northern end of the Stansbury Range. Several searches of the valley over the last few years have yielded many small caves, but absolutely zilch in terms of Indian art.

My brother Eros has also independently been looking for the site for some time now. And once again, I got beat to the prize.

Eros told me he got just enough information out of a volunteer working at the Donner-Reed Museum in Grantsville to solve the puzzle. He also told me that he had walked all around, and right on top of the Red Man cave on a previous outing and even spotted the opening, but disregarded it because it looked too small. My dad said he could here Eros's victory yell as he sat on his porch in Erda some 18 miles away.

With directions from Eros, I visited the site with my dad on Thanksgiving day.

There is nothing like this pictograph in northwestern Utah that I'm aware of.

The entrance to the Red Man cave. The cave walls are Paleozoic limestone. The unusual roof is a very coarse limestone breccia cemented into place by Lake Bonneville. It's a little unnerving to be in the cave and looking up at large boulders hanging overhead--but the cement is very strong.

The Red Man pictograph in all her glory. Weapon, shield, head dress, and standing at over three feet high, it's a bit startling the first time you see it. The site has been documented, and an article written by Mark Stuart appears in a 1985 publication of the Utah Rock Art Association.

As an added bonus, there are a variety of solitary coral and crinoid fossils poking out of the limestone in the area.

While hiking up the hillside toward the cave, we noticed several unusual man-made features. At the base of a few slanted cliffs are large piles of rock that are leveled off on top. A few appear to have short walls. These are not natural scree or talus piles. I'm convinced someone hand-placed the stones. But why? And how old are they? Were the rock piles built by Indians and are they related to the pictograph? Or were they built by prospectors for some unknown reason (there is a sizable mining district at the head of the valley)?

An unusual stone pile at the foot of a cliff. From a distance they appear like artificial fill for a roadway, but there is no sign of a road or rail line in the area.

Found!! The Naming Cave

2011-12-29T18:55:00.006-07:00

I've had a good luck streak these last couple of months. I've finally found a few things that have been driving me crazy for years. I have to admit I had a lot of help from others that beat me to the punch.

First to check off the list is the Naming Cave. I first became aware of this fascinating little place while scouting out the Gunlock area on Google Earth a few years back. Photographer Don Manion placed an incredible 360-degree panorama of what he calls the Naming Cave smack dab in the middle of Gunlock Reservoir. Obviously the cave isn't under water, but based on what can be seen in the photos, I figured it had to be in the area. However, I could never quite pinpoint its exact location.

I should have known others would have noticed this and would be looking for it also. Still, I was shocked when I checked fellow adventure blogger El Scorcho's site a couple months ago and saw that he had found it! Dang it. Pretty much his first try too.

Anyway he provided the final clue that I needed to figure it out. Instead of biking out to it as El Scorcho did however, I thought it would be fun to pack the family in the Montero and hit some geocaches on the way. We had a lot of fun, but just so you know, it's not easy or safe for little kids to get into the cave itself.

View of the cave's entrance. The petroglyphs are carved on top of the sandstone slab partially blocking the entrance.

Kenneth Castleton first visited the site in 1978 and he briefly described it in his book Petroglyphs and Pictographs of Utah where he refers to the cave simply as the Red Sands site. The art style is believed to be Archaic and therefore could be several thousands of years old. However, since the writings are completely protected from rain and wind, they appear as if they could have been carved yesterday. Truly an amazing site.

There are more glyphs (probably Anasazi) on the north side of the little sandstone mountain as reported in Kenneth's book and confirmed by Sam Hunt who was with us and did a little extra exploring.

Below is Don's 360-degree photo. Cool stuff.

Naming Cave in Utah

A couple of other mysteries have been solved and I'll share them soon!

Fall Trip Through the Narrows

2011-11-08T18:26:00.040-07:00

I led another Scout group through the Zion Narrows. The Backcountry Ranger told me we had better all have wet suits due to abnormally high and cold water. A bit overkill in my opinion. We wore pretty standard clothing and were certainly chilled early on, but things warmed up nicely.

If you can manage the colder temps, mid October really might me the best time for the Narrows. Fall colors were again off the charts.

Enjoy the pics:

6 Hours of Frog Hollow

2011-11-02T20:06:00.016-06:00

24-hour mountain bike races are very popular these days. It's a simple format: whoever can lay down the most laps in 24 hours wins. The winners typically don't sleep and you'd better be well-accustomed to night riding for long hours in the saddle. If I had the time to get in a bigger volume of riding, I'd love to try a 24-hour race, but I'm just not there yet.

Thus, for the last couple of years I've had my sights on the 6-hours of Frog Hollow near Virgin, Utah. Much more manageable. The race has existed for a few years now, but I've always had something come up to thwart my plans.

My aid station--everything I need to survive several hours circling through the desert.

These timed races are completely self-supported so you need to set up your own aid station. I decided to forgo the Camelbak and rely strictly on water bottles for hydration. To save time, I had 5 full bottles sitting in ice ready to trade out after each lap. Plenty of food, tools, and spare parts rounded out the gear at my pit.

My #1 fan.

Another reason I was excited for the race: the mass le mans start. It's tradition at these types of races for racers to lay there bikes down along the start of the course and then at the gun, run a hundred yards or so to your bike. It's a bit chaotic, but very fun.

Bikes laid down and ready for the le mans start.

The Frog Hollow course starts with a rolling moderate climb of graded dirt, single track, and jeep road that takes you from the starting area on Sheep Bridge Road up to the top of the JEM trail in the shadows of Gooseberry Mesa. JEM has long been a local favorite. It starts fast with a few small drops followed by a sweeping, loose right turn. On the first lap a guy in front of me wiped out pretty good here. After the turn, a course marshal signals whether you have the option to ride JEM's infamous techy Virgin Limestone switchbacks. The rule is if someone is walking through the tech section ahead of you, you too must walk it. There just isn't enough room for a rider to pass someone walking their bike. Being bunched up on the first lap, everyone pretty much had to walk that section. Things spread out by the second lap and I was able to ride the tech section the remainder of my laps. It's more of the same for several miles after the Virgin ledges: gradual downhill, moderately sharp turns, and occasional roller bumps.

Things change drastically as you near the Virgin River. Up to this point the course traverses the middle and lower red members of the Triassic Moenkopi Formation. The red members make a nice smooth base for mountain bike trails (St. George's "Green Valley Loop" is another good example). Close to the Virgin River, you drop down through the stratigraphic section and get into the Timpoweap Limestone, the very bottom of the Moenkopi. The Timpoweap is unforgiving on bikes and bodies. Ledgy best describes the Timpoweap trail surface. There are short but abrupt climbs that require finessed power moves. You must constantly shift your weight to and fro to avoid endoing on blunt-edged steps. This section is a full-body workout and it becomes dreaded by the fourth and fifth laps.

The 12-mile race loop ends with a wash crossing and mild dirt-road climb up to the start.

My first two laps went well and came in around an hour each. I took a bit of a break after the 2nd lap and still felt good during the 3rd lap. The 4th lap was significantly slower, and I have to admit, I was so drained on the 5th lap that I walked a couple of sections.

The event was well organized and everyone had a care-free attitude. These are the qualities that will have me back next year.

RESULTS: I completed 5 laps and 65 miles in just under 6 hours--good for 8th place out of 25 in the solo male category.

Last 5 feet of the race and still managing a smile. That's success in my book.

Cedar Canyon Landslide

2011-10-15T21:03:00.004-06:00

Don't make any plans for a drive up Cedar Canyon anytime soon. This is going to take months to fix.

I took these photos last Monday--two days after the landslide occurred early Saturday Morning. The right flank of the slide is where a massive rock fall covered the road a couple of years ago (old post about 2009 rock fall). A similar landslide took out this road back in, I believe, 1991. A significant storm with lingering rain likely triggered the slide.

The American Fork Twin Peaks

2011-10-06T18:52:00.029-06:00

This was supposed to be my big fall-colors adventure. I had a great time, but it turns out I was a good week or two too early for peak fall colors in the Wasatch. I was greatly impressed with Mount Timpanogos that I had hiked last year, so I was looking forward to climbing another central Wasatch Peak.

But with my calf still a bit sore from running Cedar's Half Marathon the previous week, I wanted to gain most of the vertical on the approach by mountain bike. After studying area maps, I decided to climb Twin Peaks (11,489 ft), the highpoint of Salt Lake County. There are a few different ways to approach this peak by bike. The most straightforward way is to bike up the Tram road from Snowbird Ski Resort in Little Cottonwood Canyon. From the top of the Tram, it's an easy stroll out onto the summit ridge to Twin Peaks. But, I've already biked up that road several times over the years during bike races so I wanted to try something different.

Maps showed another possibility was to approach from the American Fork side of the ridge. A dirt road leaves upper American Fork Canyon and snakes its way up Mary Ellen Gulch--home to once-bustling mining activity--to within one mile of Twin Peaks. On paper, this looked looked like an intriguing route that had everything I was looking for. I checked my mountain biking guidebooks for a description of the route up Mary Ellen. Nothing. Hmmm, did that mean that Mary Ellen is not bikeable?

Undeterred, I set out for American Fork Canyon. Since I had already ultra-climbed Timp from the mouth of the canyon, I figured I could cheat a bit and drive up to Tibble Fork Reservoir (elev. 6360 ft). As I unloaded my bike and looked around, it was obvious that the fall colors were just starting to turn with just an isolated splash of orange here and there. It was also obvious that I'd have lots of motorized company as well as I watched dozens of people unloading ATVs.

Above: Tibble Fork Reservoir reflects part of Timpanogos Mountain on its placid waters.

The road up American fork canyon is moderately steep and loose and very dusty due to all of the traffic. People were camped anywhere there was even a tiny clearing along the road. Some people camped practically right in the road. This place is very popular.

The instant I turned off of the main road and into Mary Ellen Gulch, things got a lot quieter. The first mile of the canyon is a nice ride. After that, it became clear why this canyon is not overcrowded with bikers or you average ATVer or Jeeper.

The road up Mary Ellen steepens, gets looser, and becomes covered with sharp baby-head rocks. Eventually the road traverses scree fields which were a fun challenge at first, but became a harrowing momentum-killer over time.

I finally threw in the towel, stashed my bike, changed shoes, and continued on foot. A few tricked-out jeeps passed by, then a couple of four-wheelers.

Above: Silver ore was first discovered in Mary Ellen Gulch and nearby Miller Hill in the 1860s. The Yankee and Globe mines seen here were among the top producers in the district.

Near the top of the canyon, where the road gets particularly nasty, I came across a four-wheeler high-centered on bedrock. There were three guys working on trying to get it off the high fin of rock--one guy was on the machine working the throttle, the other two were on the uphill and downhill side trying to pull the wheels down to make contact with the ground. The oldest guy on the uphill side was barking out orders. The driver gave it some throttle in reverse and the machine started to go up onto its side two wheels. The old guy on the uphill side tried in vain to hold the floating side of the machine down, but it was just too much mass in motion. The downhill-side guy wisely bolted out of the way as the driver balanced briefly on two wheels, but then thrust himself away the best he could from the overturning machine. The landing on uneven quartzite ridges looked very painful, but luckily he was able to avoid getting crushed. Other than some cuts and bruises, the driver seemed OK. The other two were able to flip the machine back over, and they were on their way again.

Above: the upper bowl in Mary Ellen Gulch.

The road ends at the highest mine. From there, I crossed a snow field, and then began picking my way up a blocky talus cone toward the summit ridge. Once on the summit ridge, it was an easy stroll through colorful grasses to the summit. I met a couple of other hikers that had come up from Snowbird and were just heading back down.

The views from the top were, of course, fantastic in all directions. I was amazed at how much snow had persisted throughout the summer.

Above: Mount Timp rises above lower American Fork Canyon and Silver Lake.

Above: view of Lone Peak to the west. I swear I was looking UP at Lone Peak, but according to topo maps, it's almost 200 feet lower than the American Fork Twins. Lone Peak is at the top of my Wasatch list of must-dos.

After a snack and snapping many photos, I stretched out my calf, which felt a little sore, but nothing too bad. After carefully picking my way down the steep talus field, I pushed my calf a bit and ran most of the road back to my bike. From there is was a fast and very dusty coast back to my car at Tibble Fork.

Total elevation gain was about 5200 feet. Total ride/hike time was about 6.5 hours.

Cedar City Half Marathon

2011-10-03T18:53:00.003-06:00

I ran the Cedar Half Marathon which drops over 2000 vertical feet down Cedar Canyon. I've been running a couple times a week as cross training, but I don't really consider myself much of a runner. Biking is still way more fun but the benefits of throwing in an occasional run workout are noticeable and it certainly helps hiking endurance too.

Susie, the kids, and some of our neighborhood friends volunteered at the last aid station. Their cheering propelled me to the finish in a sprint, and I finished a lot faster than I anticipated (1:33:59 placing me 36th out of over 400 overall). I don't plan on doing a lot of running races, but this might be a fun tradition every fall.

Cedar Mesa

2011-09-26T21:33:00.050-06:00

Our trip to Cedar Mesa in southeastern Utah over Labor Day weekend flew by way too quick. The drive just to get there chewed up quite a bit of time, but what a drive it is. Despite being a little rushed, we still managed to get a taste for what the mesa has to offer.

To break up the drive, we stopped at Hog Canyon in North Wash for a hike and a swim.

Some fairly large floods must have come down recently and washed out much of the trail that leads to the swimming hole. It was a bushwhack for much of the way through head-high flora, and there were few signs of other people having hiked into the canyon recently.

The whole canyon seemed different from the first time I hiked here and I began to think that maybe we had somehow passed the swimming hole. Just as I thought about backtracking, I heard a trickle of water spattering into the plunge pool.

The cold water felt great for the unusually warm weather. And we wasted little time jumping in and getting muddy.

The hike to Hog Springs took longer than I thought, so we were already getting behind schedule. We drove to Natural Bridges N.M., set up camp and headed out to Butler Wash to look for what makes the Cedar Mesa area famous--Anasazi ruins!

Above: a fast-moving whipsnake surprised us on the way to the Butler Wash Ruins overlook.

Above: the largest of three ruins visible in alcoves below the overlook.

We were anxious to get a more intimate look at some ruins (you can only view the above ruins from a distance), so we headed east and followed the unmarked trail up the main Butler Wash toward Ballroom Cave and the Target ruins.

The hike up Butler Wash was surprisingly lush and pleasant. However, mosquitoes began to swarm however forcing us pick up the pace.

Ballroom Cave is impressively big and has several partially intact structures including living quarters, a kiva, and a defensive wall.

Above: a row of matates (stone grooves where corn was milled by hand) indicates the "kitchen" area of this sprawling dwelling.

Above: the cave is deep and dark enough to where you'll want a flashlight to find all of the habitation sites.

After exploring the cave for some time, we backtracked and climbed up into a short side canyon that houses the amazingly well-preserved Target (aka Bulls Eye) ruin. One of the rooms still has the entire roof intact.

The ruin is inaccessible but the view from below is very good. For an even better view though, you have to climb up to an alcove on the opposite side of the canyon. The alcove guards a small granary(?) but most important is the view from alcove's edge that reveals how the ruin got its name.

Above: a small granary(?) in an alcove opposite the Target ruin.

Above: view from above into Target ruin. Note the intact roof and the unusual concentric-circle pictograph resembling a target or bulls eye.

I had hoped to visit the Edge of the Cedars State Park in Blanding, but it was closed by the time we made it into town. We were tired and hungry, so we grabbed a bite to eat and then headed back to camp.

The next day, I had planned to hike into the House on Fire ruin in Mule Canyon. But I feared the kids would get warn out in the heat and not have enough energy for Moon House ruin in the afternoon. So we started out by hitting the Mule Canyon roadside ruins just off the highway.

Above: Zoe and Ava explore a restored kiva at the Mule Canyon roadside ruins.

Next, we made the short drive to the Mule Canyon towers -- a series of interesting stone lookout towers perched on the rim above a deep tributary to Mule Canyon.

Above: a lonely and forgotten grave near the Mule Canyon towers. If anyone has any info on who is buried here, please let me know.

Above: Zoe inspects one of the larger Mule Canyon towers.

With some more time to kill, we found a few geocaches (kids go nuts over these things), and drove up to the Arch Canyon overlook. An old Jeep road goes up much of the canyon that I'd bet makes a pretty good bike ride -- next time for sure.

Above: Ponderosa Pines, several natural arches, sandstone spires, and Anasazi Ruins all add to the allure of this deep canyon. A perfect place to explore by bike.

Above: the girls play on the ladder leading to the Arch Canyon overlook.

We were finally ready for the 5-mile hike to the Moon House ruin. All we needed to do was stop at the Kane Creek Ranger station to pick up our permit. It turns out that the station closed at noon! A small but important detail that I had overlooked. Upset that I couldn't hike into what was supposed to be the grand finale to the trip, I just felt like driving. So I turned down the Mormon Trail (part of the Hole-in-the-Rock trail to Bluff) and descended off the Mesa toward Comb Ridge.

The views into McCloyd Canyon and of Comb Ridge were great and by the time we reached Comb Wash, we were ready to hike and find a couple of more geocaches.

From Comb Wash, we took SR-163 to the Valley of the Gods. What a beautiful and peaceful place. Again, this would be a great place to explore by bike.

Above: deep into the trail through the Valley of the Gods.

We enjoyed the drive up the infamous Moki Dugway and made our way out to Muley Point. A sunrise experience at Muley would be phenomenal. I will camp here before I die.

Above: my girls at Muley Point. The Goosenecks of the San Juan River are in the mid distance; Monument Valley is in the far distance.

We had the usual hot dogs and marshmallows at camp that night.

The drive home to Cedar took most of the day as I chose the most scenic way home rather than the fastest. I also got to check two things off the to-do-list: (1) taking the ferry across Lake Powell and (2) driving the extremely remote southern Burr Trail.

Well, we've got a lot more to see on Cedar Mesa. We really didn't even scratch the surface. Next time we'll go during cooler weather and I'll be sure to get that stinking permit for Moon House in the AM!

Ashdown Gorge II

2011-09-12T19:36:00.046-06:00

I lead a Boy Scout hike down through Ashdown Gorge a couple of weeks ago. Man, I forgot what a great hike it is--and so close to home. It was hard for me to believe that these kids (or any of their parents or other leaders for that matter) had never done this hike before.

This was my second time through the gorge. The first time through I put in a couple of extra miles going up to the old sawmill sites, plus, I rode my bike back up to Cedar Breaks after the hike making a pretty long day with little time for pictures. This time I was able to relax and snap away. Enjoy the highlights:

Upper Muley Twist (Capitol Reef N.P.)

2011-09-08T20:02:00.014-06:00

For day two of our anniversary trip, I had planned to hike the Maidenwater/Trail Canyon Loop east of the Henry Mountains. I was very saddened when we woke up Sunday Morning to gray skies and sprinkles. This would be the second time the weather would keep me out of Maidenwater which is a deep slot with few escape routes if flooded. I frantically searched through my guidebooks. Ah ha! Upper Muley Twist. Not typically enjoyable in summertime due to its low altitude, but today appeared to be the perfect day for this 10-miler in Capitol Reef's southern Water Pocket Fold district. The canyon does constrict in a few places but rain isn't much of a problem since escape routes are plentiful and roughly half the hike is on a ridge line.

Here are a few photos from our hike:

Above: natural arches and windows are among the many highlights along Upper Muley Twist. We spotted this window before we even hit the trailhead.

Above: these knobs appear to be weathered remains of vertical animal burrows or perhaps root clasts in the Kayenta. OR, are they the fingertips of an unseen creature trying to escape the underworld?

Above: perhaps the most impressive of all arches along the hike (I lost track, but there are around seven or so) is Saddle Arch.

Above: Muley Arch.

Above: Even more fascinating than the arches, are the incredible "pillows" or exhumed petrified dunes of the Wingate. The Wingate usually forms tall fluted cliffs, but the erosion patterns are strikingly different here where everything is tilted along the Water Pocket Fold.

Above: detail of the petrified dunes.

Above: the trail eventually climbs to the crest of the fold offering interesting views in all directions, here looking at the curvature of the fold looking south.

Above: the view to the west toward the eroded tops of the Wingate cliffs.

Above: looking east toward Tarantula Mesa and 11,500-foot Mt. Ellen--highpoint of the Henrys.

Above: Susie in a particularly colorful part of Muley Twist.

A great hike. It never rained, and sun came out now and again. But temps stayed moderate and we had a blast.

A big thanks to our niece Lindsey and her husband Sam for watching our kids over the weekend!

Peek-a-Boo, Spooky, and My New Fav: Brimstone

2011-08-26T10:37:00.036-06:00

For our anniversary, Susie and I decided to have a little hiking weekend. We met up with my nephew Hector and his wife Kandi at Escalante Petrified Forest State Park for camping on Friday night. This is a good campground and it would be an excellent base camp for the many day hikes surrounding the canyon country near Escalante--particularly if you don't like back-country camping. Saturday morning we packed up and headed down the Hole-in-the-Rock Road. Hector really wanted to see the Peek-a-Boo and Spooky slots. I too was happy to go back. They are fun slots and Susie had never seen them either.

Above: climbing under the double arches in Peek-a-Boo (Hector photo).

Above: Kandi squeezes through the last narrow part of Peek-a-Boo before it opens up.

We took the cross-country slickrock route from the top of Peek-a-Boo to the top of Spooky.

I really wanted to see something new, so everyone agreed to keep heading down Dry Fork to the much less-visited Brimstone Gulch. The sand slogging and 90-degree heat were worth it. And Brimstone, in my opinion, may be the best of the bunch.

Above: Susie at the entrance to Brimstone slot.

Brimstone's walls are much taller and closer together than either Spooky's or Peek-a-Boo's. Thus, very little light penetrates to the canyon's floor. After a couple 100 yards we hit some cold stagnant water about waist deep. This wasn't appealing to Susie or Kandi, so Hector and I ventured on with a promise to not be gone too long.

What a contrast! To go from exposed hot and sandy desert to the cold, dark, and damp innards of the earth within a few minutes.

Above: Once in the heart of Brimstone, you'll find moss growing on the sandstone walls.

Above: This was the darkest slot I'd been in--I needed to use the flash in this particularly dark and dreary spot.

Above: after walking sideways for several hundred yards, we got a short break where the canyon opened up. It didn't last long.

After a brief widening of the canyon, it again constricts to impossible proportions (maybe 6 inches wide). As I scouted out the possibility of stemming up and out of the slot, Hector looked down to a spot behind my feet. His eyes widened.

Oh crap. Nearly anyone who spends much time in Dry Fork's slots has a story of coming across a Midget Faded rattlesnake at the worst time. Tiny little buggers, but just as venomous. I thought that I too would have my own rattlesnake story to tell.

I had already stepped over the thing somehow. I couldn't go forward, and it would have been real tight to try and go up. Definitely no room to go around as the slot was only 1.5 feet wide.

I looked down to get a better look at was I was dealing with. I could just see a bit of its tail end, but I was 80% sure it was a harmless Gopher snake. I relayed this to Hector, who was laughing uncontrollably at my reaction to the whole situation. He asked about the other 20%.

I bent down closer to see the entire serpent. Now I was 100% it was a small Gopher snake. To convince Hector that it was harmless, I caught the snake and played a bit with it. Hector took his turn letting the snake slide through his fingers.

We had been gone awhile, so we headed back out of the slot to meet Susie and Kandi.

We took a shortcut up and over a tall sand dune and then across an expanse of petrified dunes on the way back to the trailhead.

Hector and Kandi had to head back home. Susie and I drove to Torrey, had dinner at La Cueva (very good), and then spent the night at the Cowboy Cabins. The plan for the morning was to hike through Maidenwater Canyon south of Hanksville. I had tried to do this hike a couple of years ago but the weather didn't cooperate. The forecast was pretty good but would it hold?

Cedar City Fire Road Cycling 60 Mile Race

2011-08-03T20:11:00.038-06:00

I haven't raced mountain bikes much lately. I do miss it sometimes, but I just don't have the competitive drive I once had. When I heard about the Cedar City Fire Road 100 km race coming to town, I just couldn't pass up the opportunity to race in my own backyard.

I love long and steep climbs and this course didn't shy away from climbing at all. In fact the course kicks off with the grueling 3200-vertical-feet in 7 miles Kanarra Mountain Road climb. There would be over 15,000 feet of total elevation change over the 60-mile course.

As the race's name implies, what sets this race apart from many other long distance mountain bike races is that the course is nearly all non-technical fire roads (relatively smooth, graded dirt roads). I never thought I'd see the day when a race promoter would tout a race course with absolutely NO singletrack and minimal technical challenges. But, judging from the turn out, this type of course is appealing to many that have the fitness but not a lot of technical skill (I suspect many participants were triathletes or roadies).

I didn't do any kind of specific training to prepare for the race. I tried to ramp my miles up by bike-commuting to work and I practiced the Kanarra climb a couple of times. I had to take a week off from riding for a backpack trip through Death Hollow.

I learned a couple of key things during my training runs. First, I knew I could power up the big climb just fine with my 1x5 drive train (with a 32t x 32t being my lowest gear), but if I were to enjoy the remaining 35 miles of the race (including a second shorter, but steeper climb), I'd need to swap out my 32-tooth rear cog with a super-low 38-tooth cog that I've had laying around for awhile. With the lower gear I'd have a better chance of having enough spring in my legs to finish the race.

Second, I noticed I pretty much had my rear suspension locked out all the time while riding the relatively smooth course. One week before the race, I asked myself, 'Why not just use my lighter and more efficient hard-tail bike?'

There were a couple of good reasons why I should have just stuck to my normal full-suspension bike. First, I don't really have a hard-tail bike, I have a hard-tail frame, meaning I'd have to switch all my parts from one frame to the other. Not that big of deal, but as every seasoned racer knows, making major changes to your bike just one week before a big event is almost always a big mistake--let alone switching over nearly every single part.

I knew it was a bad idea, but I did it anyway. It took less than 2 hours, and once I got the shifting dialed in, I felt pretty good about my decision. After a short ride, I noticed the seat post had slipped down a bit. I replaced the tiny super-light seat-post collar with a large not-so-light hunk of metal and clamped it as hard as I could. After another practice ride, it appeared the seat post would hold.

Since I was already taking a huge risk, I figured, why stop there. I replaced my usual dependable rear tire with an 8-year-old Kenda Klimax. These are some of the lightest and fastest tires on the market due to their dainty build, but you need to run nearly 60 psi to avoid pinch flats. As I cranked up the air pressure, I could see the old, dried-out rubber starting to crack. A couple of the side knobs looked as if they were on the verge of popping off. I placed my bike on the scale. 19.9 pounds. Under 20 pounds! I wasn't going to change a thing.

I was surprised at the variety of bikes I saw at the starting line. Mine certainly wasn't the weirdest. Yes, my cheapo $99 no-name frame paired with a bright orange circa 2000 Manitou fork looked a little out of place compared to the most popular bike at the starting line: a tall and sleek carbon fiber 29er mated with the latest and greatest fork, that alone, is worth more than my entire rig. But I also saw a couple of older-model cross bikes, a few single speeds (ouch) and even a husband/wife duo on a tandem.

It was a fun group and everyone was very relaxed as we waited to start.

Above: Mr. Antisocial. This is what turned up in the local paper. That's me, front and center, in the green jersey waiting for things to kick off.

I wish all races could start like this. We coasted right down Main Street at an easy pace following behind a police motorcade. We were instructed not to begin "racing" until after we turned off Main and the police pealed off. This was a great warm-up.

The first several miles of the course are paved and downhill. Not having a tall gear (my tallest being 32x12), I expected to get dropped and fall behind with the single-speeders. To my surprise, no one was pushing too hard and I was able to tuck into the pack' s slipstream and keep up by simply coasting.

The course soon turned onto a dirt road at Shurtz Creek and started to climb very gently. This is the terrain my bike was best suited for and I immediately began picking people off with fatter bikes and fatter tires. By the time we topped the first mellow climb, the lead pack was about 45 seconds ahead of me. We descended a sweeping off-camber turn which I had to brake quite a bit on due to my skinny grip-less tires. I was in pretty good position, perhaps 7 or 8 back from the lead and I was ready to take on the Kanarra climb just around the corner.

Above: racers make their way up the Kanarra Mountain Road. Photo: Danny Stewart, Cedar City Events.

About a week before the race, the promoters announced there would be a King/Queen of the Mountain competition on the 7-mile climb. Timing mats were placed at the bottom and top to automatically register everyone's time. Very cool idea--sort of a race within a race.

I made sure to steer squarely over the timing mat at the start of the climb. After hearing a short beep confirming the mat had recognized my timing chip and thus starting my KOM time, I pushed hard on the pedals to try and carry some momentum up the first part of the hill. Well, that was the plan anyway.

As soon as I applied hard pressure to the pedals, a horrendous noise screeched from my bottom bracket. I instantly knew I had a big problem and hopped off my bike to take a look.

It was my MRP chain guide. This particular type of chain guide is designed for cross-country racers that want to ditch their front derailleur and still have some assurance that the chain will stay on the chainring. The type I have is held into place by the outer bottom bracket cup. Obviously, I had not tightened by bottom bracket enough, and somehow my chain had jammed and rotated the entire guide forward.

It looked ugly, and I thought I was completely screwed. Nobody carries around a bottom bracket tool with them. A string of several riders began passing. About every other rider would ask me if I was OK. I pulled my bike off to the side of the road and just stared at the problem. Every stinking beep I heard from the timing mat (that was only 10 feet away) meant another racer was getting ahead.

This was a classic example of why you don't make major changes to your bike days before a race.

With nothing to lose, I grabbed the chain guide and forcefully rotated it back to approximately where it was supposed to be. Nothing fell apart and the chain clearance looked good. The only question now was if the guide would now stay in place.

As I hopped back on my bike, I briefly entertained the idea of passing back over the timing mat in hopes of re-starting my KOM time. Ahhh, that would never work. I had wasted 5 minutes or so and there was nothing I could do. On the bright side, my legs felt fresh and I started picking off many of the riders that had passed me.

Above: remains of a historical tram that once brought coal off of Kanarra Mountain can be seen on top of the red sandstone bluffs 2 miles into the climb.

The first 2 miles of the Kanarra climb are by far the steepest. When you reach red outcrops of Navajo Sandstone, you know easier grades are just ahead. After a creek crossing at the head of a waterfall, there is a short breather before the climbing resumes.

Above: I've just finished the steepest 2 miles and crossed a little creek that signals more moderate slopes. Photo by Fire Road Cycling.

The remainder of the big climb is relatively fast (as far as climbs go anyway) with just a few shortish steep pitches. I passed a couple more riders as the climb progressed. I was really impressed with the couple on the tandem. I was certain I had dropped them a couple of times only to have them sneak up on me again on the flatter sections.

Near the top, I switched back and forth with a couple of really fast women, one of which I'm fairly certain was triathlete legend Paula Newby-Fraser.

Above: Here's the upper part of the climb less than 1 month (6/12) before the race. Luckily, the latter half of June was extra warm and everything melted out with time to spare.

After passing over the upper timing mat at the climb's conclusion, a fast straight-a-way section brought us to the first fully-stocked aid station. My plan was to stop and take my time at two aid stations (there were 5 or 6 in total). I hoped the breaks would divert some blood from my working muscles to my stomach to avoid any major gastro-intestinal issues, which have plagued me in the past. As soon as I rolled in, volunteers flurried about offering to hold up my bike, food, and to refill my Camelbak. I chugged down an iced water bottle and crammed down as many potato chips as I could. I tried to relax a bit as I watched a handful of riders pass.

On course again, I couldn't believe the wild flowers stretching across the Markagunt's open meadows. I'd never seen so many this early in the summer.

Photo: Danny Stewart, Cedar City Events.

Photo by Fire Road Cycling.

After a few miles of rolling terrain, a long downhill led to Kolob Reservoir. Again, lacking any tall gearing, I was certain racers would start blowing by me on the descent. Instead, that downhill started a stretch in which I didn't see another rider for close to an hour. This made me a tad nervous since part of this lonely stretch included Oak Valley which was unknown territory for me. But just as I'd worry that perhaps I'd gotten off-course, a marker would appear to ease my anxiety.

I definitely knew I was on the right track when I rounded a corner that transitioned into the second major climb. I could see several riders strung out over the long climb ahead. This was going to hurt.

The climb up and around Thorley Point is steady with a couple of extremely steep pitches. Once I got into a good rhythm though, the climb actually seemed to pass fairly quickly. Volunteers at a fluid-only station cheered me on. I passed one guy near the top struggling with leg cramps.

A couple of false summits were demoralizing, but once I could see I had reached the true summit, I knew I'd easily finish the race. There was still another 20 miles to go, but all the big climbs were behind me--just a couple of minor hills, some flattish sections, and then another long and fast downhill to the finish at Cedar City. Luckily, my chianguide was staying put, and my tires still had air.

Above: The second "big climb" of the day near Thorley Point had nice views toward Zion National Parks' trademark sandstone towers. Photo: Danny Stewart, Cedar City Events.

Above: Taking my time at the second fully-stocked aid station. The p.b. & j. sandwiches hit the spot. Photo by Fire Road Cycling.

After re-fueling and resting for several minutes at the final aid station, I set out again. I passed a couple of 60k stragglers that had barely made it up the Kanarra climb. I was feeling great and having a lot of fun. I charged out of the saddle up the remaining rollers.

Above: 45 miles in and still smiling. It was practically all downhill from here. Hmmm, my leg extension doesn't look so great here. Yeah, unbeknown to me, my seat post was a slippin'. Photo by Fire Road Cycling.

The course passed a row of private cabins. Several families out on lawn chairs cheered riders on. I zipped past the final fluid-only aid station where dirt turns to pavement. This is where the long decent began. I got into my best aero position and simply let gravity do its job.

I assumed the race course was going to just follow the graded Cedar Highlands road down to town. I was a bit surprised when trail markers diverted me onto a steep and loose ATV trail that led down to Green's Lake. From here, the course curved around the southwestern edge of the Cedar Highlands subdivision, at times using faint and washed out tracks that were a bit sketchy. Thankfully, there were more tech sections in there than I was anticipating.

A hard right at the bottom of the hill delivered us onto a series of dirt tracks that cross several flood control dikes. I was soon back on pavement and the course ended up passing within 100 yards of my house before we were dumped onto a paved path.

The paved trail soon led to the finish line at Main Street Park.

I was happy to finish since I've had stomach issues on long, high-intensity events in the past. Although I couldn't help but think that perhaps I'd taken it a little too easy. Did I waste too much time at the aid stations? Could I have pushed a little harder on the climbs? Certainly, I could have prepped my bike better.

I'm already thinking ahead to next year. My goal? To lay it all out. I want to limp over the finish line after having given it my all.

Above: Crossing the finish line with plenty of energy. Not good.

Post-race note: 3 days after the race, I rode my bike to work. I could hardly ride. I wasn't sore. My stinking seat post had slipped down during the race a good 3 inches!!! It happened so gradually throughout the race that I never noticed. That certainly sucked some power.

MY RESULTS

King of the Mountain: 15th out 74
100k Men Overall: 16th out of 34
Time to complete 100k: 5 hours 17 minutes

Death Hollow -- Day 4

2011-07-26T20:49:00.039-06:00

The fourth and last day would be our easiest. It was a cool morning, so I started out with all my layers on. Many of the clear pools were chock-full of small trout darting here and there. It took only 15 minutes of walking to reach the confluence with the Escalante.

(Hector Photo)

Above: the clear Mamie Creek (that drains Death Hollow) converges with the cloudy Escalante River.

The Escalante was surprisingly high for mid June--mid-thigh or deeper in many places. And flowing fast. In fact, I recall that the BLM had put a sign up at the Escalante Bridge trailhead discouraging anyone from fording the river. It wasn't that bad, but I could see where it could be iffy with small children or pets.

The low-angle morning sun created some blinding contrast along the Escalante gorge's massive golden walls. This created quite the challenge to get decent photos with the ol' point-and-shoot.

We enjoyed hiking in the rushing river for a time, but we soon found ourselves looking for short-cut trails along the benches. There seemed to be a main path that became clearer (and often marked with red tape tied to trees) as we went downstream.

As the canyon continued to open up, the main trail had us hiking mostly on dry land with just an occasional river crossing. We were making very good time.

(Hector Photo)

Above: while following a faint path, we ran into a family of skunks. Luckily, we spotted them first and we were able to avoid spooking them.

At one point, the path delivered us to a shady overhang with a cool microclimate. We found faded pictographs that appeared to depict the river in the rear of the overhang.

(Hector Photo)

By late morning, it had really warmed up. It would be bone-dry desert whenever the trail took us any distance from the river. But just as we would start to feel the heat, there would be another river crossing to cool us down. I shed all of my layers down to a t-shirt, and since we were out of poison ivy country, I zipped off my pant legs. Unfortunately, ferocious deer flies started biting the backs of my legs, so my pant legs went back on after only about a half hour.

When a huge skyline arch appeared on the south rim, I knew we had less than two miles to go. Just past the arch, are some hard-to-reach, and therefore, well-preserved Anasazi granaries in a mid-cliff alcove. Looking closely, you could just make out some more pictographs above the granaries that again appeared to represent the river.

Escalante natural bridge presented itself around the next bend in the canyon. At this point, we knew we were all but done, and we all decided that this had been the best backpack trip any of us had ever done. It was like four different trips in one since each day offered terrain and scenery markedly different than the day before.

Even though we were exhausted and beat down, we couldn't help but start day-dreaming about what big adventure to do next. The Black Hole of the White River? The Paria River to Lee's Ferry? Canyonland's Maze District?

Naturally, the conversation turned to food. We could try the Boulder Mesa restaurant or Hell's Backbone Grill. Or, there's that double-bacon cheeseburger at the Circle D in Escalante. It didn't matter. Just as we began frothing at the mouth, we realized we had all left our wallets in my Montero at the upper trailhead on Hell's Backbone. To make things worse, Hector recalled having less than a quarter tank of gas left in his Accord.

Above: Hector crosses the river below Escalante natural bridge.

Above: Woohoo! Hector and Eros makes the final river crossing to the trailhead.

When we reached the trailhead, we unloaded our packs and took a breather as we chatted with various people doing day hikes. There was a large group of Utah Division of Wildlife folks gearing up for a hike upriver to conduct some sort of a fish survey. A couple of them were concerned about the water levels and hiking conditions.

We were exhausted and hungry for real food but there was one last task to complete. The hundred-hand pictograph panel was a short and steep hike up the canyonside. Eros's knees were killing him, but I knew he wouldn't pass up a chance to see this amazing site. He slowly followed us up the well-warn path.

After snapping some photos, we made our way back down to Hector's car where we promptly took our wet shoes off. Hector assured us that he had enough gas to pick up my Montero and then head into Escalante to fuel our cars and bodies, so we headed up the twisty Hell's Backbone Road. I wish I had insisted on driving Hector's car, because as soon as we hit those curves I started feeling car sick. The worst thing about it was that I knew I wasn't going to be able to down that massive burger that I was looking forward to.

I forgot about how good of gas mileage Hondas get. We pulled into Escalante with gas to spare and b-lined it to the Circle D. With envy, I looked on as Hector devoured the double with bacon. I managed a single as I pulled out my camera and started reviewing the some 500 photos I had taken.

After we cleaned our plates, we said our goodbyes and headed our separate ways.

Death Hollow - Day 3

2011-07-15T13:31:00.049-06:00

We had about 6.5 miles to cover today to make it to one of a number of campsites near the confluence with the Escalante River.

After a warm breakfast, we made preparations to set out. Eros cut his bathroom break short when we heard a group of female hikers coming down from the rim on the Mail Trail.

The first river crossing that day stung a bit. The weather was unusually cooler than normal the entire trip. But the third day was by far the coldest, and it was a day we were going to be in the water the majority of the time. Dark clouds continually threatened throughout the day, and although we only got a sprinkle or two, temperatures really plummeted that evening. I later learned that most of southwestern Utah got pretty slammed by thunderstorms that afternoon, so I guess it could have been much worse.

(Hector Photo)

(Hector Photo)

The canyon below the Mail Trail widens and becomes completely choked with vegetation, including the dreaded poison ivy. At first, there were just a few ivy plants here and there, and they could easily be avoided. But they eventually became so thick, we eventually gave up trying not to touch them. Hiker-made trails along the banks were a lot easier and faster (although completely covered in ivy) than walking in the stream. But with Eros's knees starting to complain, we always took the easiest path we could find.

Now that the trip is several weeks behind us, I can say that we came out unscathed in the poison ivy department. I had a tiny patch show up on my belly about a week after the trip and that was it. I'm pretty sure we can credit wearing long-sleeved pants and shirts the entire time.

Above: Hector wades through a thicket of poison ivy that, at times, would be well over our heads.

Above: I was surprised at how extensive the poison ivy was; here, ivy commingles with cacti a good distance away from the stream.

Above: in a wider part of the canyon, a sandy path provides a quick shortcut.

At some point that afternoon, we came across a small garter snake stretched out over the trail with something in its mouth. At first I thought it was trying to swallow a mouse. Turns out, it was the hugest slug I'd ever seen. The slimy slug must have been about 3 times as wide as the snake, but it had the slug about halfway down!

Sometime that afternoon, the canyon began to constrict and the stream slipped and tumbled down the bedrock-floor through velvety cascades and inviting pools.

We all wished it had been hotter. I don't think it cracked 80 degrees that day, so I avoided getting too wet until I had to, in the upcoming lower narrows. Hector and Eros, however, couldn't resist any longer.

Above: Hector tries to slide down a mossy cascade. It wasn't nearly as slick as it looked though.

Above: Eros takes a swim in a particularly deep water hole.

The walls continued to close and we were soon entering Death Hollow's lower narrows. Some of the pools could be tip-toed around, but the sun had come out and warmed things up, so we didn't try too hard to get around them and we ended up swimming through the majority of the holes.

With my camera dry-bagged at this point, we again rely on Hector's GoPro for images in the slot.

(Hector Photo)

(Hector Photo)

(Hector Photo)

Below the narrows, it was more of the same--one stunning knock-your-socks-off scene after another.

Above: typical of many pools along the bedrock-floored canyons: you have about a 5-inch-wide ledge to balance across to stay dry. One little slip and you're going in the frigid 8-foot-deep pool.

I immediately recognized the spot where an occasional waterfall (dry on this trip) tumbles into Death Hollow. I had led a scout group up to this point last summer, so the rest of Death Hollow from here on was familiar territory for me. I knew we were getting close to the confluence and that we should start looking for a campsite.

Above: Eros descends a cascade with a large dry waterfall in the background.

Below: Photo of same area taken about a year earlier with the waterfall raging with water from an intense thunderstorm that had hit the day before.

Tired and cold, we stopped just short of the confluence when we happened upon a cozy campsite beneath a small alcove. After dinner and water filtering, Eros and Hector promptly holed up in their sleeping bags. I put on all my layers and tried to warm up as I watched the temperature (on my watch) drop into the upper 50s--even though the sun was out and it was only 7:30. I too soon relented and got into my fairly thin 30-degree bag (with most of my clothes still on) and was finally able to warm up enough to comfortably drift off. I slept comfortably knowing that no more surprises or tricky sections lay ahead.

Above: campsite #3.

BONUS--Death Hollow Video Clips

2011-07-14T20:42:00.004-06:00

I got Hector's GoPro video that he recorded during our jump into Death Hollow's deep pool. It's more than 30 minutes long, so I've made a few short highlights for your viewing pleasure.

Since Hector was belaying me when I fell into the pool, he couldn't record me going in. So during all of the following clips, I'm already in there prodding these guys to jump while freezing my tail off!

The first clip is of Eros jumping in. My original post made it sound like he bravely took the plunge, but video review proves he choked and dilly-dallied as much as Hector did. Here, he finally does the deed:

Hector's commentary before he finally dives in is hilarious, but I had to cut the clip short because of a few expletives--this is a family friendly site. As you'll see at the end of the clip, the camera is knocked off his head and then sinks with the lens facing down. In the full-length video, the screen goes dark for several minutes. Then for some unknown reason, the camera rotates to face up just before I dive to get it--this is shown in the final video clip below.

It was so worth it to suffer a little longer to get the camera back.

Day three coming soon!

Death Hollow - Day 2

2011-07-07T19:21:00.061-06:00

The plan for day #2 in Death Hollow was to hike only about 6 1/2 miles to the Boulder Mail Trail crossing. Sounds easy, but miles tick off a lot slower here in the "Hollow," and I knew the next mile below Right Hand Fork would be, as one guide book states, "the most difficult mile" of the trip. It really wasn't that bad, and the day started started out a lot like the previous day ended: lots of big chokestones that we could either scramble, stem, or hand-line down and a few shallow stagnant pools to wade.

Above: even with an efficient system in place to either pass or lower packs down with rope, it still chewed up a lot of time. You also risk wearing holes into dry bags if they are just attached to the outside your pack and scraping against the slickrock.

We waded through long stretches of knee- to waist-high water as we progressed. About an hour below Right Fork, I began to wonder if this mile-long "difficult" section had been over-hyped because if anything, travel seemed a little easier than the day before.

Still, I think all three of us had a bit of an ominous feeling that there was still one more big challenge looming ahead.

Sure enough, the floor of the canyon soon disappeared into a black abyss below a massive pile of boulders. It was about an 18-foot drop into a long, narrow, and dark passageway flooded with what was surely to be frigid water.

Eros walked along a high ledge to the right to see if there was any safe way around the drop. No luck. With a strong reflection of the morning sky on the water's surface, there was no way to tell how deep the pool was.

Above: Canyon walls reflect off the surface of a deep, water-filled slot.

After some debate, we decided that the safest way would be for me to rappel down and check the water depth. If it was deep enough, then Eros and Hector could just jump in. At this point I placed my camera and GPS in dry bags and double-checked that everything was sealed. The following photos are still shots from video that Hector captured with his waterproof GoPro camera.

Hector tied the webbing around his waste and then braced himself behind some rocks. I tiptoed out the edge and wrapped the webbing through my legs and over my shoulder using an old "body rappel " method that uses the increased friction to control your descent. We had used this routine a couple of times before and it worked well, but as I began to lower myself and really lean back on the rope, it felt extremely awkward. I pulled myself back up and tried to figure out why it felt so uncomfortable. In retrospect, I think it was mostly just a bad angle. I didn't want to go straight down the chokestone because it quickly would have become a free-hang since there was nothing but air under the stone. Thus, I was attempting to descend facing the canyonside (which had a bit of an overhang too) at a 90-degree angle to Hector and the webbing tied to his waist.

With some trepidation, I attempted the rappel once more.

Above: I ready myself for a harrowing descent into the flooded slot (Hector photo).

I thought perhaps if I leaned farther back, I would feel more stable. Wrong. I felt more awkward than ever. I seemed to be getting hardly any friction from the loop of webbing over my shoulder and I knew this wasn't going to work. I was overly committed now and I couldn't pull myself back up. I quickly looked down at the water and tried desperately to focus past the surface reflection so I could gauge depth. I could just barely make out a smooth cobbled floor and guessed that I had at least 6 feet of water. I was going to drop into the water one way or another and the last thing I wanted was to get tangled up in the webbing as I fell. With the last bit of strength left in my grip, I held onto the webbing with one hand and unwrapped the remaining webbing off of my shoulder with my other hand. The instant I cleared the rope, I let go.

I went in feet first and the least stream-lined as possible. My first thought as I reached the apex of my submersion (without touching bottom) was that I had dodged a bullet. Every experienced canyoneer knows jumping into a pool of indeterminate depth is one of the major "no-nos". My second thought was, 'oh crap, Eros and Hector probably think I've hurt something... or worse'.

As I neared the surface, the familiar delayed reaction of compressed lungs caused by plunging into hypothermic waters hit hard. Finally at the surface, I could hear Eros and Hector yelling down, "Are you hurt?...Did you break your ankles?" I tried to answer, but I simply could not get any wind to pass over my vocal cords. All they could hear for a good 10-15 seconds was my gasping for air.

As soon as I caught my breath, I communicated that I was OK and that I'd probe the depth of the pool to ensure there were no hidden boulders. Turned out that the water was a good 8-12 feet deep with no large boulders. Eros and Hector began lowering packs with the parachute cord. It was tiring to tread water with just my feet while I used both hands to untie the cord from each pack. Once all the packs were down, I held onto mine for flotation as I signaled for Eros and Hector to hop in. Hector crouched down on the edge ... then froze up. He had never cliff-dived or done anything like this before and so he was understandably a bit timid. Hector stepped back to regain his composure as Eros leaped in with a splash and then surfaced releasing a series of shock-induced howls.

As me and Eros clung to our packs, we urged Hector to take the plunge. Again he got into position, but then hesitated. I'd now been in the frigid water for a good 10 minutes or so, and with my teeth chattering and uncontrollable shivering, I could feel my body going into early stages of hypothermia. Eros swam to the far end of the watery passageway where it shallowed to just a couple of feet deep. I too was ready to get out but I wanted to stay and support Hector.

He was finally ready. Just as Hector was about to jump, I noticed he still had his camera fastened around his head. Oh well, I wasn't about to stop him now and besides, surely they designed the camera to float, right?

Hector didn't just drop straight down. I swear he jumped toward me, like I was supposed to catch him! I kicked hard to back up and he splashed down right in front of me.

Above: The image Hector captured as he hit the water. I guess I look pretty far away, but I thought he was trying to land on me!

As Hector surfaced, shrilling in pain from the cold, he felt his head and sure enough, his $300 camera was gone. I shoved his pack over to him to hang onto as we scanned the surface, in vain, for a floating camera. But, it had sunk like a rock and was now down some 10 feet or so amongst the rocks. The worth of the camera alone wasn't quite enough to make me dive for the lost GoPro. BUT, it contained an entire video (which I have yet to see other than the stills seen here) of this whole debacle that I figured would someday be a treasured memory.

So I swam out to where Hector landed, took a deep breath and dived. I had difficulty holding my breath and was only able feel around on the bottom for a couple of seconds with no luck. I told Hector I'd give it one more try, but then I'd need to get out as my condition worsened. As I grasped my floating backpack, I took in several deep breaths to over-oxygenate my veins and in I went. Opening my eyes, I was surprised to see the camera directly below me and within easy reach. I emerged triumphantly holding the camera high. Hector thanked me and we made our way out of the pool.

Above: luckily, Hector's GoPro settled at the bottom of the pool facing up and recorded my desperate dives to find it.

Above: me and Hector swim the 20-30 yards to the pool's exit (Hector photo).

Once on dry land, I put on every layer of clothing I had. I would eventually warm up after a few hours, but I never felt 100% for the rest of that day.

About a half hour later, we ran into a thicket of willows that could mean only one thing: we had reached perennial water flow. I then knew we were past the most difficult obstacles.

The character of the canyon bottom changed drastically. Gone were the stagnant potholes and constricting chokestones. Peaceful cascades, emerald green and orange pools filled with crystal-clear water, and lush vegetation were were all we had to worry about now.

I felt like we had paid the price for admission into paradise. Words can't describe the beauty found in the middle and lower parts of Death Hollow. So I'll let the camera do the talking from here.

Above: every shaded corner of the canyon harbors incredible hanging gardens.

Above: the colors of the pools ranged from green, to turquoise, to orange, depending on the type of algae growing on the bottom (Hector photo).

Above: busy beavers. Every once in a while, the stream would be noticeably backed up and flooding the stream-side vegetation, and without fail, around the next bend would be a brand new beaver dam.

Above: Eros and Hector's shoes have "stealth rubber" soles that are super-sticky giving them a big advantage when it came to slimy, off-camber slickrock.

(Hector Photo)

Above: a pressurized spring known as "squirter spring" shoots vertically about 4 inches before draining into the nearby river. The fresh mineral-rich water tasted sublime.

Above: large, clear pool near camp where we filtered water. I got to give a shout-out to my mother-in-law who years ago gave me a heavy-duty water filter as a Christmas gift. I think it's meant to be part of a food storage kit because it isn't small, but we could filter about 10 liters of water in under 15 minutes!

Even though we traveled only 6.5 miles, it was a long day. We eventually made it to the spacious Ponderosa Camp where both the Boulder Mail Trail and old telegraph line cross the canyon. We all gorged ourselves with various Mountain House meals, and after a brief visit with some hikers passing through on the Mail Trail, we hit the hay early. It was hard to believe our adventure was already half over.

Above: camp #2 on a sandy flat below several stately ponderosa pines (Hector photo).

Death Hollow - Day 1

2011-06-29T20:15:00.045-06:00

Just about every Utah or Canyon Country hiking guidebook will have Death Hollow on its best hikes list. Yet, it remains relatively unknown. Access into this deep canyon is not easy. And once in its inner recesses, travel is challenging and somewhat cumbersome--especially with a heavy pack. Most hikers wanting the Death Hollow experience use the old Boulder Mail Trail with trailheads at Escalante and Boulder. In about two days, you can follow the Mail Trail over slickrock bluffs and flats and finally down into the lower part of Death Hollow. From there, you can head downstream through perhaps the most spectacular (and easiest) part of the canyon to the Escalante River, and then follow the river either upstream to the town of Escalante, or downstream to the Highway 12 Bridge.

When my brother Eros and my Nephew Hector asked about a challenging multi-day backpack trip to do, Death Hollow was the first hike that came to mind. These guys wanted a challenge, so I recommended the full 30-mile version of Death Hollow which forgoes the Mail Trail "shortcut" and starts from the top of the drainage off of the Hell's Backbone Road. I knew there would be tricky chokestones to negotiate, stagnant potholes to swim, and groves of poison ivy to contend with. But with good planning and the right gear, I was confident we could make it through and that it would be a rewarding experience we would never forget.

There are many opinions out there when it comes to waterproofing your backpacking gear for Death Hollow's infamous swims. Waterproof kegs, air mattresses, garbage bags, or even a small raft, have all been used. I think the best way is to place all of your gear into 2-3 dry bags and then place the bags into your backpack. I've never had a dry bag leak on me (other than a little seepage through the roll top), you don't have the hassle of blowing up a mattress, and it overall just seems like the most efficient and safest method.

Here are some other notable gear we took: one trekking pole each (essential once you hit perennial water for balance on slimy rocks and for probing potholes), 40 feet of webbing (we used the webbing two or three times for drops of up to about 18 feet), 20 feet of parachute cord (for lowering packs), and convertible pants (you'll want pants at least for the middle and lower parts of Death Hollow where poison ivy is profuse). We also took (and wore the entire last three days) a long sleeve, tight polyester top for temperature (and poison ivy) control--even though I got chilled a couple of times, I still think a wetsuit would be overkill. For footwear, I wore some old hiking shoes paired with some desert gaiters; Eros and Hector hiked the first (mostly) dry day in old hikers/running shoes and then switched to 5.10 Canyoneers for the remainder of the trip. To reduce weight and volume, we packed bivy sacks rather than tents.

After meeting at the Escalante Bridge trailhead and leaving Hector's car, we stopped in Escalante for one last hearty meal. We then headed up Hell's Backbone Road and after I missed a turn, we ended up at Posey Lake. Once back on track and as we neared the trailhead, we pulled off on an old logging road and found a pleasant campsite on a windy ridge overlooking Death Hollow. We made a fire, checked our gear, debated who had the better trekking pole, and I poked fun at Eros for buying a 30-dollar pair of underwear.

The wind howled all night, but somewhere around 3 am, it suddenly stopped and all was calm.

After a 10-minute drive the next morning, we arrived at the trailhead. We double-checked our gear one last time and headed downhill to check the trail register. We couldn't find anyone who had taken this route since April.

Above: A parting shot moments before taking the plunge into upper Death Hollow, from right to left: Hector, Eros, and Tyler (me).

The route drops about 1000 feet in just the first mile--letting your knees know early on that you mean business. There is a pretty distinct path to follow butwe had a lot of scrambling and bushwhacking to get around or over all of the numerous felled trees. Once down into the main drainage, the grade mellows a bit and good views of the surrounding country unfold. Lush pine and aspen forests intermingle with normally deserty bluffs of white and yellow Navajo Sandstone to create a unique scene that is reminiscent of some of the higher-elevation areas of Zion National Park.

Above: typical scene in the upper part of Death Hollow.

For the first 7 miles or so, we took every possible shortcut to shorten the numerous meanders in the main wash. This usually required a short but steep climb out of the wash onto the surrounding bench, but in the end we expended a lot less energy than if we were to follow the long lines of the sandy wash. Even with a short lunch break, we were making good time. My goal for the day was to reach Right Hand Fork at about mile 10.

At around the 7 or 8 mile mark, the wash enters a section of low narrows.

This 1st section of narrows can be bypassed on the bench above, but after several hours of easy cross-country travel, we were excited to get into a few challenges and to cool off in some water. So into the slot we went.

We quickly began to encounter a number of large chokestones. Every one of these stones was a dark (red, purple, or black) volcanic rock washed down by glacier (thousands of years ago) and more recently, flood waters, from the lava sheet that caps Boulder Mountain. These lava rocks are much more durable than the surrounding sandstone, so even though the entire Death Hollow canyon is carved out of the Navajo Sandstone, while walking in the stream bed, the predominant rock type is always volcanic.

Just about every plunge pool below the chokestones had been scoured out down to bedrock. I've never been through the upper part of the canyon before, but I could see staining on the sandstone walls indicating that the pools had been at least partially filled with sediment fairly recently. I theorized that the widespread flooding that most of southern Utah experienced in late December of last year had flushed out Death Hollow pretty good and that several chokestones that were just 3-4-foot "hop-overs" before, now had fairly serious 8-10-foot drops on the downstream side to deal with.

If the canyon walls were close enough, we could simply stem or chimney down over the chokestone. Other times we used webbing to either hand-line or repel down, and on one occasion we found a nearby log to prop up against the canyon side to assist in the descent.

Most scour pools below the chokestones were dry, but we soon came to our first stagnant pool of water. The pools were full of shrimp, beetles, and larvae of all types, and we saw a few freakishly skinny worms swimming in the water that were up to a foot long. I had long waited to see Eros' s reaction to the stagnant pools since he has a bit of a phobia when it comes to all things gross and unclean. He didn't disappoint, but after a little hesitation, he and Hector cautiously entered the murky and smelly waters, and soon after, both were wading through cesspools like seasoned canyoneers.

Above: Eros and Hector make there way into one of the first stagnant pools of the trip.

Above: there was almost about as much dead stuff as there was alive in the pools; one of the worms, about 10 inches long, crosses the photo from left to right.

Above: Eros and Hector were convinced the worms we saw in the potholes were snakes. I decided I had to fish one out for a closer examination. No backbone, no eyes that we could see--so it must be some kind of worm, right?

Above: that look says it all. Eros exits a particularly putrid pothole.

Between major obstacles and potholes, the hike was a fairly easy stroll through alternating sections of deep sand and large colorful cobbles.

With all of the obstacles, problem solving, and shuttling of packs, the last two miles were very slow and tiresome. Exhausted, we were ready to set up camp. We waited patiently for our cue to exit the main canyon: a large and difficult 15-foot double chokestone. When we finally came upon it, we didn't even bother scouting out the obstacle. We followed a guidebook's recommendation to back up a few yards and follow a steep slickrock route out of the north side of the canyon over a low ridge and then drop down into Death Hollow's Right Fork. It took all the gas we had left to get up that hill, but we were able to safely bypass the troublesome obstacle, and the route delivered us to the perfect campsite in the bottom of Right Fork.

We had a nice slickrock ledge for setting up kitchen, and soft sand for sleeping. Water for filtering was plentiful in nearby potholes, but unfortunately, it was full of creepy-crawlies, including a couple of the worms. But after filtering, it tasted extremely good and it even got Eros's approval.

We all went to bed early that night, dreaming of what was in store for tomorrow.

Above: after a mostly overcast day, the sun makes a brief appearance and lights up yellow Navajo walls behind campsite #1.

Cathedral Valley, Capitol Reef National Park

2011-06-23T19:29:00.035-06:00

We finally made it out to Cathedral Valley over Memorial Day weekend. I've spent a lot of time in the central part of Capitol Reef National Park, and I've been trying to get to the more remote, but no less interesting northern and southern parts of the park for some time. The Water Pocket Fold district will be next.

By the time we rolled into the primitive Cathedral Valley Campground (only six sites) Saturday night, it was full. It was no big deal, we just drove a couple more miles up the road toward Thousand Lake Mountain and into the Dixie National Forest where dispersed camping allowed.

Here are the photos in no particular order:

On the way home, we stopped to hike the Lower Calf Creek Falls trail. It's a good six miles round trip, but the girls had no problem with the distance.

Hurrah Pass

2011-06-12T19:49:00.039-06:00

A few photos from a the "Spring Course Loop" near Moab which starts at the Kane Creek trailhead, climbs up to Hurrah Pass, cruises through Jackson Hole, hike-a-bikes up Jacob's Ladder, and finally descends Amasa Back. An incredible ride with constantly changing scenery and riding challenges. My nephew Hector came along making the picture taking easier.

Above: the "Birthing Scene" petroglyph in Kane Canyon.

Above: Hector starts up the switchbacks leading to Hurrah Pass.

Above: my KHS rests at Hurrah Pass, where excellent views await in all directions. My bike has been set up with only 4 gears (32x32,26,17,12) now for nearly a year, and I've never looked back.

Above: hoodooland from near Hurrah Pass.

Above: view northward across the Colorado River toward Shafer Basin.

Above: rounded river gravel left high and dry in Jackson Hole--an abandoned stream meander.

Above: looking down from near the top of the Jacob's Ladder bike portage.

Above: riding on Amasa Back's rim above Jackson Hole. The potash plant can be seen in the distance.

Above: a panorama of the abandoned Colorado River meander (Jackson Hole).

Above: view from Amasa Back over countless slickrock fins toward the snow-capped La Sal Mountains.

Above: petroglyphs at the mouth of Moonflower Canyon.

Wheeler Peak -- Winter Climb

2011-05-21T08:19:00.026-06:00

Every year, I try to get in at least one winter climb. I guess I should say "winter-like" climb since I typically go in March or April when days are longer, snow is hard, and the avalanche danger is much lower. By early May this year, I was starting to think I'd waited too long to get that true "alpine" feel to a mountain climb this season.

I ended up climbing 13,000-foot Wheeler Peak in Great Basin N.P., and if anything, it was a little more "wintery" than I expected.

Above: Spring thaw has certainly commenced in the high country, but there is an astoundingly large amount of snow yet to melt.

The normal access to the 10,000-foot Wheeler Peak trailhead is via the Scenic Drive. But you're not going to get too far up that road before hitting snow. So I decided to start at the Upper Lehman Campground at 7,600 feet, leaving me with a 7-mile (14 round-trip), 6,400-foot hike ahead of me .

Above: my first look at Wheeler Peak (high peak on right). Storm clouds threatened throughout the day. All I could do is hope that it would be clear when I got to the summit.

Conditions varied considerably throughout the day. The first mile or so was snow-free--then hard snow that I could walk right on top of with no snowshoes. Once I made it to the Wheeler Peak Campground, the snow had softened enough to where I began post-holing several inches, so out acme the snowshoes.

Above: I hope you didn't have any plans to camp at Wheeler Peak Campground on Memorial Day Weekend. It wouldn't surprise me if snow still lingered by the July 4th holiday.

Above: the eastern face of Wheeler that appears in most photos of the peak make it look practically unclimbable, but as you can see above, the the northern summit ridge is fairly mellow and doable without ropes and specialized equipment.

Above: the wind on the summit ridge was unbelievable. I'd say I had a steady and cold 40 mph wind the entire ridge. The last half mile or so was just steep and icy enough to require crampons.

I had descent weather and relatively mild temperatures until I reached the non-stop winds on the summit ridge. The wind passed right through the seems in my gloves and my fingers quickly went numb.

Above: the final knife-edge ridge traverse near the summit. Somewhere under all the snow is a small stone shelter that I've ducked into in the past to avoid lightning.

Above: the view of Jeff Davis Peak from the top of Wheeler.

A rather bizarre thing happened as I summitted. As I mentioned earlier, the wind blew incessantly on the ridge ascent. But the instant I reached the top, it became eerily calm. This was great for sitting down and taking in the view without having to worry about being blown off the mountain, but the combination of the noon-time sun and the lack of wind made my fingers quickly thaw, causing excruciating pain. I managed to snap just a couple of photos before I was on my may back down the mountain.

Above: view south from Wheeler's summit toward Baker Peak.

Above: brand new crampons are extremely sharp. Good for gripping icy snow, bad for pant legs. Looks like I need to get some heavy-duty gaiters to go along with these.

It was a great climb. I had a little light snow fall here and there, but otherwise, conditions were beautiful. I never saw another soul until I reached Wheeler Pk C.G. on the descent where I passed a cross-country skier that most likely came up the Scenic Drive. Navigation was easy, and my nutrition plan worked well--I felt well-energized the whole time. It took about 4.5 hours to get to the top and 3 hours to return, including time for photos and dealing with snowshoes/crampons.

On the drive back through Baker, I had to stop and check out the "Horse with No Name." Just one more memorable pile of junk lining the entrance to Great Basin.

Middle Fork, Taylor Creek

2011-05-10T19:55:00.016-06:00

Above: This mind-boggling double-arch alcove is your final destination in the Middle Fork of Taylor Creek.

Alpine coolness meets red rock desert. The Middle Fork of Taylor Creek Trail in the Kolob Canyons Section of Zion National Park is an impressive little hike. The scenery meter is pegged at high the entire hike. A couple of historical cabins will have you daydreaming about living in these cabins back in the 1930s (when they were constructed) and having the canyon all to yourself. To access your cabin, you'd have to pack in on your horse since a road into Kolob did not yet exist. There would be no tourists since this area had not yet been made part of the Park system. Your only company would have been massive sandstone monoliths, shady Ponderosa pine, a pleasant cold stream, and perhaps an occasional sheep herder.

Above: Folded rock layers near the Taylor Creek thrust fault.

Above: The Larson Cabin near the confluence of the North and Middle Forks of Taylor Creek.

Above: the Fife Cabin, high up Middle Fork Canyon.

Above: A closer look at the double alcove near the head of Middle Fork. I found this thing simply too big to get a satisfactory photo, but it was fun trying.

Spring Break '11 -- Kanab -- Day 3

2011-05-06T10:20:00.010-06:00

Our final day of spring break was supposed to simply be a travel day for getting back home. But since we had been rained out the previous day, we decided to try and squeeze in the treasure hunt on our way out of town. It didn't go over too well as we had to deal with snow and slick roads, but I think the kiddos still enjoyed it.

Above: Fitting together pieces of the Aztec treasure map.

The first stop was Crocodile Cave. This cave has a long history. First, it's full of ice cold, and I mean ICE COLD water that certainly was used by Native Americans. Nearby granary ruins and pictographs attest to this. The cave, more recently, has been one of several high-profile targets of real treasure hunters convinced that the fabled lost treasure of Montezuma is hidden somewhere in the Kanab area. Other treasure hot-spots are the nearby Three Lakes along Kanab Creek and in Johnson Canyon northeast of town.

I had everything ready. I sealed a piece of the treasure map into a bottle and then tied a long string around the neck of the bottle. I ran up ahead of everyone to "scout things out," and quickly climbed down in to the cave and onto the lake's edge. For some dumb reason, at the last second, I decided to put a bunch of rocks into the bottle to make it sink to the bottom. I thought this would be funner for the kids when they pulled the bottle out of the lake with the string. Big mistake. After putting rocks into the bottle and re-sealing it, I held tightly onto one end of the string and chucked the bottle toward the far end of the lake. I felt a strong tug on the string when the full weight of the bottle had unraveled all of the string in my hand, and then it went completely limp. Immediately I realized that the additional weight of the rocks in the bottle had caused the string tied around the bottle's neck to pop off. Dang! there was only one way to retrieve it now.

(Eros photo)
Just as I was about to pull a Bear Grylls and dive into the dark, cold water of indeterminate depth, Susie talked me out of it. We would just have to press on without the clue.

Above: Junior treasure hunters pose outside of the Crocodile Cave in Angel Canyon.

The next stop on the treasure trail was to the "Arch of Doom"--a small and isolated free-standing arch out in the middle of a sand flat. A little digging beneath the arch yielded another clue.

The clue directed us toward the "Tunnel of Lost Souls"

We braved the unknown and traversed the tunnel. More digging at the end of the tunnel turned up the final clue.

(Eros photo)

The final clue let us to the "Sands of Death" a.k.a. the Coral Pink Sand Dunes where X marked the spot and we hit the mother load (toys and candy).

(Eros photo)

Above: The entire gang at Spring Break '11.

Can't wait 'til next year!

Spring Break '11 -- Kanab -- Day 2

2011-05-05T19:07:00.011-06:00

Day 2 was mostly spent inside the rental house. We were able to squeeze in a quick trip down the Wire Pass slot to the confluence with Buckskin Gulch just before the storm hit. In fact, a snow/rain mix started to come down right as we returned to the trailhead.

Wire Pass is an excellent beginner slot. It is easily accessed, is beautifully sculpted, and has a couple of choke stones to make it a little more adventuresome than just an easy stroll.

Above: Mike makes his way down a choke stone in Wire Pass.

Above: Rudy and the two Julies emerge from Wire Pass at the confluence with Buckskin Gulch.

I've been down Wire Pass several times, and each time I see something new. This time, it was several additional petroglyphs at the confluence that I had not noticed before. It's possible that some of these may have been buried and that only recently, floods have removed the overburden and brought them to light.

Another feature I never before noticed was this swirled sandstone--formed when saturated wind-blown sand deformed before turning into stone. The Coyote Buttes area is well known for its uniquely textured Navajo Sandstone.

Spring Break '11 -- Kanab -- Day 1

2011-05-03T21:16:00.028-06:00

I finally got around to getting some pictures up from Spring Break. We stayed in Kanab and day-tripped out to surrounding attractions. The weather varied from so-so to crappy pretty much the whole weekend, but we managed to get quite a bit in.

Some of the best fossil hunting around can be found in southern Utah. Near Kanab, the problem is that nearly all the best hunting grounds are in the Grand Staircase-Escalante N.M. or the Glen Canyon National Recreation Area--both of which are off limits to fossil collecting. With a little research, I found a small section of State land just outside of Big Water near Lake Powell with excellent exposures of the fossil-rich, Cretaceous-age Tropic Formation. These ancient sea beds are full of 100-million-year-old oysters, ammonites, snails, shark teeth, and other sea creatures.

We gave the kids hammers (not really necessary) and let them loose. We found plenty of oyster shells, a couple of snails (gastropods), and a few small straight ammonites (baculites). No shark teeth of curled ammonites this time.

Above: oyster shell fragments from the Tropic Shale litter the ground (Eros photo).

With a bad weather forecast, we continued to head south into Arizona.

Horseshoe Bend was a pleasant hike but the wind on the rim was incredible and we didn't linger long.

OK, on the count of three, turn toward the camera, ignore the grit in your teeth and try to act natural. One, two, three...

Perfect!

Next, we headed down to Lee's Ferry. This is where the Colorado River begins its dive into the Grand Canyon. One of the very first tributaries into the Grand Canyon is Cathedral Wash.

Cathedral Wash cuts into the Permian Kaibab limestone, forming some fantastic narrows. There are several obstacles to overcome that I knew would be a challenge for the kids and a bit unnerving for the parents. The limestone has eroded into a series of ledges just wide enough to walk on that you can follow to get around the dry falls that seemingly block your path.

Skirting around the obstacles on the narrow ledges worked for a while and we got darn close to the river, but it was getting late in the afternoon and we had additional things to see that day on top of the long drive back to Kanab, so we headed back.

Above: Watch out for that...never mind. It took several minutes to find his shoe.

Above: Ava powers up a slickrock ramp in rare limestone narrows in Cathedral Wash.

Above: Susie and Kandi pose in Cathedral Wash with the massive Paria Plateau looming above.

Above: one of several balanced rocks near Lee's Ferry.

Above: Emma Lee's cabin at Lonely Dell.

Lonely Dell Ranch at Lee's Ferry is a testament to the fortitude of the Mormon pioneers, in particular, of Emma Lee. Emma was often left to run the ranch and ferry alone, and generally fend for herself and young children for months on end since her husband, John D. Lee, was constantly traveling or forced into hiding because of his implication in the Mountain Meadows Massacre. If you ever plan to visit Lonely Dell, be sure to read Emma Lee by Juanita Brooks before you go--you'll be amazed at what she went through.

(Eros photo)

Above: Around 1910, this boiler was used to pump water out of the Colorado and onto the nearby Chinle clay beds in a futile attempt to separate fine gold out of the clays. At the head of this operation was Charles H. Spencer. He had other costly mining failures in the lower San Juan and Paria (Eros photo).

Now mostly known as the put-in for river rafters, there is still plenty to see for the history buff at the ferry crossing including a few old boilers and Lee's Fort.

Above: The remains of Lee's Fort (Eros photo).

Above: what's left of the steamship named after mining mogul Charles H. Spencer. He had this boat built to ship coal from upriver down to his mining operation at Lee's Ferry (Eros photo).

The weather held up nicely for day 1. Unfortunately, we wouldn't have as good as luck for the rest of the trip.

Spring Break '11 -- Kanab --The Scouting Trip

2011-04-26T19:19:00.023-06:00

I had a tough time planning our family spring break trip to the Kanab area. Why? Iffy weather and unknown road conditions were the biggest questions. Well, Kanab is only a little over an hour away, so I loaded up Susie and the kids and we headed out on an exploratory trip to check on conditions.

Our first stop was to Red Hollow near Orderville. This is a short and colorful slot that I knew would be highly questionable because of its higher altitude (close to 6000'). My suspicions were correct. We encountered quit a bit of snow in the slot since it receives little to no sunlight.

The crusty snow actually made for a fun and unique hiking experience. Instead of stemming up and over some of the chockstones and dry falls, we were able to easily climb over these obstacles by carving steps in the snow!

Red Hollow was a lot of fun, but we figured if it wasn't still full of snow by the time our trip rolled around, it would definitely be full of ice-cold water. I love watery narrows but I don't think everyone would have enjoyed it, so Red Hollow got the axe from the itinerary.

Next, we drove over near the Coral Pink Sand Dunes to check out the Moccassin Mountain dinosaur tracksite. We were impressed. It's a scenic location and the kids had a lot of fun looking for the tracks. I planned on having this be one of the stops on the treasure hunt, but we never made it out there on spring break due to the snow!

We next checked out the South Fork Indian Canyon pictographs also near the Coral Pinks. The road was a little muddy and rough and anything bigger than a Jeep would get some fresh desert pin striping. This too, is a very scenic area and it's a great little hike to get the blood pumping. In the end, we figured the road was too rough for the vehicles we would have during spring break, and the drive from pavement was too long to shuttle people back and forth. So it also got axed.

Peek-a-Boo slot -- no to be confused with the slot with the same name in the Escalante drainage -- had been on my to-do list for some time. The road into the slot from near the Best Friends Animal Sanctuary was just about the sandiest road I'd ever driven. I didn't get stuck, but I ended up letting some air out of the tires to try to get a little more flotation. The slot is short but very photogenic. If you don't mind dealing with the sand, I highly recommend it. As much as I wanted to do this slot on spring break, I knew the sand would be tough so it was taken off the schedule.

The last place we scouted was the "Crocodile Cave" in Angel Canyon. Way cool place. This lake in the bottom of a cave was destined to be a major part of the treasure hunt. But as you'll see in a later post, I screwed this stop up pretty good on spring break.

Above: Junior explorers look for crocodiles.

All the spring break photos are coming soon.

The Old Springdale Cemetery

2011-04-08T13:37:00.019-06:00

I love old cemeteries. OK, maybe old is not the right word since any cemetery in the western U.S. is really not that old compared to those in the East or elsewhere in the world. How about abandoned? Forgotten or unkempt? Anyway, I'm talking about those overgrown cemeteries found on the hill behind the hundreds of ghost towns that are found throughout the West. Occasionally you'll find an abandoned cemetery in a town that is no ghost. I was delighted to come across such a place in the town of Springdale in southwestern Utah.

Above: the old Moquitch Hill cemetery in Springdale, Utah.

Above: East Temple, Twin Brothers, and the Mountain of the Sun stand above the Springdale cemetery.

Springdale has a beautiful little cemetery. The trees are regularly trimmed. The grass is mowed every week. Flowers are regularly placed by frequent visitors. And with Zion's sandstone monoliths towering above, it just might be one of the most scenic cemeteries in the country.

But, you wont find Springdale's founding pioneers there. You see, there is an older cemetery in town, and, in my opinion, it's a far more fascinating place to visit. It lies near the top of Moquitch Hill where views of lower Zion Canyon are even better.

Above: waist-high sage has obscured many of the tombstones on Moquitch Hill.

Springdale is most famously known as the gateway to Zion National Park with millions of yearly visitors from around the world relying on its hotel and food services. But long before the town became a tourist destination, Springdale began just like other agricultural Mormon community-- with back-breaking labor and that famous pioneer ingenuity. It is here, on Moquitch Hill, where many of those pioneers rest.

Above: sadly, a few of the graves (probably children) lack tombstones or any type of identification.

Sand Cove & the East Reef

2011-04-06T19:38:00.028-06:00

I've been doing a bit more exploring around the Babylon and East Reef area. You'd be surprised at how many St. George/Cedar City-area residents have never even heard of this incredible place. The geology in the area is first rate and there is a lot to see and do.

Recently, I lead a boy scout group on an overnight camp and 10-mile hike. The deep sand and river crossings challenged the boys, but I think some of the leaders had the hardest time!

We set up camp at the Sand Cove Primitive Campground near Sandstone Mountain. I secured a permit (free) early and I expected we would have the cove to ourselves, but a couple other outfits pulled in, so it appears the Desert Preserve gives out more than one permit per night(?) Oh well, there was plenty of room for all but one group next to us had a noisy generator, and one of us ended going over to ask them to turn it off at around 10pm.

Sand cove is a beautiful flat nestled amongst fanciful bluffs of Navajo Sandstone. Colorful sand dunes climb steeply up the sandstone on the lee side of the cove inviting the energetic to see how fast they can climb up the dune and then fly back down.

The late evening sun set the rock ablaze as we cooked our dinners and told stories around the campfire.

A couple of us laid out our bedrolls right on the soft sand and slept out under the stars. I wish every night could be like this.

In the morning, the hike began with a spur out to an overlook where we could see some of the sandstone formations we would later traverse.

Within the first couple of miles, the trail turns into a deep energy-sucking sand pile. Keeping up your momentum is the key in these sandy sections.

The area around sandstone Mountain harbors some of the most interesting iron concretions I've seen. The large, irregularly-shaped concentric bands will stimulate your imagination. When my daughter Zoe saw the above photo, she asked me if it was a hurricane. Below is perhaps a sly smile from old Mother Earth.

In other areas near Sandstone Mountain, the Navajo appears pock-marked, pimpled, and zebra-striped.

After circling around Sandstone Mountain, we headed toward the Virgin River. Near the river, the trail passes right under a medium-sized free-standing arch.

Above: our scout group poses under "Pentagon Arch".

Above: Navajo Sandstone is contorted along the east flank of the Virgin Anticline near the Virgin River.

A couple of crossings of the Virgin River ensured everyone was wide awake.

Above: the vivid colors of springtime in the desert.

Above: a geologic puzzle near historic Babylon.

We reached the old Babylon mill and town site about a third of the way through the hike to take a break. There's not much left to see, but starting in the late 1870s this area was bustling with activity. Mine owners at nearby Silver Reef figured it would be easier to bring the silver ore to a mill established on the Virgin rather than trying to get the water up to Silver Reef to process the ore. The mostly non-Mormon town that sprang up near the mill became known as Babylon.

Above: rock structure in Babylon, note the foundation constructed with hexagonal basalt columns stacked on their sides.

Above: boys will be boys. I'm just glad his dad was there to take responsibility.

Above: within the Kayenta Formation exposed along East Reef, hundreds of dinosaur tracks have been found in recent years.

Above: odd-looking benches have formed across the purple bald hills of Chinle clay. These are most likely weathered remnants of old landslide blocks.

The last leg our hike took us along the western side of East Reef, a knife-edged ridge held up by a prominent ledge of white Springdale Sandstone. It's this ledge of Springdale that hosts most of the silver ore that was mined at Silver Reef. The richest concentrations are found on the west side of the Virgin Anticline (known as the Harrrisburg Dome in this area) near Silver Reef and Leeds. But there are plenty of prospects (probably close to 100) along East Reef as well. Unfortunately (or fortunately for some I guess) the state has reclaimed all of these mines and they have been sealed shut.

Above: green silver-bearing minerals (malachite amongst others) found near Silver Reef are concentrated in organic material (a small piece of petrified wood in this photo) encased within the sandstone.

Above: an inscription of an East Reef miner dates back to 1879.

Various petroglyphs can also be found near the trails along East Reef.

I had a blast exploring this country with the scouts and I look forward to the next adventure. I'll also be back to East Reef soon. As evidenced by the numerous tire tracks on the Purgatory and East Reef trails, mountain bikers are starting to discover the trails out here. With some more bike traffic, these trails could pack down nicely. I need to do my part.

The Redman Pictograph and Old Fort Pearce

2011-03-31T19:42:00.027-06:00

A trip out to Warner Valley near St. George, Utah, has a little bit of everything for the history buff. And the scenery ain't bad either.

Starting nearly 200 million years ago, at least two different species of large dinosaurs tromped around on wet sand, leaving behind some 4oo tracks, now petrified into solid rock, at the Warner Valley Dinosaur Trackway.

Exactly 235 years ago, the Dominguez and Escalante expedition descended a steep, precarious path off of Sand Mountain (red cliffs in picture below) bounding the north side of the valley and passed very near these dinosaur tracks on their way back to Santa Fe.

And in the southern part of the valley are the ruins of old Fort Pearce. The fort was a fortified shelter at a water source along the historic Temple and Honeymoon wagon trails used in the late 1800s. Close to the fort, you can find Puebloan and Anasazi petroglyphs (writings carved or pecked into rock), and at least one outstanding pictograph (writings painted on rock). Some of this art could be several thousands of years old.

That's an impressive amount of history to converge in one little desert valley that is seldom visited today.

I had traversed Warner Valley numerous times for work and play, but somehow I had failed to stop and check out the old fort. A little online research revealed the presence of nearby rock art, making me even more antsy to get out there.

So I set out with my girls and their cousin Ben to see what we could find. I had heard rumors of a huge life-sized human pictograph, and I had even made a previous failed attempt to locate it from the west, starting near Little Black Mountain and hiking east toward Fort Pearce along the wash. I was hoping today was my lucky day.

As it turns out, the key to finding the lost Redman pictograph was bringing along the junior explorers.

Both the Honeymoon Trail--used by newlyweds traveling from the St. George Temple to the Mormon settlements in northeastern Arizona--and the Temple Trail--used to haul timber from Mt. Trumball to the then-under-construction St. George Temple--passed by the fort. I recall reading somewhere that it never had a roof.

A faint trail leads downstream from the fort along Fort Pearce Wash to a number of easy-to-find petroglyphs. Much of this trail is undoubtedly part of the original Temple Trail.

As we scanned the rocks and hillside for rock art, I was surprised to find a large number of historic inscriptions dating back to the 1880s, some were carved into the sandstone, others were painted on with wagon axle grease. It's amazing to think that this fading trail was once a major thoroughfare!

After hiking a mile or so, we came to where I suspected the Redman pictograph had to be. As the kids played around on a big jumble of boulders, I climbed up into the surrounding cliffs searching for any hint of red pigment.

I wasn't having any luck with the pictograph, but I did discover several interesting but very faint petroglyphs.

Ghosts, snakes, turtles, amongst other creatures. Even bear tracks.

After searching for nearly an hour, I was ready to throw in the towel yet again. As I scrambled back down the hillside, I heard the kids get all excited, talking about some hidden treasure they had found. Ben held up an old ammo box as he explained its contents being a bunch of random junk. I immediately recognized it as a geocache, and out of curiosity, I looked over its contents, and there it was! The final clue! A rolled up note in the cache gave detailed instructions on how to find the pictograph. At last! A short but steep hike led up to a shallow overhang that has protected the vivid red ochre over the millenia.

It truly is a startling sight.

I was outsmarted by a four and two six-year-olds this day. Now I just need to recruit them to help me find the well-hidden Dancing Redman pictograph of Timpie Valley. I wonder if they'll work for ice cream?

Above: view from the Redman cave.

Day 2, Part 2: The Wahweap Hoodoos

2011-03-29T20:42:00.013-06:00

From the last day of my B-day trip: Below: Jack Riggs Bench provides a scenic backdrop on the way to the hoodoos. Above: a short hike down Wahweap creek brings you to the best hoodoos. Below: after visiting the hoodoos, I had just enough daylight to see the famous Chinle hills at Paria. Well, I'd say I packed quite a bit into just two days. If I could have just had longer days, I could have fit even more in!

Day 2: Hackberry Canyon & The Box of the Paria

2011-03-14T21:06:00.012-06:00

It was well after dark and I was heading east out of Kanab after a long day out on the north rim of the Grand Canyon. The short winter days sure are frustrating-- there's just not enough light in the day. Seeing the Wahweap hoodoos by flashlight wasn't appealing so I began to mentally prepare for the epic hike through Hackberry Canyon that I had planned for the next day. My plans, again, would have to change.

I was supposed to drop off my mountain bike at the mouth of Hackberry Canyon and then drive up Cottonwood Wash Road to the Slickrock Bench trailhead above Round Valley Draw. I was to camp at the trailhead and then get an early start on the 16-17 mile hike down Round Valley, to Hackberry, retrieve my bike, and then pedal the 20+ miles back to my car at Slickrock Bench. A long day for sure. I expected to finish well past sunset, but I was confident I could do it.

My plans were seemingly thwarted as soon as I turned of US89 onto Cottonwood Wash Road. Immediately, I was faced with a sign in the middle of the road claiming that the road was blocked 14 miles ahead by a massive rock slide. Well, 14 miles would get me awfully close to the mouth of Hackberry, but with Cottonwood Road blocked, there was no way to drive to Slickrock Bench without driving on highways all the way through Kanab, Orderville, Bryce Canyon etc. I wasn't up for all that driving so I started scheming up a plan B. In the meantime, I was curious about this rock slide and decided to trip my odometer, go around the sign, and drive until I'd come upon it.

As I headed up the road, I figured if I could make it to the Hackberry trailhead, I could camp there for the night and then the next morning, dayhike up canyon to see the best parts. Then I'd have the rest of the day to dayhike into the Paria Box, and still make it out to the Wahweap Hoodoos in the evening, which I had really been looking forward to.

As I plotted out the day, I watched the miles go by on the odometer-- 13, 14, 15 -- and still no sign of the rock slide. Hmmm... had the BLM messed up on the mileage? Had local ranchers, tired of waiting for the government to clear the road, and bulldozed the slide themselves? Judging from the amount of traffic it appeared the road was getting, I assumed the rock debris had been cleared and the road was indeed open. This of course, meant I could go back to plan A. Except, my legs were feeling some fatigue after the day's adventures, and plan B had really started to sound like the better plan. Besides, there was still a chance a huge boulder was blocking the road somewhere up ahead.

And so I pulled into the Hackberry trailhead, laid back the seat in my Montero, opened the sunroof, and dozed off.

It being early February, I knew Hackberry's stream would be cold. I didn't, however, expect it to be frozen solid!

After walking upstream a 100 yards or so, I realized the stream wasn't quite solid as I could hear flowing water below my feet.

As the sun came up, ice began to melt and it became a game of whether the ice would support each step, or if my foot would crash through the ice and into the frigid water below. My neoprene socks really saved me on this one.

After a couple of miles, the canyon opened up and was bathed in sunlight. The tall and narrow walls of Navajo Sandstone were replaced by rolling hills of colorful Chinle, Moenave, and Kayenta strata.

Above: dinosaur tracks cover this boulder along Hackberry Canyon.

I decided my turn-around point would be the 100-year-old Frank Watson cabin.

Above: water cascades over an ice dam in lower Hackberry Canyon.

I was very impressed with Hackberry Canyon. I still want to do the full loop which includes a few spurs up Stone Donkey Canyon, to Pollock Arch, and to the "Moki house". This lower part of the canyon would also be ideal with small kids, in warmer weather.

Above: looking west toward the mouth of the Paria River where it emerges from the Cockscomb Ridge. This is also known as "The Box".

Next up, was short drive to "The Box" trailhead on the Paria.

It's a short stroll along the sandy banks of the Paria before you enter into a moderately deep canyon carved into the Cockscomb.

Above: The upturned ridge of rock called the Cockscomb is a constant companion along the Cottonwood Wash Road. The Paria Box is a good place for an intimate look at the interior of this fold. There, a thrust fault confirms the fold's origins as a compressional structure.

I have to say I was a little underwhelmed by the Paria Box. If you only have time for one short hike in the area, I'd Recommend lower Hackberry.

There is an interesting side trip out of The Box though. A steep climb to the northern rim of The Box leads to the Hidden Cache. Here a hermit, or perhaps a German Spy according to some locals, lived in a couple of metal boxes and a cave back in the late 40s and early 50s. It's a fascinating bit of history and I highly recommend picking up Michael Kelsey's Hiking and Exploring the Paria River guidebook for more details if you plan to visit the area.

It was late afternoon by the time I had returned to my car after visiting the hidden cache. This left just enough time to get out to the mysteriouos Wahweap Hoodoos. Those photos are coming up next...

2 Days: Day 1 -- Shaman's Gallery

2011-02-26T19:37:00.023-07:00

Above: view east from the Schmutz Spring Trailhead across Tuckup Canyon. Mesas of Kaibab Limestone, Toroweap Formation, Coconino Sandstone, and Hermit Shale rise above the Esplanade platform.

The Shaman's Gallery, tucked way in the western Grand Canyon is proof positive that there are still major discoveries to be made. The Old West is just that big. Whether it's dinosaur bones, Native American artifacts, or untrammeled slot canyons, there is still a lot of stuff out there that is unknown.

This unique panel of pictographs located in a remote corner of the park may have been noticed by passing cowboys several decades ago. But as is typical of most hard-working ranchers, they probably just regarded it a curiosity and went about their business.

That changed in 1986 when mule-wrangler and guide Gordon Smith reported the site to the Park Service. But the Shaman's style of art was so different from other known Grand Canyon rock-art sites that, according to Gordon, the park Superintendent didn't believe him and initially accused him of submitting photos of Australian art. It wasn't until Gordon led an archeologist to the site that the astonished officials learned they truly had something special.

Even though the gallery has been somewhat brought to light, you would never know it if you ever manage to visit the place. The NPS doesn't advertise it, and apparently they have sent threatening letters to people that have been too specific about its location.

Thanks to Gordon's hand-drawn map (I'd post a link, but it looks like Gordon's website has been removed?), I had no trouble finding the trailhead or the panel. But it took quite a bit more time than I thought to drive the maze of rough roads to get out there. I was hoping to to fit in a trip to the Wahweap Hoodoos in the evening, but I soon realized that due to the rough road, I'd be lucky to get back to Pipe Springs by dark. Once at the trailhead, I didn't see any sign of anyone else being there for a long time.

The trail drops 1700 feet in about 3.5 miles to the Shaman's Gallery. It's not a difficult hike and the scenery is great, especially in the late evening. With the tremendous expanse surrounding me and no indication of other human beings, I felt incredibly alone. And, initially, this was a good thing.

Above: well-preserved crinoid fossils can be found where the trail passes through a historic fence.

Relatively little research has been done on the panel, but early speculation is that much of the art dates back to at least 1000 B.C.

Above: staring into the angry eyes of a 3000-year old specter.

I have to admit, being out alone in the middle of nowhere, and having these ghostly figures staring down at me was a bit creepy. Gordon and others that have been there alone have reported a similar uneasiness. I later found out that the Natives had likely attempted to commune with the supernatural here. The figures are unlike anything I've seen before, especially the ones that apparently show internal organs, eyelashes, and multiple heads.

Above: the view from beneath the overhang that has protected Shaman's Gallery over the millennia.

I'll never forget the hike into Shaman's Gallery. I'd like to visit the place again and explore a bit more... but not alone.

2 Days: Day 1--Toroweap

2011-02-22T19:32:00.029-07:00

"So, what do you want for your birthday?"

Like my wife really needed to ask. The real question was whether I'd be granted one or two days over the weekend for a solo adventure. We ended up agreeing on two full days.

I started running down my must-do list. A few at the top were just not possible during a cold and wet February, leaving me with (1) Toroweap in the western Grand Canyon, (2) Hackberry Canyon (a tributary of the Paria River in the Grand Staircase-Escalante N.M.), and (3) the Wahweap Hoodoos (also in the GSENM). I started to wonder: instead of deciding which to do why not shoot for the moon and attempt all three in just two days?

I planned an overstuffed itinerary including everything above plus a few other things along the way. I knew it was an impossible schedule but that it sure would be fun trying.

I left on Friday night, topped off my gas tank in Hildale, and drove the 60+ miles of rutted and washboard roads to the Lava Falls trailhead near Toroweap. As I pulled into the small parking lot, my headlights illuminated a sign reading: "Day Use Only, No Camping". I was tired, it was getting late, and there was no way I was going to make the drive to the Toroweap Campground at this point. Technically, I wasn't going to "camp" since I planned to just sleep in my truck, so I figured I wasn't breaking any major rule.

I got up before sunrise and hit the trail which follows an ancient lava cascade to the Colorado. Even in poor light, it was fairly easy to follow the sometimes ill-defined trail or route marked with cairns.

The unmaintained Lava Falls route is one of the shortest and most direct ways to get from rim to river in the Grand Canyon. The sign in the photo below is encountered a little ways down from the actual trailhead. The total elevation drop is closer to 3000 feet -- all in less than 2 miles.

Above: A stern warning from the NPS. This generally applies to folks attempting this hike in summer when you'll be baking on the black rocks in full sun.

The trail is obviously very steep and there are a few short sections where you need to climb with both hands and feet. The only difficulty I found was during the descent. As you near the river, you'll see the prominent butte of basalt in the photo below. For me, the trail was straightforward until I reached the saddle just above this butte. The well-warn path seemed to go to the right along the west side of the Butte and that is the way I went. If you do this hike, don't go this way! The easier path is to the left along the east side of the lava butte, as I would find out later. The path to the right leads to an extremely sketchy scree slope that must be very carefully negotiated to avoid an uncontrolled skid. The NPS should make the safe path more obvious. Coming up from the river there are arrows painted on the rock, but I didn't notice them while going down.

I made it to the river just as the sun reached the inner canyon in less than 1.5 hours. A short hike downstream leads to Lava Falls Rapids, the largest in the Grand Canyon. I was too early though to see any boaters try and make their way through the rapids.

Above: Lava Falls Rapids are not the result of any obstruction created by lava, but, like most rapids in the Colorado River system, they are a result of gigantic boulders deposited by debris flows that come down side canyons every couple of years or so.

After checking out the rapids, I headed back up the trail. Thankfully, I found the safer route up and was able to make good time. Round trip to the rapids and back was just under three hours. But if you try this hike, slow down and enjoy it. As I said, I had a full schedule and so I was moving pretty quickly.

Above: Vulcan's thrown -- a massive cinder cone --dwarfs my Montero at the trailhead.

After my morning hike, I headed over to the Toroweap Overlook -- arguably providing the most dramatic view of the Grand Canyon. Yes, the developed North and South Rim overlooks are much higher, but you can't even see the river from those viewpoints. That is the beauty of Toroweap. You are literally right over the river looking 3000 feet down. And there are no guard rails, plaques, and in my case, not a single other soul for miles around!

Above: looking west downstream from Toroweap Overlook. Note the two prominent black lava cascades. The largest (not visible in photo) was the Prospect Canyon cascade which dammed the Colorado River about 500,000 years ago, creating a lake that extended all the way to Moab.

Above: water-filled potholes are found everywhere on the Esplanade platform near Toroweap Overlook.

Above: looking east and upstream from the overlook at Toroweap.

It was I fine start to the day. As I chewed on lunch at the overlook, I figured I was in good position to finish the day equally as strong with a hike to the Shaman's Gallery and the Wahweap Hoodoos. I should have known better...

Desert Escape

2011-02-15T19:26:00.009-07:00

Me and my 7-month old son Ren were left to fend for ourselves during Susie's annual trade show in Las Vegas.

Even though we lived in Vegas for years, every trip down there, I discover something new.

I was surprised to learn from an online hiking guide that a number of unique slot canyons exist around Lake Mead. Unique because they are not carved into red sandstone like the narrow canyons of southern Utah, but rather they are formed in well-cemented alluvial-fan sand and gravel. Essentially a conglomerate rock that lacks the vivid colors of more famous slots, but produces some outstanding textures.

I figure it's never too soon to get your kids into canyoneering, so I snagged the baby backpack and some diapers and headed east toward the lake.

Ren was awfully quiet during the 2-hour hike and didn't make a peep. I was pretty sure this was a good sign that he was enjoying himself, but since I couldn't see his face while strapped to my back, occasionally I'd point my camera over my shoulder and snap a photo to try and gauge his mood. In most photos, he appeared a bit concerned, but he must not have been too stressed because toward the end of the hike I could feel the backpack go out of balance with Ren slumped to one side, and a little later came his soft little snore.

Above: There is something about perfectly symmetrical patterns that really mess with me. A few steps into this drainage tunnel, and I started to feel wheezy and had to back out.

Above: To access the slot, you must cross the now-dry lake shore which is full of fresh-water clam shells.

The next morning I got in an early-morning bike ride out at Cottonwood Canyon-- one of my favorite places to watch the sun rise.

Out and About Near Tooele

2011-02-01T20:40:00.013-07:00

Perhaps I'm just not meant to ever climb Flat Top -- the highest point in the Oquirrh Mountains in northern Utah. On my first attempt, I tried to take a shortcut to the top and got chewed out by an angry property owner. On my second attempt, with my brothers as company, we got mired down in deep snow and eventually ran out of energy and daylight.

My recent 3rd attempt ended with the same result. Using Google Earth I mapped out the most direct route that skirts around the private property. One thing I couldn't see in the aerial photography however was all of the low oak brush that lined most of my planned route. After tangling with the brush for a couple of hours, it was clear that, once again, I was going to come up short.

I didn't want to ruin the entire day, so I decided to retreat and head over to Timpie Valley in the northern Stansbury Range to look for the elusive "dancing red man" pictograph.

I haven't completely given up on Flat Top, but I'm not going to try it in the winter again.

On the way over to Timpie Valley, I noticed a small plaque bolted on a rock next to the highway that I'd never seen before.

While I was aware or much of the information on the plaque, I didn't know about the remains of one of the oldest roads constructed in the Tooele area. This road is clearly visible on the other side of the modern highway, and was built a full 10 years before silver was discovered near present-day Stockton by Col. Patrick Connor's (Steptoe's successor) men. The bit about the fault-created bench and glaciers coming out of Silcox Canyon are very doubtful, however.

The view from Timpie out over The Great Salt Lake's glassy waters toward Stansbury Island was a treat.

I only have a few vague clues as to the whereabouts of the pictograph. I know it's in a protective cave or overhang, and from pictures, it appears it is painted on one of the bright white Paleozoic quartzite layers rather than the gray limestones that dominate much of this northern part of the range.

I spent several hours searching every cave I could find but still came up empty. I've thought about contacting someone who has been there for directions or GPS coordinates, but I've decided it would be much more fun to keep trying to find it on my own, not to mention more rewarding when I finally do stumble upon it!

Above: a rare arch in dolostone.

Above: I'm not a big fan of anything that has more than four legs, but I'm curious about what kind of spider this is -- tell me if you know.

Below: right at the 5100' Bonneville highstand (reached about 15,000 years ago), all of the limestone ledges are encrusted with this white, porous "coral rock". It makes for some interesting photos.

The Red Hill

2011-01-31T20:49:00.011-07:00

Every place I've lived has one -- some topographically dominant feature that can be seen anywhere in town. In the area I grew up in, it was Blue Peak. I remember sitting in 7th grade health class and having a perfect unobstructed view out the classroom window at the massive blue cliff standing above all else, and imagining what it would be like to stand on top.

Every time I'd drive into Cache Valley where I went to school for several years, I would size up Logan Peak, planning the best route up.

In Las Vegas, Frenchman Mountain was the setting for many adventurous daydreams.

Over the years, I've often thought that the Native Americans that lived in these same valleys for centuries also must have looked up to these same places with awe and wonderment, and that they too desired to see what awaited the beholder on top.

Well, if you've ever been to Cedar City, the first thing to grab your attention is what is officially called The Red Hill. It isn't the tallest peak around, but its blood-red color and its abrupt rising just east of town make it quite imposing. I've hiked all around the thing, seeing it from just about every angle, but I never attempted to scale it until now. With the abundance of rock art and other artifacts in the surrounding area, I had a hunch that there might be something special up on top.

The ascent is fairly straight forward from the west side of the peak with just a bit of bouldering near the top.

I couldn't believe my eyes when I pulled myself up onto the tallest block of sandstone along the summit and found an ancient, worn spiral glyph carved into the stone. I also couldn't believe that some one had been so careless to have painted graffiti right over the top of it!

It was a great hike anyway, and the steep and snowy backside descent into a scenic little strike valley was a blast.

Stop thinking about what lies on top of that majestic peak outside your office window, and resolve to climb it. You never know what you might find.

Red Mountain Landslide

2011-01-19T20:11:00.006-07:00

Several thousand years ago, a large chunk of Red Mountain north of Ivins, Utah, collapsed into the nearby valley. I doubt anyone was around to witness this amazing event, but I bet it could have been heard and felt from several miles distant.

Above: Google Earth image of Red Mountain north of the small town of Ivins. A massive prehistoric landslide is outlined with a white line.

Geologists and other observant local have known about this feature for years and naturally many wonder: Is another catastrophic landslide possible off of the flank of Red Mountain?

To get a better idea, a small group of geologists were led up to the top of the mountain to take a closer look.

The "trail" to the top is nothing more than a cairned scramble straight up the prehistoric landslide. I'm not kidding when I say straight up, we're talking about 1400 vertical feet in just 1/2 mile.

The views of the surrounding desert from on top are endless.

Above: geologist Marc Deshowitz observes the western extension of Red Mountain rising above the Kayenta subdivision.

It was a great day to get out of the office, stretch the legs a bit,and look at some rocks, but we couldn't find any evidence for eminent failure. It appears large landslides don't happen too often off of Red Mountain, and if I lived in the area, I wouldn't lose too much sleep over it (smaller rock falls tumbling down the mountain are certainly more likely).

Moab

2010-12-24T15:53:00.023-07:00

Moab: the undisputed mountain-bike capitol of the world. I still think so anyway.

Yes, it may be a bit over-run with cheesy tourist-trap shops and pretentious tree-hugger types, but it hasn't lost its magic.

Susie saw an ad for a 10k in Moab and asked Kandi, the wife of my nephew Hector, if she was interested. Not only were they interested, they had connections for us to stay in a sweet condo for two nights! My brother Eros and his kids planned to come too. It was shaping up to be a short but fun-filled weekend.

We were the first to roll into town at around 2:30 pm on Friday. I had plenty of daylight after unpacking and getting everyone settled, so I hit the Slickrock Trail.

I haven't done this trail in years. I remember it being an all-day outing back when I was a teenager. Now? It only took 1 hour 45 minutes to cruise through it, and I felt like I was just warming up. Yeah, I've got a lot better endurance, but I have to admit, I walked a couple of super-steep sections that I wouldn't have thought twice about before attempting back in the day.

Above: overlooking the Colorado River on the north end of the Slickrock Loop.

Above: the LaSal Mountains (2nd highest range in Utah next to the Uintahs) are reflected in a pothole along the slickrock trail.

The next morning, I was itching to get out and see something new. I took the girls to check out Faux (as in fake) Falls. The falls are pretty impressive and the plunge pool at the bottom would make a great swimming hole in the summer. As the name implies, the stream is actually a diversion of Mill Creek. The water is brought through a tunnel and then it tumbles down into Ken's Lake, a major irrigation and drinking-water supply for Spanish Valley.

With our baby asleep, I missed the 10k (Hector got these shots above). Both Susie (left) and Kandi (right) did well and enjoyed the course. Susie shattered her goal of finishing in under 1 hour.

After the run, I took Eros and Hector around the Slickrock Practice Loop. We took our time, walked a lot of the techy/steep sections, and just enjoyed the views.

Above: Eros tries to tackle one of the steeper sections on the Slickrock Practice Loop.

Above: Me, on the edge of Negro Bill Canyon (Hector photo).

Above: Hector leans into a tight turn on the edge of Negro Bill.

After the bike ride, we headed down the Potash Road toward the Corona Arch trailhead, stopping to check out a couple of great petroglyph panels on the way.

Above: a nice little crack next to the petroglyphs was perfect for practicing a little chimneying (Hector Photo).

Above: Hunting for dinos.

Near the petroglyphs, at the Poison Spider trailhead, are several allosaurus tracks stamped into large talus boulders that have rolled down from the top of the Kayenta.

Above: good exposure of what appears to be the contact between the Navajo And Kayenta Formations (Hector photo).

The Corona Arch Trail is perfect for kids. A coupe of little surprising challenges (including ladders, cables and moki steps) along the way keep it exciting.

Above: Trick photography -- even our youngest hiker, 4-year-old Ava (pink coat), thought that this cable along a gently-sloped slickrock traverse was overkill.

Above: Corona Arch in all her glory.

Corona easily rivals many of the more famous rock spans in nearby Arches National Park, and as a bonus, you don't have to share the trail with millions of other tourists or pay an entrance fee.

Above: I love this shot Hector got of Zoe and Kandi near Corona Arch.

I'd say we fit in quite a bit for just 1 1/2 days. We also took a small side trip on the way home to the Sego pictographs and ghost town, but I couldn't take pictures 'cause my camera was M.I.A.

A big thanks to Hector and Kandi for setting up the excellent accommodations! I can't wait to go back.

Grand Canyon Rim-to-Rim-to-Rim

2010-11-12T14:46:00.025-07:00

That's it. I quit. Long distance hiking/running, that is.

I'm imposing a 30-mile-per-day limit on myself. My body simply is not engineered to go farther than that in a single day without the aid of a bicycle.

I'm not exactly sure what started me on this long-distance hiking kick. Part of it was the idea of covering a lot of ground with nothing but my own two feet. Part of it was curiosity. I have been able to log all-day mountain bike rides and some long bike/hike combinations while ultra-climbing mountains or exploring slot canyons. Would this endurance translate to running and hiking all day, covering 40+ miles.

My first long-distance hike/run was the trans-Zion which is about 47 miles and 10,000 feet of climbing. With essentially zero running-specific training, I was able to complete the trans-Zion back in June, but it took a painful 15 hours to do it.

With several months to train and with lessons learned from trans-Zion, I figured I would fair much better on the other local must-do ultra: a double crossing of the Grand Canyon, a.k.a. the rim-to-rim-to-rim, or for short, the R2R2R. The R2R2R via the North and South Kaibab trails amounts to about 42 miles and 12,ooo feet of climbing.

That's a lot of climbing, so to prepare, I did steep hill repeats nearly every day at lunch, and then I'd run up the local "cardiac hill" (the C-trail located here in Cedar City [4 mi/2000ft vert.]) on the weekends. In September, I sped-hiked Mt. Timpanogos with good results and no pain, so I felt like I was finally ready to conquer the Grand Canyon.

I wanted to be away from my family for as little time as possible. So after being home for most of the day on Friday, Oct. 1, I headed out at about 5 p.m. and by about 10 p.m., I arrived just outside the NPS boundary north of Jacob Lake in National Forest land. I drove a mile down a forest service road, found a grassy patch, and rolled out my sleeping bag. I slept on and off for a few hours until my watch alarm went off at 2:30 a.m. By 3:00 a.m., I was at the North Kaibab trailhead with flashlight in hand, and peering over the edge into the black abyss.

I started my stopwatch, and after a few cautious steps over some tall water bars, my eyes adjusted to the dim lighting conditions and I naturally started to charge downhill.

With the steady downhill grade, I quickly eased into nearly a full-out sprint down the seemingly endless switchbacks. Little did I know that this fast pace, only minutes into my grand adventure, would doom the rest of the day.

Here's the problem. Two problems really. First, the Grand Canyon is essentially a 6000-foot inverted mountain. It never occurred to me that I should have trained to complete a massive descent right off the bat. All of my training, and pretty much all of my adventures up to this point focused on and started with a CLIMB, and then much later when my body had completely warmed up, finally a descent.

The second problem was that I did not warm up whatsoever. I intended to, but being immediately faced with a seemingly easy downhill coupled with the excitement to finally be doing what I had dreamed about doing for months, I couldn't help but start running.

Within a half hour of running down the North Kaibab, I noticed a slight pain on the outside of my left knee. I had never felt pain before in this area. I ignored it for a while, just assuming it would go away. But it just got worse -- a lot worse.

With considerable but tolerable pain I made the 7-mile and 4200-foot drop to Cottonwood Camp in 1 hour 45 minutes. I took a few minutes to refill my Camelbak and started out again into the darkness. The brief rest seemed to make the knee pain worse but I pushed on.

By the time I reached a relatively flat section known as The Box, I was really hobbling and walking a lot more than running. Despite the pain, I was still enjoying the hike, but I knew it was going to be a much longer and grueling day than planned.

At 14 miles (3 hours 45 minutes into it), I walked through Phantom Ranch and into the Bright Angel Campground. I again refilled my Camelbak, and immediately continued on, now, along the Colorado River. With the rising sun I was finally able to turn off my flashlight and get my first glimpse of the inner canyon.

It took four hours to get to the Colorado and I felt like I was making decent time even though I was slowed down by my knee. At this point I figured it was the continuous downhill giving me pain, so I looked forward to finally go uphill and experience a different range of motion.

The Colorado was blood red. I was surprised to read that the graceful "Black Bridge" across the river was built clear back in 1928. Prior to the suspension bridge's construction, a cable car contraption was used to cross the river. The car, really a metal cage, hung precariously from a single cable and pulley and could hold a handful of people or a single mule.

On the other side of the bridge, the South Kaibab Trail begins its 7 mile and 4500-foot ascent to the south rim. Just as I expected, as soon as the trail turned up, the knee pain dissipated. I didn't run up the trail but I was moving pretty quickly and most importantly, pain-free. Once up on the inner gorge's rim, full morning sunlight was spilling into the canyon making its characteristically long shadows.

As usual, I wasted way too much time stopping to take pictures. But it seemed like every time the trail would crest over another geologic step in the canyon, a more impressive panorama would present itself and demand to be photographed.

Climbing the South Kaibab was the most enjoyable leg of the trip for me. I felt no pain, temperatures were pleasantly perfect, and my stomach felt great -- I still craved food.

I made it to the south rim from the river in 2.5 hours, meaning it only took me about 6 1/2 hours to cross the Grand Canyon! I didn't celebrate this accomplishment for long. As I sat and chewed on a bagel, all I could think about was how bad it was going to hurt going back down the South Kaibab. I briefly entertained the idea of taking a shuttle bus back to the north rim, but I resolved that I was going to finish this thing. I felt like I still had plenty of gas left in the tank - I simply had to ignore the pain. It was only 21 more miles and nearly 6000 feet of climbing to go!

Above: looking across the canyon to the north rim. Man, it sure looks far away.

Just as I fretted, within just a few strides of downhill motion my knee started to hurt worse than ever. I now hiked with a limp and I'd even skip a bit down the trail to avoid bending my left knee as much as possible. I'm sure a few of the passing tourists were wondering why such a gimp would torture himself by climbing down to the bottom of the Grand Canyon.

Even with the limp and pain, I swear I was still enjoying the trip up to this point. I can deal with the mental aspects of pain. The real problem was that my knee issue was preventing me from running, which I had planned on doing a lot of on the downhills.

Another semi-related issue loomed ahead. I knew my stomach would be shutting down soon -- it always does. I had hoped this wouldn't have happened until I was at least halfway back out of the canyon. But, being slowed by my knee, I would have to finish the final 14-mile climb on a sour stomach and close to zero caloric intake.

I made from the south rim back down to the black bridge in a little over 2 1/2 hours, roughly the same time it took me to go UP the same trail. My appetite had waned, and this was about the last time I (think) was able to take in some calories.

Above: remains of an Anasazi village along the Colorado River. The village was first discovered by Maj. John Wesley Powell during his 1869 expedition.

Above: an NPS helicopter takes off just below Bright Angel Campground.

It was early afternoon by the time I reached the Bright Angel Campground at the bottom of the canyon -- the hottest time and place to be in these parts. The thermometer at Phantom Ranch read an even 100 degrees. A brief thunderstorm added, what felt like, 100% humidity. But the heat was the least of my concerns. Now that the grueling South Kaibab descent was over and I was hiking uphill once again, my leg began to feel better, but I couldn't eat. The thought of eating another cracker, Gu, or even the m&ms I bought at Phantom's "Canteen" store, would cause me to gag.

On a good note, I still enjoyed a sense of wonder as I entered the long narrow Box. Yes, I had already hiked through in the morning, but that was in the dark. I was hoping to finally be able to enjoy the scenery along Bright Angel Canyon.

Above: Bright Angel Creek where it crosses the campground. Notice the stone piles creating little pools for people to cool off in.

Above: a bridge over Bright Angel Creek in the heart of The Box.

The 14 mile-long North Kaibab Trail can be divided into two parts. The first 7 miles from the Colorado River to Cottonwood Campground rises a relatively gentle 1,500 feet through the scenic Box and past Ribbon Falls. The last 7 miles from Cottonwood Camp to the trailhead, on the other hand, rises a leg-crushing 4,200 feet.

About 2 miles into the box, my stomach cramped and everything I had attempted to ingest for the preceding hour or so came up. My energy reserves soon petered out, and I was now moving by sheer willpower. Somehow, I forced myself to keep up a steady pace and I passed several groups heading up the trail.

Above: fly fishing for tiny little fish in Bright Angel Creek.

I covered the 7 miles to Cottonwood Camp in about 3 hours. Total cumulative time from the north rim was about 12 hours. Hoping to recharge energy levels and perhaps get my stomach working again, I took a good half-hour nap on a bench at Cottonwood. It didn't do any good.

That last 7-mile stretch to the rim would be the toughest hike of my life. The first couple of miles to Roaring Springs were slow but bearable. Then, the trail gets really steep as it zig-zags up a tributary of Bright Angel Creek.

I slowed to a snail's pace and started to take breaks every couple of hundred yards. Hikers that I had blown past hours before had now caught up and began offering words of encouragement. Then more hikers, mostly backpackers coming from Cottonwood Camp I'd never seen before started passing me. I'm talking about frail 80-year-old men, 9-year-old kids, and obese folks -- what I wouldn't give to have their energy!

Above: Roaring springs issues from near the base of the Muav Limestone. This massive spring supplies water to all facilities at both the north and south rim via underground pipeline. This would be the last picture I took on the hike before the sun fell.

I welcomed the encouragement for a while, but I soon turned very grumpy. As hikers approached, I would usually be sitting or even lying on a rock and they would say something like, "whoa, you don't don't look so good. Do you have enough food and water?"

"Yes," I'd explain, "but my stomach has shut down and I can't eat or drink anything." Then I'd have to listen to whatever their favorite remedy was -- typically some drug. Ibuprofen, Immodium, electrolyte pills, etc. "I'm telling you, I'm not going to keep any of that stuff down."

Then I'd get a reminder of how the Park Service discourages trying to go all the way down to the river and back in a single day. And I'd ask them, "what does the Park Service say about going all the way to the river, then up to the south rim, back down to the river, and then back to the north rim in a single day?"

"Wait, you started where? The north rim? And you've already been to the south rim?" And on and on. All of this explaining took way too much energy that I didn't have.

I started to avoid eye contact with passing hikers, and I became less discrete with my vomiting. Who's going to start a conversation with someone puking their guts out?

Yes its gross, but vomiting is the only way I could get a little energy boost to go on. This was my modus operandi: (1) I'd hike about a hundred yards and nearly collapse, (2) after resting a few minutes, I'd take a swig of water which would immediately induce major hurling [I guess it wasn't too gross considering I was upchucking clear water], and (3) for about 3 to 5 glorious minutes I'd have enough focus and energy to amble along until I'd nearly collapse again.

Words of encouragement from others soon turned to utter concern for my life. One guy insisted on staying and walking with me, which really irritated me -- and I let him know it. I was downright rude to a tremendously Good Samaritan. I honestly never doubted for a second that I'd eventually make it out on my own. I knew what I had to do to get out of there and my warped survival instincts were telling me that this yakking irritant wasn't going to help. Finally, I convinced him to leave me behind AND not to report me to the Park Service. I was happy to hear the sound of his ground-crunching boots and flashlight fade into the darkness. But less than a minute later, I could hear him about 20 feet directly overhead, where a tight switchback had led him. Then, came a dozen bright LEDs shining down into my face with the final warning: "you know... I'm your last chance, there's no one else coming behind me."

"Thank goodness!" I snapped back.

He really was the last one out of the canyon that night. Except, of course, for me.

There is really not much else to say. I recall feeling a little relieved when I reached the Supai Tunnel because it meant I only had a bout a mile and a half to go.

I also remember the subdued elation when the sweeping headlights of a passing motorist on the rim appeared to only be a stone's throw away.

As I passed the the North Kaibab trailhead sign, I forced myself to stop my wristwatch timer even though I had no interest in looking at my final time. In fact, I had not looked at my saved splits and total time until I started to write this post.

I staggered over to my car, took my shoes off, unzipped my sleeping bag to use as a blanket, reclined the seat, and finally got some rest. About 4 hours later, I woke up hungry. Four hours is actually a pretty quick time for a GI recovery for me -- it's taken twice that long in the past. I had cold pizza and soda in a cooler, which hit the spot, but it really hurt to swallow. It felt like I was trying to swallow jagged-edged rocks. Apparently the multiple reversals of the acidic contents of my stomach burned up my throat pretty good.

My final time was 18 hours, 19 minutes, and 27 seconds. It took me 6 hours and 15 minutes to climb the final seven miles up to the north rim. It took me 1 hour and 45 minutes to descend this same segment earlier that morning.

Those last 7 miles of hell are why I'm retiring from ultra-long distances. It is one of my grandest accomplishments, but the price was too high. If I knew it was going to hurt that bad...if I knew it was going to turn me into a nonsensical jerk to fellow hikers... and if I knew it was going to give me a serious case of iliotibial (IT) band syndrome [this is, as I would later learn, what happened to my knee] that would take more than a month to recover from -- I would not have considered doing this.

The next morning, I drove another mile down to the lodge at the end of the road and watched the sun come up over that canyon.

It was nice to be able to drive home during the day and take in the fall colors that were in full swing on the Kaibab.

I know I'll be back to the Grand Canyon. But, next time I want to enjoy it with someone else, and yeah, I'm going to take my time and soak in the sights. Plus, I still haven't seen those top 5 miles of North Kaibab trail in daylight.

Timp

2010-10-19T20:31:00.007-06:00

I climbed Timp a few weeks back. Great, great hike. Lots of company.

I started with a 9-mile/3200 foot warm-up bike ride from American Fork up to the Timpooneke trailhead. It took me 2.5 hours to run/hike the 7.5 mile and 3300 vertical feet to the summit. It took 4 hours round-trip including taking time to take a lot of photos. The campground host that watched my bike was pretty impressed with my time. Two female marathoners blew past me like I was standing still.

I ran pretty much all of the downhill and felt great. I took this as a good sign that I'd be ready for a single-day double crossing of the Grand Canyon a few weeks later -- I was wrong. That story is coming. Until then, enjoy some shots from mighty Mount Timpanogos (11,749'):

Annual Torrey Trip '10

2010-10-17T16:46:00.006-06:00

This year, we invited our friends Millie, Casey, and their three kids which are about the same ages as our three kids. We showed them all of our favorite places which I want repeat here, but we did try a few new things, or at least things I haven't done in a while.

After camping and fishing at Posy Lake (skunked -- again!), we took the Hell's Backbone road into Boulder. This road has been high on my list for some time and it didn't disappoint. The view from the bridge is spellbinding:

Other highlights for me included a return to Tantalus Flats. This is a 30+ mountain bike ride starting at 9000 feet on the flank of Boulder Mountain and ending in the low desert near Fruita in Capitol Reef. It's been nearly 15 years since I did this ride, and I didn't remember a whole lot of it.

It was nice to have Casey along. For one reason, no stinking timer shots!

Above: Zoe on the bridge over the Fremont River in Fruita.

The Sulfur Creek hike in Capitol Reef is something else I haven't done in years. This hike is tailor-made for kids. Deep, beautiful canyon, clear flowing water, swimming holes, water falls, narrow slots, cascades, swimming lizards, water slides, it has it all! There are a couple of tricky spots where you'll have to pass kids down over some minor obstacles, but it's mostly just walking in a nice stream beds.

It was an awesome trip. Although Capitol Reef was as busy as I'd ever seen. When we climbed down to Fruita Falls, there must have been 50-60 people down there! I'm thinking next year, we'll go later in the fall when it's less crowded and the colors on Boulder and Fish Lake Mountains are popping.

Zoe's 1st Backpack Trip

2010-10-16T18:57:00.000-06:00

"Dad, am I dreaming?" Asked my 6-year-old daughter Zoe as we descended another switchback on the Under-the-Rim Trail in Bryce Canyon National Park. A fitting question for the bizarre world we had immersed ourselves into.

Clearly, our minds had not yet accepted the peculiar tangerine hues or the improbably balanced spires and hoodoos that trademark the eroded edges or "breaks" of the Paunsaugunt Plateau as reality.

I had promised Zoe at the beginning of the summer her first backpacking trip—just the two of us. But every weekend filled up with other duties until we were down to the last weekend before school was to start. After Zoe reminded me of my promise, I checked my schedule and thankfully, it was open. Bryce Canyon was an easy choice because its backcountry trails are loaded with great scenery, notoriously free of crowds and as a bonus, the National Park Service was waiving entrance fees that weekend.

With plenty of time to reach our campsite, I let Zoe set the pace which, in typical 6-year-old fashion, alternated from a full-out sprint to a crawl. We discussed lizards, bugs, trees, and starting the first grade. Tilting her head to one side, she skeptically listened as I explained how the rocks around us once filled the bottom of a large lake called Claron that covered much of this region in ancient times.

Zoe was in her element and I delighted in watching her love for the outdoors blossom. It seemed like just yesterday I was lugging the wide-eyed infant around with her strapped to my back. Now here she was, carrying her own pack and leading the way.

The trail drops steeply from Bryce Point and follows a ridge top for the first mile, assuring sweeping views. At one particularly impressive overlook, Zoe sat down to watch a playful Clark's Nutcracker dislodge seeds from a large pinyon pine cone. I scanned the hillside and could easily follow flat, orderly Claron lake beds for 10 miles or more. But with a slight refocus of my eyes, that orderly state resolved into haphazard decay created by the innumerable rivulets and gullies, tributary to the Paria River, that relentlessly dissect the plateau margin.

As we reached a section of the trail carved into a limestone cliff, I showed Zoe several drill holes that the trail builders filled with explosives and then detonated to break up the rock. Her sharp eyes spotted small natural cavities or "vugs" in the stone that were filled with clear, stubby calcite crystals.

The trail levels considerably where it traverses the head of Merrill Hollow and then snakes out onto a sharp ridge above the "Hat Shop." Here, hundreds of boulder-topped pillars laid below us like an armored regiment marching up to conquer the hilltop. "Why are the rocks wearing hats?" Zoe asked. I tried to explain how the durable limestone cap rocks or "hats" protect the narrow columns of soft alluvium that elsewhere, easily washes away during each rain storm.

Less than a mile past the Hat Shop, we arrived at our campsite – a pleasant flat nestled amongst manzanita, juniper, and a single, towering ponderosa pine. The cool, rippled waters of Yellow Creek gurgled nearby.

Zoe set out to explore every winding deer trail crossing through camp. I boiled water to re-hydrate our packaged backpacker's meal of noodles and turkey. As Zoe cleaned her plate, I marveled at how the novelty of cooking on a tiny stove and eating out of a bag can make any meal irresistible for even the pickiest eater.

Temperatures dropped after the sun slipped behind the rim and we rolled out our sleeping bags. I purposely left our tent at home. With one of the darkest night skies remaining in the country, Bryce Canyon offers unparalleled stargazing opportunities that draw hundreds of professional and amateur astronomers every year. With a clear weather forecast, it's borderline criminal to sleep in a tent that would obstruct your view of Bryce's brilliant nightscape, which happens to perfectly compliment the Park's world-class daytime scenery.

Zoe spotted the first star of the night. "Probably the planet Venus," I explained. Soon, stars began appearing faster than we could count. A remarkably bright Milky Way spanned the heavens.

Then, a meteor streaked across the sky directly overhead—its glowing trail lingered for several seconds. Zoe's excitement over the shooting star quickly turned to concern. "Could one of those hit us?" She asked softly.

"One in a gazillion chances," I guessed as the stream's rhythmic babble lulled me to sleep.

Apparently, Zoe's wonderment of the sky kept her awake much longer than me. The next morning, she enthusiastically recounted all of the shooting stars, bats, spaceships, and other fantastic things that I'd missed.

After a re-hydrated breakfast of scrambled eggs and bacon, we began our return trip. The Under-the-Rim Trail stretches nearly 30 miles from Bryce Point to Rainbow Point with several campsites along the way (backcountry permits required), but I knew a simple 6-mile out-and-back with a respectable 1400 feet of climbing would be challenging enough to make the trip memorable, but not so taxing that Zoe would never want to lace up her hiking boots again.

The steady grade forced us to take several breaks. From beneath shady trees, we observed the color and contrast of the chameleon-like hoodoo-land evolve as the sun made its gradual ascent.

Near the trailhead, we passed a large group of day-hiking tourists speaking Chinese. Convinced I can understand every language on the planet (including baby and cat), Zoe demanded, "What did they say Dad?"

"They said they couldn't believe that such a little girl could complete such a tough hike." Any fatigue her tiny body was feeling disappeared and she charged up the last 50 yards of trail.

As we arranged gear in the car, Zoe asked, "Are we backpacking buds?"

"Of course," I replied with a wide smile, "we're the best backpacking buds ever."

Sneek Peek -- 2011 Utah Geology Calender

2010-09-21T07:42:00.004-06:00

Scout Campout in the Boulders

2010-08-13T15:20:00.011-06:00

Well, the title is a little misleading. Yes, we camped in the Boulder Mountains of central Utah, but the constant rain on the mountain had us a fleeing everyday down into the surrounding Escalante and Capitol Reef deserts.

A few months ago, I was asked to plan a scout trip for the local troop -- pretty much anywhere I wanted to go. I asked some of the boys and leaders if they had spent any time in the Boulder/Torrey area and got a typical response of, "uh ... where ... where's that?"

I considered this criminal. Sure, the Cedar City and St. George area where these folks grew up is about as spectacular as anyone could imagine, but nobody had been to Capitol Reef, the most underrated National Park? No one had fished one of the hundred trout-filled ponds dotting Boulder Mountain? No one had sunk their teeth into a perfectly-assembled Slacker's burger in Torrey? I couldn't believe it.

Plans were immediately put into motion and we spent a fun-filled 4 days in this amazing area during the first week of August.

The monsoonal rain that hovered over Boulder Mountain nearly the whole trip and struck the low deserts regularly caused a few problems in our schedule, but it also had its perks. I was pleasantly surprised to find this large waterfall spilling into Calf Creek out of a tiny unnamed tributary that drains off of McGath Bench. This typically dry waterfall (in photo above) was actually bigger than Upper Calf Creek Falls which is just out of view to the right.

Above: Upper Calf Creek Falls. Typically crystal clear, recent flooding had left the plunge pool full of silt and clay.

Below: scouts cool off in the murky plunge pool below the unnamed falls below Upper Calf Creek Falls.

Above: colorful mesas near Torrey provide a scenic backdrop as the boys try to earn their shotgun shooting merit badge.

The always impressive Hickman Bridge -- a big reward for such a short hike.

Above: Pectol's Pyramid, as seen from the Hickman Bridge trail.

The Fremont river was still flashing from all of the recent rain, making the plunge into Fruita Falls a little more exciting than usual.

Every kid needs to learn the proper way to catch lizards. This noose may look cruel, but it is by far the most harmless way to catch a lizard. If you catch a lizard by hand, you run a much higher risk of accidentally ripping off a tail or smashing it. We caught and identified lizards (several Desert Spiny, and 1 side-blotch) as part of the Nature merit badge.

Above: view into the Goosenecks of Sulfur Creek.

We're going clear down where?

The campout culminated with an extended hike down to the Escalante River and up Death Hollow. High water, huge climbs, bouldering, bushwacking, quicksand, hidden potholes, poison ivy -- the hike challenged everybody, and I'm sure no one will ever forget our little adventure.

I've seen a lot of quicksand in Utah's canyon country over the years, but not once have I ever seen anyone truly get stuck in the stuff ... until now. And I mean really stuck. I honestly don't think they would have ever been able to free themselves alone. It took three other guys digging and pulling for nearly an hour until the two most deeply-embedded scouts were released from the muck.

The trip was a success and we nearly fit in everything I intended to do. The road into Fish Creek Cove was washed out, so we missed the pictographs; but my biggest regret is that we never got a chance to fish any of Boulder Mountain's famous lakes. All of the 4WD roads into the high-altitude lakes were too muddy, and after just a few casts at Lower Bowns Reservoir, the skies opened up, and it was a mad dash to the trucks.

Riders' Collective

2010-08-12T19:53:00.003-06:00

Paul Kramer, creator of the Riders' Collective asked me if he could use my Mt. Charleston post in the August issue of his magazine. He converted the text and photos into a cartoon narrative and I think it turned out pretty slick.

Check out the full issue at www.riderscollective.org

The Trans-Zion

2010-07-11T20:26:00.028-06:00

The Trans-Zion is a 48-mile route across Zion National Park that wanders from the East Entrance to Lee Pass in the Kolob Canyons section of the park. The route links together many of Zion's most scenic trails and amasses more than 10,000 feet of total climbing.

The trail is typically accomplished as a 4-6 day backpack, but elite long-distance trail runners have adopted it into their list of must-do single-day runs. And, to cover that distance in a single day, you really must run at least a large part of it.

I've always wondered what it would be like to cover that distance sans a bike. I knew I had a sufficient motor, but, could my legs handle the pounding?

You see, I'm not a runner. It has never really appealed to me, and I don't think I've ever ran non-stop for more than 8 or 9 miles before. A five mile run on the road around the neighborhood is torture -- utterly boring much like riding a stationary bike. If you've followed this blog at all, you also know that I'm no couch potato either. I can ride the wheels off a mountain bike and I've done plenty of long and grueling hikes, but could my body's physiology -- my muscles, tendons, etc. -- conditioned for cycling and hiking -- hold up to nearly 50 miles of nonstop trail running?

After a 3 am start and 1.5 hour drive to the East Entrance, I hit the trail just as the sun was coming up. An early start allowed me to see the final stages of a full lunar eclipse, although by the time I took the photo above it was just about over.

The trail gains about 1200 feet in 4 miles as it follows Clear Creek, crosses Jolley Gulch, and finally tops out on the White Cliffs plateau. Once on top, it was obvious I was going to be in for a treat with the wildflowers at their absolute peak in the high country.

My plan was to run the flats and downhills and power-hike the uphills.

After passing Stave Spring and crossing a grassy meadow, the trail begins its descent down Echo Canyon. The descent is gradual at first and then becomes an all-out free-fall, dropping more than 1000 feet per mile.

Near the fork with the Observation Point trail, about 9 miles in, I encountered for the first time another hiker.

Having never explored this portion of Zion, I delighted in the immense views of Echo Canyon that the East Rim trail offers. I was much less delighted in the fact that the trail is literally paved with cement for several miles -- the hard surface led to a few minor hot points in my knees as I kept up a fast pace.

Above: looking down on the steep, paved switchbacks of the East Rim trail near the mouth of Echo Canyon.

It was still early morning by the time I reached the main canyon near Weeping Rock (about 11 miles in). After jogging down the requisite single mile of pavement, I refilled my Camelbak at a spigot in the Grotto picnic area. As I fueled up, I watched bus-loads of tourists unload at the West Rim trailhead heading for Angel's Landing and I knew it was going to take some extra energy to bob, weave, and pass through the slow moving crowds.

Above: looking up Zion Canyon from the start of the West Rim trail. Angel's landing is the high mesa on the left.

Above: looking down Zion Canyon from near the mouth of Refrigerator Canyon, partway up the trail toward Angel's Landing.

Above: "Walter's Wiggles," a steep, zig-zagging trail built to make the climb out of Refrigerator doable for the average tourist.

The Trans-Zion route took me across many a trail I'd never hiked, but my tight time constraints didn't allow me to make the 1 mile out-and-back detour to Angel's Landing -- one more thing I still have to look forward to completing someday.

Above: from near Scout Lookout, you can see the first part of the trail climbing the narrow and exposed fin up to Angel's Landing.

While the hike to Angel's Landing is generally considered a grueling hike, it really is only a warm-up (about 1300 vertical feet) before topping out on top of the West Rim (over 3000 vertical feet).

The climb out of the main Zion Canyon (either the East or West rims) is by far the toughest part of the Trans-Zion. Completing the route from east to west as I did, gets the massive climb out of the low elevation (and therefore, hot) canyon over with in the morning hours rather than during the early evening heat, which is required if going west to east.

Above: from high on the West Rim looking down on the "The Organ" which towers over the "Big Bend" in the Virgin River.

Above: near the head of Telephone Canyon is a slickrock wonderland known as "Little Siberia." After a few hours of nonstop climbing to get to this point, it is still another 1000 feet to the top of the cliffs above Siberia.

Above: the final 1/2 mile of trail before reaching the top of Zion Canyon's rim consists of is this 3-foot-wide ledge blasted out of sheer walls of Navajo Sandstone, with a 500-foot drop-off to the side toward Telephone Canyon.

I reached Cabin Spring on the edge of the Horse Pasture Plateau around lunchtime, but goofed by not topping off my hydration bladder. I figured most of the climbing was behind me and that my remaining 1.5 liters of water would last until the next watering hole at Wildcat Spring.

Above: lush forests of Ponderosa pine cover the top of the Horse Pasture Plateau.

Above: the timing for cactus blooms couldn't have been any better.

I made good time along the West Rim trail as it gradually crawls up the plateau towards Lava Point. For long stretches through flat forests and meadows, it's easy to forget you're in Zion, which rarely is mentioned in the same sentence with the word flat. But there is no doubt where you are when the trail edges toward the rim, and you attempt to make sense of the unparalleled views across the some of the most extreme terrain on the planet -- canyons that only the most skilled technical canyoneers will ever venture into and mesa tops that still have not seen the footprints of Man.

Above: looking south into the deep ravines carved by the tributaries of Heaps Canyon.

Above: although I took a good map with me, I never touched it. Every junction is well signed.

Above: a small grove of aspen line the West Rim trail.

Above: looking west toward the Left Fork (a.k.a., the Subway) of Great West Canyon. Or is it the Right Fork? There are too many canyons to keep track of around here.

Above: at least one pioneering soul tried to farm the small meadow beneath Lava Point.

Late in the afternoon, I reached the turnoff for the Wildcat trail. Now past the halfway point, I still felt good and continued to run the majority of the time.

Above: Wildcat Canyon

Above: what? Purify spring water? There isn't a better water filter than good ol' Mother Earth. This was the best tasting water I've ever had. Just watch out for the poison ivy.

I ran out of water a good 2 or 3 miles before Wildcat Spring, which didn't seem to be a problem at first, but several hours later, I would pay dearly and never recovered from the deficit.

After several miles on the Wildcat trail, I forked left onto the short Connector trail that passes Pine Valley Peak and then drops into pretty Lee Valley.

Above: looking down into Lee Valley from the Connector trail.

Above: running (with some pretty wobbly wheels at this point) across Lee Valley with the Upper Kolob Plateau in the distance.

Almost 34 miles in, near where the Connector trail ends and the Hop Valley trail begins, the mileage began to take its toll. Joints were stiffening, heart rate was high, but most alarming was the fact that my stomach had completely shut down. My appetite was replaced with a sickening nausea, and I had to force myself to swallow small amounts of food and water that ultimately just sat, undigested, in my idle stomach.

This is not the first time I've had serious GI issues with long, hard efforts. I knew it would be hours -- time I didn't have -- of rest and vomiting before I could pull out of it and start ingesting water and calories. My only options were to give up, hitchhike down the Kolob Road to Virgin, and call Susie to the rescue; or, try and complete the last 14 miles on nothing but fumes in the tank.

Ignoring the nausea and some tendinitis flare-ups, I still felt pretty energetic, and I was confident that I could finish. It would hurt, but I could finish.

I soon doubted about my decision to forge on. I was banking on the first several miles of the Hop Valley Trail to be a nice gradual and effortless downhill jog. The first part is mostly downhill, but it's not exactly effortless due to the loose, energy-sucking sand. I was not mentally prepared for the sand slog, but just as I was going to crack, the trail firmed up and began a steeper rate of descent.

Above: looking north into Hop Valley.

Hop Valley ended up being the biggest surprise of the trip. This seldom-visited chunk of Zion is unreal. Here, a football field-wide grassy floor is bordered by tall Ponderosa pine that are backed by towering cliffs of crimson sandstone. There really is no trail, just skip through the knee-high grass and splash through the cool, clear meandering stream as you make your way northward through the amazingly straight, fault-aligned valley. Endorphins, triggered by the surprising beauty of the place took over as my calorie intake was reduced to zero. For a few golden miles through Hop Valley, I felt fantastic.

What really sets Hop Valley apart from other canyons in Zion is the fact that it has such a flat, wide bottom -- a big contrast to the claustrophobic widths of Zion's famous slot canyons. Why so flat? The answer lies in the lake deposits that are exposed in the bare stream cut in the above photo. Yeah, that's right, lake deposits. Several thousand years ago, a massive sandstone fin or alcove along the west side of the canyon near the confluence with LaVerkin Creek, catastrophically failed and created a natural dam that blocked the drainage out of Hop Valley for many years. This created a long and narrow lake that would have looked something like one of the narrower arms of Lake Powell, except it would have been lined with alpine vegetation -- it would have been something to behold. Eventually, the lake over-topped the dam and the rushing waters cut the deep chasm at the mouth of Hop Valley (the trail at the bottom of Hop V. avoids this chasm and climbs up and over the what remains of the gigantic rock dam). The lake drained, but several 10s of feet of silt, sand, and mud that settled out of the placid lake remain and still cover the narrower inner canyon.

With just a couple of hours of daylight left, I reached the end of Hop Valley and veered left down the La Verkin Creek Trail, which was now familiar ground having hiked here several weeks prior with a Scout group. I tried to ingest some fresh water out of Beatty Spring, but my stomach would have none of it. My guts cramped, and for the next couple of minutes, I was bent over, emptying my stomach through a series of loud reversals. In terror, I looked up to see some backpackers that had witnessed my disgusting display.

Well, you get the picture. I was real sick, but I somehow managed to continue on. To add insult to injury, aggressive and suicidal deer flies began attacking my legs as I hiked along the creek. I ultimately had to cut down a few small willows to whisk back and forth across the back of my legs as I walked similar to the action of a horse's tail.

After leaving La Verkin Creek, the biting flies went away but I still had to finish a 5 mile, 1000-vertical-foot climb ahead before arriving to my waiting car at Lee Pass.

The climb to Lee Pass was completely agonizing. I would have to stop every mile or so for a minute to try and muster up the energy to keep going on. Those last 5 miles, which were a breeze with the scouts, easily felt like 15.

48 miles and 16 hours after I'd begun the day's journey, I finally stumbled to my car, took a 15-minute power nap, and headed home.

My wife later explained that I looked like the walking dead, and believe me, I felt like it.

But I'm quick to forget the pain. If I can manage to up my trail-running mileage in the coming months, I'll seriously consider trying the similarly grueling 47-mile, 12,000-vertical Grand Canyon Rim-to-Rim-to-Rim run this fall. Hmmmm....we'll see how it goes.

Above: the last rays of daylight illuminate the north flank of Burnt Mountain near La Verkin Creek.

Bittersweet: A Challenging Day on Mt. Charleston, NV

2010-07-07T19:34:00.017-06:00

Little did I know, such a perfect-looking morning in the sun-scorched Mojave near Las Vegas would give way to a blizzard later that day. But I'm getting way ahead of myself...

Above: a perfect warm and sunny morning in the Mojave. It looked like the perfect day to climb the summit of the Spring Mountains west of Las Vegas. My bike saddle is pointing toward Mt. Charleston, but it is hidden from view by the smaller but closer Mummy Mountain.

I've had my sights on Mt. Charleston since the first time I visited Las Vegas more than 10 years ago. Rising a whopping 10,000 feet from the Strip, Mt. Charleston is the most prominent peak in all of Nevada and is the 8th most prominent peak in the U.S. My desire to conquer this beast festered to a fever pitch during the three years I lived in Vegas, but school and family simply kept me too busy to make an assault on its 12,000-foot summit.

Now, living 250 miles away, the logistics had gotten much more complicated.

After taking two weeks off of work to welcome our new baby into the family and helping out around the house as much as I could, Susie rewarded me with a free one-day pass. There was no debate on where to go. I was sure it was time to tackle good ol' Mt. Charleston. And with such an impressive prominence, I knew I had to do it as an ultra-climb and start my ascent at the base of the mountain.

I woke up at 3 am, threw my gear into my well-worn '94 Honda, and prayed it had one more long road trip left in her. Arriving at the junction of US-95 and Lee Canyon Road (elevation 3320 feet) I geared up and headed up the road.

Despite the promising weather conditions, I went prepared for just about anything.

Elevation markers helped keep track of my vertical progress. The absence of the 7000-foot marker caused a mini-mental meltdown, but the jubilation at the first glimpse of the 8000-foot marker energized the legs.

It's pretty rare to find Joshua trees above 6000 feet. But you have to expect a lot of biota mixing when you go from the lower Sonoran (low desert creosote brush and Joshua trees) to the Canadian (Ponderosa Pine, Quaking Aspen) life zone in only 15 miles.

As I climbed higher into Lee Canyon, I couldn't help but notice the clouds building up around some of the higher peaks. Nothing threatening yet, but I didn't like the trend.

Above: Lee Meadows rests high in Lee Canyon. Mt. Charleston is still not quite visible here as it is blocked from view by 11,300-foot Lee Peak (high point on horizon to the right).

17 miles and 5200-vertical feet later, I reached the Dolomite Campground where the campground host was gracious enough to watch over my bike as I set out on foot.

A short walk up the road leads to the Las Vegas Ski Resort, closed and completely deserted for the summer.

Following an off-trail approach route (see http://www.summitpost.org/trip-report/230966/Charleston-Via-Lee-Canyon.html for more info), I hiked straight up "The Line" ski run beneath Chair 2, bringing me to a small ski patrol station.

Above: on top of the avalanche debris, slippery snow-fields, and huge drop-offs, I had to keep an eye out for non-detonated explosives.

Past the patrol station, the route follows a ravine full of avalanche debris which made a pretty challenging obstacle course.

Forking off of the ravine, the route heads up a steep chute that is usually filled with brush and talus this time of year (mid June). But due to the the hard winter we've had in the Southwest, the chute was full of about 6 feet of consolidated, icy, and quite slippery snow (I really need to get some crampons). One slip-up here and it would be a long and fast slide down to the bottom. But I was confident if I took the time to kick in good foot-holds and dig in with the ski poles, I'd be OK.

After topping the ridge line, I got my first glimpse of the north face of Charleston through the ever-thickening clouds.

The good news was that I had intersected the main well-maintained trail at which point I'd hoped would be the beginning of an easy stroll to the summit.

Those plans were quickly thwarted however when the fog turned into an outright blizzard.

Above: the stone-like skeleton of a dead bristlecone pine - the oldest living things on Earth.

Above: a 500 million-year-old fossil coral colony. Like many high mountains in the Basin and Range Province, extensional block faulting has exhumed evidence for sea life from deep within the earth's crust clear up to the top of the range.

The falling snow was not bad to deal with. It was the existing snowfields piled deep on Charleston's north face that became a serious problem. Here, the trail has been built on one of a series of narrow ledges of limestone. And for long stretches, steeply sloped snow completely covered the trail making it way too risky to traverse.

It's hard to fully express the frustration of getting so close to accomplishing a huge goal and coming up just a little short. After 20 miles and over 8200 feet of climbing, I was forced to throw in the towel. I was within 1/2 mile and 300 vertical feet of the top and had to turn back. It was actually a very easy decision to make. The ability to gauge what you can and can't do safely is the key to surviving long solo adventures. My gut told me there was no guarantee I could cross the crusty snow without a fatal slip. There were no other options and within a few seconds (and a few choice words), I headed back the way I came.

As I descended off the mountain, the storm began to clear, and I began to wonder if I could ever get motivated to repeat my efforts in the future. Initially, I didn't think I could do it but after returning back to my car, I turned around to look at the mountain in its entirety, and it, defiantly, looked down on me. It was then that I knew someday I'd be back.

More Fun with the Scouts: Kolob Arch

2010-07-06T15:46:00.001-06:00

A good-sized group of Boy Scouts and leaders completed the 14-mile (round trip) hike to Kolob Arch in late May. The weather was perfect and we finished the hike faster than expected in about 6 hours.

Above and below: starting the long downhill from Lee Pass along Timber Creek.

Above: crossing Timber Creek.

Above: passing below Shuntavi Butte.

Above: taking a break below Burnt Mountain along La Verkin Creek.

Above: Kolob Arch, officially the second longest arch in the world just behind Landscape Arch at Arches N.P.

Below: we were lucky enough to catch the small falls just north of the arch while it was still flowing with spring runoff.

It was a good little hike, but I couldn't help but imagine what it would be like making that final 1000-foot climb back up to Lee Pass after already having hiked 45 miles along the trans-Zion route (a 48 mile trail route from Zion's East Entrance to Lee Pass). Killer for sure.

Little did I know I would soon find out.

Down the Hole: Day 5 - Finally, the "Hole"

2010-07-01T21:21:00.009-06:00

The goal for our final day in Escalante country was to drive to the end of the road and see the historic Hole-in-the-Rock pass.

Above: morning time at Sooner Rocks camp.

A few miles south of Sooner Rocks, the road begins to peel away from the Fifty Mile Cliffs, and heads toward Lake Powell over some rough slickrock country.

Above: the final six miles of road get a little rough over all of the rock, although I've heard stories of sedans (rentals) getting out there with little trouble (Beege photo).

Above: the Dakota , even loaded down with gear and people, made short work of the few ledges encountered on the trail (Beege photo).

Above: Beege negotiates his Jeep through the rolling slickrock with Fifty-Mile Mountain in the distance (Matt photo).

The road ends at the top of the "Hole," and you're looking down 1000 feet to the waters of Lake Powell.

"It nearly scared me to death. The first wagon I saw go down, they put the brake on and rough locked the hind wheels and had a big rope fastened to the wagon and about ten men holding back on it and they went down like they would smash everything. I'll never forget that day. When we was walking down, Willie looked back and cried and asked me how we would get home." - one of the 1st immigrants to pass through the "Hole"

Above: about halfway down the boulder-choked passageway. The tiny blue dot in the center of the photo is Eros. It's not easy hiking down this thing -- I can't imagine trying to take a wagon down!

Above: one of the narrow ledges (white arrows) on the cliff face used by the pioneers. The ledge is just wide enough (maybe 2 feet wide) for one set of wagon wheels. The remainder of the road was built up by blasting holes and pounding in stakes that would be covered with rock and debris.

Below: the "built up" portion of the road has long since collapsed, but the narrow ledge and drill holes are still there.

The trail continues beneath the murky waters of Powell. As impressive as the "Hole" looks today, you're only seeing about the top 1/3 of the route.

Below: if you're going to make the hot, steep hike down to the Lake, you'll definitely want to cool off with a little cliff-jumping before the climb back out (Eros photo).

Above: Eros ascends a series of steps blasted and carved into solid rock by the pioneers of the San Juan Expedition.

Above and below: while myself and Eros climbed to the lake, Beege got these sweet photos from higher on the rim. Who's that weirdo balancing on the edge of that 1000-foot rim? Stupid.

One last stop before the long, dusty, bumpy ride back to Escalante. I had heard there was a cool old ranch house somewhere near Fifty-Mile Spring. We never did find the house, or the spring for that matter. Just a nifty rock box-canyon corral, a not-so-nifty trashy trailer, and a set of moki steps carved in the bluffs side that leads to who-knows-where.

Ain't nothing like being held up by a herd of cattle after 50 miles of dirt road. After feasting on gourmet burgers (well, at the time they sure tasted gourmet), we split ways with Beege and headed home. I'm already shortening the list of places to go for Spring Break 2011.

Down the Hole: Day 4 - Spooky and Peek-a-Boo

2010-06-30T22:22:00.013-06:00

Day 4 started out with a quick hike through Peek-a-Boo and Spooky Gulches. These are some of best and easiest slots to get to in the Grand Staircase-Escalante N.M.

After just a one-mile approach, we arrived at the "Moki" steps that allow access to the bottom of Peek-a-Boo. Immediately, this officially unnamed minor tributary of Dry Fork slot up wonderfully with several rock bridges and windows you can pass through.

After only about a 1/2 mile, we emerged from the top of the slot, turned around, and went back down for an opposing perspective of all the formations.

After another mile down Dry Fork, we found the mouth of a second small tributary known as Spooky and started up. Spooky lacks the arches and windows, but it is deeper, darker, narrower, and has thousands of tiny goosebumps on the canyon walls that make for some interesting photos.

After returning to the vehicles we headed farther down the Hole-in-the-Rock Road, soon arriving at Dance Hall Rock -- a large dome of sandstone that rises from the desert plain. The west side of the dome has a huge natural amphitheater that was used by the San Juan Expedition pioneers for recreation. For three months during the winter of 1879-80, they would dance to fiddle play regularly as the "Hole" was being widened and prepared for passage of their wagons.

Above: group shot on the "dance floor."

There are several places along the modern Hole-in-the-Rock Road where wooden posts mark crossings with the original wagon trail. Even after 120 years, in many places, the original wagon trail can still be seen parting a sea of sagebrush.

Above and below: the Scout Memorial south of Dance Hall Rock. Tragic.

After finding a nice little secluded cove at Sooner Rocks and setting up camp, we had just enough daylight to check out nearby Willow Gulch.

Above: one of the most unique pedestal rocks I've seen greets hikers at the Willow Gulch Trailhead (Beege photo).

Above: a tiny but steady stream in Willow Gulch supports plenty of greenery and even a healthy beaver population.

Above: although we never saw beaver, the tell-tale signs are there such as the countless gnawed off trees.

Above and below: Broken Bow Arch - this thing is huge. Supposedly an early explorer found a native's hunting bow beneath the arch, and, uh, as you can guess, it was broken. Got to love how things get named around here.

Above: Eros takes in the grandeur of the arch with an equally impressive alcove in the distance.

Above and below: on the way out, myself and Matt checked out a small grotto and overhang that had these weird pyramids and grooves carved into what appeared to be tufa deposits (old spring minerals). Who carved them? Indians? Bored hikers? Aliens?

After the hike, we cooked hot dogs and brats over the fire and bedded down for the night.

Above: late evening sun burns Sooner Rocks above camp.

Down the Hole: Day 3 - Batty Pass Caves

2010-06-29T19:38:00.018-06:00

After packing up camp and filling our water bottles, we had to decide to pass under the arch or continue through the long meander around Hamblin Arch.

A few of us initially wanted to pass through the arch, but we got a hunch that we were going to miss something big if we continued on the shortcut. Good thing we changed our minds, because 100 yards up the canyon is the biggest undercut I've ever seen in Utah's canyon country. It was difficult to take it all in, and even more difficult to photograph with a point-and-shoot.

Above: the huge undercut south of Jacob Hamblin Arch; for scale, look for the tiny black speck (Beege ~6'2") just to the left of the tree in the bottom center of the photo.

Above: my feeble attempt to stitch two photos together and show the view out of the backside of the undercut.

Above: I love this photo Beege took, I still can't figure out exactly where he was when he took it. The tangled web of fins, arches, and undercuts here are mind-boggling.

Above and below: heading toward the opposite (west) side of Jacob Hamblin with morning sun spilling through its massive portal.

Below: one last undercut before Coyote's walls begin to lower and the exit route through Hurricane Wash presents itself.

Above: one final mini-slot in Hurricane Wash before the canyon opens up.

Below: the last few miles along the sandy wash were a bit of a drag, but we finally made it back to the Jeep.

After meeting Dad near Batty Pass, we scoped out a campsite next to several caves (mines) that were home to two German brothers back in the 50-60s.

The cave-homes are very well preserved and tidy -- as if the Lichtenahn brothers had just packed up and moved out a few days before.

Here is part of a 1960s news article from Escalante on the brothers (courtesy of Beege):

Above and below: unfortunately, looks like Cliff never finished his boat that he intended to explore Lake Powell with.

Above: this contraption bolted to a sandstone boulder was likely used by the Lichtenahn brothers to polish slabs of petrified wood.

After checking out the caves, we set out to explore some of the old mining tracks on ATVs.

Above: every ledge and overhang was thoroughly scoped for Anasazi dwellings.

We found a fun little road that led us clear up on top of 50-Mile Bench and the very base of the Straight Cliffs, about 1000 feet higher than our camp. The views over the Escalante Desert and off toward the Henry Mountains were outstanding.

That night, Dad was the only one brave enough to sleep in the caves. Blood-sucking bats? Flesh-eating rats? Hantavirus? Bill and Cliff's ghosts? None of these things were going to deter him. I couldn't believe it when he told us the next morning that it was the best night's rest he had so far.

Down the Hole: Day 2 - Coyote Gulch

2010-06-21T21:13:00.007-06:00

After making final gear preparations and dropping Beege's Jeep off at the Hurricane Wash trailhead, we continued on to the Crack in the Wall trailhead, the starting point for our backpack through Coyote Gulch.

The first couple of miles follow a sometimes ill-defined route over a lifeless Mars-like landscape of red sand and slickrock. You would never guess that a lush, green oasis fills a deep canyon ahead.

Suddenly, we found ourselves on the edge of the enormous Escalante Canyon, just below the confluence with Coyote Gulch. This location, known as the Crack-in-the-Wall, is one of only a handful of entry-points into the Gulch. Here, a slab of sandstone has detached partway from the cliff face, leaving a narrow crack just wide enough to climb through to reach the sandslide below.

As we came up to the rim, we met a large group from Texas, fully decked out in brand-spanking new REI gear, and dead-locked in heated debate on how to proceed down the crack. I'm not sure what the debate was about as it's really quite a simple obstacle. You climb through the increasingly narrow crack until yourself and your backpack can both no longer squeeze through, so at some point you have to use a rope to lower your pack below.

As we started to file down through the first part of the crack, one of the Texans took a look at Beege's large frame, and with raised eyebrows, warned us "uh, you might have a problem with this one!"

This gave us all a good chuckle because of course, Beege sucked it in and made it through just fine.

Above: Beege squeezes through the narrowest part of the "the Crack."

After bidding the Texans good luck (they planned to spend 4 days in Gulch -- too long for most, but at the rate they were going, maybe it was a good idea), we headed down the sandslide. As we descended, the distant but impressive Stevens Arch came into view -- the first of four natural arches/bridges we would see on our trip through Coyote.

The trail eventually leads down into the bottom of Coyote, where you leave the dry sand behind and walk right up the stream bed.

The canyon is impressive from the start and reveals surprises around every bend.

Above and below: the first of several waterfalls in lower Coyote Gulch.

Below: Matt finds a comfortable seat carved out of the sandbar, complete with cup holders.

Above and below: more waterfalls found in lower Coyote.

Above: Cliff Arch a.k.a. Jug Handle Arch.

Below: taking a shortcut near Cliff Arch.

Above: pictographs found high on the canyon's north wall. Personally, I'm a little skeptical about their authenticity. They are awfully fresh looking for being exposed to full sunlight and rain, as there is no overhang to protect them.

Above and below: Coyote Natural Bridge.

Eros expertly points out where a deep hole lurks beneath the otherwise ankle-deep water.

As evening came and the canyon began to fill with shadows, our attention turned to finding a good campsite. After rejecting a couple of sub-par sites (by Coyote Gulch standards anyway), we finally arrived at Jacob Hamblin Arch.

Many of the sites here were occupied, but we managed to find a nice sandy spot in full view of the arch and with a nice spring just across the stream.

After stuffing ourselves with rehydrated backpacker meals, we were quickly lulled to sleep by the nearby creek that, thanks to the echo-inducing cliff backing our campsite, seemed to completely surround us.

That night I dreamed about what more the Gulch could possibly have in store for us the next day.

Down the Hole: Day 1

2010-06-17T20:30:00.024-06:00

Spring Break 2010 went down well over a month ago, but with a new addition to the family things have been a little hectic.

Spending five days with a small group of family and friends was a welcomed departure from my typical m.o. of solo adventures. We packed a lot of stuff into just 4 days. Too much fun to recount in a single post, so I'll break it up by each day.

For more years than I can remember, I've wanted to venture into the remote, maze-like Escalante Desert region accessed along the historic Hole-in-the-Rock Road. The route was originally blazed in 1879 by Mormon pioneers who where asked by their leader to uproot themselves from their comfortable homes in southwestern Utah (mostly from Parowan and Cedar City) and trek 100s of miles across the barely-explored wilderness to establish a new community in the southeastern corner of the state along the San Juan River.

To make a long story short, as you may guess, the journey was several orders of magnitude more difficult than expected. As any southern Utah explorer will tell you (and as these pioneers soon learned), the shortest distance between two points in canyon country is definitely not a straight line. Many hardships were endured, the most famous of which was the harrowing descent through a narrow 1000-foot-high crack or "hole" in mighty Glen Canyon's wall.

The deep canyons, slickrock domes, and windswept ridges that seemed insurmountable to the pioneers make for an unforgettable playground for the modern outdoor enthusiast.

Several inches of fresh snow to start day one was a little discouraging, but you can never be too surprised with Utah weather in the spring. Things warmed up nicely though, and by the time we made the 3-hour drive to Escalante, it was shorts and t-shirt weather.

The first stop, only 12 miles down the Hole-in-the-Rock Road, was Devil's Garden. Here, an unusual concentration of arches, hoodoos, pinnacles, and balanced rocks has been carved by wind and water out of the Gunsight Butte Member of the Entrada.

The Hole-in-the-Rock Gang poses in front of Matate Arch: left to right - Rensky (my Dad), Eros (my brother), me, Matt (another brother), and Beege (friend).

Above: Mano Arch - don't worry, I couldn't even manage to dislodge a single sand grain. This arch will be around for many centuries to come (photo credit: Beege).

After exploring Devil's Garden a while, the sun was hanging low and we headed straight for our campsite up Collet Canyon. The primo campsite nestled back in a secluded alcove was already occupied by an outfitter out of Escalante. No big deal, there was plenty of flat ground to throw up a tent nearby.

Before setting up camp, we took a few minutes to find the 160-million-year-old dinosaur trackways (discovered only 12 years ago) spread throughout the Escalante slickrock behind camp. Most are a little difficult to recognize as you are typically looking at the disturbed sand (concentric circles above) beneath the actual footprint that has long eroded away. But you can tell from the pattern (highlighted with the white ellipses) that they are indeed a trackway.

In a few of the better prints, you can make out the three individual toes of what was probably a 10-12-f00t-high theropod.

The long, sweeping cross-beds in the sandstone here indicate deposition as great sand dunes -- not the best environment for preserving dinosaur tracks. A high water table and resultant seasonal ponds likely developed between the larger dunes. This water would have attracted the animals and moistened the sand enough to preserve their footprints.

After feasting on pulled pork sandwiches we turned in early so we could get plenty of rest for the following day. Sleep, unfortunately didn't come easy for all. Temperatures plunged well below freezing that night, and I recall Dad waking up at about 2 am in a frenzy because he could "see stars." "Why am I looking at stars?" he demanded, "I shouldn't be seeing stars!" At this point I though he had surely lost his marbles, but it turns out he just couldn't believe that the rainfly had not been placed on his tent, and this was the first time all night that he looked up to see stars instead of the inside of his rainfly. And Matt, well, he's been living in balmy southern California for several years now, and I don't think he slept a wink.

In the morning we would embark on the crown jewel of the trip: an 18-mile backpack through Coyote Gulch.

The other "Zion Narrows:" Exciting Times in Parunuweap Canyon

2010-06-09T20:49:00.021-06:00

The one knock I have on the Zion Narrows and much of Zion National Park in general is the multitudes of people you almost always have to share your adventure with. But Zions is a big piece of country, and I've discovered that it is relatively easy to plan some amazing solitary outings. Hiking books describe Parunuweap Canyon as "seldom visited," "accessed with difficulty," and "comparable to the Zion Narrows." This all sounded great, but the guidebooks also describe the hike as either a 1-way with a car shuttle, or a long out-and-back, neither of which were appealing to me. After scouring over various maps, I was confident that I could make a nice 18-mile loop-hike out of it IF I could find a safe shortcut through the "White Cliffs" -- a 1000-foot-high continuous band of Navajo Sandstone that towers high above Parunuweap and the East Fork of the Virgin, stretching from the main Zion Canyon to nearly Mt. Carmel Junction. Maps revealed a couple of steep, narrow notches in the cliffs just east of the park boundary that COULD be passable. There was only one way to find out.

Parking at Checkerboard Mesa to start the loop, I was surprised at the amount of snow still lingering on a warm early April day in Zion. After road-walking about a mile to the park's east entrance, I veered southeast and began the easy scramble toward the top of the White Cliffs which are not so imposing when approached from the north.

After reaching the top of the cliffs and looking down into the first notch-like canyon, and seeing sheer walls, house-sized chokestones, and a few areas that appeared to slot up, I guessed my chances were about 50-50 of safe passage. Climbing around the rim a ways to get a better perspective, I decided It was doable if I could get down a tricky-looking 15-foot resistant lip in the canyon bottom. Giving it a try, I carefully scrambled down the canyon headwall for a few hundred feet until I was on top of the lip, which I could now see was simply too risky to downclimb alone. This is typical of pioneering a new route, and I knew I had to be patient, climb back out to the clifftop, navigate to the second notch, and hope for the best.

I spotted these bumps in red siltstone derived from the Carmel Formation. These appear to be great examples of "load structures" -- irregularities that form (before the sediments are turned to rock) at the interface between two contrasting sediment types that are quickly buried (loaded) with overlying material.

The second cleft initially looked even more ominous than the first. The upper portion didn't appear to be too bad, but the lower third of the canyon was out of view and could have been harboring any number of insurmountable obstacles. Again, there was only one way to find out.

After sliding down some loose scree, and then some minor bouldering, and finally squeezing through a short slot, I emerged from the canyon's mouth onto the vast intermediate-level rimlands between the Whites and Parunuweap.

While navigating across the pinyon-studded slickrock, I wondered if I could possibly be the first non-Indian to make this particular traverse.

Heading southeast for several miles, I made my way into Poverty Wash, which I knew would quickly slot up downstream. Just prior to entering the slot, I noticed some rather large and fresh cougar tracks also heading into the slot. What is it with me inadvertently trapping animals in narrow canyons lately? But this time, instead of a harmless little fox, I had visions of an aggressive mountain lion, upset by being followed by a human. Little did I know this was going to be the first of many animals there were to give me heartburn that day.

The Poverty Wash narrows are beautifully sculpted by the countless flash floods that have roared down of the White Cliffs over the millennia. Although Poverty's drainage is not huge, there is very little soil to soak up torrential thunderstorms that drench this area regularly every summer -- nearly every drop of rain flows on top of the slickrock as sheetwash until it finds some tiny rivulet which in turn finds a bigger rivulet that eventually drains into Poverty Wash. All of those little rivulets collectively add up to impressive volumes, as evidenced by the huge pine logjams that dangle 20 feet above the wash bottom.

I made plenty of noise (beat-boxing and Tom Petty songs of course) as I descended deeper into the slot, making certain that my feline friend would have plenty of warning of my whereabouts. The cat must have found an exit because after about a mile into the narrows the tracks thankfully disappeared.

After negotiating through a couple of miles of deliciously sweet narrows, I reached a 100-foot dryfall that I bypassed to the east. A cool, clear creek supporting all sorts of greenery flows from springs near the bottom of the falls.

Less than 1 mile from the falls, I reached the confluence with the fast moving East Fork which has cut the deep and mysterious Parunuweap Canyon. Upon entering the main canyon, the first thing I noticed where the cows. Yes, cows. Out here in a secluded canyon with a raging river and little feed. Brown ones, black ones, white ones, blotchy ones; bulls, cows, calfs; all very mangy-looking with protruding ribs and large divots in their hides. Surely, the cows' owner had no clue his herd had wandered this far into the canyon. Regardless of how the cows got there, I had a problem.

They must have heard me coming because by the time I realized I had arrived at the confluence, the heard of about 20 had spooked and split with half trotting upstream and half heading downcanyon -- the same way I needed to go. At this point, the sheer-walled canyon is less than 25 feet wide and there was no way I could ease around the skittish cattle -- every step I took, they would travel deeper into the canyon. Already 5 hours and 11 miles into the hike, there was no way I could afford to backtrack now for the sake of a few cows. I knew there are very few exits out of Parunuweap, and none of them are easy, especially for cows. I also knew that in another mile, a massive rock-fall boulder chokes the canyon creating a 15-foot waterfall that the cows could never descend. Something would eventually have to give.

Initially, fairly continuous gravel bars lining the stream allowed myself and the cows to stay dry as we played cat-and-mouse down the canyon. Before long the gravel bars dwindled leaving wall-to-wall river. The herd paused at the edge of the last dry bar, allowing me to get within 15 feet of them. For a few seconds I thought their reluctance to delve into the cold river, might allow me to slip by.

But, after one of the larger ones stumbled into the water, the stampede continued deeper into the narrowing canyon.

After a few bends in the deepest, darkest portion of the canyon known as "the Barracks," I heard the unmistakable roar of river water pouring over the rock fall just out of view around the next bend. Knowing the plunge pool below the falls was a potential "swimmer," I made my way over to a small gravel bar on the side of the canyon where I could remove and set my pack down so I could put on some neoprene arm/leg warmers and to place my electronics (GPS, camera) in a sealed dry bag.

Focused on preparing for the frigid swim, I had completely forgotten about the spooked cows. Just as I was snapping the last buckles on my pack, I heard a muffled clackity-clack ... clackity-clack, growing louder - CLACKITY-CLACK ... CLACKITY-CLACK. I looked up from my pack to see the largest bull of the bunch barreling up the river at full speed. As he charged by within a few feet, he turned his head and gave me a look of rage and fearlessness, and I could see he wasn't going to stop for anything, and I realized he certainly would have plowed me over had I still been in the middle of the river. Not 10 seconds later, the rest of the crazed herd surged upriver, many slipping on the rounded boulders or stumbling over one another, nose-diving into the river, but never pausing.

After regaining my whits, I spied my route down through the rock fall boulders that also had a bunch of logs plastered on top. Hopping into the plunge pool, I was surprised to find the water level only reached my chest.

After changing into to some dry layers to warm up, I continued deeper into the twisty Barracks. In the narrower portions, where the river was quite constricted, I'd have to lean into the strong current just to stay upright.

I soon arrived at one of the larger tributaries emptying into Parunuweap. Not named on maps, canyoneers have dubbed this delightful side-slot Misery Canyon for one reason or another. I didn't have the time to explore too far upcanyon, but the bottom portion is a small slice of paradise and a welcome relief from the frigid waters of the East Fork. Like many Zion-area slot canyons, Misery has formed along a deep fracture in the earth. This fracture allows ground water, warmed several 1000 feet below by the natural geothermal gradient, to rise to the canyon bottom, collect into a small stream, and ultimately cascade down a moss-lined path into a natural hot tub full of minnows and toads.

After soaking in Misery's warm waters, I continued on knowing my exit point was just around the bend. But before scaling the canyons north wall, there was one more landmark to find. Somewhat hidden behind thick brush and flood-carried boulders, a large bronze plaque, bolted directly to the canyonside, memorializes the first group of white explorers (led by Maj. Powell) to explore Parunuweap's mysteries 138 years ago.

Shattered sandstone, broken and gouged by a minor fault, provides plenty of handholds to climb out of the canyon to the north and back onto the slickrock bench above.

After a few miles of route-finding through a fantasyland of stone domes, fins, nipples, and teepees, I finally arrived at the final ponderosa-lined pass through the White Cliffs adjacent to Checkerboard Mesa and back to my awaiting car.

On the Brink

2010-05-10T18:06:00.011-06:00

So many adventures to share... so little time to write. An exciting loop through Zion's Parunuweap Canyon and car camping down Hole-in-the-Rock Road are coming.

A recent exploratory bike ride near St. George reminded me that there are always new jaw-dropping views and intriguing adventures to discover close to home if you’re willing to spend some time studying maps and Google Earth’s virtual globe.

Looking south from popular trails near Green Valley, a massive tilted plateau can be seen rising steadily southward until breaking away to, well, I never could place what exactly lies beyond that horizon.

Maps reveal that this hulking mass does have a name—Blake’s Lambing Grounds—and what lies beyond is an impressive vertical drop of nearly 2500 feet straight down to the floor of the winding Virgin River Gorge.

I imagined the view from this precipitous brink and plotted out a 13 mile-long route of dirt roads that would lead me and my trusty two-wheeled steed there. Turns out, my imagination didn’t give the view justice.

Start the ride in Bloomington, where the western extension of Navajo Drive crosses a cattle guard and turns to dirt. Plenty of space near the flood-control pond allows you to park and unload your bike.

The colorful rocks enveloping the route, including the striped badlands of the Triassic-age Moenkopi Formation, tell a fascinating story of what southwestern Utah was like more than 200 million years ago. Instead of the majestic mountains, iconic plateaus, and deep canyons seen today, southwestern Utah was a flat-as-a-pancake coastal plain positioned near the equator on the western edge of the supercontinent Pangea. Sea level would alternately rise, inundating much of Utah with shallow tropical waters, and then fall, placing the shoreline far off to the west.

From the parking area, pedal west on the main graded dirt road, ignoring numerous sidetracks, and wind across a couple of low drainages before dropping into the larger Curly Hollow.

Light-gray Moenkopi siltstone adjacent to the road was deposited by shallow mineral-laden sea water that also left behind an abundance of the mineral gypsum that gives the rock its chalky appearance.

Pass the turnoff for Bloomington Cave and climb out of the wash to the southwest. The Moenkopi siltstones around you are now mostly red. Poke around and you can almost always find ripple marks on the rock surface indicating the region was not covered by a stagnant sea, but had water flowing over its surface, such as streams or oscillating tidal waters.

As you roll into a broad flat that is a popular staging area for ATVs, look ahead and slightly to your right for a dirt track climbing the rocky slope to the west. Staying right at a fork, start cranking away up the slope.

Leaving the red rocks behind, the road climbs the tan Virgin limestone, a subunit of the Moenkopi. After cresting the initial climb, the road descends slightly, cutting across several layers of limestone that document a sea teaming with life. Search through the boulder-littered slopes near the road to find bits of fossilized clams and crinoids or “sea lilies.”

After skirting around terraced hills of Virgin limestone, traverse one last band of red Moenkopi that was deposited on and near the beach of a Triassic sea.

Underlying the Moenkopi are the light-gray siltstones and occasional dark limestone ledges of the marine Harrisburg Member of the Kaibab Formation. The contact between the Triassic-age Moenkopi and Permian-age Kaibab rocks represents a nearly 20-million-year gap in the geologic record, created when global sea level dropped dramatically. Instead of sediments being deposited during this time, 100s of feet of rock were eroded away. Sometime during this lost interval, the world’s largest mass extinction occurred when more than 70 percent of all animal species perished.

The road soon plunges into West Mountain Valley Wash—a deep canyon incised into the Harrisburg Member. As you climb out, look across at the northern wall of the canyon for Harrisburg strata sagging into a hole. Although their origin remains uncertain, geologists believe that these “collapse structures” may root into ancient sinkholes developed in limestone some 3000 feet below the surface. Hundreds of such features have been found in the area; some are known to host uranium and copper ores.

Just before reaching the power line, you’ll leave the Harrisburg Member behind and encounter the oldest rock unit you’ll tread across for the day: the Fossil Mountain Member of the Kaibab. This aptly named blue and gray limestone is full of the remains of shelled sea creatures and corals that inhabited a warm tranquil sea.

Follow the power line to a fork, bear left, and start the steady 1.5-mile climb up into the heart of Blake’s Lambing Grounds.

In early spring, abundant grasses make it easy to understand why the area makes great early-season range for livestock. While the scenery may not be postcard material, the subtle lines of this treeless high-desert prairie has a romantic charm all its own, and it is markedly different than the red, sandy deserts just a few miles back.

Four miles from the power line, fork left and drop into a small canyon. Pass through a gate and in 100 yards or so, turn onto a rough track climbing the hillside to the right. The road climbs a small wash, bends southward, and begins to parallel the plateau’s western edge where fleeting glimpses over the rim foreshadow the colossal vista ahead. The increasingly rough road crosses into Arizona and reaches the overlook after topping a final set of steep switchbacks.

Pull out your lunch, find a comfortable slab of chert-studded limestone and be confounded and amazed. Confounded by the complexity of the scene where the simple, orderly Colorado Plateau clashes with the faulted and mangled Basin and Range; and amazed by the shear immensity of the void in front of you, carved out by the seemingly diminutive Virgin River.

To the south, the broad, flat-topped Black Rock Mountain promptly transitions into the jagged Virgin Mountains immediately to the west. The towering southern Beaver Dam Mountains form the western horizon. The wide Cedar Pockets Wash beneath your feet is partially adorned with salmon-hued Queantoweap sandstone, reminiscent of, but about 100 million years older than the more famous Navajo sandstone of Zion National Park fame.

After soaking in the views, retrace your steps, and enjoy the fast and mostly downhill descent back to civilization.