Easy walk this morning down a pretty drainage and dirt roads. Half-hour hitch at Poison Spring Canyon and we were in Hanksville. A “Truck Stop” type town with four open hotels (one closed—probably condemned), four gas stations, a ridiculously poor market, and two sad fast-food restaurants (essentially McDonalds without the cheap prices). Still, it’s nice to be relatively clean and full again.
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
HAYDUKE Trail Journal -- Day 37 11/04/09 23 miles
As predicted, we had an absolutely marvelous sunrise this morning. The cliffs of Swap Canyon and Tarantula Mesa, ordinarily a drab pastel, now shone a brightly in the golden morning sun, with the near full moon hanging in the west. We contoured under the cliffs of Tarantula Mesa into the basin holding Muley Creek. The climb out was supposed to be a steep, loose cliffy nightmare. That should only be attempted as a down-climb. Regardless of difficulty, as a rule I find climbing challenging slopes easier than descending them. While the climb was difficult, it was easier than many of the others we’d already done. Once on top we walked through a mile or so of dwarf forest (pinion/juniper mixed with sage brush) before reaching a dirt road, which we followed across open terrain with expansive views of the Capitol Reef and the surrounding country. The Henry Mountains grew steadily closer.
The Hayduke follows a small canyon through willows ad pour-offs into the upper regions of Mt. Ellen. In order to avoid more annoying bushwhacking, we followed the ridge next to Sweetwater Creek instead. We followed stock paths (either cow or bison-- the Henry’s have a free-roaming bison heard and Sharon and I decided to that the trails we were climbing through the pinion forest were left by them and not by the omnipresent bovines.) up the ridge, past two dirt roads and up nearly 6,000 ft. Today the Imperial March was in my head all day, along with various scenes from Star Wars. I have no idea why, but it kept me entertained.
We reached the summit ridge at around 3:30, greeted by an expansive view that stretched seemingly forever, a fierce wind, and a pair of hunters looking for their lost buck. We made our way slowly up and down the minor summits on the ridge toward the high point, surrounded by sky and the red rock desert below. By the time we got to the summit, the sun had set the sky on fire, and the Henry Mountains were burning golden flames into my eyes. High on the ridge, the wind in my hair, the sun working its magic with the spectrum on the majestic mountains below, I was completely intoxicated by the moment. Utterly enchanted and in love with life. The canyons and cliffs are cool, beautiful, and sometimes even spectacular, but I have a place in my soul reserved for open, high, mountain ridges with a cool, frigid breeze and infinite views.
Eventually, we had to come down. Because of the snow on the mountains, Sharon and I decided to use an unconventional water strategy. We each took a quart for the climb, and we were going to refill by melting snow in our bottles. There are a few tricks to doing this. First, it needs to be a warm day. Second, you should make sure that at least half of your bottle is liquid or it will take to long to melt. Finally, remember to shake your bottle regularly. Importunely for us, it was much cooler up high than we had anticipated so by the time we reached the top both of us were nearly out of water. Of course, we weren’t thirsty at all, but if we wanted to eat dinner we needed water to cook with. Melting snow would have been an option but we were also low on fuel and I didn’t want to use my emergency Esbit tablets.
Long story short, we walked down through knee-deep snow to a dirt road covered with either two feet of snow or a sheet of ice. Of course as we dropped elevation the conditions on the road steadily improved. About an hour after dark, we found some running water in Granite Creek, and we stopped soon after in some pines, actually a great spot. During the walk down, Sharon and I thought we saw a campfire through the trees, but it turned out to be a blood red moon.
HAYDUKE Trail Journal -- Day 36: 11/03/09
High up on Swap Mesa, under the sheer cliff of Tarantula Mesa, the only lights visible are a few stars, a last bit of orange glow on the Western horizon and a sliver of the rising moon over the cliffs to the East. The only sign of humanity’s existence visible are the two warm bodies on this beach and their various possessions, situated around them. As I write I watch the arthropods march by . . . ant, spider, don’t know, another weird bug, “What the hell is that?” “I don’t know.”
Today started with a 12 mile hike up fabulous Muley Twist Canyon, home to some surprisingly massive sandstone walls. It was hard to accurately judge their size. They were so massive Sharon needed to stand near them to provide a sense of scale, which then led my mind to reject the information. Instead of judging the walls accurately as monstrous, my mind assumed Sharon had suddenly shrunk to a diminutive size. Truly huge—beyond belief.
Eventually the walls of the canyon shrunk, turning a deep rich burgundy before spitting us out on the Burr trail, a dirt road that cuts across the head of the Escalante drainages. Reluctantly, we left the canyon and descended the water pocket fold down a series of tight switchbacks. In front of us rose Swap Mesa, Tarantula Mesa, and the Henry Mountains still in the distance. It’s hard to believe we’ll be there tomorrow.
After an easy stroll up dull Swap canyon, we climbed up onto Swap Mesa and began to contour on cattle trails/mining tracks/xc under the cliffs of Tarantula Mesa, high above. Before long we dropped into a system of complicated side drainages, and as we searched for our exit I began to get an unusual feeling, I was disoriented. No lost per se, I was fairly sure where I was, just unable to fit features to map with the ease I’m accustomed to. Eventually, after a bit of poking around in the general direction I was sure needed to go and after what might be considered our first “spat” of the trip, (I was a bit frustrated.) we ended up exactly where we wanted to be. And what an awesome spot it is! Sunrise tomorrow should be fabulous.
HAYDUKE Trail Journal -- Day 35: 11/2/09
Parting with the Escalante River this morning was sweet sorrow. It is a marvelous canyon, but such a chore to follow. We started a little earlier this morning, walking up Moody Creek close to sunrise. We passed a few puddles up to middle Moody and lower middle Moody actually had a bit of flow in it. All in all it was weird to be in dry terrain again. “Oh, yeah, we’re in a desert.” We stocked up for the 20 miles to Muley Tanks.
Moody Canyon is truly bizarre. Most canyons begin at their head as a small wash, which evolves into a slot canyon or draw and they steadily widen and deepen as they drop down through the layers of rock to the main river at the bottom. Moody canyon seemed to go backwards. The red Navajo Cliffs tower above us moving further away from us, riding a slope of purple Chinle. We then entered a short section of intimate, intricate pale Windgate sandstone narrows, which gradually deepen and broaden into the inner canyon. Instead of finding ourselves at the top of the head of the drainage, we were at the bottom! We had to climb back up and out of the same rock layers. It was exactly as if we had followed Moody Creek down and we’re now climbing out! This was obvious evidence of the massive, uplifted “fold” in the Earth’s Crust that makes up Capitol Reef National Park.
After a scramble up to a pass in a gap in the Navajo Cliffs (here known as the Circle Cliffs) we took an unusually long break to absorb the view. Our entire route from 50 Mile Mountain to the Henry Mountains was at our feet. The Henry’s, snowcapped from last week’s storm, rose out of the desert utterly alone. It is a wonder, isolated and visible as they are that they took so long to get discovered. They were the last range in the lower 48 to be mapped. Far to the East we could even make out the Munti La Sal Mountains just south at Arches. Breathtaking.
A tedious bushwhack contouring under the Circle Cliffs brought us to an old mining road, which we followed to Hall’s Creek. Hall’s Creek follows the bottom of the “Water Pocket Fold,” which we had just been on top of. It is an impressive drainage, and it was an easy walk upstream to Muley Tanks, with a series of large potholes obviously popular with the wildlife. Impressive moon tonight.
HAYDUKE Trail Journal -- Day 34: 11/1/2009
We awoke with frost on our sleeping bags and frozen shoes. Once again we were slow risers. I thawed my shoes during my morning “walk.” After a hot pint of green tea, we were on our way.
We walked along the Escalante today, barely making it to Moody Creek before it was too dark to walk. My mood during the day seemed to have as many turns as the river. When walking was easy and I could absorb my fabulous surroundings, I was elated—thoroughly happy to be where I was and a smile found itself fixed on my face. During our many small scrambles I was all concentration, zoned out and focused on the task at hand. The frequent bushwhacking, however, was beginning to drive me crazy. The willows were sometimes so thick I could barely see Sharon six feet away from me. To make matters worse, we were walking upstream so all the branches were pointed toward us like an endless field of levied lances. We hadn’t left the devil bushes behind either. At times we waded across fields knee deep with tumbleweeds. Once, a burr stuck behind my knee biting into the soft skin like an insistent weasel every time I took a step.
Still, it was on the whole a good day. Whenever I started to stress, I forced a smile and Sharon and I would shout into the canyon to honor Lindy, “Every day is a good day!” We also took to singing James Brown’s “I feel Good.” It was—need I mention—a vast improvement over Taylor Swift.
HAYDUKE Trail Journal -- Day 33: 10/31/2009
Lindy drove us down Hole-in-the-rock Road after breakfast. His Buick made it almost as far as the dry fork of Coyote Gulch. Rather than rewalk the road to Hurricane Wash, we decided to walk down the dry fork and pick up where Hurricane meets the drainage.
A few parting hugs and handshakes later, we were on our way once more. Today’s walking was ever more spectacular. We started with a dull walk through cows and devil bushes, but we soon came to a series of slot canyons, beautiful striped walls, tall, narrow, and sensuous. They slowed us more due to their beauty rather than their difficulty. They had only a few obstacles. Eventually, the slots opened to a wide slickrock canyon with a few cottonwoods and some tamarisks that foreshadowed the small cascading creek that joined us soon after. A brief segment of thick bushwhacking brought us to a lush desert oasis, more reminiscent of an Appalachian stream than a desert one. Most of the cottonwoods were green and they were accompanied with Oaks, now—willow, bright green grass, and (horror) poison oak. Few plants can cause me more disdain than the devil bush, but a FEAR poison oak. Although I must admit that the poison oak rash that indirectly led to my cancer diagnosis was a blessing in disguise. We (carefully) wound our way through this verdant paradise, each bend bringing us to a magnificent alcove bigger and more beautiful than the previous one. Sharon and I couldn’t help it. At each one we stood transfixed absorbing its splendid curves and colors. Some of them were so beautiful they were almost hypnotizing, especially when the sun caused them to glow with a surreal pumpkin orange that seemed to radiate from the rock. This is my cathedral. This is where I worship my god. This is my GOD. I’m an unapologetic naturalist. I revere nature—not the warm, fuzzy, neutered version where everything is soft and pretty and friendly (thought it’s certainly included), but the entire cycle, the WORLD: lion and tiger, deer and camel, worm and vulture, flower and fungus, mountain and sea, etc. I can’t think of the universe being created by god. The universe is God. We are but small pawns bending to the will of the world.
Okay, enough of that. The point is the steadily increasing beauty and magnitude of this place left Sharon and I feeling insignificant and small, but simultaneously full of wonder and awe. The words wonderful and awesome, now robbed of their power through overuse, were once possibly capable of describing such places. Toward the end of the days we made it to massive, incomparable Jacob Hamblin Arch. Being who we are, we scrambled up the steep loose builders under the arch, which is in a massive fin that the creek goes around. It may soon be a bridge. We walked through the wall and climbed down the other side. Spectacular but terrifying too bad it’s not already Halloween.
It’s a gorgeous night tonight. The canyon walls are lit up by the full moon above. What a great end to an amazing day.
HAYDUKE Trail Journal -- Day 32: 10/30/2009
Lindy drove us down Hole-in-the-rock Road after breakfast. His Buick made it almost as far as the dry fork of Coyote Gulch. Rather than rewalk the road to Hurricane Wash, we decided to walk down the dry fork and pick up where Hurricane meets the drainage.
A few parting hugs and handshakes later, we were on our way once more. Today’s walking was ever more spectacular. We started with a dull walk through cows and devil bushes, but we soon came to a series of slot canyons, beautiful striped walls, tall, narrow, and sensuous. They slowed us more due to their beauty rather than their difficulty. They had only a few obstacles. Eventually, the slots opened to a wide slickrock canyon with a few cottonwoods and some tamarisks that foreshadowed the small cascading creek that joined us soon after. A brief segment of thick bushwhacking brought us to a lush desert oasis, more reminiscent of an Appalachian stream than a desert one. Most of the cottonwoods were green and they were accompanied with Oaks, now—willow, bright green grass, and (horror) poison oak. Few plants can cause me more disdain than the devil bush, but a FEAR poison oak. Although I must admit that the poison oak rash that indirectly led to my cancer diagnosis was a blessing in disguise. We (carefully) wound our way through this verdant paradise, each bend bringing us to a magnificent alcove bigger and more beautiful than the previous one. Sharon and I couldn’t help it. At each one we stood transfixed absorbing its splendid curves and colors. Some of them were so beautiful they were almost hypnotizing, especially when the sun caused them to glow with a surreal pumpkin orange that seemed to radiate from the rock. This is my cathedral. This is where I worship my god. This is my GOD. I’m an unapologetic naturalist. I revere nature—not the warm, fuzzy, neutered version where everything is soft and pretty and friendly (thought it’s certainly included), but the entire cycle, the WORLD: lion and tiger, deer and camel, worm and vulture, flower and fungus, mountain and sea, etc. I can’t think of the universe being created by god. The universe is God. We are but small pawns bending to the will of the world.
Okay, enough of that. The point is the steadily increasing beauty and magnitude of this place left Sharon and I feeling insignificant and small, but simultaneously full of wonder and awe. The words wonderful and awesome, now robbed of their power through overuse, were once possibly capable of describing such places. Toward the end of the days we made it to massive, incomparable Jacob Hamblin Arch. Being who we are, we scrambled up the steep loose builders under the arch, which is in a massive fin that the creek goes around. It may soon be a bridge. We walked through the wall and climbed down the other side. Spectacular but terrifying too bad it’s not already Halloween.
It’s a gorgeous night tonight. The canyon walls are lit up by the full moon above. What a great end to an amazing day.
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