HAYDUKE Trail Journal -- Day 38: 11/05/09 16 miles

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.

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.

HAYDUKE Trail Journal -- Day 31: 10/29/2009

We took a day off in Escalante today, ate a big breakfast, relaxed, went for a walk, checked to see what’s on TV—nothing—how people actually watch that shit is beyond me. Then I went for a longer walk to the outfitters for lunch and to read a bit of Abbey—not the Monkey Wrench Game--though. I was in the mood for his essays. I had a big dinner then I watched a bit of the World Series, admittedly on TV. Overall, it was a very relaxing and somewhat dull day. I’m ready to hit the trail again.

HAYDUKE Trail Journal -- Day 30 10/28/2009

It was slow lighting up this morning, too cloudy. The cold kept us in our sleeping bags for a while too. To the south we soon saw obvious signs of precipitation against the side of 50-mile Mountain, and it was moving toward us. Time to get a move on.

The road was straight and narrow, but dipped in and out of various washes, offering occasional respite from the chilly wind. One problem with the road was that most of it was just sand, making walking less than easy. And the vegetation was a sage, cactus, rabbit brush mix. The problem was that I don’t carry toilet paper, and the selection of natural substitutes in the vicinity was uniquely sparse. Not that my bowels cared in the least. In a panic I scared up a few passable rocks and rushed off. Luckily I didn’t need much this time around.

Flurries had been blowing all morning, but at around noon it began to snow in earnest. The view quickly shrunk, and the snow actually began to accumulate—maybe an inch. At this point we began to see vehicles. Everybody would stop to see if we were all right, but they were all going in the other direction. They were incredulous when they realized we were just out there walking, and not in some sort of fix.

“Do you folk have vehicle trouble?”

“No we’re fine, we’re just looking for a ride into town.”

“Well, where’s your car?”

“Uum. Mine is in California and hers is in Wisconsin.”

“So you’re just walking? How far you say?”

“Yup.”

“Huh.”

The one car we did see going in our direction didn’t stop. It figures. Eventually, we saw Lindy’s silver Buick coming up the road. He had, unfortunately, decided to get off the trail, so Ron had come up from Albuquerque with his car to get him. They were coming down the road to pick us up, bringing bananas, cookies and chocolate. It was kind of a culture shock after seven days out.

We’re in Escalante, a small town in the middle of nowhere Utah with everything a hiker could possibly want. We might take a zero day; we’ll see how fast we move tomorrow.

HAYDUKE Trail Journal -- Day 29: 10/27/2009

The climb up Monday was interesting, boulder hopping through rock-falls, climbing up and around pour offs, and bushwhacking through thick oaks and maple toward the top. Traces of cow and devil bush dwindled as we gained elevation. Despite the difficultly of the terrain, I had a great time. The scenery was interesting and I got into a zone, singing U2 to myself, as I glided across, over, and through the boulders, timing hops and placing my feet in order to use my momentum to carry my way through. My mind and body seemed perfectly in tune, nothing but the canyon and myself moving through it existed, except for the background music pinging in my mind featuring the instrumental of “With or Without You.” I seemed to be floating up the canyon, all the way to the edge of a cliff.

“Why do I always make the stupid decision?”

“I think jumping would be the stupid decision. I don’t want to have to clean you off the rocks.”

Repeat. In the zone, cliff, pour-off, climb down and around. Repeat again. Five hours to travel 7 grueling miles. Whew.

Finally, we reached the top. Rather than try to find the ephemeral pack trail, we simply took a bearing and traveled easily through sagebrush, aspens, and pinion/juniper forest to the newly refurbished Pocket Hollow Spring. We had expected to find a dank mud hole that reeked of cattle, but instead we found a fenced off spring piped into a brand new basin. The water was cool and sweet . . .ahhhh!

The pack trail from Pocket Hollow to the inappropriately named Mudhole Spring was distinguished and easy to follow. Mudhole Spring piped into a small barrel that is even equipped with a spigot. It is next to an old cabin with a variety of adornments, including an old belt, horseshoes, and a cow’s tail.

A maze of cattle/hunter/etc trails led from the Mud-hole Spring to the Middle Trail, which was our route down 80 mile Mountain. We took a bearing again, taking us just north of where the trail was on the map. Nothing. We walked south along the plateau on the top of 500ft cliffs, enjoying the view of the Escalante Canyons 1500 ft below, but becoming more than a bit anxious about the trip down. Nothing. We came back to where we were before. Hm, what’s this? We found an old abandoned section of trail.

After checking it out a bit, I spotted the real trail below. The old trail (where the topo indicated it was--was almost indistinct) took us right to it. A steep descent brought us to a junction. The mapped route was a two-track road that went south before curving back around. However, a well-used trail appeared to go straight down. We followed this down a steep, windy, narrow ridge (awesome!) to the flats below. After a seemingly endless walk through relatively dull sagebrush and cows, we finally reached Hole-In-the-Rock Road.

No cars were on the road this evening. We made it two hours north of the trailhead before we were forced to stop due to lack of light. Another amazing sunset tonight, though the clouds moved in so there’s no moon. It’s going to be a cold night.

HAYDUKE Trail Journal -- Day 28: 10/26/2009

We’re camped in Lower Monday Canyon this Monday evening. Sorry I couldn’t resist. We’re sharing the canyon with the wiliest, boniest cows I’ve ever seen. Of course, they’ve completely destroyed the canyon. Why anyone would think to raise cattle out here is beyond me. They simply don’t belong here. This morning was a cold one, boding well for the day, as we will be hiking without water through the harsh desert terrain for at least 30 miles, depending on how long the water lasted in Last Chance. We lucked out, though, and the last potable water was about ¼ mile upstream form Reese. It was totally some of the best water we had seen since the stream started fading out yesterday.

Reese canyon was home to some truly bizarre and intricate rock formations. Sometimes it seemed the stone had some sort of geological leprosy. I kept a close eye on the twists and turns of the canyon and it was a good thing too. The road coming down from the croton Road was little more than an ancient unused bulldozer track high on the hillside. I climbed up to I and watched as Sharon began to walk by.

“Sharon!!”

“What are you doing way up there?”

“I’m on the road.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yup.”

We climbed easily up to Croton Road, following a variety of streambeds and very seldom-used road tracks. Somewhere along the way, Sharon misheard something I said, “What did you say? It sounded like ‘Muppets.’

From then on whenever we misheard something, instead of, “what was that? Or say again? Or Huh, I didn’t hear you,” we’d just say, “What’s Muppets?” I think it will last the rest of the trip.

The descent down surprise valley and Navajo Canyon was surreal. Thick tamarisk/oak vegetation choked the upper drainage, which was fairly flat. The canyon then plunged down a steep boulder field choked with a maze of invasive exotic Russian thistle, aka tumbleweed. I soon took to calling it “Devil Bush.” The damn things are covered with burrs that creep down your socks and cause the most intolerable annoyance. I took to climbing unnecessarily on the steep, loose side of the canyon to avoid them whenever I could.

Still, the canyon was gorgeous and toward the bottom almost all the vegetation faded away. The devil bushes ere the last to go, of course. And we were left with a surreal moonscape of beautiful rock walls above gray canyon scree sprinkled with boulders from massive rock falls.

We then climbed a series of “toes” below the ships-prow cliffs between Navajo and Croton Canyons. Going up Croton/Rodgers/Monday was like Navajo in reverse, except without the impressive views. The canyon walls were short, boring, and close in, blocking any expansive views. Also the cows left nothing but cactus, devil bushes, and the stench of cow shit. We finally found a reasonably stench-free spot and stopped for the night. Thankfully because of the cold, we didn’t use much water.

HAYDUKE Trail Journal -- Day 27: 10/25/2009

Happy Birthday to my brother ERIC!

Woke up and walked toward a spectacular sunrise this morning. The fiery show from last night played in reverse. Behind us, the sun’s rays shone on Bryce and the Cockscombs well before it began to warm us. A wonderful way for the day to greet us!

Lindy is often the first one out and it was odd not having him in front of us this morning. At one point we got to a rise, waved in his general direction and I yelled his mantra, “Every day is Fun day!” as loud as I could. Maybe he heard us in spirit.

The sun was kind almost all day. We made good time across the high desert roads, encountering a number of hunters looking for deer. “Where are you heading? Oh, really? We’re looking for deer. See any? Bryce, huh, well, they’re pretty safe in there.” The only deer we actually did see was strapped to the hood of an ATV.

Eventually we left the roads in one of Paradise Canyon’s side canyons. Water began to flow almost immediately, though it was pretty nasty looking at first. We both were carrying 3 liters, so the sight was pretty perturbing, still, I’d risk carrying too much water before I’d risk carrying too little any day.

The flow steadily increased both in quality and quantity all the way down to Paradise Canyon. From the confluence (Paradise was flowing too) flow gradually decreased until we began to only see the occasional pool. No matter there will be plenty of water and Last Chance Creek.

Paradise Canyon is aptly named, especially when compared with the surrounding area. A stream, even an intermittent one, lined with cottonwoods is pretty refreshing after 24 hours of Juniper/pinion/sage and dry washes. Though the colors of this canyon can’t compare with Hackberry or the Paria, it makes up for it with interesting rock formations, including the occasional alcove with a hanging garden.

After we hit Last Chance Creek, the pools of water began to come closer and closer together. About a mile before the Smokey Mountain Road, there was a small steady flow. Just before the road we found a large pool with plenty of tracks from all kinds of animals including a small bear and a cougar (Ungato Grande!)

We followed the muddy drainage, eventually switching to the benches above for easier travel. I kept an eye out for artifacts but found none. Soon after we returned to the creek I commented, “I think I’m going to stay close to the water from here on out. It looks like the water flow is decreasing.” In about twenty yards, the creek had disappeared. Leaving nothing but an occasional mud hole. Distraught (our 29 mile waterless streak had just gone up to 35 miles), we decided to continue and come back if we didn’t find water in 20 minutes—our hope continuing around every bend until “Mas agua! Mas agua!” I found a small nasty tepid pond that could refresh little but our hope. Our mood ebbed and flowed with the creeks presence the rest of the afternoon. When we came by big clear pools we celebrated and commenced to dancing. Long waterless stretches were met with silence and anxious looks. Finally about a mile downstream from Needle Eye Canyon, we met flowing water again—just as night was approaching. We followed the flow, resolving to stop when it did and testing the taste of the various pools. “This one taste like iron.” “This one’s ok.” “This one looks good. . . . No it’s too salty.” “This one’s a bit alkaline.” “Mmmm delicious! Camp here?” “Sounds good to me.”

HAYDUKE Trail Journal -- Day 26: 10/24/2009

The son is my god, and like any self-respecting god, it is both wrathful and benevolent. Starting the day in Hackberry Canyon, the sun was warm and loving. It made the already beautiful canyon glow with life and warmed the blood in our bodies, cold from the air that had sunk into our bones during the night. As we traveled up Hackberry, Sharon and I struggled with determining our location. We had stopped keeping track of where we were after we entered the canyon yesterday, and because I had no idea where we had camped, the maze of twists and turns, cliffs and gullies all looked the same, on the ground and on the map. Eventually, we passed a distinct, large cliff that I thought I recognized. I began to follow the map closely as we walked up the dry canyon making predictions (based on my reading of the contour lines) to myself as I went. “There should be a narrow drainage coming in from the right followed by a straight section of high, tight cliffs.” “Oh good, now we should see a long, wide bend followed by a sharp bend to the left.” By the time we got to Lower Death Valley. I knew where we were.

The narrows in Round Valley Draw were incredible. No more than shoulder width in places, and simultaneously over 100 feet deep. The sandstone walls were textured with grooves, holes, alcoves, and everything in between. Color in the (rare) sunlight ranged from bright yellow to deep gold with the usual painted murals of burgundy stains.

Once again Lindy proved himself some sort of sorcerer/superman. Obstacles in the slot became steadily more difficult and more common, beginning with the occasional five-foot drop or small, oven-sized boulder. We eventually came to a series of eight to ten foot pour-offs and van-sized choke-stones that Lindy managed with minimal aid. The series culminated with a twelve-foot vertical climb up through a narrow gap that someone had kindly hung a rope down. Lindy and I squeezed our way through, while Sharon leaned out from the wall and simple skirted it from the outside. Damn!

Once we emerged from the narrows, my god became wrathful. (I don’t know why, I hadn’t done anything wrong as far as I could tell.) The air temperature wasn’t hot, maybe in the mid-seventies, but the sun was high and bright, and constant. Walking along Cottonwood Road toward Grougner Arch, I could barely enjoy the views back toward Bryce, as the sun was so harsh.

Despite the sidewalk, which detracted mightily from the spot, Grougner Arch was quite impressive: a massive double arch cut from seemingly impossibly from the golden rocks. Because of the developed area (picnic table, sidewalk and shitter), we didn’t linger. We continued through the through the Cockscomb to Wahweep Creek. Sharon and I planned to fill up at the spring upstream before continuing on to Hole-In-The-Rock road, but Lindy was planning on heading into Escalante via Wahweep and Horse Spring Canyon Drainage, because he has been getting tired and might leave the trail after this section.

The three of us made dinner after this section at Headquarters Spring. After dinner, we parted ways with hugs, handshakes, and good wishes. Going back down Wahweep Creek the sun was a master artist. It worked with the moon and clouds to create a piece of unspeakable beauty. The dark blue sky framed flames of orange, pink, red, purple and everything in between. Every time I looked at it, it was different. And each time it was different I took at picture. Eventually, the sunlight faded, and the still-crescent moon was too small to produce navigable light, even on a road. We had to stop for the night.

HAYDUKE Trail Journal -- Day 25: 10/23/2009

It just keeps getting better! The morning began with a continuation of yesterday’s walk down the Paria. Rich reds dominated the scene, with the sprinkling of ever-present gold cottonwoods. The occasional stop in 2 inches of gooey, slick mud was the only distraction. As we walked down the river the canyon opened up again and the mud began to give way to sand as a source of annoyance. Still, the red rock canyon walls, shimmering saffron trees, and the cool, clear river made travel a delight.

Despite the wilderness designation a recently used jeep track crisscrossed the Paria all the way down from Sheep Creek to the Paria town site road. We didn’t see any cars or people until we reached the old movie sets, an unimpressive collection of old stone cabins and the like.

The short section of narrows between the set and Cottonwood Creek was much more enjoyable, towering painted walls shone in the sun next to the bizarre, creepy caves, reminiscent of eye sockets.

The walk up the new dry Cottonwood Drainage was surprisingly fun. It was well named, and the mingling greens and golds made up for the lackluster terrain. Despite the lack of water, Cottonwood was thickly vegetated. The three of us had fun trying to outwit each other in crossing the most efficient route. At one point I passed a struggling Sharon soon after I had decided to stay in the creek, while she had climbed out and tried her luck on the bank only to find her self stuck in some shrubs.

I waved and grinned as I strolled by only to be stunned when a grinning Sharon emerged in front of me around the next bend.

We soon reached Hackberry Canyon. There were no words I know of that are adequate to describe this place. It’s simple beyond any synonyms for beauty I know. The richly painted walls encompass every shade from dark burgundy to a glowing ivory that seemed soft and subtle like butter, while at the same time smooth and solid like polished silver.

The walls are covered with multihued painted stains that flow down the walls like a frozen waterfall. Layer in the stone curve in loops and arches, added even more depth and texture to the stone. The three of us walked through this geological masterpiece along a verdant oasis, a small glittering stream, watering spectacular cottonwoods, shining brightly when the sun hits them and appearing a rich red and gold when it doesn’t.

As often as not we walk in the creek, following it for about nine miles while the canyon walls narrow, widen, and then narrow again. Eventually, the water starts to die out. We are camped next to one of the last few pools of the creek in a grove of cottonwoods, so the leaves of the trees rustle in the unfelt breeze and the stars are shining brightly.

HAYDUKE Trail Journal -- Day 24: 10/22/2009

Tropic was a nice little town. It seemed to be doing quite well. It had a brand new high school, new sidewalks, and every business was open. Lindy had leftovers from dinners, so he didn’t join us for breakfast. I had a veggie omelet and some blueberry pancakes. Mm Mm good.

We packed up and walked out of town on Highway 12, stopping briefly in Cannonville to buy beverages, water containers and to check in at the BLM/Monument Office.

Finally free of the towns, we strolled along dirt roads with views across to the top few steps of the grand staircase, capped by the high cliffs of Bryce Canyon.

We finally came to the end of our road-walk at Willis Creek. This leg of our journey could hardly start out any better. Willis Creek’s famous stretch of narrows was lit perfectly by the afternoon sun. The sensual golden walls seemed soft and warm. Sweet deception!

Eventually the Navajo sandstone spread wide and we found ourselves in the massive canyon of Sheep Creek.

This one could have been in Zion, if it had had a little more color in it. What it lacked in hue though, it made up for in the petroglyphs intricately etched into stained walls. Massive murals in which I found my own constellations.

The canyon of Sheep Creek grew steadily. When we reached Bull Valley Gorge, Sharon and I investigated the short sections of the narrows near the confluence. Each time we rounded a bend we would look at each other.There’s a mammoth and over there an archer—OMG—There’s the Virgin Mary! The junction of Willis and Sheep Creek is also graced with a petroglyph panel surrounded on all sides by modern carvings—names/initials/dates. It least I didn’t see any profanity. It did get me to wondering . . . like trash, graffiti after a certain amount of time becomes historic art or archeological record. Why is a cowboy’s name on a rock wall history, but “Crystal 1988” is defacement? I wouldn’t have minded so much, but the modern carvings were far too close to the ancient ones.

“One more?”

“One more.”

Eventually though, we had to return to Lindy, who had taken the opportunity to rest. We were rewarded by an excellent flow of cool water in the Paria surrounded by soft, gooey mud. My new shoes were quickly encased, no matter, crossing back and forth across the river soon cleaned them. Of course the mud and sand resoiled them, and on and on. Oh well, what are new shoes for if not to be broken in?

Our walk down the Paria was simply musical. Golden Aspens and Cottonwoods lined by the side of the canyon mingling with dark green junipers and the occasional pine. The setting sun cast long shadows over the now golden and scarlet walls. Through it all, the wide clear stream cut a cool, bright line, at times reflecting the scene back to me. Then the waking crescent moon came out.

Camped next to the river, all I can see when I turn my headlamp off are the stars, all I hear is the water flowing past the bank, the wind blowing through the leaves, and the occasional movement of my companions The air is cool and sweet. My heart is happy.

HAYDUKE Trail Journal -- Day 23: 10/21/2009

It was a cold morning. Walking thought the sunrise; the sun’s glow was coming from all directions. It sun’s rays bounced off of the cliffs so perfectly that like last night the cliffs seemed to radiate sunlight. I moved through the forest quickly to warm myself. A brisk wind blew through my hair and brought the intoxicating smell of autumn leaves to my brain. Surrounded by magical light and entranced by the cool aromatic air, I realized that this is why I value life. Human life (including mine) is valuable because of magical human experiences—the magic of conscious human experience. Moments like this one make me wonder how long I’ll be able to enjoy them. It’s odd being in my situation.

Most people, who are diagnosed with a terminal illness, are already somehow debilitated or restricted by their disease. On the other hand, my brain cancer was discovered by accident, an incidental finding. I have no symptoms and have tolerated the treatment with no lasting negative side effects, so I feel as strong, vital, mentally and physically as capable as ever. Thus, I feel compelled to live my life as if I might die in less than a year, yet still I must prepare for a possible future, just in case luck prevails or treatment options improve. It’s a balance as delicate as some of the formations I’ve passed this trip, holding strong against the unforeseen and seen elements.

Speaking of which, the formation of Bryce Canyon grew steadily more impressive and exquisite as we moved north into The Amphitheater. Sharon and I had trouble taking more than 10-20 steps between photographs.

The Hayduke Trail envisioned by the founders, leaves Bryce south of The Amphitheater. We saw no reason to come so close to one of the world’s truly unique locations only to skirt its southern edge. We winded our way past castles, cathedrals, windows, arches, bridges, and towers, laced with every hue from white/ivory through the oranges to scarlet and crimson with some violet, purple, and fuchsia woven in. Spectacular! Awesome! Cliff-ag-i-scent!

Unfortunately, these unique canyons are also small, and we, eventually, found ourselves walking down Campbell Canyon towards Tropic, UT. As I write now, I remember how I felt when I walked through that cold morning air. Such experiences are reminiscent of love or spice. They add an entirely new dimension that the uninitiated don’t even realize exists, but once you get a taste of it, you can’t go back because life without them would be intolerably hollow and bland.

HAYDUKE Trail Journal -- Day 22 10/20/2009

I’m camped under a stormy sky, after a day of snow and rain. I have now been snowed on every month this year, except August. The only time I’ve ever been snowed on in August was the CDT when Courtney, my then girlfriend, and I were in Glacier National Park, MT. My goal next year? Snow every month! I love the stuff.

We started the day in high desert/canyon/mesa country and gradually worked our way up a maze of washes, gorges, parks, and ridges toward the pink cliffs of Bryce. One thing about the names of cliffs in this area is that they are usually accurate, if a little dull. The creativity stops after the Vermillion Cliffs.

Those are followed by the “White Cliffs.” Maybe “Ivory Cliffs” would have been more intriguing? Or “Alabaster” perhaps? And the “Pink Cliffs” could have been more appealingly named, “Rainbow Cliffs.” I’ve seen every color of the spectrum in these arching walls, although they are dominated by a pink/salmon/fuchsia type color. Come to think of it “Spectrum Cliffs” would have been a good name, too.

As we approached Bryce Canyon, the clouds got steadily larger and more impressive, creating an entrancing dance of glowing light and subtle shadow on the intricately carves cliffs. Here in the Southern reaches of the park the famous hoodoos are few, but the cliffs are still home to a multitude of exquisite sculptures, including spires, caves, arches and otherworldly ridges.

As we reached Rainbow Point, it began to snow in earnest. While the weather seemed to distress my companions, I’ve always thrived on cold weather. I found my grin growing larger as the falling snow turned the park into a winter wonderland of spruce/fir/bristlecone forest, autumn leaves on fire with color, and other inexplicably gorgeous features.

Bryce and the Grand Canyon are both unique places that defy any poets attempts at description—not that I fancy myself a poet, quite the contrary—in fact I intend to point out my consequently greater difficulty. The two “canyons” (Bryce is actually a cliff at one edge of a plateau.), however, are quite different from the words they first bring to mind. The Grand Canyon is perfectly named, for ‘grand” is certainly the first word many would think of when looking at the massive gorge carved for eons by the patient Colorado River, along with magnificent, huge, awesome and gorgeous (I can’t resist, sorry).

Bryce, on the other hand, triggers words like exquisite, intricate, and delicate. Of course they both share the same superlatives for beauty, which I will refrain from listing again. I’ve worn them out enough, already.

Toward the end of the day, we passed a large intense burn. Some of the trees had burned so hot that all they left behind was a hole in the ground, with radiating tunnels where their roots had once burrowed to seek water. Bizarre.

Through the burn, Sharon and I saw a strange sight. The sun was setting at 5:30 and in the North East! Wait--that’s not possible! Something fishy is going on.
After a brief investigation we realized that the unnatural show was radiating from the cliffs north of us, creating a spectacular optical illusion.

HAYDUKE Trail Journal -- Day 21: 10/19/2009

For breakfast, Wayne replaced the box of day old donuts he’d given us with a box of Danishes, everything else was left over from who knows how many nights. Still, the Orange Juice was cool, and I got to drink as much as I wanted. Besides, the Danishes and bananas filled me to the point where I only needed to order one breakfast when Sharon and I went out (Deciding that Wayne’s spread was enough, Lindy didn’t join us.) and I didn’t even finish Sharon’s hash browns!

I packed and watched Ocean’s 12 on TV, the first TV we’d seen since Springdale, while Sharon and Lindy went to the Post Office. We were on the road soon after they got back. We were hitching for almost two hours. We were just about to give up and buy a ride, when a small Ford pulled over.

“Where’re you heading?”

“Kitchen Corral Road”

“Where is that?”

“Not sure, 25 to 30 miles down the highway.”

“Well, let’s go.”

Stern was on his way home to Lake Powell after visiting his brother in St. George. He had an elaborate story about building a resort hotel for Georgio Armani inside Canyon Lands National Park that I only half believed, wondering: Would the National Park system allow a casino in the park? Would Armani pick Stern in his ol’ beat up Ford to be his contractor? And since when did Utah legalize casino level gambling? Outlandish!

While we were obviously grateful for the ride and amusing conversation, I was a bit relieved when we saw our stop, and I could soon rejoin peace and quiet.

The terrain got steadily more attractive as we followed the dirt road up a series of washes. Toward the middle of our travel day, we came upon Chuck’s cabin. Chuck is an old friend of the Johnson Family who stays in one of their ranch cabins in exchange for some help he gave them back in the ‘50’s. He was home, along with a large number of bellowing cows and a number of the Johnson clan, including Carl the current para familias.

We chatted with them for a while. Apparently the cows were upset because their calves had just been sold off to feed lots. If my calf had been sold off to a feedlot, where it was doomed to stand in its own shit in a corral with thousands of other cows while being forced to eat unhealthy food, antibiotics, and steroids, I’d be unhappy too. Even though these cows didn’t know the precise fate of their offspring their grief was justified.

We camped under the first three pines we’d seen all day, between two towering white cliff mesas. The sagebrush here is otherworldly, some of the plants have to be 8-10ft tall.

HAYDUKE Trail Journal -- Day 20 10/18/09

What a gorgeous (pardon the pun) place to wake up! The Sandstone walls of Buckskin Gulch are stained with beautiful Rorschach like patterns reminiscent of a Navajo rug. (Imagine That!)

During the night last night at around 10:30, a group of about 12 people with flashlights picked their way down Coyote Wash, making quite a racket as they discussed where to camp and how to adjust their packs. They took a long time walking past us. Most of the crew were obviously neophytes, led by one or two more experienced hikers. Hell, it could have been a NOLS course if it was in a more remote location. This brought back pleasant memories of the course that I was one of the instructors for in the Talkeetnas this summer. As they finally receded into the gulch, I yelled,

“HAVE FUN!” inciting much confusion and a few “who-said-that?s.” I thought briefly about following them and having a little fun, but decided against it.

We started the morning off with a surprise stroll through an impressive stretch of narrows, which slowly faded back to a meandering wash through slickrock hills. The Weather was cool. Perfect and for once all three of us were feeling good.

After crossing coyote valley road at a trailhead stocked with some amusing literature. “Don’t Die out there! Five fool-proof ways to impress your friends and mortician.” We continued through Kaibab Gulch.

Though less than obviously beautiful, the canyon was a pleasure to walk through, and the curled-dried clay in the wash yielded a distinct bubble-wrap like crunch when strolled across. Still, I felt a twinge of guilt when I marred its patterns; it was very pretty, ranging from small intricate curls to large, interlaced tiles.

Almost immediately after we reached the road a white pick-up pulled up. A ride? No, a ranger! She was nice thought, considering we didn’t have a permit. She just wanted us to describe our route for her and fill out a permit. She gave us some water and granola too!

After the ranger left, we moved up and down the road looking for the ideal place to hitch a ride. Finally an SUV came down the Kitchen Corral Road. A plump woman rolled down the window.

“Hey, where’re ya’ll from?”

“Minnesota, Wisconsin, and California/Virginia!”

“I don’t usually pick up hitch hikers, you guys don’t have any guns, do you?”

“No, too heavy, we’re just backpackers, we promise.”

“Fine. Then hop in. You can put your stuff in the back.”

Clara ended up being the perfect ride. Part of a 5 generation Johnson ranching family, she gave us the rundown and recent advances in ranching techniques. When in town, she gave us a tour, all the info on what was open, and even took us to the different hotels while Sharon checked out prices. Thanks Clara! You are a generous individual.

We finally settled on The Sun and Sand Motel, a $39 a night run-down place with reasonably clean, large rooms, free breakfast, and owners straight out of the picture next to “white trash” in the dictionary. Wayne had long thinning hair, hollow eyes and half of his original teeth. His wife looked the same but with more hair and teeth and a pair of saggy, free swinging breasts that were a horror to behold. Still, they were friendly folks and we felt right at home, despite the 70’s burnt puke orange décor.

HAYDUKE Trail Journal -- Day 19: Oct 17, 2009

One of my favorite things about lightweight (read: fast) hiking is the variety of terrain you can see in the same day. We started today on a rolling plateau by Ponderosa and Oaks, transitioned into classic Pinion/Juniper/Sage and we are now camped in the depths of Buckskin Gulch after making our way down a set of short spectacular slot canyons.

For the first few hours today was just like yesterday. The only distinctions from the monotony were the occasional forest road and a large sinkhole (maybe 180 meters in diameter). I was covering miles rapidly and singing songs to keep myself entertained. Admittedly the weather was perfect.

Suddenly, I look around and was startled to find that the Ponderosa/Aspen/Oak forest I had been walking through had given way to Pinion/Juniper/Sage—high desert scrub. The transition had taken about ten minutes. The new vegetation was a blessing and a curse. I could now enjoy the occasional view north and east to the Vermillion Cliffs and Grand Staircase, Escalante N.M., but the lack of shade made the afternoon slightly less comfortable.

After descending a stretch of annoyingly gentle switchbacks the Arizona Trail ended at a small campground. Surprisingly, only four campsites were taken and not one of the campers seemed particularly interested in the Arizona Trail. Of course there were plenty of other things to recommend. The area was beautiful. Thirty minutes later Sharon showed up interrupting my nap. Lindy was another thirty minutes behind her, having trouble with his feet.

We left the trailhead together and soon left Arizona behind, for good (parting is such sweet sorrow). The bright red sandstone glowed in the setting sun, and as we strolled down Coyote Wash, I became more and more trigger-happy. It was getting toward the end of the day, so we were hiking together. I took advantage of the pace to scramble around some buttes and slickrock gullies, searching for a shot that could capture the moment. Of course such a goal is impossible to accomplish. I grinned to myself in the realization that I would always know how to retrieve it.

I just got to watch a pair of daddy-long-legs fight or mate; I couldn’t tell which. Bats flutter around us, the stars are innumerable and the canyon wrens were singing for about a half an hour a few minutes ago. No sound now but the bats, bugs and Lindy’s snoring. Good night!

HAYDUKE Trail Journal -- Day 18: Oct 16, 2009

No coyote howling last night, but they are sure going for it tonight. I am lying on a bed of pine duff, watching the stars come out and listening to the coyotes sing, perfect. If only the whole day had been so nice. This morning was COLD!! The frost lingered for three hours after the sun rose. I didn’t mind the cold though. It helped us to conserve water. The trail was nice too, meandering through washes and parks, over hills and along ridges. The crappy part of the day was the sever mile burn out at around 11:00 am.

We had received notice of the trail closure from and 2009 Hayduke Trail Hiker (Thanks Ryan!), and we figured out where the closure was when the trail died in an endless mess of fallen logs, 3 year old saplings, thistles and thorns. (Un)luckily it died right next to the road, which we followed for seven gruesome miles.

I hate road walking: half the cars are nice and give you plenty of room, a few notice you at the last minute and serve to the side, but the rest glare at you and whiz by you as close as possible, if as they must hug the white line. Why? I don’t know. Apparently their goal is to try to terrify us into thinking we will soon be a raven’s delicacy—like the coyote and deer we saw.

Finally, we reached the road where Ryan said the closure ended. Sure enough there was a large sign at the trailhead. Lindy decided to walk the next 6 miles to Jacob Lake on the road. Sharon and I had had enough and gladly decided to walk the next eight miles to Thruway 89A then hitch.

The eight miles to the Highway went fast. Sharon and I decided that the signs were mislabeled in order to boost the confidence of thirsty hikers. “Wow, I’ve walked one and a half miles in 12 minutes. That’s an eight-minute a mile pace! I’m moving!”

We needed to go into Jacob’s Lake to refill water bottles. (We had 40 miles of dry hiking to HWY 89 and Kanab.) Sharon and I got a lift in the first vehicle coming our way (back of a black pick-up truck). I love riding in the bed of a pick-up truck; it’s the best way to travel a road by far. After meeting up with Lindy, a large dinner and loading up on 1-1/2 gallons of water each, we set out to try our luck at the intersection. No sooner had we posted ourselves, than a white pick-up pulled up. We were all grateful, even though we had to ride in the cab this time.

The driver was moving and his cab was full. All in all, it was a good way to end the day, especially with this magical evening.

HAYDUKE Trail Journal -- Day 17: 10/15/2009

Yesterday wasn’t quite as relaxing as I’d hoped. My parents, having forgotten about Columbus Day, were late in sending my ration/bounce box. As a result, I had to spend my day running around trying to figure out how to forward it when it arrives after the North Rim closes. Fun times . . .not.

Because I ate an entire pizza last night and gorged myself at the breakfast buffet this morning, I felt a little bloated and gassy as we started along the Arizona trail. (I’d planned a route across the Arizona strip, over the Paria Plateau, and along the Paria to Buckskin Gulch, but because my maps and information on the route were in my box, we were stuck with the guidebook route. Despite the lack of dramatic terrain, our walk across the plateau was very pleasant. Golden Aspens and perfect weather made up for the monotonous forested hills and grassy valleys.

We stopped for lunch (Sharon and Lindy had some leftover pizza) in an abandoned fire tower. The stairway was accessible, but the crow’s nest at the top was locked. Crystal Spring a few miles further on was surprisingly full and clean.

Two miles from Crystal Spring we got our first taste of Grandeur since leaving the Grand Canyon this morning. The trail here skirts the Eastern edge of the Kaibob River, revealing the vast Arizona Strip, sliced in half by Marble Canyon. In the distance, rise the Vermillion Cliffs of the Paria Plateau, beyond them a hulking mountain, whose name we don’t know, towers over the entire scene.

We aren’t in a rush; we will easily be in Kanab by Sunday, but will need to stay until Monday, because both Lindy and Sharon have mail coming. Faced with the decision of stopping and enjoying the spectacular sunrise or continuing and romping in the thick forest, we made the easy choice. The sun has just stopped setting and as I write I am watching the stars come out while a great horned owl hoots in the distance. I wonder if we will hear the coyotes again?

HAYDUKE Trail Journal -- Day 16: 10/14/2009

We had an easy walk through in old burn, now an aspen grove, while the sun rose. First a slight blush of purple turning to reds and oranges and yellows then finally blue sky sprinkled lightly with clouds. Beautiful. Once we got to Point Imperial we made friends with a couple of photographers and they promptly deposited us at the Lodge. Resupply and relaxation today. Sharon and Lindy decided we should stay the night and rest.

HAYDUKE Trail Journal -- Day 15: 10/13/2009

Much better and more consistent trails brought us from Kwagunt Creek to Nankoweap Creek. Nankoweap Creek is famous as the site of some ancient Pueblo granaries. They are made of stone and mortar and the Pueblos used them to store beans and grains up to over 1,000 years ago.

We stopped under the granaries among a patch of purple wildflowers and cactus before leaving the Colorado (not to be seen again until Hite) and wandering up the creek to the bottom of the Nankoweap.

We reached the trail after an attractive walk through the cottonwood filled canyon. Soon after filling our water bottles/bladders/stomachs and eating a snack, Lindy got a head start on the hike while I drenched my head. Just as I was about to wander up the trail, two boaters came down finishing up a day hike up the creek to a pictograph panel a mile upstream.

“You’re headed up Nankoweap, huh, geez, that’s a sonofabitch! Where do you plan on camping tonight? You ought to stop at Filted Mesa, Hell; you’ll be lucky to get that far on this trail. That’s about five miles up the worst, steepest trail you’ll ever see and the next possible camp is Marion Point another 2.5 miles away. You’d never make it that far. The first camp is best. Isn’t that where we built that table? Hell you’d be doing well to make it that far tonight! It’s already noon! I decided, I’d had enough of the conversation and excused myself as quickly as possible and started up, hoping that my leaving would give Sharon an out. Sharon, however, is more polite than I; she did her best to keep up and be nice but found it more and more challenging. Eventually she escaped. I don’t know how. Still I had to wait 20 minutes for her. I even considered going back to rescue her.

The trail was indeed challenging, especially for a constructed official trail in a National Park. On the other hand, it was a real manmade trail and offered by far the easiest travel we’d had since Beamer Trail, despite the stiff climb. The guidebook is wrong re. mileage on the Nankoweap Trail BTW, it is 14 miles from Forest Road 610 to the river not the 10.6. We made it to Filted Mesa and our suggested stopping point by about 2:30, and travel got much easier from there as the route traverse under trees and Redwall cliffs above one of the best view sheds in the park. We could see most of the major features of the last few days, including the canyon of the Little Colorado, Nankoweap Mesa, Duppa and Hutton Buttes, and the South Rim already below us to the South. By the time we get to Marion Point, it was cool enough that I looked for a sunny spot to rest. The evening as usual just got better. After leaving the Park by Saddle Mountain, we had views North toward the vast Arizona Strip, split in half by the inexplicable gash of Marble Canyon (the first section of the Grand Canyon). The wind, light, and views (now supplemented by the spectacular golden aspens and red scrub oaks) seemed to infuse me with a boundless energy, and I seemed to dance along the trail in a state of sublime pleasure, well after night fall.

Eventually, it began to get dark for travel, and I thought of my companions. I doubted they were enjoying those last few miles as much as I, so I stopped at a sheltered area and waited. As expected Sharon came in tired and slightly cranky, though not complaining. We figured that Lindy had probably stopped for the night earlier, but were surprised when he came wandering by about twenty minutes later. Almost a perfect day, I’m out of food now though, so the North Rim will be much appreciated.