It was cold this morning. Thankfully, I didn’t need to tap into my cow water. I walked through the sagebrush, toward the rising sun. Views of the plateaus and mesas shoving out of the Zion’s canyons surround me. Though the sand stone cliffs down below the rim have the classic red/ rose/vermillion hues seen in the postcards, the cliffs visible from the top are creamier and gentler, not spectacular but still very pleasant in the morning light.
I reached Wildcat Spring just after I’d finished my good water. I hadn’t known about this spring. It wasn’t on my map, which was odd because my maps are USGS 7.5 guide maps, typically the most detailed topographical maps available. Either way, I soon filled my water bottle and, not taking any chances this time, half of my two-liter platypus.
As I arrived around the head of Wildcat Canyon, I was entranced by the green and gold of the Aspen still “quaking” in the brisk wind, and the scarlet maples, infuse with the occasional veins of gold. While climbing up out of the smaller hollow I caught a glimpse of the Sandstone Domes guarding the gates of Wildcat Canyon. They were to be my companions for the next few hours.
The three hours from Sawmill Spring to Cabin Spring were filed with high plateaus and deep valleys, old brushfires, small scapes, blue skies, and a high stiff wind whose tendrils always managed to reach and cool me as soon as I began to get hot. In other words, it was perfect, my first full day out and I was already feeling that stupid grin creep across my face. I guess that’s what happens when you start a trip in Zion.
A ranger passed me while I was taking a break, overlooking the jumble of Buttes cliffs, spires and towers that surround Heaps canyon. I felt compelled to inform him that, no, I’d actually started traveling today, and though I was planning a long backpacking trip, I was only going to be doing day hikes in Zion.
To his credit, the young man did not seem interested in investigating further. He seemed uncomfortable with authority (much as I would be) and more incline to just enjoy his walk. I smelled a kindred spirit. We chatted briefly about Angel’s Landing, a popular day hike from the valley floor. I felt it might be worth doing this late in the afternoon, but that most of the time the crowds make it depressing. And their frivolous behavior on the hazardous trail scares him.
Climbing along Knife-Edge Ridge to Angel’s Landing, I couldn’t help but only half agree with the ranger. Although it was far preferable to make the climb and have the view all to myself, seeing a crowd on such a trail would likely encourage my hope for humanity. This was a strenuous exposed at times Class III climb up to a small airy pinnacle in the middle of Zion Canyon. Tourist willing and able to make the trip are a different breed from the garden-variety, stay close to the car type, who make up the majority of park visitors. I expect that a number of the people who make the climb up to the landing are in over their heads, but there is something to be head for pushing your boundaries. However, I expect I’d feel differently if I’d actually had to push my way through a crowd of day-hikers—or if I was responsible for rescuing those who got stuck on the hike.
From Angels’ Landing, I dropped down the famous Walter’s Wiggles switch-backs. From the Grotto, a museum and picnic area at the bottom, I decided to take advantage of my last bit of daylight to check out the Emerald Pools, another charming and popular area in the park. The pools are a radiant oasis tucked into the outlet of Heap’s Canyon. A paved trail, handrails, and multiple signs, informative and regulatory, suggested that ordinarily the locations is swarming with hordes of the very same tourists who lack the gumption or ability to climb Angel’s Landing.
I continued from the pools to Zion Lodge, a large resort in the middle of the canyon. My plan at the moment is to crash on the grounds somewhere and take off early in the morning before someone finds me. If I’m unlucky, I can always plead ignorance again.
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