We dropping down the west (right) side of the saddle to the East Fork and were immediately in a tall section of spectacular narrows. We waded through the cold river. It was anywhere from ankle to thigh deep. After rounding the bend, we could look up the Fat Man’s Misery route. We all agreed the West route is better. In addition, that first section at narrows proved to be the best part of the canyon.
We followed the river upstream as it twisted its way down its narrow canyon.
The route crisscrossed from bank to bank or went straight up the middle. A few small pour-offs provide some minor obstacles and Lindy again proved that he was up for anything. Throughout our walk up the canyon Sharon and I had ridiculous grins on our faces. We almost blurted out at the same time. “This is why I backpack!”
All good things must come to an end. We eventually had to climb out to the sandy jeep tracks above. Most of the rest of the day was spent walking along the jeep paths, cursing the endless sand, emptying sand from our shoes, or being passed by an endless train of ATV’s.
While going up Broad Hollow, we decided to walk up through the brush—off-trail. This proved far superior and we were soon on more rocky terrain above the spectacular canyons dropping down through the vermillion cliffs. The road winded around and over ridges, across slickrock and through sand while once again the setting sun cast a glow across the world. Eventually though it began to get dark.
As we approached the beehive, a sandstone formation with an uncommonly appropriate name, a pleasant gentleman on an ATV rode up and asked us if we were ok. Did we know where we were going? Did we need any water? We assured him that we were fine. Nevertheless, he insisted that he help us find the trail down to Squirrel Creek. He said, “Even people who’ve been down there before are liable to go right past it.”
We finally agree to let him take Lindy’s pack to the junction as a marker, and soon he was out of sight. We followed but it had darkened considerably while we were talking, and we lost the road on a section of slickrock.
Moderately distressed, I got out my light and we searched fervently for any sign of ATV tracks. Meanwhile, Lindy tried to absorb the fact that he might have to endure the night without his pack. We searched back and forth across a quarter mile section of slickrock before I finally spotted tracks going straight up what appeared to be a cliff. We scrambled up and were soon on a “road” that became increasing rugged, showing obvious signs of scraped bottoms and leaking fluid. It amazed us that anyone could get a machine up the thing.
Eventually we found Travis and Lindy’s backpack. Travis had been working on his headlights and had just finished fixing them. He was right too, although the trail was marked with a cairn, we would have probable gone right past it or turned around before reaching it without his help. After we expressed our gratitude, he offered us his water. This is what “trail magic” really is!
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