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.