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.
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