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.
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