Will's Blog

HAYDUKE Trail Journal -- Day 38: 11/05/09 16 miles

2009-11-18T19:19:00.000-08:00

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

2009-11-18T19:18:00.000-08:00

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

2009-11-18T19:17:00.000-08:00

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

2009-11-18T19:16:00.000-08:00

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

2009-11-18T19:15:00.000-08:00

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

2009-11-18T19:13:00.001-08:00

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

2009-11-18T19:07:00.000-08:00

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

2009-11-18T19:02:00.000-08:00

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

2009-11-07T12:40:00.000-08:00

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

2009-11-07T12:30:00.000-08:00

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

2009-11-03T20:34:00.000-08:00

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

2009-11-03T20:32:00.001-08:00

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

2009-11-01T21:09:00.000-08:00

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

2009-11-01T20:58:00.000-08:00

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

2009-11-01T20:37:00.000-08:00

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.

HAYDUKE Trail Journal -- Day 23: 10/21/2009

2009-10-31T12:26:00.000-07:00

It was a cold morning. Walking thought the sunrise; the sun’s glow was coming from all directions. It sun’s rays bounced off of the cliffs so perfectly that like last night the cliffs seemed to radiate sunlight. I moved through the forest quickly to warm myself. A brisk wind blew through my hair and brought the intoxicating smell of autumn leaves to my brain. Surrounded by magical light and entranced by the cool aromatic air, I realized that this is why I value life. Human life (including mine) is valuable because of magical human experiences—the magic of conscious human experience. Moments like this one make me wonder how long I’ll be able to enjoy them. It’s odd being in my situation.

Most people, who are diagnosed with a terminal illness, are already somehow debilitated or restricted by their disease. On the other hand, my brain cancer was discovered by accident, an incidental finding. I have no symptoms and have tolerated the treatment with no lasting negative side effects, so I feel as strong, vital, mentally and physically as capable as ever. Thus, I feel compelled to live my life as if I might die in less than a year, yet still I must prepare for a possible future, just in case luck prevails or treatment options improve. It’s a balance as delicate as some of the formations I’ve passed this trip, holding strong against the unforeseen and seen elements.

Speaking of which, the formation of Bryce Canyon grew steadily more impressive and exquisite as we moved north into The Amphitheater. Sharon and I had trouble taking more than 10-20 steps between photographs.

The Hayduke Trail envisioned by the founders, leaves Bryce south of The Amphitheater. We saw no reason to come so close to one of the world’s truly unique locations only to skirt its southern edge. We winded our way past castles, cathedrals, windows, arches, bridges, and towers, laced with every hue from white/ivory through the oranges to scarlet and crimson with some violet, purple, and fuchsia woven in. Spectacular! Awesome! Cliff-ag-i-scent!

Unfortunately, these unique canyons are also small, and we, eventually, found ourselves walking down Campbell Canyon towards Tropic, UT. As I write now, I remember how I felt when I walked through that cold morning air. Such experiences are reminiscent of love or spice. They add an entirely new dimension that the uninitiated don’t even realize exists, but once you get a taste of it, you can’t go back because life without them would be intolerably hollow and bland.

HAYDUKE Trail Journal -- Day 22 10/20/2009

2009-10-31T12:09:00.000-07:00

I’m camped under a stormy sky, after a day of snow and rain. I have now been snowed on every month this year, except August. The only time I’ve ever been snowed on in August was the CDT when Courtney, my then girlfriend, and I were in Glacier National Park, MT. My goal next year? Snow every month! I love the stuff.

We started the day in high desert/canyon/mesa country and gradually worked our way up a maze of washes, gorges, parks, and ridges toward the pink cliffs of Bryce. One thing about the names of cliffs in this area is that they are usually accurate, if a little dull. The creativity stops after the Vermillion Cliffs.

Those are followed by the “White Cliffs.” Maybe “Ivory Cliffs” would have been more intriguing? Or “Alabaster” perhaps? And the “Pink Cliffs” could have been more appealingly named, “Rainbow Cliffs.” I’ve seen every color of the spectrum in these arching walls, although they are dominated by a pink/salmon/fuchsia type color. Come to think of it “Spectrum Cliffs” would have been a good name, too.

As we approached Bryce Canyon, the clouds got steadily larger and more impressive, creating an entrancing dance of glowing light and subtle shadow on the intricately carves cliffs. Here in the Southern reaches of the park the famous hoodoos are few, but the cliffs are still home to a multitude of exquisite sculptures, including spires, caves, arches and otherworldly ridges.

As we reached Rainbow Point, it began to snow in earnest. While the weather seemed to distress my companions, I’ve always thrived on cold weather. I found my grin growing larger as the falling snow turned the park into a winter wonderland of spruce/fir/bristlecone forest, autumn leaves on fire with color, and other inexplicably gorgeous features.

Bryce and the Grand Canyon are both unique places that defy any poets attempts at description—not that I fancy myself a poet, quite the contrary—in fact I intend to point out my consequently greater difficulty. The two “canyons” (Bryce is actually a cliff at one edge of a plateau.), however, are quite different from the words they first bring to mind. The Grand Canyon is perfectly named, for ‘grand” is certainly the first word many would think of when looking at the massive gorge carved for eons by the patient Colorado River, along with magnificent, huge, awesome and gorgeous (I can’t resist, sorry).

Bryce, on the other hand, triggers words like exquisite, intricate, and delicate. Of course they both share the same superlatives for beauty, which I will refrain from listing again. I’ve worn them out enough, already.

Toward the end of the day, we passed a large intense burn. Some of the trees had burned so hot that all they left behind was a hole in the ground, with radiating tunnels where their roots had once burrowed to seek water. Bizarre.

Through the burn, Sharon and I saw a strange sight. The sun was setting at 5:30 and in the North East! Wait--that’s not possible! Something fishy is going on.
After a brief investigation we realized that the unnatural show was radiating from the cliffs north of us, creating a spectacular optical illusion.

HAYDUKE Trail Journal -- Day 21: 10/19/2009

2009-10-31T11:57:00.000-07:00

For breakfast, Wayne replaced the box of day old donuts he’d given us with a box of Danishes, everything else was left over from who knows how many nights. Still, the Orange Juice was cool, and I got to drink as much as I wanted. Besides, the Danishes and bananas filled me to the point where I only needed to order one breakfast when Sharon and I went out (Deciding that Wayne’s spread was enough, Lindy didn’t join us.) and I didn’t even finish Sharon’s hash browns!

I packed and watched Ocean’s 12 on TV, the first TV we’d seen since Springdale, while Sharon and Lindy went to the Post Office. We were on the road soon after they got back. We were hitching for almost two hours. We were just about to give up and buy a ride, when a small Ford pulled over.

“Where’re you heading?”

“Kitchen Corral Road”

“Where is that?”

“Not sure, 25 to 30 miles down the highway.”

“Well, let’s go.”

Stern was on his way home to Lake Powell after visiting his brother in St. George. He had an elaborate story about building a resort hotel for Georgio Armani inside Canyon Lands National Park that I only half believed, wondering: Would the National Park system allow a casino in the park? Would Armani pick Stern in his ol’ beat up Ford to be his contractor? And since when did Utah legalize casino level gambling? Outlandish!

While we were obviously grateful for the ride and amusing conversation, I was a bit relieved when we saw our stop, and I could soon rejoin peace and quiet.

The terrain got steadily more attractive as we followed the dirt road up a series of washes. Toward the middle of our travel day, we came upon Chuck’s cabin. Chuck is an old friend of the Johnson Family who stays in one of their ranch cabins in exchange for some help he gave them back in the ‘50’s. He was home, along with a large number of bellowing cows and a number of the Johnson clan, including Carl the current para familias.

We chatted with them for a while. Apparently the cows were upset because their calves had just been sold off to feed lots. If my calf had been sold off to a feedlot, where it was doomed to stand in its own shit in a corral with thousands of other cows while being forced to eat unhealthy food, antibiotics, and steroids, I’d be unhappy too. Even though these cows didn’t know the precise fate of their offspring their grief was justified.

We camped under the first three pines we’d seen all day, between two towering white cliff mesas. The sagebrush here is otherworldly, some of the plants have to be 8-10ft tall.

HAYDUKE Trail Journal -- Day 20 10/18/09

2009-10-31T11:44:00.000-07:00

What a gorgeous (pardon the pun) place to wake up! The Sandstone walls of Buckskin Gulch are stained with beautiful Rorschach like patterns reminiscent of a Navajo rug. (Imagine That!)

During the night last night at around 10:30, a group of about 12 people with flashlights picked their way down Coyote Wash, making quite a racket as they discussed where to camp and how to adjust their packs. They took a long time walking past us. Most of the crew were obviously neophytes, led by one or two more experienced hikers. Hell, it could have been a NOLS course if it was in a more remote location. This brought back pleasant memories of the course that I was one of the instructors for in the Talkeetnas this summer. As they finally receded into the gulch, I yelled,

“HAVE FUN!” inciting much confusion and a few “who-said-that?s.” I thought briefly about following them and having a little fun, but decided against it.

We started the morning off with a surprise stroll through an impressive stretch of narrows, which slowly faded back to a meandering wash through slickrock hills. The Weather was cool. Perfect and for once all three of us were feeling good.

After crossing coyote valley road at a trailhead stocked with some amusing literature. “Don’t Die out there! Five fool-proof ways to impress your friends and mortician.” We continued through Kaibab Gulch.

Though less than obviously beautiful, the canyon was a pleasure to walk through, and the curled-dried clay in the wash yielded a distinct bubble-wrap like crunch when strolled across. Still, I felt a twinge of guilt when I marred its patterns; it was very pretty, ranging from small intricate curls to large, interlaced tiles.

Almost immediately after we reached the road a white pick-up pulled up. A ride? No, a ranger! She was nice thought, considering we didn’t have a permit. She just wanted us to describe our route for her and fill out a permit. She gave us some water and granola too!

After the ranger left, we moved up and down the road looking for the ideal place to hitch a ride. Finally an SUV came down the Kitchen Corral Road. A plump woman rolled down the window.

“Hey, where’re ya’ll from?”

“Minnesota, Wisconsin, and California/Virginia!”

“I don’t usually pick up hitch hikers, you guys don’t have any guns, do you?”

“No, too heavy, we’re just backpackers, we promise.”

“Fine. Then hop in. You can put your stuff in the back.”

Clara ended up being the perfect ride. Part of a 5 generation Johnson ranching family, she gave us the rundown and recent advances in ranching techniques. When in town, she gave us a tour, all the info on what was open, and even took us to the different hotels while Sharon checked out prices. Thanks Clara! You are a generous individual.

We finally settled on The Sun and Sand Motel, a $39 a night run-down place with reasonably clean, large rooms, free breakfast, and owners straight out of the picture next to “white trash” in the dictionary. Wayne had long thinning hair, hollow eyes and half of his original teeth. His wife looked the same but with more hair and teeth and a pair of saggy, free swinging breasts that were a horror to behold. Still, they were friendly folks and we felt right at home, despite the 70’s burnt puke orange décor.

HAYDUKE Trail Journal -- Day 19: Oct 17, 2009

2009-10-31T11:37:00.000-07:00

One of my favorite things about lightweight (read: fast) hiking is the variety of terrain you can see in the same day. We started today on a rolling plateau by Ponderosa and Oaks, transitioned into classic Pinion/Juniper/Sage and we are now camped in the depths of Buckskin Gulch after making our way down a set of short spectacular slot canyons.

For the first few hours today was just like yesterday. The only distinctions from the monotony were the occasional forest road and a large sinkhole (maybe 180 meters in diameter). I was covering miles rapidly and singing songs to keep myself entertained. Admittedly the weather was perfect.

Suddenly, I look around and was startled to find that the Ponderosa/Aspen/Oak forest I had been walking through had given way to Pinion/Juniper/Sage—high desert scrub. The transition had taken about ten minutes. The new vegetation was a blessing and a curse. I could now enjoy the occasional view north and east to the Vermillion Cliffs and Grand Staircase, Escalante N.M., but the lack of shade made the afternoon slightly less comfortable.

After descending a stretch of annoyingly gentle switchbacks the Arizona Trail ended at a small campground. Surprisingly, only four campsites were taken and not one of the campers seemed particularly interested in the Arizona Trail. Of course there were plenty of other things to recommend. The area was beautiful. Thirty minutes later Sharon showed up interrupting my nap. Lindy was another thirty minutes behind her, having trouble with his feet.

We left the trailhead together and soon left Arizona behind, for good (parting is such sweet sorrow). The bright red sandstone glowed in the setting sun, and as we strolled down Coyote Wash, I became more and more trigger-happy. It was getting toward the end of the day, so we were hiking together. I took advantage of the pace to scramble around some buttes and slickrock gullies, searching for a shot that could capture the moment. Of course such a goal is impossible to accomplish. I grinned to myself in the realization that I would always know how to retrieve it.

I just got to watch a pair of daddy-long-legs fight or mate; I couldn’t tell which. Bats flutter around us, the stars are innumerable and the canyon wrens were singing for about a half an hour a few minutes ago. No sound now but the bats, bugs and Lindy’s snoring. Good night!

HAYDUKE Trail Journal -- Day 18: Oct 16, 2009

2009-10-31T11:30:00.000-07:00

No coyote howling last night, but they are sure going for it tonight. I am lying on a bed of pine duff, watching the stars come out and listening to the coyotes sing, perfect. If only the whole day had been so nice. This morning was COLD!! The frost lingered for three hours after the sun rose. I didn’t mind the cold though. It helped us to conserve water. The trail was nice too, meandering through washes and parks, over hills and along ridges. The crappy part of the day was the sever mile burn out at around 11:00 am.

We had received notice of the trail closure from and 2009 Hayduke Trail Hiker (Thanks Ryan!), and we figured out where the closure was when the trail died in an endless mess of fallen logs, 3 year old saplings, thistles and thorns. (Un)luckily it died right next to the road, which we followed for seven gruesome miles.

I hate road walking: half the cars are nice and give you plenty of room, a few notice you at the last minute and serve to the side, but the rest glare at you and whiz by you as close as possible, if as they must hug the white line. Why? I don’t know. Apparently their goal is to try to terrify us into thinking we will soon be a raven’s delicacy—like the coyote and deer we saw.

Finally, we reached the road where Ryan said the closure ended. Sure enough there was a large sign at the trailhead. Lindy decided to walk the next 6 miles to Jacob Lake on the road. Sharon and I had had enough and gladly decided to walk the next eight miles to Thruway 89A then hitch.

The eight miles to the Highway went fast. Sharon and I decided that the signs were mislabeled in order to boost the confidence of thirsty hikers. “Wow, I’ve walked one and a half miles in 12 minutes. That’s an eight-minute a mile pace! I’m moving!”

We needed to go into Jacob’s Lake to refill water bottles. (We had 40 miles of dry hiking to HWY 89 and Kanab.) Sharon and I got a lift in the first vehicle coming our way (back of a black pick-up truck). I love riding in the bed of a pick-up truck; it’s the best way to travel a road by far. After meeting up with Lindy, a large dinner and loading up on 1-1/2 gallons of water each, we set out to try our luck at the intersection. No sooner had we posted ourselves, than a white pick-up pulled up. We were all grateful, even though we had to ride in the cab this time.

The driver was moving and his cab was full. All in all, it was a good way to end the day, especially with this magical evening.

HAYDUKE Trail Journal -- Day 17: 10/15/2009

2009-10-31T11:26:00.000-07:00

Yesterday wasn’t quite as relaxing as I’d hoped. My parents, having forgotten about Columbus Day, were late in sending my ration/bounce box. As a result, I had to spend my day running around trying to figure out how to forward it when it arrives after the North Rim closes. Fun times . . .not.

Because I ate an entire pizza last night and gorged myself at the breakfast buffet this morning, I felt a little bloated and gassy as we started along the Arizona trail. (I’d planned a route across the Arizona strip, over the Paria Plateau, and along the Paria to Buckskin Gulch, but because my maps and information on the route were in my box, we were stuck with the guidebook route. Despite the lack of dramatic terrain, our walk across the plateau was very pleasant. Golden Aspens and perfect weather made up for the monotonous forested hills and grassy valleys.

We stopped for lunch (Sharon and Lindy had some leftover pizza) in an abandoned fire tower. The stairway was accessible, but the crow’s nest at the top was locked. Crystal Spring a few miles further on was surprisingly full and clean.

Two miles from Crystal Spring we got our first taste of Grandeur since leaving the Grand Canyon this morning. The trail here skirts the Eastern edge of the Kaibob River, revealing the vast Arizona Strip, sliced in half by Marble Canyon. In the distance, rise the Vermillion Cliffs of the Paria Plateau, beyond them a hulking mountain, whose name we don’t know, towers over the entire scene.

We aren’t in a rush; we will easily be in Kanab by Sunday, but will need to stay until Monday, because both Lindy and Sharon have mail coming. Faced with the decision of stopping and enjoying the spectacular sunrise or continuing and romping in the thick forest, we made the easy choice. The sun has just stopped setting and as I write I am watching the stars come out while a great horned owl hoots in the distance. I wonder if we will hear the coyotes again?

HAYDUKE Trail Journal -- Day 16: 10/14/2009

2009-10-31T11:25:00.001-07:00

We had an easy walk through in old burn, now an aspen grove, while the sun rose. First a slight blush of purple turning to reds and oranges and yellows then finally blue sky sprinkled lightly with clouds. Beautiful. Once we got to Point Imperial we made friends with a couple of photographers and they promptly deposited us at the Lodge. Resupply and relaxation today. Sharon and Lindy decided we should stay the night and rest.

HAYDUKE Trail Journal -- Day 15: 10/13/2009

2009-10-25T13:12:00.000-07:00

Much better and more consistent trails brought us from Kwagunt Creek to Nankoweap Creek. Nankoweap Creek is famous as the site of some ancient Pueblo granaries. They are made of stone and mortar and the Pueblos used them to store beans and grains up to over 1,000 years ago.

We stopped under the granaries among a patch of purple wildflowers and cactus before leaving the Colorado (not to be seen again until Hite) and wandering up the creek to the bottom of the Nankoweap.

We reached the trail after an attractive walk through the cottonwood filled canyon. Soon after filling our water bottles/bladders/stomachs and eating a snack, Lindy got a head start on the hike while I drenched my head. Just as I was about to wander up the trail, two boaters came down finishing up a day hike up the creek to a pictograph panel a mile upstream.

“You’re headed up Nankoweap, huh, geez, that’s a sonofabitch! Where do you plan on camping tonight? You ought to stop at Filted Mesa, Hell; you’ll be lucky to get that far on this trail. That’s about five miles up the worst, steepest trail you’ll ever see and the next possible camp is Marion Point another 2.5 miles away. You’d never make it that far. The first camp is best. Isn’t that where we built that table? Hell you’d be doing well to make it that far tonight! It’s already noon! I decided, I’d had enough of the conversation and excused myself as quickly as possible and started up, hoping that my leaving would give Sharon an out. Sharon, however, is more polite than I; she did her best to keep up and be nice but found it more and more challenging. Eventually she escaped. I don’t know how. Still I had to wait 20 minutes for her. I even considered going back to rescue her.

The trail was indeed challenging, especially for a constructed official trail in a National Park. On the other hand, it was a real manmade trail and offered by far the easiest travel we’d had since Beamer Trail, despite the stiff climb. The guidebook is wrong re. mileage on the Nankoweap Trail BTW, it is 14 miles from Forest Road 610 to the river not the 10.6. We made it to Filted Mesa and our suggested stopping point by about 2:30, and travel got much easier from there as the route traverse under trees and Redwall cliffs above one of the best view sheds in the park. We could see most of the major features of the last few days, including the canyon of the Little Colorado, Nankoweap Mesa, Duppa and Hutton Buttes, and the South Rim already below us to the South. By the time we get to Marion Point, it was cool enough that I looked for a sunny spot to rest. The evening as usual just got better. After leaving the Park by Saddle Mountain, we had views North toward the vast Arizona Strip, split in half by the inexplicable gash of Marble Canyon (the first section of the Grand Canyon). The wind, light, and views (now supplemented by the spectacular golden aspens and red scrub oaks) seemed to infuse me with a boundless energy, and I seemed to dance along the trail in a state of sublime pleasure, well after night fall.

Eventually, it began to get dark for travel, and I thought of my companions. I doubted they were enjoying those last few miles as much as I, so I stopped at a sheltered area and waited. As expected Sharon came in tired and slightly cranky, though not complaining. We figured that Lindy had probably stopped for the night earlier, but were surprised when he came wandering by about twenty minutes later. Almost a perfect day, I’m out of food now though, so the North Rim will be much appreciated.

HAYDUKE Trail Journal -- Day 14: 10/12/2009

2009-10-25T13:07:00.000-07:00

As we made our way to the Beamer Trail, one question dominated our minds: Will we be able to get a ride across the Colorado? A maze of Locust and Willow thickets, small cliffs, drainages, and use trails to campsites made finding Beamer Trail a small chore, but once on it, it was easy to travel until Lara Canyon, where we stopped to fill water bottles and watch a small pod of rafters run Lara Creek Rapids, before the high cliff section of the trail.

The Beamer Trail has a reputation as a twisting, narrow trail that slopes off toward the 500 ft cliff and the Colorado River. While there were certainly parts with vertigo inducing exposure, they were not particularly long and difficult. At least that’s what I was thinking until I heard Sharon scream, “Oh Shit, LINDY OH NO!”

I turned around; Lindy had fallen off a stiff drop and was on his back, a basketball-sized rock was rolling off of him. He then got out of his pack and began stumbling around in a daze, only a meter away from a 100 ft pour off. Sharon and I simultaneously yelled, “Lindy, SIT DOWN!” But he continued to stumble and mumble. “I’m alright. I’m fine.” Until Sharon jumped down and essentially pushed him down onto a rock.

I immediately joined them, and Sharon (a nurse) began to clean and bandage his wound, while I (an EMT) did a quick check of his vitals. Long story, short . . .he was fine. He had stumbled and fallen off a small drop after he had lost his footing on some small loose rocks and the small boulder a saw on his chest had actually rolled onto his head, but the worst thing he had to show for it was an inch long gash on his forehead. I irrigated it and bandaged it, sealing it as tightly as possible after making sure it was clean. Sharon and I both suggested walking out up the Tanner Trail to get it taken care of more appropriately, but feisty ol’ Lindy wouldn’t hear of it. “Let’s go catch our boat!”

We reached the Little Colorado River, a small-bright turquoise Creek that, nevertheless, was chest-deep, half of which was mud, near the confluence. We poked and prodded, trying different points, when I got in deep enough that my pack started floating me away with the slow current, forcing me to retreat back to the bank. Frustrated, we went upstream until we found a good crossing with a slightly less muddy bottom.

As soon as we got back to the Colorado, the late-twenties guys popped out of the bushes, “hey you guys want a beer?” We chatted with the rafters for half an hour; while they shared their food with us insisting “They had more than they could ever finish.” They informed us that they were actually working. They were conducting a survey of the water quality and biodiversity of the nation’s waterways. What a fun job! They then gave us a ride across the Colorado. Almost too easy!

The rest of the evening we spent half the time on the fabulous slate shelves on the cliffs along the river or on narrow game paths on the slopes above. The other half was spent connecting these corridors by boulder hopping our way through dense willows and locust trees, the latter are covered with ½ inch to 2 inch long thorns that clutch, tear and snag anything they come into contact with. At one point I actually screamed in pain when a step brought one of the thorns into the ball of my foot. I limped around for a while. But by the time we stopped for the night I was fine.

We are camped on a small beach just south of Khagunt Creek, should be fun again tomorrow. Sharon and I checked Lindy’s forehead one last time tonight. So far, so good—no sign of infection. I continue to be impressed with the durability and strength of Lindy’s 69-year-old body. However, I’m beginning to have doubts that he has the ability to complete the entire route, at least in the time allotted. It might be just too much for him.

HAYDUKE Trail Journal -- Day 13: 10/11/2009

2009-10-25T13:03:00.000-07:00

Relaxing day today. We stared by finishing the climb up to Horseshoe Mesa. These are some old mines on the Mesa, as well as a cabin, several rubbish heaps, and old, rotting equipment. I’ve often wondered at which point trash becomes an archeological relic. Some of this debris such as the ancient rodent middens, the pottery shards of Native Americans, the old mining gear of pioneers is considered historically valuable. The old Model T someone left in a field is of keen interest whereas the can of Dr. Pepper is just litter. I’m not suggesting we litter for posterity of future archeologists. I guess I’m just suggesting that time like distance hikes changes the perspective from which we look at things.

Enough with the tangent . . .on to the Grand Canyon. We dropped down easily to the Hance Rapid and the Hance Trail. There we soaked our feet and lazed around in the sun while we watched a pair of raft pods go by. At one point in immersed my head in the water . . .COLD! Meanwhile Sharon was working up the courage for a full body wash. Eventually after much hemming and hawing. She lay down completely submerged. Not to be outdone, I quickly followed suit, but jumped back up immediately.

We soon left our little beach and began to work our way upstream on the Escalante Route. The half of the day was my favorite section of the canyon so far. We started with a short scramble up a rockslide about 500 meters upstream before dropping back down to the river. Further along the route went up some pretty sections of narrows in Escalante and Seventy-Five Mile Creeks, but it was the end of the route that made the day.

After climbing a ways up Escalante Creek, the route angled up and around a high Butte. It was exceptionally windy, so windy in fact that the leader of a large group going the opposite direction told us, “we had better be careful up there. It’s windy.” Just in case we hadn’t noticed the gusts that were pushing us to the side.

The route slowly contoured across a slope with views of the Palisades of the Desert across a massive wide gap in the Grand Canyon. For once the views were airy and open in nature. Combined with the perfect temperature, gale winds, and evening light, I felt utterly serene. Each breath seemed to fill my chest with some benevolent force providing me simultaneously with a sense of pure peace and boundless energy. As usual, I didn’t want to stop at the end of the day, but nightfall and my weary companions brought me to this rather pleasant camp just East of Garden Creek. If only everyday could end so sweetly.

HAYDUKE Trail Journal -- Day 12: 10/10/09

2009-10-25T12:59:00.000-07:00

Today was a highly varied, but mostly fantastic day. It began with an easy walk down to Phantom Ranch, where we were moderately distressed to learn that breakfast was not served until 8:00. Ce la Vie! The climb up the South Kaibob trail was populated with an eclectic mixture of characters, most of whom were participating in the early October Rim-to-Rim hike. Apparently everyone is trying to hike rim to rim in one day. Fat guy in sweat-shirts and funny packs, surly teenager with baggy jeans, tie-dye T-shirts and one carrying a gallon jug in his hand, ultra-distance runners, Brooklyn girls in designer duds, and your standard active couple with hydration system equipped packs and full synthetic outfits. Some of them had not even reached the bottom but were already very tired. They were in for a long day. The Grand Canyon is like an inverted mountain where unfortunately the easy part of the hike is the first part, and then you have to finish climbing up.

After we reached Tonto Trail, we only saw one group of people the rest of the day, a pair of week-enders who informed us that we would never make it to our camp tonight. They did have some useful information about water though apparently every source between here and Grapevine Creek was dry. Oops.

Once again the scenery was splendid. We were in the Grand Canyon after all. Most of the day was dominated by Zoraster Temple, a precipitous pinnacle of rock sitting on an arched throne made up of the most splendid Redwall cliff I have yet seen. We slowly make our way around it, watch it from various angles. Unfortunately, I didn’t appreciate the view as much today as I should have, because the lack of water had left me dehydrated and mildly cranky. This section of the Tonto makes long traverses on the cliff that contain the creeks coming down from the South Rim. The traverse seemed to take forever. By the time I was paralleling the Grapevine Creek drainage, all I could think about was water.

Finally, I reached the spring and promptly scare a frog from his puddle before I promptly down two quarts in quick secession. After refilling a third time I sat down to drink while I waited for the others. They were very glad to see me, because it meant I had found water.

The rest of the day was amazing. The sun was lowering, the air was cooling, the light was filled with marvelous colors, and my body felt perfect. There is nothing I enjoy more than the sensation of my body in effortless fluid motion. Combine that with sunset in the Grand Canyon, and my evening was a pleasant one indeed.

The choice campsites near Cottonwood Creek were taken, so we continued toward Horse Shoe Mesa. Unfortunately, by the time we were ready to stop we had left flat ground behind. Lindy found a spot quickly (a good one), but Sharon and I wandered around for a while in the steadily waning light for a 7 by 2 piece of flatish ground without obvious rodent holes. I eventually settle for a dry streambed. Rocky, sloped, but adequate. Time to eat!

HAYDUKE Trail Journal -- Day 11: 10/09/2009

2009-10-25T12:49:00.000-07:00

I’m on a high bench, jutting out from the main canyon and surrounded on all sides by castles and pyramids, cutting into the night sky. The sunset just ended and for the last hour these prominent summits have been slowly changing color across the spectrum, all the way from red and yellow to blue, purple and black (skipping green, which was provided by the vegetation). It was sublime.

Now that the sun has set, I want to enjoy the stars. Instead, however, I find myself matching wits with a creature smaller than the hole in my brain. Dang, that mouse is persistent and if he’s (she’s) not careful, he’s going to be food for some lucky scavenger tomorrow morning. He seems to be taking a break now. Maybe he’s trying to lure me into a false sense of security. Are mice that smart? Maybe he’s just experimenting on me, testing to see how long human’s vigilance lasts after the last observed threat. I have to admit it’s working. My eyes are getting heavy.

Slept this morning, packed and gorged ourselves at the Lodge’s buffet. Temporarily satiated. We moseyed on down to the General Store for some last minute supplies before making our way to the North Kaibob Trailhead.

Despite the omnipresent evidence left behind by the mules, both visual and olfactory, the first four miles of the trail were very nice. The yellow aspens and pink/red maples in the drainages contrasted brilliantly with the pines and the desert flora on the slopes, and the trail got steadily better all day.

Instead of slowly cutting down the layers of rocks like we had along Hack and Kanab Canyons today we dropping precipitously down the already completed gorge. All layers were visible at once. Though I preferred the slow descent of last week, it was still cool to see the sheer scale of the canyon while dropping down. I applied myself toward studying and identifying the various and I remembered most of the types of layers about bright angel shale. Thinking about it we seemed we were dropping back in time as we moved down the layers—each one representing and further and further past.

It was a short 16-mile walk, almost all downhill to our camp today. So even thought we got a late start, we took our time and relaxed all day long. We still got into camp earlier than any other night on the trip. This should be a pleasant loop through the canyon.

HAYDUKE Trail Journal -- Day 10: 10/08/2009

2009-10-22T15:50:00.000-07:00

Gorgeous weather all day today as we walked to Kaibab Plateau to the North Rim. Sharon and I strolled easily through the mixed aspen/pine/spruce forest enjoying the cool weather and the clear, crisp light.

From where we camped to the North Rim was about 34 miles, and Lindy decided he was not up for it. After about 10 a he branched off toward highway 67 to hitchhike into the village, grab our boxes and try to find a room to get rested up, while Sharon and I walked the back roads in. It’s a good thing he did too. As it was, Sharon and I didn’t make it until well after dark. Lindy saved a lot of time by grabbing our packages today.

Though it was sad to leave Lindy, Sharon and I really enjoyed our walk this afternoon. Our paces matched most of the way, and we talked easily about our lives, remembered stories from the PCT, and even discussed some politic before quickly changing the subject. I didn’t come out here to talk or think about the world’s problems. I came out here to see what’s RIGHT with the world.

We to a heavy frost last night so Sharon and I stopped when the road got close to the rim to lay out our gear to dry and eat the rest of our food. I didn’t have much left but some olive oil and peanut butter that Lindy had given me in exchange for the rest of my trail mix (He was having trouble keeping some things settled in his stomach.), but Sharon kindly lent me ??? to eat with my peanut butter and oil. She always has extra food, I don’t know how. We lost track of time enjoying the view and got the North Rim at half an hour after dark as a result. Walking the pavement toward Lindy and the lodge was such a terror. Cars had no idea what my light was and blazed passed within a couple of feet of us. It was so bad that we gladly accepted a lift the last mile or so to the Lodge. Thought the place had been booked for months, Lindy somehow managed to scrounge out a room with a combination of pity and persistence.

Eating dinner now. Everything is excellent, though the salad is a bit small. Endless buttered rolls with honey . . . hmmmm. I even skipped dessert.

HAYDUKE Trail Journal -- Day 9, 10/7/2009

2009-10-22T15:49:00.000-07:00

Maybe Lindy is human after all. After a short slightly easier section of boulders we reached Deer Creek Falls, climbing from there to the rim fairly exhausted him, and he had trouble keeping up even after we reached the flats on the top. We stopped well short of where we wanted to get, and I doubt we’ll be able to make it to the North Rim tomorrow as planned, unless Lindy makes a dramatic recover tonight. Still we had a great day.

Coming up from the falls, we came through a gorgeous and bizarre section of narrows above the creek, where we wound our way along a narrow shelf in the middle. Past the narrows we hiked through a verdant desert oasis to Deer Creek Spring, an incredible spigot of water shooting straight out of the cliff. We filled up with water at the spring and began our climb in earnest . . .4,500 ft to go.

From the spring we climbed up into a light rain. We were lucky when it came to the weather clouds and drizzle cooled us throughout the climb. We passed prickly pears and barrel cacti, whose saber-sharp coating of impenetrable needles caused me to dub them the “concertina wire of the plant kingdom.” After a while we reach Surprise Valley, the views of the canyon are starting to open up. I can make out the Tapeats terrace and it’s peak, Steamboat Mountain, 4,000 ft to go.

It was a long climb up to the top of the next layer of cliffs (the Redwalls?). At the top Lindy was distraught to find the last tallest part of the canyon towering above us. I can’t stop taking pictures. Wave upon wave of clouds pass us bathing some part of the canyon in light while showering others in rain and shadow creating a dramatic effect impossible to capture with my meager photography skills. As we crossed the sandstone benches between the next section and us I fairly danced my way across the rack, 2,000ft to go.

The Bill Hall Trail took us ever higher, bringing more of the canyon into view. Steamboat Mountain, the Tepeats Terrace and many other features previously above us now sank far below. Marvelous, I took more and more pictures. Digital makes it easy to find diamonds in the rough. More rough—more diamonds. Finally, we reach the top. The weather has cleared, leaving the evening cold, but still and bright.

We managed maybe another 4 for miles on the plateau, wandering slowly upward another 1,000 ft through recently burned ponderosa forest. Lindy is extremely winded from the climb, and Sharon and I insisted we carry his pack up the hills n the top. Even so, we made slow progress and stopped early. Long day tomorrow if we want to get to the North Rim.

HAYDUKE Trail Journal -- Day 8: 10/6/2009

2009-10-22T15:48:00.000-07:00

Warm night last night. I slept for half an hour outside of my sleeping bag. I had a quick breakfast of granola and green tea. Lindy as usual was ready to roll well before Sharon and I were, so he had to wait while we dawdled. When we were all packed he was off like a shot. In a few minutes we were in the park passing Jumpup Canyon. Soon after we reached a small spring coming out from under the canyon wall. The large number of fish suggested that it was perennial water source. The creek flowed uninterrupted from here to the Colorado River.

Just over a mile from these seeps we came to a unique spectacle. A large flower garden hung from an overhang in the canyon wall, showering the creek with cool and delicious water. I found myself wishing I were hot and miserable so that I could refresh myself in the Showerbath

Spring. Instead of just relishing the beauty. As it was, it was too cool too stay under it for long.

After we left Showerbath Spring, the route down the creek quickly became more challenging. I soon came to the conclusion that Lindy was some sort of sorcerer, because I was having trouble keeping up with him as he scrambled over small cliffs, through gaps, and across small pour offs. I NEVER have had trouble keeping up with people in the past and here I was being challenged by a 69-year-old man. Obviously, the only explanation is some sort of magical power that he has attained whether through divine or dark means, I don’t know. He denies this. Of course, he would. Keeping his silence on the subject was probably part of the deal.

After a while we stopped to wait for Sharon, she had been close behind us a little while ago, but we had lost sight of her. We waited and waited . . . and waited. After about 15 minutes I began to worry. After 30 I was truly concerned and I headed back to look for her. I began to have vision of finding her in the creek face down somewhere or splattered across a rock under some cliff. What would I possibly tell her family? Would I be able to revive her?

Finally, I heard someone scrambling behind a boulder. “Sharon?”

“Yeah?”

Fantastic at least she was conscious and oriented said the EMT in me. I rounded the boulder and discovered a standing but very distraught Sharon in desperate need of a hug. “I’m so stupid. I’m such an idiot. I was following footprints. I’m so stupid.”

“Hey calm down you’re fine. What happened?”

Sharon had followed some tracks up onto the benches above the lowest level of the cliffs. When she lost the rail, she couldn’t find her way back down and had been searching for a route for quite some time. Eventually, she found this route next to this boulder, which she had just barely managed after lowering her pack. I showed up just after she had gotten down. Her route did look heinous. Thankfully though, she was fine, just a bit rattled. The only casualty of the incident was her camera, which has fallen out of her pack.

The traveling got gradually easier as we approached the river, and we began to encounter a number of people who had come up the canyon as part of a rafting trip. Finally we rounded a bend and stepped through some deep mud to get onto the banks of the unnaturally cool and green Colorado River.

We stopped for a while at the confluence to take in the massive gorge. It was hard to wrap my mind around the fact that this was just the lowest and shortest of the three massive walls between river and rim in this part of the canyon.

From the confluence we worked our way up the river, picking our way through sharp boulders and even sharper vegetation. It seemed like everything we touched would either cut, scrape, or prick us. Luckily the river was low and we were able to take advantage of the sandy beaches next to the water fairly often.

As the afternoon wore on I soon left Sharon and Lindy. Maybe Lindy was human after all? I’ve always enjoyed boulder hopping. And I enjoyed the jumping and dodging and ducking and wearing, while the sun slowly sank saturating the scene with sensual tones (Sorry I couldn’t help myself.) and the backside of “Abbey Road” ran through my head.

Occasionally, I would stop next to the river and wait, and each time they took a bit longer to catch up. By the time we reached Fishtail Creek, it was obvious the day was done for them. It was too dark to continue anyway.

HAYDUKE Trail Journal -- Day 7: 10/5/2009

2009-10-22T15:47:00.000-07:00

We got up early to take advantage of the easy traveling while light was low and the day was cool. We powered East into the beautiful sunrise along flat dirt roads. The wind had calmed down since yesterday, making a featureless terrain quite dull. At least the rising sun provided something to look at.

Just before the heat of the day began in earnest we reached Hack Canyon. The road quickly plunged into the Earth, sandstone walls seemed to loom out of nowhere as we strolled along the dry drainage. While we breaked near Hack

Canyon Mine, at perhaps the most remote picnic table on Earth, Sharon read in Ryan Choi’s notes that our next water source, Willow Spring, is “alkaline and radioactive” . . .SHIT! Luckily I had enough water to get to Kunab Creek.

After an hour and a half of walking in “conservation mode,” we reached Willow Spring. If the water was foul, the birds, willows, and almost mutant sized cattails didn’t seem to mind. I tasted the water. It was delicious. Still, I suspected it. However, because of the distance to water in Kanab Creek was uncertain, we each took about a liter or two, as a reserve.

Past the spring, the road was long gone and the trail was intermittent. We walked in the drainage and through the foul flora that populated the wide canyon bottom. The burrs that encase the seeds of these plants seemed to jump onto my socks and wedge themselves into position under the tongue of my shoes, where they cause the most annoyance.

Despite the perturbing plants, I thoroughly enjoyed this section. The redwall cliffs slowly rose around us, the beige sandstone we had been surrounded by the last few hours were slowly hidden from view. In a sense, as we dropped into the canyon, we were getting a chance to watch it form over eons of time. It made me wonder what a human life would look like from the canyon’s perspective. I’m sure we seemed like puny, incredibly short-lived creatures barely worth slightly more than academic interest. Mountains only seem massive and permanent, because we are so small and fleeting by comparison. Just as bacteria seem small and fleeting to us because we are large and live for decades. It’s a matter of perspective.

Oh look water! We had walked down Kanab Canyon for about an hour before we reached dome small puddles, which grew steadily larger for a while, making us think that water was going to make a rapid transition (once again) from sought after necessity to obstacle. Unfortunately, after we passed Chamberlain Canyon, we saw no more water.

We, eventually, stopped just upstream from the park boundary of Jumpup canyon. We are camped on a sanding beach above the creek bed in a small clearing surrounded by thorny bushes and cacti. Another amazing day.

HAYDUKE Trail Journal -- Day 6: 10/04/2009

2009-10-22T15:43:00.000-07:00

We awoke in a cool canyon wonderland, the high red cliffs and domes contrasted sharply with the vibrant green in the canyon below. After a quick breakfast of green tea (I’d eaten the rest of my snack food yesterday.), I joined Sharon and Lindy on the way down to the creek. Passing numerous minor cliffs and a dead horse along the way. Travis had told us he’d ridden his ATV down this trail. He must be psychotic.

Once down among the oaks, aspens and cottonwoods, we filled up at one of the small springs in the creek bed. Squirrel Creek was flowing well with good water, but the water got steadily worse as we dropped down the canyon. By the time we reached Short Creek, the water was intermittent and nasty. Cow signs were omnipresent lower down.

As we dropped down toward Hilldale Utah/Colorado City AZ the landscape grew steadily more impressive. Larger canyon walls and monoliths dominated our surroundings. On the other hand, as we approached civilization, it’s signs increased as well. Trash piles got bigger, fences more frequent, road more convoluted, until finally we reached the outskirts of town.

These twin cities on the AZ/UT border are a fascinating place. Everyman wears a bright white shirt with a black tie and every woman wears a dress. Houses are in a state of permanent construction/addition. Everyone was cordial, but obviously not please with us.

We reached the highway and the only open store in the vicinity: A gas station/convenience store/café combo. The café was called “The Merry Wives” café; at least someone in town has a sense of humor. We had a quick breakfast, resupplied and took off fairly rapidly, walking down the highway in unbelievable wind. Occasionally we would loose sight of each other in the distance because of the dust.

After four miles a small family took pity on us and gave us a ride to 239. The rest of the day was spent on straight flat dirt roads walking headlong into gusts approaching 50mph. The sun set shortly after we reached Yellowstone Spring. We walked another three miles under the near full moon before camping in the wash.

HAYDUKE Trail Journal -- Day 5: 10/03/2009

2009-10-18T20:38:00.000-07:00

This morning I realized that I hadn’t brought any breakfast items with me (PICTURED -- Sharon in red and Will). I had been carrying a small loaf of banana bread that Sharon’s mom had contributed, but we finished it last night. No matter trail mix and granola make a good breakfast.

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!

HAYDUKE Trail Journal -- Day 4: 10/2/09

2009-10-18T19:48:00.000-07:00

Sharon, I-pod, and Lindy showed up at around 11:00 last night. Just about the time I was ready to crash. We all decided to share a motel room. Then we spent 20 minutes of arguing over who was going to get the bed. “You take the bed.” “No you take the bed.” “No seriously I’m fine with the floor.” “I-POD should have the bed because he drove and doesn’t have camping gear.” Finally after the four of us had finished being agonizingly differential, it was decided that I-POD and Sharon would share the bed. I took the floor and Lindy decided to sleep in the car for privacy. After a while I-POD started snoring and I wished I had followed Lindy’s lead.

We got up this morning at 7:00. Had a quick breakfast after packing and went to the Post Office so Sharon and Lindy could mail their boxes to the North Rim. Then I-Pod drove us into the park. He had to go that way to get home anyway. We hopped onto the shuttle to the Weeping Wall. On the ride we fell into a conversation with a girl heading out for a series of day hikes. She said her friend back home had hiked the entire JMT, AT, and the long trail. She added, “He’s one of those crazy long-distance hikers.” The four of us bit our tongues. Between us we had hiked the Triple Crown six times over and then some.

We waited knowing that the question would eventually come.

“Have you ever hiked the AT?”

“Yup.”

“Have you ever thought about doing the PCT?”

“Yeah we hiked it 6 years ago.”

“Really?”

“Uh-huh, the four of us have hiked the AT, PCT, and CDT. I-Pod has hiked the PCT three times, and the other two twice.” I-Pod is a rotund, bald man who looks nothing like the stereotypical thru-hiker. However, this is not that unusual thru-hikers are a more diverse bunch than many people imagine.

“Wow.”

It’s no big deal really. Anyone one can do it with a little bit of gumption and perseverance.”

We got off the bus and took the obligatory pre-trip photos at the trailhead, complete with a ranger giving a presentation in the background. I-Pod walked with us for a while but turned around after less than a mile. We were on our way!

Soon we were off the paved path, away from the crowds, and in a spectacular

section of narrows canyons and slickrock benches. Eventually we began to drop down to the East Entrance of the park through some smaller canyons that reminded me of Wildcat canyon, complete with aspens and maples showing of their fall regalia.

It’s always amazing to me how comfortable thru-hikers naturally are with each other. Conversation was easy whether about hiking, flatus, The Princess Bride or anything thing else that happened to wander through our minds.

We walked down the highway to Checkboard Mesa, climbing up a sandy gash down the middle of it to a pass just below the table and at the top. Any doubts I had about Lindy being able to keep up were assuaged, as he climbed up and down the short cliffs and dry-falls nearly as nimbly as I did.

We strolled across the sandstone benches on the other side of Check board Mesa, the setting sun cast a rich light over the entire scene, saturating the reds of the rock and the greens of the junipers. Lindy and I both agreed that this was our favorite time of the day to hike.

Eventually, the faint and occasional criss-crossing route(s) we were following (a number of paths consistently wound around each other, and the footprint we saw indicated that more than a few people before us had gotten lost) came to a small saddle with a huge fire pit. Use-paths dropped down to the East Fork Virgin River on both sides of the saddle. The Fatman’s Misery/Powell’s Plague route dropped down to the left. We went down to have a look but it wasn’t appealing, so we went back up to check out the other side. It seemed ok, but it was getting dark, so we decided not to try to drop down through the set of small loose cliffs in the waning light, while we are tired. We’re spending the night on the saddle. Sharon’s being harassed by a local rodent. The others have left me alone so far. I guess I’m not as enticing.

HAYDUKE Trail Journal -- Day 3 10/1/09

2009-10-18T19:47:00.000-07:00

I ended up crashing in Springdale last night. After finishing with my journal for the day, I ran into Mark and Emily, a pair of hikers, who had just finished an overnighter through Zion Narrows. It was part of a kick off “grand Western Four” they were taking that consisted of a month of backpacking trips throughout the Rockies and Southwest before they set of to Nepal for a year of trekking a volunteer work. I was almost tempted to join them.

We grabbed the last bus into town, talking easily about hiking and life while we searched in the moonlight for a random place to crash.

“This park would be nice, but they’re watering it . . .”

“How about this field . . . naw, it’s kind of lumpy.”

“It looks flat under this big oak.”

“I like it.”

“Me too,” I say, “But the creaking noise that branch makes in the wind is making me paranoid.”

“If it was going to fall, it would have fallen during today’s wind storm.”

“I know that but it doesn’t ease my irrational fears.” I moved out from under the troublesome tree to a spot just as cozy and had vivid, restful dreams all night long.

When we woke in the morning, we quickly packed and headed off to breakfast. I helped them finish theirs. (I was already started to get seriously hungry, not a good sign.) We exchanged goodbyes, as they headed off to Vegas. I figured one night there will probably be enough for them. It was for me.

I wandered over to the park entrance, where I was surprised to learn that they charged a $12 entrance fee. Figuring that I needed to buy one for tomorrow anyway, I ponied up the dough.

Tourist takes photo of fenced elk in town. In an attempt to find something more

unique that I could access today, I took the shuttle (marvelous system by the way without which traffic in the park would be a nightmare) to the end of the line and took the one-mile river walk to the Zion Narrows, eves dropping on the tourons along the way. I was particularly fascinated by their reactions to the plump, aggressive squirrels; Everything from “oh isn’t he cute to “look at him! He’s saying, ‘come over and take my picture.’” One woman screeches, “Oh my God what is it?” As she hides behind the rock, I guess she thought it might be some rabid night creature.

“It’s just a squirrel, ma’am.”

“Well it doesn’t LOOK like a squirrel.”

“It’s fat because the all the tourists feed it.”

“Hmph,” She doesn’t seem convinced but at she at least stops taking shelter from behind the rock. These are the people I missed at Emerald Pools yesterday.

After a while, the pavement ended and I wading through the river into the narrows. The canyon here is too narrow for the river and the trail, so further travel literally requires getting your feet wet, not to mention your knees, bellybutton and higher if you happen to be short. Naturally, the crowd has been decimated. There are still plenty of people, however, all types as well: fat, skinny, young, old, individuals, families, and large groups of friends. Demographically they are hard to tell apart from the crowds we left behind at the trails end, but they are different. Something else besides the trail has been left behind. I can’t put my finger on it. As I sit warming myself in the sun before I make my way, as slowly as possible, back to the busses I am searching for a way to describe what

makes the people here, the ones willing to wade through the cold, rocky river to get to the alcoves, waterfalls, and hanging gardens bathed in thin beams of light around the next bend. What makes them different? Words start to come, maybe some will help: friendly, calm, resourceful, energetic, ambitious, happy. I’m stuck on that last word. All of the people seem happy. Happy to be alive in this place. My on the pavement, I don’t know why, I still sensed stress, hurry, and an inordinate amount of unpleasantness. Eventually, I had to return to Springdale. I spent the rest of the afternoon running errands in Springdale while waiting for Sharon, Lindy and I-pod to show up.

HAYDUKE Trail Journal -- Day 2: 9/30/09

2009-10-18T19:46:00.000-07:00

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.

HAYDUKE Trail Journal -- Day 1: 9/29/09

2009-10-18T19:44:00.000-07:00

I slept surprisingly well in the airport parking lot. I slept from the moment I laid down to the moment the first plane, private, took off. The woman at the counter told me the first flight from Salt Lake City would arrive at 8:45 am, so I wandered back outside, wondering how to most efficiently kill an hour and a half.

The St. George airport sits on a large, but low Mesa above the town. From the edge of the parking lot, I could see the whole place. A gentleman had walked up to watch the sun rise over the mountains, across the city from us. I asked him how to get to the closest grocery store.

I dropped down towards the town, while the sun climbed up over the far ridge, already yellow and bright by the time it revealed itself due to the height of the ridge (or depth of the valley). The sun cleared the mountains as I walked into the grocery store, grabbing breakfast and rations for the next two days.

By the time I made it back to the airport, my bag was waiting. Yes! I grabbed it and booked to the post office, anxious to get started. I mailed my carry-on items back home and started down the main drag toward I-15. Thirty minutes later with the highway in sight, I noticed I didn’t have my camera with me. Shit! I ran, literally, back to the post office, incredulous at my own stupidity. I must have left it on the counter. I got lucky the time the teller knew exactly what I was talking about. Relieved more than I ought to have been about a camera, I walked back to the highway, but not before eating a 14-inch pizza and making a “Kalob Canyon” sign. I was posted at the onramp for only 15 minutes before I got my ride.

Ted drove a ’95 Eagle mini-van, the smallest mini-van I’d ever seen. It sounded like a jackhammer and was filled with detritus from years of wandering, but it got me to the visitor center, for which I will be forever grateful. Ted had been heading for Leeds, but he took me the extra 25 miles to my exit. What a great guy!

I filled my bottle and started walking. Surprisingly, I didn’t get a lift on the ramp; I ended up walking 4 miles to Lee Pass. La Verkin creek was very nice. The quacking aspens lived up to their names in the stiff breeze and afternoon sun. The cool water was a refreshing replacement to the water I was carrying, which had been cooking for hours in the sun. I took a short side trip to visit Kolab Arch (one of the largest in the world). It was very large but not particularly beautiful. It was so close to its source cliff that it is difficult at first to tell that it actually is an arch rather than a massive rock.

Leaving the arch, I climbed out from La Verkin Creek to Hob Valley. The creek was dry at first. This worried me, I had been counting on water in the valley, so I had left La Verkin Creek with only a liter. I soon became even more worried when, as soon as the creek started flowing. I saw the unmistakable signs of cattle upstream. Everyone tends to forget something on a backpacking trip, no matter how experienced; usually it’s something minor. Unfortunately, I had been so accustomed to not treating my water these days that I had actually forgotten my water treatment. This put me into a bit of a predicament. The nest sure water source wasn’t until after Sawmill Spring, 15 miles away. I finally decided to conserve the relatively clean water I had, while taking a liter of “cow” water as a reserve. Meanwhile, I plowed ahead through what would have been a charming valley, if not for the bovine blight that had been let loose to scourge the land. I kept walking until 10:00, taking advantage of the gibbous moon and cool evening temperatures.

HAYDUKE Trail Journal -- Day 0: 9/28/09

2009-10-18T19:41:00.001-07:00

This is the most dirt-baggy/homeless I’ve felt since I spent a night in a highway rest area on the Continental Divide Trail five years ago. I’m lying on a raised gravel bed separating lanes of parking spots in the St. George Municipal Airport parking lot. A two-hour delay in Los Angeles meant I missed my connection to Cedar City. I managed to get a hop to St. George instead, but the 20 minutes lay over in Salt Lake City was not long enough to get my backpack on the flight. All of my sleeping gear is in my bag, in Salt Lake City, but the agent/baggage handler/stair operator at St. George’s airport took pity on me and lent me a blanket. It is a warm night, so I won’t be too cold, but the books in my carry-on bag do not make a particularly comfortable pillow.

I started the day frantically rushing around finishing last minute preparations for the trip. After I’d finally finished packing, my dad and I left for the San Jose airport. (He was flying to Albuquerque.) Once there, he stuffed me silly with food before his flight left. I strolled over to my gate and heard the words sound over the intercom, “Passenger Tarantino please come to the desk.” That can’t be good, I thought as I approached the desk. The agents, however, couldn’t help me, because my first flight was American Airlines while my connections where on Delta. All they could do was inform me that my flight to Salt Lake City was delayed, so I would not make my connections. They gave me the number to contact Delta’s costumer service and murmured a less than hopeful, “Good Luck.”

After a half-an-hour on hold, all a got was the information I already had and a dead cell phone battery. I decided to fly to Los Angeles anyway and deal with the problem by talking to an agent in person there. In L.A., the Delta agent and I decided the best alternative would be to fly to Salt Lake City stay the night than fly to St. George in the morning. . If I tried to go to Cedar City, I wouldn’t arrive until 9:00pm. But I could get to St. George by 8:00 am. The distance to the trail head from each was about the same, so I could get started earlier from St. George. After touching down in Salt Lake City, I was told there was still one flight leaving to get to St. George and I had just enough time to catch it. I sprinted through the airport, and the rest is history.

2009-08-29T11:51:00.001-07:00

A few more pictures from the High Route:

Sierra High Route

2009-08-29T11:44:00.000-07:00

I just got back from a 12 day trip on the Sierra High Route in the Sierra Nevada of California. I started just west of Independence, CA at Onion Valley. From there I dropped down to Road's End in King's Canyon before following Steve Roper's Cross-Country route to Yosemite via some of the most beautiful mountain scenery in the world. Journal "soon" to be posted on the main website. In the meantime, here are some pics:

More pictures from Alaska

2009-08-07T08:39:00.001-07:00

A few more pictures from the NOLS course that I really liked.

Back from Alaska!

2009-08-07T08:23:00.000-07:00

Just got back from the teaching an Alaska Wilderness Course for NOLS in the Talkeetna Mountains. The Talkeetnas are a small (for AK) mountain range about two hours NE of Anchorage. Had a fantastic 4 weeks in the wilderness, and I'm a little sad to be back. All of the students were a blast, and I had a great time trying to transfer some of my love for the wilderness to them. Look for a more detailed report in the newsletter and at the website.
For the moment, here are some pictures!

Cascade Ski Tour

2009-06-23T10:48:00.000-07:00

Just got back from a tour of five Cascade Volcanoes. I made it to Mt. Lassen, South Sister, Mt. Adams, Mt. Saint Helens, and Mt. Shasta. I got to ski off of the top of all of them except for the South Sister, which I bailed off of due to weather. My day on Shasta was almost perfect: warm sun, perfect snow, great view. I had planned on doing it at various other times all spring, but had been foiled due to thunderstorms. I guess I just got lucky this time. Photos from top: Me on top of Mt. Lassen, South Sister from my campsite, Resting on Mt. Adams, Adams from the top of Saint Helens, morning alpenglow on Mt. Shasta, and me on top of Shasta.

NOLS course, climbing portion

2009-06-15T22:00:00.000-07:00

After we finished the backcounty portion in the Winds, our course went to Split Rock for two weeks for "climbing camp". I learned a lot about the technical skills required to climb safely, and I improved dramatically as a climber. This portion was a lot of fun, but I missed being in the wilderness. The top image is of three of us rocking the "flair".

NOLS course, Wind River Portion

2009-06-15T21:46:00.000-07:00

I finished my NOLS course about 10 days ago. It was a lot of fun, but unfortunately it doesn't look like I am going to be hired this summer. The first 18 days of the course consisted of a backpacking trip in the northern portion of the Wind River Range. The Winds are a beautiful range in central WY on the Continental Divide, the highest in the state. It was a long trip time wise, but we didn't go particularly far due to the snowy conditions and the large number of layover days that were devoted to classes and rest. Although I would have liked to see more of the range, I loved being in the wilderness again. Here are some pictures from the backpacking portion.

2009-05-31T11:10:00.000-07:00

Hi everyone -- Will is still in Wyoming at the NOLS course (National Outdoor Leadership School; www.NOLS.edu). We just completed the second Will Power Research Fund Newsletter. We are including a link for the newsletter here -- http://www.willpowerresearchfund.com/articles/WPRN5-09.pdf

2009-05-16T17:35:00.000-07:00

How about a London Marathon Video?

London Marathon

2009-05-16T17:23:00.000-07:00

Here are a couple of pictures from the London trip. A big thanks to my Dad, Mom, Aunt Lynda, cousin Neil, brother Eric and his friend Evan for support during the race. Also, thanks to everyone who helped me enter the race, particularly my college track coach Alex Gibby, Ed Moran, and Mary Wittenburg, Kirsten Rice, and Sam Grotewald of the New York Road Runners. Finally, a huge THANK YOU!!! to those of you who donated to our cause when they guessed my marathon time. Kurt Weaver of Virginia was closest. For his prize, Kurt chose a print of one of my favorite photos from Gates of the Arctic National Park in Northern Alaska.

2009-05-13T19:22:00.000-07:00

Hi everyone, I am off to Wyoming to take a National Outdoor Leadership School Instructor Course (NOLS IC). For more information you can go to http://www.nols.edu/. I will be trained as an outdoor educator, in order to teach people how to survive and enjoy the wilderness and to develop their leadership skills and knowledge of the natural world. On my way, I plan to stop and see my mom's parents in Oregon....a bit of a surprise!

A new WPRF Newsletter will be coming soon!

Starting it off

2009-05-04T09:50:00.001-07:00

1. What are 3 brain cancer research areas that you would like to see our funds support?

Potentially promising research avenues that could use additional funding include: 1) drugs used as adjuncts to chemotherapy (e.g. accutane or thalidomide in addition to temozolimide), which may increase the susceptibility of glioma cells; 2) anti-angiogenesis therapy, which constricts a growing tumor's blood supply; and, especially, 3) immunotherapy techniques which attempt to harness the body's own immune system to kill tumor cells by stimulating the creation of tumoricidal 'T'-cells and antibodies. (see attached by Ehtesham et al.)

2. What personnel regime do you follow that you wouldn’t mind sharing with our readers?

(Disclaimer: the information presented here is the opinion of Will Tarantino and is for informational purposes only, do not consider it medical advice. Discuss the ideas presented here with your own doctors.) I highly recommend that anyone interested in supplementing their prescribed treatment do extensive research themselves, and not simply follow anyone's personal regime blindly. Places to start include Ben Williams' book, "Surviving 'Terminal' Cancer", and his free online guide to glioma treatments (Treatment Options for Malignant Glioma), which he updates about every two years (it has now been 14 years since he was diagnosed with a GBM). There are a few other pre-digested online sources like the Annie Appleseed Project that have good information, but be wary of the disguised advertisements about "guaranteed" or promised cures if you use a particular technique or medicine, especially if they are trying to charge you. The cliche "If it sounds too good to be true, it is." holds especially true here.

Before you ever actually add anything to your regime you may want to go straight to the primary literature to confirm the efficacy of the herb/vitamin/drug/etc. This can be as easy as going to scholar.google.com and searching for glioma/astrocytoma/glioblastoma and the treatment in question. If you want to go further into the literature, you could go to Pub Med, the NIH's database of the medical literature located at http://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pubmed/.

3. Regarding the upcoming London race, why do you want to go, how does this fit into your racing plans, and why London?

It may sound cheesy, but I think that everyone needs some way to push themselves and their capability as a human being. Something that exercises the will and demands discipline, whether its running or rock climbing, music or poetry. Running and backpacking have been my chosen outlets in this vein for some time. However, because backpacking is a 24 hour time commitment, running takes the lead when I'm living in the "real world". I've focused on marathons for the past few years because I felt that was where I could improve the most. The London Marathon is one of the premiere running events in the world, and it will probably allow me to push myself further than any other race. It is also one of the fastest courses in the world, providing the opportunity to drop my personnel record by a large margin.

4. What is your “next” race or adventure?

I will spend most of May in Wyoming taking a NOLS instructor course. In June/July/August I could potentially be rafting on the Colorado, climbing/hiking in the Sierra, working for NOLS, or training for a race in September. I will decide which race to run if/when I begin training. Late September/Early October I will begin 1.5 months on the Colorado Plateau (southern Utah and northern Arizona) with my friend Sharon. After completing that trip I will hopefully be returning to Mammoth to work for Ski Patrol and begin training for another race.