Day 5 – May 24 Slickrock and Sand

Today was another day of hiking. I decided to hike in the Needles District of Canyonlands, and headed for what seemed like a decent hike – 7.3 miles and categorized as easy – moderate. The route hiked down Big Spring Canyon, crossed a saddle, and then up Squaw Canyon. Sounded great.

I decided to carry my loaded pack for the training experience, and set out on the hike. In the first ½ mile, I had to climb up a slickrock formation and back down it. I was surprised and a little unstable on the climb, but was pleased I could do it.

Crossed just left of the outcropping

As I continued, the trail occasionally crossed slickrock, and I enjoy that kind of hiking. At least I thought I did. There were many places where, like during yesterday’s hike, that the trail was marked only by cairns. I was very glad for the experience, and was better at spotting the cairns up ahead of where I was, directing my steps and route.

Looking up at where I need to go

When I read about this hike, the literature had mentioned that if someone was afraid of heights, they might have trouble with a small portion of the hike. Yes. I’m agreeing with that assessment, and I’m really glad I’ve gotten over my fear of heights. I wouldn’t have been able to make it through the roughest part of the hike.

Up the rabbit hole - climbing up this was maybe the scariest

After about three miles, quite a bit of which was over slickrock, I came to the saddle. This is a lower place on some rock walls to cross from one canyon to the other. To get up and over the saddle, I had to climb some steep slickrock and walk across it at a steep angle. One mis-step and I would slide to the rocks below. I also had to climb up where there were almost no places to place my feet. I was very grateful I’d had the rock-climbing lesson last year – I kept thinking, “take your time and lean into the wall.”

It’s hard to explain the sensation of walking on a steep incline, sure your feet will slip down and out from under you, and instead your boots stick to the rock. Trusting that, and knowing when it’s too steep to grab, is more intuitive and trial and error than any logical reasoning I can figure out. And having done so little of it (we did some last year at Arches and down in the Superstition Wilderness), I’m very unsure of my judgment.

View from the top of the saddle

When I got to the crest of the saddle, my heart was pounding and I felt a little nauseated and dizzy. I stood there, trying to catch my breath, and another hiker came from the other side. He said, “I bet you didn’t expect to find someone else here.” I said no, but I was happy to see him.

We both sat, and we talked for about 30 minutes. He was an interesting guy – he travels a lot and had recently returned from Bolivia, and he was on the last day of a week of backpacking in here in Canyonlands. It helped so to talk with another human being at that moment, and to get some good rest before tackling the descent. It’s funny how just what we need seems to show up when we need it.

Ready to descend - you can see the cairns showing the way down in bottom right

Coming down off the saddle was tricky, but I felt better after being successful with the ascent and after talking to Dave. The trickiest part of the descent was navigating a drop where some wonderful ranger or hiker had actually notched the rock  - this way, one could get down or up without having to drop (or climb) 10 feet.

Once I was off the slickrock, the trail became a sandy path along the bottom of the canyon. The air was hot and the sand loose and thick, so the going was a bit ponderous. I counted every step that last few miles, cursing myself for not bringing a hat and forgetting to put on sunscreen. Finally, I was within a mile of the car, and came upon one more section of slickrock to climb to get out of the canyon. By that time, I was probably more careless than I should have been, simply out of fatigue. But I finished without incident, and was soon in the cool air conditioning in my car.

And down the rabbit hole

Across and down the slickrock - you can just see the notches in the rock just left of center in the depression

As I drove out of the parking area, I wondered why in the hell I do this. I was miserable – hot, exhausted, anxious. And I knew I was going to do it again. This kind of hiking is hard with the heat and precarious terrain, but hiking 220 miles this July, with 46,000 feet of ascent and 42,000 feet of descent won’t be a walk in the park either. This is a pastime that demands a little bit of insanity I think.  I was having a sane moment after this hike, questioning my decision to keep at it and wondering if I’d feel like taking another walk tomorrow.

But a few hours later, I began wondering which hike I was going to take in the morning. I realized it’s a lot like getting a tattoo – when you’re going through it, it’s miserable and you think you’ll never do it again. But then within a short time you’re looking for that next picture to put in your skin and wondering where you’ll put it. Or maybe it’s like having a baby – when you’re going through labor, you can’t imagine doing it again, but then you quickly forget how hard it was and are ready to do it all over again.

So, choose your metaphor, but I’m going at it again tomorrow. Who knows what will happen, but I know it will be memorable.