Dayhiking in canyon country

One of the downsides of my “dream job” (and now you’ll understand why I say that in quotes) is that it is only 20 hours per week. I have another part time job, but two part-time jobs (for me) take much more time and energy than one full time job. This week I picked up an extra Sunday shift because the pay is less too.

I hope this doesn't come across as complaining. I love what I do and am happy I get to do something that is so meaningful. I just wish I had a 40 hour a week job (with healthcare, retirement, etc).

I’m telling you this because it meant that this week, I just had one day off work. And I needed that one day to count. So I made up my own route to include enough uncertainty to make it interesting and engaging, trees and cool geology to add natural wonders, a scavenger hunt for an arch, and even a peak to scramble up.

The not-so-famous arch that I did end up finding.

I leap out of bed well before my alarm for and am on the road winding through the pitch blackness. After I turn off the highway, I see no other vehicles, not a one. I'm the first one at the parking lot. A kangaroo rat hops across the road, the first I’ve seen here. How night transforms this place!

After a full hour of hiking in the dark, first light.

In darkness, I start down the familiar route. Just enough moonlight peeks through clouds that I turn off my headlamp and let my feet and instinct guide me. As if feet can find the way on their own just by sensing the texture of sand and rock. I try to leave footprints that are so shallow that the wind will cover them before any other visitors arrive.

Turning up-canyon, I find mountain lion tracks in the mud. No human footprints have been left here for a while.

The namesake trees of this wash have dropped yellow crunching leaves.

Late-blooming scarlet gilia.

After crossing the park boundary, the rocks lining the canyon abruptly change from steep to slopey, making it possible to climb out of the canyon here. Update: the geological map shows this is a fault. I'd been walking in a canyon with walls of Entrada-Slickrock but then climbed up the Curtis-Moab along the fault. Now that I see how helpful it is to consult the geological map for routefinding, I'll have to include that in my pre-trip planning phase.

Following lightly-traveled roads. There is a butte up ahead that beckons.

Not sure how I'm going to get up there but I decide to try.

Each layer of rock has different color and texture. I wish I knew what it all meant.

Chert? Jasper? The Morrison formation is such a contrast to the sandstone down below.

I start wondering, as I often do, what the heck I'm doing up here by myself. The wind is gusting fiercely. The popcorn surfaces are slippery and cut my hand when I fall. I try to avoid the underground tunnels in the soil/rock, which I later learn is called "piping". (Piping is subsurface erosion by groundwater in noncohesive layers of sediment. The geology article fails to say if hikers can fall into these but they are discribed in the "Problem Soils" section of the article.)

Stormy sky casts shadows as I get above the saddle. Breathtaking views in all directions. Oh wow!

The way down takes me longer than getting up, since I decide to take a different route back. There is much backtracking when I get to cliffs I can't get down. Finally, I join an old road and the going is easier. Time has flown by and I'm not sure I have time to make it back by dark and I'm worried about going cross country, if there will be cliffs I can't get up. In the end, my curisoity gets the best of me and I veer off the old road across the slickrock to the canyon rim.

Following the rim takes longer but has incredible views of the canyon. I leap over cracks and wind around the circuitious route following the twists and turns of the canyon walls.

Last spring I explored the bottom of this canyon and saw the pools of water at the base. By climbing around the rim, the source of some of that water is revealed. Here is where water pours over the top and a series of tinajas are full.

Finding where the water is.

I end up feeling rushed at the end, hiking as fast as I can on the cross-country part of my route. Finally, I reach the familiar territory that I've been to before and feel a rush of relief. This part I can do in the dark if I have to, no problem.

I collapse on the rocks for a while before the final climb. I don't remember being this tired in a long time.

As the sun sinks in the sky, sunbeams light up distant canyon walls, making me wonder,"how can I get over there?"

Back at my car, I step back into a different universe. The parking lot is packed with tons of visitors. After not seeing anyone all day, it's a bit of a shock. I'm just glad that there are places like this left, where there is plenty of solitude to be found, where you can go to challenge your route-finding skills, where you can discover things for yourself and have mystery behind each canyon twist and turn.


More information

I struggle with wanting to tell you all how to find these beautiful places where you can find solitude,  and not wanting to provide directions that would spoil your sense of the wild or inadvertantly send more people here than this fragile place can support.

My advice is get a few good maps of the area. Figure out how to connect washes with slickrock and old roads so you don't trample the fragile soil crust. Learn how to navigate cross-country. Tell multiple people where you are going.  Carry an In-Reach and know how to use it.  If you are like me and don't carry ropes, don't go down anything you aren't 100% sure you can't go back up. Be responsible for your safety and error on the side of caution.