From Canyonlands

From Canyonlands:

6/4- a.m. 6/9

Section: 160m

HT Mileage: 822m
VL Mileage: 1036.5m

I hardly slept that night while ghost-camped behind the ranger station at Hite Marina. The air was hot, the stars too bright, and I was anxious for the last section of the HT. Nevertheless, I packed my gear up and hoofed it down the access road around 7am. I had easy road walking for the first 11m before I dipped into Dark Canyon. But before I plunge into the chasm I had to descend via the Sundance Trail, infamous for what was used as a safe haven, or getaway, from the sheriff and authorities for the Wild Bunch.

Almost immediately, I knew why no one would follow anybody down this route. User trails went in every direction and the route became confusing. Cairns littered the very steep slope. Loose rock scuttled beneath my feet as I picked my way down the scree. Once down, almost 1,500ft in a mile, I was in a veritable oasis from the impending heat and dryness of the day. Cottonwoods and willows lined the creek bed and fresh water rushed down a hollowed out sphere, a grooved channel. I found a large cottonwood and snoozed.

Up canyon the creek bed stayed within the channel but laid beneath rock shelves that made for easy hiking. I kept looking up, though, as I couldn't believe how messy the canyon walls. Evident were the layers of time and rock, however, rocks, boulders, and scree appeared untidy on the steep hillsides; nothing was smoothed or appeared polished. I felt to be in an organized person's messy room where an inventory of the room was only visible to that person's eyes. 

I kept on the shelves. Small cascades spurted down purple, polished slides of rock. A darker varnish of black stained where the water flowed constantly. Canyon walls loomed over me and gave me the gift of shade. I took off my shirt and shorts, skivvies on only, and rinsed off in the water. Instantly, I felt rejuvenated.

A couple of hours later, I encountered the waterfall barrier of Youngs Canyon. I side climbed the gully, up about 25ft or so, and attained a flatter surface. This particular canyon was tight, claustrophobic even, and made for a tougher navigation. I had to up climb the southern walls by scrambling about 1,000ft to a bench that led further up canyon while avoiding enormous pour-offs. I looked down and gulped, for the heights were so precipitous. Tediously, Youngs Canyon persisted with obstacles. As evening was shutting the light of day off, I attained a saddle and hunkered down for the night feeling exhausted.

After a good night's rest I awoke early and finished off the climb out of Youngs. Up on top I briefly followed a road until I went cross-country to a feeder canyon that led to pleasant Fable Valley. Interestingly enough, in the side canyon, I followed fresh bear track. I had forgotten how high the elevation, some 7,000ft. Sign of bull elk made a show on bare barked trees where the bulls had rubbed off their season of velvet.

Once in Fable Valley I picked up a pack trail. Though it is un-maintained by any agency, this was the first actual human trail I had been on in over 300m since the Under the Rim Trail in Bryce NP. I made easy miles using the unimpeded path. Contouring with the land, I entered Beef Basin. 

True to its name, Beef Basin appears as a large bowl in where water funnels seemingly out of one end. Everything presented in front of me posed for an easy day of hiking. The heat proved otherwise. I casually followed a branch of the Beef Basin Wash thinking I knew where I was at. I crossed a road, then another. Now, the mapped suddenly looked different. I continued on the road figuring it was just unmapped, for many recent sections of the route were way different than what was on my maps. Farther and farther I went. I interpreted the land in front of me to resemble the map. At a grove of cottonwoods my question of where I was at was answered. No spring and no bathtub. I was off the grid.

Never-no-mind, I walked on. Not knowing where I was at was not necessarily knowing that I was 'lost.' Being lost has only merit when someone is expecting you at a particular time. In the spirit of wandering, a vagabond is never lost; I was merely exploring.

Did you know the Apache have no word or interpretation for 'lost?'

But, shit, I didn't know where the hell I was at! I focused and calmed down absorbing my surroundings. I listened to the land, I read the land, I studied its personality, and I instinctively moved on. 

The road went towards the higher country and I veered off at a wide canyon that led to the crest of the land from where I knew I should be. Large battleships of slickrock gleamed in the afternoon sun. I came to the head wall and scrambled and climbed up the gritty rock. I now navigated my way along a flat ridge and hit the main dirt road that I was looking for, the one that led to Canyonlands NP. Within an hour, I was back on the map and within another 2 hours I was back where I needed to be. I walked an extra 10m or so during the time of not knowing where I was at.

There was no time for cheering. The Hayduke never stops trying to give you obstacles. You solve one hard problem, then you have another harder problem to solve next. I left the safety of the road and found a feeder canyon towards Butler Canyon and Wash. I scrambled and skittered down smooth rock, the sun going down down and down. The canyon got darker but I needed to make some type of statistical motivation that day. I slid through the small Seldom Seen Bridge and made camp on a sandy bed. My water rations were extremely low, for the added 10 'lost' miles made my waterless stretch from 30m to a dry 40m. 

I slept that night with 2L and I woke up with 2L. I dreamed and nightmared of water, lucid, obsessive images and situations of water, tormented me throughout the night. I walked in a slow trance conserving energy. Thankfully, as I entered Canyonlands NP, my singular thought of not having any water was distracted from the eerie looking hoodoos surrounding me. Giant knight horses, bishops, and rooks stood guard around me. I felt to be on a chess board in a game being played by titans.

I persevered on and went along the trail leading to Big Spring trailhead, where I knew I could get water. After a 4m obstacle course over domes and fins and washes I made the overlook. I made the last 22m of the route with only 2L of water. I really needed shade and water but rather than going to the Big Spring I hitched a ride from the trailhead to the Visitor's Center from a couple from Switzerland.

Once there, I plopped on a bench in a dark corner hidden from the public. I guzzled a gallon of water in about 3 hours and napped blissfully. In the late afternoon, I found a ride with a young German couple back to the trailhead. Stunningly enough to me, I made another 12m. I was now back on pace and my spirits were boosted a bit from my VC respite.

Those 12m actually proved to be magical to me. I walked along a crimson crest fortified by 3 large pyramids. The day became cooler and the booming shadows cast long slivers a black across a red land. I left the parapets of the pyramids and clambered down a fun course to the Indian Creek drainage. I slept with the frogs' croaks sounding like sheep.

Up and at 'em at the crack of dawn, knowing I was getting close to Moab, I quickly navigated my way up out of Rustlers Canyon and hit Lockhart Road. The oppressive heat started early that day. I guzzled my water furiously. I had one chance at water before a 20m dry stretch. I couldn't conserve; the day was too hot. So, I put in my Ipod and zoned out on the road.

 

At one point, I sensed a vehicle behind me. Normally, I would've picked up on it but the wind was too loud and the heat too hot. I looked back and saw a Land Rover. Two dudes, Ryan and Colin, were smiling and laughing at me. I guess they had been there for about 5 minutes! They pulled up alongside me, got out, and offered me a Budweiser. We talked for 15 minutes while swigging the ice cold beer. They were re-tracing a route by vehicle they had done together some 10yrs ago, a reunion of sorts. I then realized they were the first people I had seen on actual trail or route in about a week.

They drove on as I walked on. I went down Lockhart Canyon, found water, and began the climb out back to the same road. The canyon blared with heat, my head hurt, but I kept at it. I ended up taking a 2 hour nap in some shade, but even in the shade my brain boiled. Near the tall bluffs of Hatch Mesa I went up a wrong finger canyon, one slot over from where I should be. I came to a pour-off 10ft above me. A small pyramid of rock stacked up beneath it. I gave it a go; this was my last canyon on the HT. Even standing on the pyramid I could only get my forearms on the flat sandstone surface above me.

The slit between the rock, where water ran off, was barely wide enough for me to wiggle my body through. I said, "Fuck it!" and went up anyways. I pushed down on the blazing stone with me forearms, pressing down with all my might. My teeth gritted and soon enough I could transfer my effort to my hands and push up as if doing a dip. I exerted all the strength I could muster. Slowly, up and up I went. I wriggled through the slit and put my ass cheek on the right rock surface, lifted up my legs and semi-rolled over to the side. I stood up and took deep breaths. The gusts of hot wind provided me with no relief, as well as my water, for the murky liquid was hot and salty. I turned and hiked up and connected with the road. "Yes!" I squeaked from a parched mouth. I looked down on my forearms and noticed a red stain. The heat of the rocks seared my forearms. They stung for the rest of the day.

Surprisingly, after many hours since our first encounter, I met Ryan and Colin. Their Land Rover parked with its hood up and they were underneath a shady overhang. We chatted and laughed some more. They were now making a go for Moab. But the engine in the LR was grumpy and not happy with the heat. We then played leap frog for a hour or so. I never thought I would have a Land Rover as a hiking partner!

Down a gnarly drainage (I was not so sure that that vehicle could make it down that mess) I went and found camp after finding water. In the night, I heard footsteps on the road nearby. It had to be them...

Down the home stretch I went, over Hurrah Pass and into Kane Creek canyon. I followed Ryan and Colin's footprints until I hit the heavily used Kane Creek road. Huge, thumping Jeeps passed me, motorcycles zipped on by, ATVs dusted up the road. Everything was so loud to me. Suddenly, I was in Disneyland with people who 'use' the land rather than care for it. Trash littered the road. Beer cans marked the way from whence people came. I sat in the alcove of Kane Springs, right off the road. Toilet paper was strewn about, more beer cans, and candy wrappers weeded the ivy growing around the freshwater oasis. Saddened by this, I left. I contemplated taking a crap on a sidewalk of downtown Moab and leaving it there for all to smell and look at. The thought left me; it would prove nothing. More Jeeps passed by with douche bags driving, all looking like they were from the Jersey Shore. The girls riding along side them all had skunk hair. I walked faster and faster and ended up right in the heart of Moab.

I should say that on the way into town I again met Ryan and Colin. They had another flat tire and had to walk to Moab. They found someone who would take them back out, retrieve the flattened tires, drive back to Moab, then back out again. I was worried about them. They had another long day ahead of them, maybe two. But I was sure glad they were safe and sound.

Moab has often been a place of refuge for me, a home away from home. I used to retreat to Moab quite often in my 20s when L.A. got to me. Now I was walking through. I had almost 10 days without cell service! I sat at a picnic table at the convenience store observing the same type of people blurting along the road I saw earlier. I thought it was funny I was eating the same thing as them: a gigantic soda, deep fried taquitos, and chips.

After the heat subsided a bit, I walked out of Moab as quickly as I walked into it. Up into Courthouse Wash I went and entered Arches NP, the last National Park on the HT. The taste of town, food, and rest tempted me to go faster and I did. I walked another 17m up the wash until I fell asleep for the last night on the Hayduke Trail under enormous right-angled red walls. I stayed awake most of the night staring at the Milky Way.

In the morning I completed the Hayduke Trail. It was a glorious moment, no one or no sign or monument was there signifying my accomplishment. At a road and the unmanned gate of ANP I doffed my visor, said a heartfelt thank you, teared up a bit, and walked on...

I thought of Abbey, who created the character of Hayduke. I thought of all the hard work and determination this trail evokes out of you. I thought...long and hard.

From Capital Reef

From Capital Reef:

5/30-6/3

Section: 142m

HT Mileage: 662m

VL Mileage: 899.5m

Karl and Malanda dropped me off at Hurricane Wash trailhead. Karl said, "Try not to become part of the Everett Ruess myth out here." I laughed and thought how thrilling that would be. But the better part of my brain thought, "Holy shit! He's right!"

Hurricane Wash went into a narrow passageway within a couple of miles. The canyon walls grew and became taller. They went from a white rock to a deep purple color. Dark reds became prominent. Soon, water appeared, then the wash intercepted Coyote Gulch. The walls now were hundreds of feet above me. Layered and brushed with even darker reds, striations painted the canvas of rock. I marveled up at the high walls while having a hard time walking downstream.  Overhangs and alcoves hung deep within the narrow canyon. The pocket of sky became almost non-existent and soon I was enveloped by rock.

I treaded water while mainly walking in the main creek channel. A couple of arches and a natural bridge impressed me. The bottom narrowed even more and small cascades of water swiftly moved over polished rock.

I hit the confluence of Coyote Gulch and Escalante River. Water was more abundant and knee high. The banks of the Escalante were choked with willows and tamarisk. The only place to walk was upstream, right in the middle of the river. Immediately within the canyon, Stevens Arch stuck out of place in the red scene. A bright blue sky illuminated from a massive hole in the rock on the high canyon wall. Dumbstruck, I fumbled for my camera and tried not to stumble in the river. The scene was spectacular.

I opted for Stevens Canyon, an alternate suggested by Li to avoid the slow-going river slog of the Escalante. Within minutes, I knew I made the right choice. Stevens Canyon had even taller walls and the challenge of getting around chokestones clogging up the creek motivated me. I side-stepped and straddled slick, polished chutes to wiggle my way across one section to avoid insanely deep potholes. Stacks of rock forming a pyramid led me to scale up a small bluff to avoid the next choked section. Soon, I was high on a bench, a couple of hundred feet above the floor, traversing my way across slickrock to avoid the enormous pour-offs far down below. As the day neared its end, sun rays glittered against the utterly flat walls. Everything shone in a bright glory of an inner, peaceful being from a day of punished, scorched rock; now the rock seemed to be getting lulled to sleep with passive sunshine.

In the morning, I navigated with cairns over slickrock on the Baker Trail to attain the crest of the Waterpocket Fold, an enormous, white rock escarpment stretching for miles. Opposite the Fold was the high, red rim of Grand Gulch. My goal was to get to Halls Creek situated between the 2 vastly different rock formations. From the crest I eyed Lake Powell and the Henry Mountains. I could see for hundreds of miles to the east. The Red Desert seem to swoon in its curvature within a vast world. A natural groan persisted within its belly. I could hear it, this groan...

Once in Halls Creek, Hell began. Swarms of biting flies dive-bombed the back of my legs. I walked swiftly while trying to bat and swat at the biters. I hiked off-balanced and cursed. The terrain was unforgiving too,

for the path of my route was pure, fine red sand. This went on for miles, this torture. The only time the biting flies would relinquish their fury would be when I found shade to rest. At least they gave me reprieve within my moments of much needed rest, but the while walking they were so tenacious I could hardly think straight. Even with all the distractions, I made 30m and camped in Muley Twist Canyon. I hardly remember that day, nor recall seeing anything I was pestered and abused so badly.

I packed up camp earlier than normal the next day to avoid the heat and the flies. Pissed off, I moved fast and mashed my way into and up out of Swap Canyon. The flies were gone and I deduced that the flies were prevalent near water and resided in an elevation between 3-4,000ft. My mood brighten though the temperature went upward. I hit a Badland-type bench below Tarantula Mesa and I had to navigate my way through hoodoos and sharp, craggy buttes along faint cattle trail. Grays and blacks intermingled with whites and pinks to form a smoky palette. The area lacked in vegetation and life seemed to crawl to a stop, or death.

I persisted on toughly that day. Up the Muley Creek drainage I went up a feeder canyon that brought me to a headwall of Tarantula Mesa. The mesa stood guard over the dry basin. Green junipers dazzled my eyesight, teasing me with the me potential of water. The headwall had a steep talus slope to scramble up, then a series of benches attained by some class 4 scrambling, then a final push to the flat top of the mesa. Almost 1,000ft in 1/3m!

At the top I found the road connecting this part of the Hayduke Trail with the Henry Mountains. I've longed to go to the Henrys. The range is the last to be mapped in the States and supposedly has one of the last herds of wild buffalo in the country as well. The road walk as I neared the Henrys was quite pleasant, a welcomed relief from the canyon walking and biting flies I had just endured. I took the alternate by-pass up into the Henrys and at Airplane Spring, in the late dusk of evening, I heard a garrrumph! I looked to my left and saw brown fur. I thought the clutter to be a bear but then I noticed there was a bunch of brown, clumped fur. Buffalo! About 5 of them! I hollered at them and they turned, leaped, and sprinted off. Feeling energetic by this encounter, I made another couple of miles to Penellen Pass and set up camp.

The next morning, at Copper Ridge, I gazed at the land below me. I could fathom the maze of canyons below all within a swirl of earthy colors. The colors of blue, green, gray, reds and creams made for a kaleidoscope that twisted in front of me as I moved my head or curved along the road I hiked on. Every bend revealed a different snowflake shape of the Red Desert. The sky was so big and beautiful up there, the clouds looked like the tail end of ponytails. Couple with not seeing anyone in 3 days I felt the world to be wide open, hopeful. With a big sky and dreams, and a vision wide open, a vagabond can go anywhere. Looking down in the mazes of canyons I longed to be down there exploring the labyrinth of my heart; all the ventricles explored and never-ending, I could get lost down there forever. In a brief disrupted moment, I thought of the city's mazes and people caught up in the rat race only being what other make them to be. There is so much of your heart and self in the natural world to explore without dead-ending into alley ways or edifices. I felt I could live in a city once again, but only for a bit. I need this...

The canyons below became more obvious the more I went down. I could see the La Sals near Moab, basically the eastern terminus of the Hayduke Trail. I went down the mouth of Poison Springs Canyon which eventually became a huge canyon with an immense wide corridor and tall walls. It was wonderful until the flies came back. I uprooted 2 willow swatches to bat away the dive-bombers. I flailed the swatches like I was trying to fly. But the terrain was easy to walk upon. So, I flailed even more consistently and made it difficult for the flies to get after me. This went on for many miles and many hours. But it worked!

I slept on the banks of the Dirty Devil River that night, soundly as can be.

In the morning, I got a quick move on in hopes of getting to Hite Marina's store before they closed. I slogged 6 miles through the pesky Dirty Devil. This canyon seemed so different and independent of all the canyons I had walked. Quicksand became a concern and the siltiness of the water was hard to force down in swallows. But the walls and corridor drew me in a trance. Before I knew it I hit Fiddler Cove Canyon and began my ascension out of the bottom. From the rim, I stared at a massive spire jutting straight up from the Earth. The spire looked to have a clenched fist on top of an arm. To me it signified stubbornness and defiance, that nothing will deter me from completing these canyons.

On top of Red Benches I made my own way through the draws and mounds of rock. Cross-country I went and the wind powered me along from behind. I came to the rim of Rock Canyon where I supposed had a gnarly chimney to scale down. I moved along the rim until I found the chimney. Most of the directions or information I have come from hikers hiking the other direction. So, I couldn't see the bowl below me that indicated the chimney. I found the most navigable chimney I could find and went down. I grappled along tiny holds and shifted my body between the tight chimney. Climbing down the chute I leaned back over an abyss below me to gauge my next step. I couldn't get my leg under a small ledge beneath me. I had to turn my body back around with my backpack against the rock. I crammed myself in a tight crack. This wasn't the way. So I removed my pack and sat on the tiny ledge. I gently dropped my pack 10ft and luckily it pinned up against a couple of small boulders that prevented it from sliding down another 50ft or so. 

I stood back up and repositioned myself to proper foot and hand holds. I methodically made my way down holing onto fingertip ledges. Once on solid rock I found my back and let my adrenaline simmer down while I ate a quick lunch. I also gathered up my thoughts and emotions of the last obstacle.

After my quick bite, I absolutely mashed my way into Hite Marina under dark clouds. Rain occasionally fell but the cool sensation of water felt soothing. 

I opened the door at the store with 10 minutes remaining before they closed. I was shocked and the young man at the counter squinted and leeringly looked at me as I flung the door open. With my food package in hand as well as a plethora of unhealthy snacks, I bid the now smiling young man adieu as I went to the ranger station for some shade. Under the canopy I enjoyed the company of a cyclist, Gus, on the Western Express portion of the TransAmerica Bike Route. I felt great, and couldn't stop talking...

From Grand Staircase

From Grand staircase:
p.m. 5/23-a.m. 5/28
Section: 130m
HT Mileage: 520m
VL Mileage: 757.5m

I procrastinated leaving Tropic. I needed a zero day and my body was telling me so. But with Memorial Day in full swing, all the room in town were booked. By a random chance I ran into Steve Roberts, who is partial owner of Escalante Outfitters and would be hosting me while in Escalante, my next town stop. I had already spoken with him by phone and gave him a time to pick me up on Hole in the Rock Road but he found me dawdling in front of the market. Meeting him spurred me on to get going! Some encouraging instigation from Gila and I moseyed out of town. Surprisingly enough, despite my late start, I still made 20m and camped in the canyon corridor of the Paria River after hiking down the narrow canyon of sheep Creek which had glimmering white walls sprayed from the afternoon sunshine. My spirit swelled and I felt good to be out of town. I slept under a cottonwood that night while the moon rose, orange bright and huge, and made the Navajo sandstone walls shimmer with a resplendent night light. Like in an amphitheater the light reverberated off the walls to give my visual senses a cacophony of sound through a visual sense; the moonglow spoke to me.

In the morning, the red walls looked pink. The walls, polished and still shimmering, reached heights hundreds of feet above the wide rover bottom. I packed up camped and headed downriver, forded the Paria about 50 times. The river bottom mix between firm sand and gravelly rock. After a while I learned the texture of the bottom through feel and sight, and would pick a line to have the better course of action. The miles flew on by and I felt relaxed, though tired. Russian Olive trees bloomed on the banks and provided me with the sweet smell of Spring. songbirds chimed amid the trees and canyon wren whirred among the lofty walls. I felt soothed but I just wanted to sleep.

At the confluence of Cottonwood Creek and the Paria, I headed north but instead of taking Hackberry Canyon, which I had heard was amazing and had a cool slot canyon problem, I just blew by it and continued walking up the dirt road. I was still stuck on town mode and I needed some coma walking. At first, I felt guilty and walked with my head down. Eventually, I rose my head and broadened my shoulders and gazed in wonder at the Cockscomb, a pointy escarpment protruding between to mesas in the Cottonwood Creek corridor. It seemed to plumb up exactly in a straight line.

I began to live with my decision. And while sitting in the shade beneath a huge water tank having shaved off about 5m and some time, I felt very comfortable with my decision. In fact, I felt motivated to move on further. I lingered in the shade and observed a cow and her 2 calves guzzling from the other 2 tanks. One of the calves was a troublemaker and climbed into the one of the tanks. He got stuck between the rim of the tank and the bar preventing a calf like himself to go any further into the water. He thrashed around and the scene put a smile on my face. Contented, I guzzled water myself. I picked myself up and walked on. I ran into the same cow and calves at the tank on the sagebrush-lined cattle trail. The calf who got stuck in the tank squared me off. The little guy and me began jarring back and forth with each other, taunting the other with jabbing moves. This little dude was playing with me. I knew he was a troublemaker! This went on for about 5 minutes, this jostling and rough-housing. He got within 10ft of me and would fake left. I would fake right, then left. His tail flickered wildly, and his mom groaned from behind deeply. I don't think she was pleased with him or me but she just watched. I was ready to grab the calf and wrestle him but he turned tail and circled around in front of me and ran to the cover of his mother. I felt a great ball of positive energy well up in my belly and continued on until I found camp on a high ridge over looking a broad valley of rock and juniper. The moon rose full and I had a night light shining on me for the duration of the night.

Awake and motivated, I mashed a desolate dirt road to Paradise Canyon. The canyon was peaceful and solitude reigned within my soul. I took deep breaths and inhaled my surroundings. After a few hours I encountered Last Chance Creek. At the head of the creek, Badland-esque environment enveloped any sense of calm I had earlier that morning. Hoodoos and barren ridgelines scarred the wide canyon. Swirls of blacks, beiges, tans, yellows, and reds made for a pleasant site but the land was inhospitable. As I walked along a bench I found a well-spigot spouting off with water. A pool welled up around the spigot and I walked along a plank to get a bottle full of water. The water tasted satisfactory though it smelled like sulphuric farts. I took a liter and bolted. Later down canyon I found the creek bottom to be laden with potholes of groundwater, quenching to my thirst.

Last Chance Creek had a firm wash bottom and made for swift travel. To my surprise, I made 36m that day, which set up the next leg, a 30m waterless stretch, more attainable. I set up camp on top of a shale bench and watched the bats zip around above me in the twilight. They chirped and snagged insects out of the air, some getting close above me. I thought the whites of my eyes would draw them to me face of I kept them open wide enough, so I lowered my skull cap to my brow and enjoyed the wonderment of the sounds of the desert.

Up early to tackle the challenging day, I walked until I overshot Reese Canyon. I backtracked about 1/4m and moved quickly through the canyon heading up-wash. I shot up a side canyon in hopes of attaining a ridge but I must've took a wrong side canyon. I think it is sometimes easier to navigate up-canyon than down-canyon. The way down, you can just stick to the main gullet while heading up you have to make sure you pick the right finger among many choices that look the same. After some trudging around along ridges and sandy flanks I hit the divide separating the canyons of Reese and Navajo. I walked a jeep track but could not find the jeep track heading down into Navajo Canyon. So, I chose a drainage to descend. Navigating through the narrow drainage I hit a 30ft pour-off. Almost rim-rocked, I found a way down on the side but when looking back up to the ledge I was standing on i felt a exhilarated feeling of thrill and fear, for the ledge was wafer thin. If it had not held my weight, I would've had a 15ft fall. I took a moment to gather myself. I needed to be more careful in my steps.

Once in the drainage of Navajo Canyon, I meandered through a narrow slot section, then wended through a barren, desolate canyon. There was no trace of human nor animal sign in the canyon. Again, in a Badland type environment, Hell came to mind but I found the place to be serene and peaceful despite the uncompromising position I was in being with no water and miles away from anything. Pure wilderness thought and reality, philosophy at its most profound...

A coal seam lined the canyon and eroded the bed I was walking in. Spongy and flaky, the black flakes held a bituminous smell reminiscent of the dog days of summer in L.A. with the pavement redolent of tar, the heat rays shimmering from the scorched streets. I made some more quick miles to Croton Canyon which eventually became Rogers Canyon.

Rogers Canyon was the worst looking canyon I had ever seen. Littered with house-sized boulders and choked with salt cedar, I laboriously plodded my way up-canyon. The oppressive heat of the day provided me with no relief and I could find no shade. My water rations became precariously low but further upcreek I found potholes of water in plunge pools beneath massive boulders. I instinctively drained a liter and filled up a gallons worth of water. This proved to be a foolish mistake as about an hour later and taking my first swig of the new found water I realized it was heavily alkaline, too much so to drink. The water tasted like bleach and left me with a vomit-like after taste. I still had 15 or so slow miles to my reliable water source so I was in kind of a serious situation, especially with the slow walking pace through Rogers. But, persistent as I am, I gutted it out and pursued forward.

I found Monday Canyon and walked up its northeasterly course. This canyon provided no relief from the slow plodding but I now had shade. I rested at various times trying to conserve my energy. I came to a series of large pour-offs, the tallest being 30 or so feet. I climbed up the side of each of them and after attaining the slickrock top of the second one I found a pool of fresh water from winter snowmelt or rain run-off. I rapidly dumped my alkaline water and laid up next to the pothole and guzzled a couple of liters. This oasis up-lifted my mental state and I almost galloped up the canyon.

But my positive luck would come to a halt as again, while going up-canyon, I chose a wrong finger, or at least I believe I did, in attaining the 50 Mile Mountain plateau. I slowly moved my way up this tight and narrow drainage. Some spots had me up-climbing pour-offs through slots and wedges some 15-20ft. I kept at it, now extremely determined to get to the top. At a higher elevation, my view opened up and the brush appeared. Gambel oak throttled the hill side and I clambered through the thickets. Bushwhacking at its finest. Above the thickets I had open terrain, but it went straight up. I put my rear in gear and did what I do best: mash up! I pressed my hands against my quads and vigorously moved uphill. Each step digging deep into the dirt while the earth moved back down beneath me. Up and up I went and crested the plateau, of course, not knowing where I was at. Nevertheless, I was greeted with astonishing views of a spectacular sunset to the west. I looked east, as dusk settled in with a purple veil over the plateau, and I spotted a grove of aspens and headed my course towards it. I figured a spring would be near by and would put me back on course.

Up in the grove, I ran into 2 strikingly coal black horses and 2 good-looking mules. I thought people might be around but I was wrong, not a soul in sight. I slept that night not knowing where the hell I was at.

In the morning, I took a course I believed the direction to go. Led by my inner bearing I miraculously found Mudhole Spring in which the tank teemed over the brim with fresh water. I felt confident in where I was at now. I found a set course of trail which proved to be reliable and consistent with the map. Suddenly, at a crest, the land and the map blended in continuity and I could interpret the lay of the land; I was in a good spot.

But as soon as I got to a forested knoll and the drainage heading off the Straight Cliffs, I lost trail. I took a plunge, figuratively, down a gully in hopes of finding the pack trail leading off the cliffs. If I couldn't find the pack trail I was prepared to bushwhack my way down, which I knew deep in my mind was a gargantuan task and mighty risky.

Down the gully I went, sliding down the loose dirt occasionally and scaling down pour-offs. I ended up on top of a large pour-off and felt stuck. Looking down I saw massive cliffs with sheer rock faces a couple of hundred feet high. Suddenly, I saw spotted what looked like a trail switchbacking down another chute. I scampered down and stood above trail from a large boulder above. Relieved and ecstatic, I now had a safe way down. I took a moment sitting in the middle of the pack trail and meditated: sanctity of trail.

From a protruding cliff I texted Steve to pick me up earlier, if he could. At the Hurricane Wash trailhead, 3,000ft below from where I thought I would have the toughest day of my life, I walked north along Hole in the Rock Road in hopes of running directly into Steve. Around noon, a red truck came booming down the highway. An hour later and a few beers guzzled and I was in Escalante!

Steve graciously hosted me in his old brickhouse Mormon style home. I relaxed and had a great dinner with Steve, Caroline, Karl, and Malanda, all friends of Steve. We spoke of the Vagabond Loop and other interesting things. I truly enjoyed my time amongst these special people, friends. After all, the idea and name for the VL came from my time here in Escalante last fall while visiting during Everett Ruess Days. Surreal and aptly poignant, the sense of wandering settled in within my spirit; the reason the VL exists formulated more so here in Escalante.