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I thought a
route by way of the canyon rim would be preferable to retracing our
steps. Walking further upstream on the riveršs bank tall trees
reached out and the sagebrush grew over our heads almost concealing a
crack about three feet wide and filled with a stairway of rocks
leading to a set of pecked steps that were not impossible, like the
ones we had seen earlier. Here we had some pretty good hand and foot
holds.
Up and out of the canyon we climbed to
where the slickrock stood in spires and monuments. Although we were
on the bench above the river level we were still 800 feet below an
array of slickrock buttes and peppermint domes made of white
slickrock swirled with red stripes. We walked the rim downstream
heading for an old horse trail that would take us back into the
canyon below camp. Bowls of sand between sandstone knobs contained
tiny lemon smelling flowers beneath the Pinyon and Juniper. A Hopi
woman once told me that these, a relative of the marigold, were a
traditional food used as a broth in winter. On a sandy hill we came
upon a blackened area of sand from ancient fires surrounded by flakes
of obsidian, imported as a trade item, used for toolmaking. Nearby
were potsherds (broken pottery) that were yellow with black stripes
and triangles. This could only be black on yellow Jeddito ware made
by the Hopi around the sixteenth century. A fascinating discovery for
us! Having seen signs left by the Anasazi at almost every bend of the
river, this discovery was evidence of their modern successors, the
Hopi. The Anasazi migrated out of these canyons in the 1200's heading
southwest and the Hopi returned with their pottery 400 years later.
Travelling along the rim we came upon
the wash that poured into the little cathedral we explored earlier. A
series of brimmed waterpockets stairstepped up the slickrock wash. I
dropped my pack, peeled my shirt, dove in the chilly bath and jumped
out the other side. One by one almost everybody followed suit and we
all laid out in the hot sun on the warm sandstone. I shut my eyes and
dreamed of the countless pools. Then the light darkened and I opened
my eyes to find a cloud had blocked the sun. But in a moment it was
gone. At this point the group split. Half opted for the direct walk
back to camp with a guide and the rest of us, six including myself,
decided on a more challenging route up the wash and over the top of a
high dome. Three deep crevasses slice this 800 foot slickrock
monolith creating a giant "W". Two from the west are
separated by one crevasse from the east. To traverse this dome we
must zig-zag across two causeways. The route is a little scary but
wide enough to be safe.
On the way up we entered one of the
shady west facing cracks to cool off and doze in the shade. Meanwhile,
I walked up the crevasse until it narrowed so that only a thin string
of blue sky was overhead. The convoluted bottom would only allow one
foot at a time. I wondered how such a deep crack could be cut by only
the water that falls on this one rock. I turned sideways to continue
and it ended directly below the causeway we would soon be going over.
I felt a surge of excitement thinking about walking over the passes.
Rested, we shouldered day packs and
noticed for the first time white puffy clouds moving quickly overhead.
We climbed the steep slickrock and as we topped out on the dome the
southern sky became visible. Black clouds filled the sky and below
them was a solid wall of red from sand being blown by rain filled
wind heading our way. Everyone reached for their rain gear while
slickrock spires and peaks disappeared in the red sand cloud less
than a mile away. It was moving very fast and I became concerned that
it would hit us while we were on top of the causeways. The wind
became strong just as we rounded the first western crack and got on
the six foot wide ridge between that and the east crack. Only two of
the six of our group made it across the first causeway before the
initial sand blast hit that brought the rest of us to our hands and
knees.
The route to the second causeway dips
down then up which is unnerving even in good conditions. Just as we
started down hail began clacking against the rock and thumping our
heads. The air was thick with sand, hail and rain flying sideways
collecting in the cracks of the slickrock. My poncho flapped like a
sail and the noise of it all was deafening. I was in back as we
climbed down the first part of the causeway and everybody huddled
behind a rock fin. "Don't stop!", I yelled.
The wet rock would only get slicker so
we kept moving. The climb up began at the edge of a 200 foot sheer
drop into the east facing crevasse then got better as you climbed. I
stood with my heels on the edge and helped everyone above me with
footholds and a boost. It rained so hard that waterfalls were
shooting down the slickrock on all sides. I pushed the last person up
the slippery rock. She turned and offered me a hand and we scurried
away from the edge to safety.
My appetite for adrenalin is large so
I was excited but I felt awful to have put everyone through such a
terrifying experience. I looked through my hood at my sloshing shoes
and walked downhill as the rain slowed to a stop. Then I heard Maxine
exclaim, "That was one of the most incredible experience I've
ever had!" I pulled my hood back to see five wet grins.
Waterfalls were still cascading down the slickrock and the rain was
pounding the bench on the other side of the river. The sky cleared
and we took off our coats to let the sun dry our saturated clothes.
It seems that you can never know what to expect in this land of
extremes.
(This article is contributed by Escalante
Canyon Outfitters - Editor. For more interesting travel articles,
please visit InfoHub Specialty
Travel Guide)
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Had I been able to predict the ferocity
of the storm and the timing, the whole group might have opted to
cower in camp all day. Even after living twenty years in the
Escalante Canyons I couldn't have foreseen this typical April
surprise but somehow I just should have known. A beautiful blue sky
gave no hint of what was to come and we left our base camp on the
Escalante River with some drinking water, a bag lunch and a vague
idea of where this days route would take us.
We walked across the open flat of this huge room to an alcove that
cut far under a seeping wall which irrigated a forest of tall ferns
all straining to meet sunlight. Their dazzling green lit this
darkened chamber. Opposite the fern room was a dry overhang. Here in
the dusty sand were more chips from toolmaking and shrunken corncobs
left by the Anasazi. We lingered through a lunch packed from camp
and reluctantly left this little cathedral walking in silence back
to the river. Wanting to trade our filtered river water for
something cold and delicious we stopped our upstream wanderings at a
spring. From a crack in the canyon wall concealed by water birch
poured a huge volume of water collected above by hundreds of
waterpockets and acres of sand and filtered through hundreds of feet
of Navaho sandstone. We intercepted it and, canteens full, were
ready for the last part of our hike.