The route from Salt Lake to Kanab followed I-15 to Utah 20 over the mountains and down to Utah 89. In less than 24 hours, all our modern conveniences would be abandoned and we'd be hiking from the north rim of Grand Canyon to the Colorado River and back in some 30 miles.
As we dropped from the summit the entire valley was filled with clouds of fog rising from the warm ground. I just had to snap a few photos. It was this very same spot 11 years ago, a fighter jet was getting refueled in the sky above while Dillon, my son, played in the dirt with his trucks. Looking up at the jet, I was in awe over the delicate operation. Now, thinking back on that day, my pessimistic mind wondered if our world would continue to provide us with adventures such as this one.
My companion on this trip would be Ron Sipko. Ron's a hardy individual who likes the outdoors. Originally, from Johnstown, Pennsylvania, and settling down in Nevada, he's hiked his share of trails and climbed several difficult peaks in Western North America. Ron has an inquisitive, interesting personality along with a stubborn, "ram like" attitude. Those characteristics and his large frame would serve him well on this hike.
I'm glad Ron could make the trip. Hiking such a difficult hike in such a remote area would be foolish without someone to watch over you. Many people have made the fatal mistake of not having a companion while hiking and then doing something foolish. So, in this case, I hoped that we'd watch over each other. Besides the safety, I wanted Ron to experience something that is difficult to appreciate without some personal suffering. That alone would help to imprint this Grand Canyon hike deep within his memory.
In Kanab, Utah we stopped for lunch at a "Burger Place"---waiting a very long time for a simple meal---probably close to 20 minutes. Finally, frustrated and fed with salty fries, cardboard thin burgers and sweet drinks, we left around 1:45 PM for the store. Ron bought a steak and chips for dinner at the north rim. We both noticed that wherever we went in Kanab there seemed to be an awful lot of young "slinky" looking women just hangin'. I suppose that the kids don't have much to do in a small town on a warm fall weekend. Perhaps they were looking for their future husbands.
I was looking for a map of the North Kaibab National Forest and tried a bookstore/coffee shop across the street, which was a very "new age" place. Walking in the door I was greeted with the aroma of imported coffee, incense, and musty reading material. The fellow at the counter was busy talking to his local friends and I hesitated to just jump in the conversation, especially since I wasn't part of the local group. They stood there like Ron and I didn't exist, sipping coffee out of mugs while some flute music played in the background. My irritation was building. Finally, I interrupted him for help. He wanted to know why I needed the map, and promptly gave me his incorrect opinion on the alternative route that I was trying to gain information on. After all that, he said he didn't have the map anyway.
From Kanab we proceeded south to Fredonia. On a whim, still looking for the map and irritated over the bookstore incident, I pulled into the Fredonia, Arizona Welcome Center. A couple of old timers taking care of the place greeted me with enthusiasm. What luck! They had the map. I now felt better about being able to identify the forest roads to the north rim. Driving southeast from Fredonia we turned on forest road #22 or #422 just south of town on the right. The surrounding area slowly changed from high desert with sage and brilliant yellow rabbit brush to pinyon pine, and finally to a mountain plateau forest with aspen and fir trees.
We arrived at the north rim around 4:30 that afternoon and drove along a dirt road that was within 50 feet of the rim providing us with occasional glances of Grand Canyon through the trees. Ron thought it might be a good idea to drive to the trailhead at Monument Point and check it out. We'd be leaving from this point at sunrise the next morning.
Back along the narrow rim road, we found a nice camping spot with a "beautiful window" framed with cedar trees and mountain mahogany looking toward the vast expanse of Grand Canyon. I sat in awe wondering what would await me (and Ron) for the next few days. You could look straight down into the Crazy Jug drainage and scan the area across the Esplanade to the rim of the Redwall Limestone and down to the depths of the carved river canyon.
We checked, packed and repacked our gear. All the time I worried about the weight, which was now close to 55 pack pounds per person. The sun slowly set and as the temperatures dropped we prepared dinner. Ron cooked a big steak with lots of garlic salt and pepper. I warmed my Western Family Stew. After eating, we hit the sack around 8 PM.
10/6/2002: Day Two
When my alarm went off at 6:00, I glanced at the sky and it was pitch black. No way was I going to get up and shiver in the dark. I opted to stay in the bag until I could see a little pre-dawn light. At 6:30 we were up. I ate my bagels, a breakfast bar--that as far as I was concerned was a "pop tart"--and drank water, lots of water. Ron had coffee and maybe one of his God awful "Slim Jims". Eating these would become a ritual.
We packed up and drove to Monument Point trailhead. By 7:30 we put on our packs (oh baby were they heavy). I couldn't find my maps and was having a fit trying to remember where they were. After searching the car two times and my pack, I gave up and told Ron we'd just have to make it using the one map I gave him. I was very irritated at my lack of organization and losing the maps. To me, they could provide us with the necessary emergency information if we lost our route. Now, I was convinced that I'd dropped them under the car at camp and they blew off into the canyon.
It was cool, probably around 50 degrees as we trudged along the Bill Hall trail, up the hill, stumbling and cursing the weight of the packs. After a few photos, we arrived where the route comes to the edge of the Kaibab limestone cliff (7,206 feet), appearing to disappear. Ron was making some serious conversation about the craziness of the whole idea and that we should be sitting at home sipping stiff drinks rather than this nonsense. I felt as if I had a stack of books (maybe 30) on my back and needed to be pushing a walker. Well, from the parking lot to the trail's descent we hiked about one mile. More photos.
Down we went through the layers of time--Kaibab Limestone, Toroweap, Coconino and Hermit Shale---just a few hundred million years. The trail was steep in parts with switchbacks. Little did I know that the tips of my toes were being, ever so slightly, crushed and that when it was all over, I'd lose half my toenails!
During this first steep section, I kept wondering where the so called dangerous "ledge" was, saying over and over: "If that's the ledge, they must be wimps"-- referring to the comments I'd read. When we arrived at the infamous ledge made of solid Coconino, it was something you could jump down providing you didn't have a heavy pack on! Being somewhat daring (and possibly stupid), I went down it, pack and all, using handholds, while Ron (the sane and cautious person), slid his pack off and down to me.
With a short rest, we celebrated with water. Ron might have had another "Slim Jim" which sort of snap when you bite into them. Many years ago I too had the pleasure of eating one of these meat products. The texture and the crunch when you eat one is appropriate for the ingredients. I had dried mangos, sucking any remaining moisture out of my belly, and my custom made trail mix which had to weigh more than any other food I carried. Now, I realize why I was guzzling down the water.
We had managed to drop about a thousand feet. Next, we started heading down what is sort of an old slump or alluvial fan. Turning around and looking back on our route through the cliffs, it was now was clear to me that the only way past these towering walls of limestone was through a faulted area such as this area of debris. More switchbacks and another rest led us to the Esplanade proper at 5600 feet.
The Esplanade is old sandstone beds that are much like the slickrock areas of Arches and Capital Reef National Parks. As we walked on this huge uneven sidewalk we passed by Mormon tea, cedar and juniper trees. Over thousands of years, wind and water had carved this area leaving shapes of red sandy rock, dry water slides, and potholes for little lakes.
The trail through the Esplanade is marked by cairns which you have to be on the lookout for otherwise you could lose the trail. Doing so, without any route finding skills, could be a big mistake. It would be easy to assume that you could simply walk here or there to find the route in the same general direction, while all the while you are trapping yourself at the edge of some 700 foot cliff. In fact it was here that two hikers did just that, and died trying to find a shortcut.
It would be on the edge of the Esplanade where we would hide our precious water. It would also be the same place that we'd camp on our hike out in a few days. After hiking from 7:30 to noon, we arrived where the Esplanade abruptly ends. I stood on the edge and felt the warm wind rush up. Here, Ron and I were standing on a massive cliff of Redwall limestone, one thousand feet below the valley lay.
Deposited for hundreds of millions years by sea creatures, the Redwall limestone forms a nearly impenetrable wall and is nearly continuous throughout Grand Canyon. Our steep descent would take us through a faulted area of gigantic blocks tossed about. It was through this maze that someone had switched back an impossible trail that appeared to go straight down. Even with eight pounds of water off our backs, we knew what the penalties would be.
Ron at this point had severely injured both his heels. At first we thought he might have bruised them on the hard Esplanade sandstone, but as we found out later, he'd twisted his heels in his boots and essentially separated his callous from the layers underneath. It was very painful. My feet felt fine, but my toes seemed oddly numb. I should have heeded this warning.
In any case, I was convinced that it was best to move on and make it to camp now four miles away. Ron was very unsure. After some bandaging and plenty of pain killers, we moved on, down through the Redwall switchbacks, resting often. About half way down I took Ron's water to help ease his pack weight and allow him to pick up the pace. I must give Ron a lot of credit here----regardless of the pain he was in, he continued to move at a decent pace down the hill and once the drugs kicked in, he was downright pleasant.
At the bottom of the Redwall slump you enter into Surprise Valley which appears only in this part of Grand Canyon. Surprise Valley looks like a Nevada Great Basin valley with round, eroded hills covered with brush. Only about 5 miles long and maybe 2 miles wide, bounded by the Redwall limestone cliffs on one side and the Colorado River gorge on the other, Surprise Valley is like a hanging shelf. As we slowly made our way east through this hot, sun baked valley, I couldn't help look up at the cool pines on the rim where we came from 3,500 feet ago. It was 2:00 P.M., clear and 80 degrees.
We met three other guys who were hiking in the same general direction, east toward the Thunder River and Tapeats Creek. We bantered for a bit about the route and our energy, but I could see the tiredness in their eyes. They would be camping at the east end of Surprise Valley for the evening while Ron and I would eventually pass them, descend another steep section and camp at Upper Tapeats.
Allowing Ron to set his own pace, I moved quickly through Surprise Valley and arrived at the edge of a cliff that guards the passage into Thunder River. Below me lay the final section of our hike for the first day. The trail went down an exceedingly steep route that dropped 600 feet to the Thunder River. Of course, at this point to either of us, it didn't seem to matter how steep or irregular the trail was.
The Thunder River shoots out of twin natural tunnels in the Redwall Limestone and then falls 150 feet cascading past redbud and cottonwood tree groves. It is an unbelievable image. Each hole is approximately 15 feet in diameter and the water flows out at such velocity, that you would be "jetted" to death if you managed to fall into the twin flows. Earlier, we met a hiker that had actually worked his way inside the larger Thunder River cave. Once inside, he inflated a two man raft and floated to a huge cavern with very clear deep water and high cathedral ceilings. What an adventure that would be.
I sat down on the edge of a rock to ease the weight of the pack and waited for Ron to arrive. After a few minutes he arrived along with the hikers we'd met earlier. We all talked and I showed Ron the route down to Thunder River and on to the Upper Tapeats camping area. It looked as if the other hikers were pretty dehydrated and possibly short on water so I gave them a gallon and a half since we wouldn't need it at this point, and ease up the water load that I was still carrying.
Ron and I said our goodbyes and started down. We stopped at several vantage points to photograph Thunder River during the last hour of sun. It was around 3:30. About half way down Ron decided to take off his boots and switch to his Teva's. It was a wise choice and substantially reduced the pain of his toes being mashed into the front of his boots. After several more breaks for water and snacks we arrived at our first camp around 5 PM at 2,400 feet.
After some tired, irritated discussion, we moved to a very nice spot near Tapeats Creek. Deciding to pull off my boots and look at the damage, I was shocked to learn that four, maybe five toes had been pummeled to death and were looking pretty sorry. I would lose a few nails. I can't imagine what would have happened if I hadn't worn the toe guards that I found at a ballet supply store. Otherwise, everything else looked fine, and my body felt pretty good, but very tired. I headed to the creek and pooled the cool water with my hands and splashed it on my face and head. Ah, now that's refreshing.
Surrounded by large prickly pear cacti and boulders the size of houses, we made our beds in the dirt and prepared dinner. Having such a selection of gourmet dinners, I decided on a beans and rice combination to compliment my trail mix, dried mango and water. Ron might have had a "Slim Jim" as an appetizer and then one of his many gourmet dinners. It didn't take long for a lone mouse to stop by and sniff around for leftovers. To further protect our food from varmints, we strung up a fishing line between two trees and clipped on our bags of food. This would prove to be a wise decision. We went to bed and were asleep by 7:30 PM.
10/7/2002: Day Three
That night, I lay awake looking at the stars and into the depths of the Milky Way, thinking about the previous day's adventures while surrounded by 300 foot limestone walls. The roar of the river lulled me asleep. Twelve hours later the sun warmed my stiff body.
Finally, I got up and made some hot oatmeal for the day ahead. Today we would travel down the Tapeats drainage to the Colorado River and then turn downriver and walk along the shore to Mile 135 where we would camp on the beach---a total distance of three miles.
From everything I'd read, it seemed that there were two routes. The west side route would take you directly down, while the other route on the east side would require two river crossings. Both had ledges and some exposure. In either case, the information I had seemed to indicate that either method had advantages and disadvantages, or at least that was my interpretation. Following the west route, it turned out, provided a confusing array of multiple trails leading to very exposed ledges that if you slipped, you'd slide down a 70 degree slope and plop into the creek. To make matters worse, some of these "trails" were a mere foot wide.
After hiking along such an area, Ron said that he'd had enough and wanted to retrace his steps, find a creek crossing and try the east side route of Tapeats creek. I was concerned about this idea because of safety and the logistics of meeting him somewhere downstream. In any case, Ron was determined to go back. In retrospect, I should have gone with him, but I also knew that he was a good hiker and could find the route.
I continued down the west side and the trail went through some difficult sections that might have proved even tougher for Ron. I was now convinced that he'd done the correct thing and that I would have to make it on my own. I looked for him on the east side route several times as I carefully inched my way along. Along the way I came across a large Native American Kiva which I considered a welcome gift for my troubles.
Several times I would stop, rest and wait to see Ron on the other side of the creek. With some trepidation, I decided to move on to the mouth of Tapeats creek at the Colorado River and wait for him. My fear was that he'd never come and I'd have to hike back up.
Arriving at the mouth of Tapeats Creek there was a hot, wide sandy beach. It was around 1:30 and hot. I took off my boots, socks, shirt and hat and rinsed everything out. While things were drying, I sat down by some Tamarisk bushes and opened a can of Sardines for lunch. There was this rustling in the bushes and out popped a wild turkey looking me (and my sardines) over. "It" hobbled around on a messed up leg and finally laid down in the shade.
An hour passed and I looked up the cliff and there stood Ron about 500 feet up. I'm not sure what he was thinking, but I waved and welcomed him to what he would say later was paradise. It turned out that he had come down the same treacherous trail that I did, but after backtracking for a half mile. He was beat. We sat in the creek, wiggled our toes in the watercress, and cooled down while the turkey kept an eye on us. Water flowed around my feet and through my toes. I was afraid to tell Ron that we still had a mile to go.
We threw our packs on and continued heading down the bank of the Colorado River. Here the river channel is the narrowest in Grand Canyon and appropriately called "Granite Narrows". Rumor has it, that the Colorado is hundreds of feet deep here due to the pinching of the river between some of the oldest rocks on earth which are made of Vishnu Schist. A black and brown angry looking rock, the 1.7 billon year old Vishnu Schist boulders absorb the heat all day and then radiate it like gigantic briquettes.
Hiking this river route is simple in that you pick your way through the boulders and work your way along the river. But, with anything that was reported to be simple, the mile seemed like ten. After a nerve wracking hike down Tapeats creek and the combination of the heat, this "easy" hike was beating us down---ever so slowly. As if it appeared right on cue and about half way, was a mother-of-all ledges, complete with sand to help us slide to our deaths.
If Ron had been at his wits end before this, now would be the true test of his remaining sanity. In retrospect, the ledge looked a lot harder than it really was. Of course, that's easy to say once you're down. A couple of kids would have enjoyed sliding down this natural 15 foot slide; however we and "our packs" were not in the mood. Down we went in a couple of minutes.
As we hiked along the trail, gray mounds of brittlebush, Mormon tea, barrel cacti and chunks of old, tried Vishnu Schist were scattered about the hillside; a playland for lizards, scorpions and an occasional rattler. On our left, the Colorado River flowed steadily, its cool waters calling to us.
Looking ahead I spied shade starting to fill the canyon. It was a welcome site. An hour later we were at camp, approximately river mile 134. Here the schist towers over you on one side and the other side is the river. In between are spotted, sandy areas-little beach paradises that extend from the hot rocks into the cool water of the Colorado. The water in the Colorado River is a cool 45 degrees. Drawn from the depths of Glen Canyon Dam, the water is super cooled and released. So, regardless of the air temperature, it's not something I enjoy lingering in.
As the sun went down and the shadows rushed up the cliffs we ate dinner and made our beds. By now, we were on "Grand Canyon standard time". It doesn't take long for a person to adapt to and accept the patterns of the Canyon wilderness. Every person is now equal. All the conveniences of modern life won't make a difference here. Everyone has the same chores and duties. The Canyon is the great equalizer.
I shut my eyes and drifted off feeling the cool fingers of a river breeze glide past my face to intermix with the hot canyon air streaming down from the rocks above.
Click, click, plop. Click, bang, plop. What was that noise? I turned on my flashlight and panned it around the boulders and spotted a thief. A ringtail cat, which looks like a cross between a cat and a skunk, was hauling away my plastic bag of film. I watched in horror as it disappeared into the rocks and darkness. Without thinking of the scorpions making their nightly hunt for food, I took my flashlight and scurried up the rocks, found the varmints hideout, and grabbed my bag. It was three in the morning and "my friend" would soon pay a visit to Ron.
10/8/2002: Day Four
Already the sun was rushing up the cliffs around us, illuminating thousands of years of geologic time. I sat down and wiggled my toes in the warming sand. For breakfast I'd have a few slices of mango and a couple of snack bars made of peanut butter and soy. These pasty things would dry out your mouth and force you to drink water. That is good.
I felt rushed today so I decided to snack along the way. Ron had his pack on and so we said goodbye to our beach paradise and picked our way along the shore downriver. Huge shear cliffs come down and meet the river here making it necessary to climb up and around them. According to a guide book I had read, there would be a large marker to show us the way from the river through a steep gulch to the upper trail. This would take us over to the next canyon and Deer Creek. Once up the gulch, the trail would be a level and a fairly easy hike.
Proceeding south, well above the river and under the shoulder of Cogswell Butte, we arrived at the ridge looking into Deer Creek valley at 9:30. The green cottonwood groves formed lines that followed the streams up the canyon. The morning sun had just started to fill the canyon, replacing the cool shadows with warm sunlight. Surrounded by redwall limestone cliffs, this was an amazingly beautiful place.
We hiked down into the valley, found our camping area in a stand of cottonwood trees and ate lunch. Here our floor was made of layers of smooth river rock and gravel that had been deposited over many years by flash floods. Large cottonwood trees had stood tall while the small creek would suddenly turn into an angry, muddy river loaded with some boulders the size of small cars. One tree, now an old snag, would serve as a pole to hang our food up and away from the night critters.
After a long rest, we ventured down into the Deer Creek narrows. Here the water has carved through the layers of Tapeats sandstone, creating in some places a 100 foot deep rock crevice. As the trail proceeded along an exceedingly narrow route, you could hear and sometimes see the creek roaring through the narrow cut. I wondered what it would be like to somehow climb down and see what was there---perhaps a skeleton of someone who had the same idea and couldn't get back up the nearly vertical slick walls.
We followed, hiking through the narrow canyon until it opened up hundreds of feet above the Colorado River. Here you can stand and look up river to Tapeats Canyon. The view never fails to present a perfect photograph. After a series of switchbacks we found ourselves at the edge of a beautiful pool of water. Above, Deer Creek poured out of the hanging canyon and, like a long blue ribbon hanging in the wind, splashed and twisted down along the sides of 100 foot red cliffs dotted with ferns and flowers. If there was a heaven in this hell, we'd found it.
It was hours later in the afternoon that we left this place of peace. With the exception of a overhang that juts out into the path of the trail, it was an easy 30 minute walk back. I suppose that these narrow path ordeals had some sort of a cumulative effect on Ron. So, when I turned around at one particular exposed point and said "smile for the camera", he smiled.
Back at our Deer Creek camp, we made dinner. I decided on a gourmet selection of mashed potatoes and water. As the sun went down and the shadows began their march up the canyon, we climbed into our bags. It was 70 degrees and clear. A warm breeze rushed down the canyon, past our camp, down the narrows and met the Colorado River. I couldn't help think of the tales I'd heard of Native American souls gliding through the canyons at night, their spirits seeking and inspecting every part of the vast southwest. The warm air turned colder as it drained from higher and higher, reaching finally the top of the north rim.
10/9/2002: Day Five
We left Deer Creek valley (2,500 feet) at 8:30 for the south end of Surprise Valley and then, retracing our steps a few days ago, up the redwall to our cache of water and camp on the Esplanade. For the first mile the climb was very steep and rocky. I felt as if we were climbing up the face of Wheeler Peak (13,000 feet), a Nevada peak in Great Basin. It was difficult to find and follow the trail. We picked our way through the boulders and gravel farther and farther up until things started to level out. Soon we were traversing the odd looking Surprise Valley with its rolling sun-baked hills, boulders, and scrubby plants.
Climbing up the trail through the redwall fault is nothing you'd ever expect. Imagine walking up a thousand feet of stairs with a 40 pound pack. To top that, each stair is odd shaped, tilted, slick and sometimes three feet high. It was 80 degrees and the sun was beating down on us. This was our punishment for venturing into this wild, beautiful area.
Arriving at the Esplanade and our camp at 5,000 feet, we rolled out our mats and rested. We were both very tired. It was 2:45, clear and 70 degrees. Ron was ready for some electrolytic replacement, so I mixed him up some fruit flavored stuff and he had a few cups full. That would prove to perk him up and put an end to his babble about wanting to go to sleep. We were both a textbook case of slight dehydration, physical and mental fatigue.
I took my boots off and looked at my throbbing toes. Some had no feeling and others were now purple colored under the nails, but one on my left foot looked particularly bad with a white sheen, surrounded by clear tight skin. I was convinced that I needed to perform minor surgery, but Ron helped me to sort things out and stay sane. Now I was babbling.
We relaxed and talked. Tomorrow morning we'd leave and hike the final 2,500 or so feet to the rim and head back to Salt Lake City. From all we'd done in the last four days it would seem insignificant as we retraced our steps across the red flat Esplanade, up through the cliffs of Coconino and Toroweap rock, the parking lot and our car.
I had a dinner of Ramen noodles and Ron had spaghetti. The sun swept down through the wispy clouds in the west providing us with a wonderful sunset for our last night. I climbed into my sleeping bag as the stars appeared above watching over the still desert. I thought of the past five days and the future. Tomorrow, we would back in Salt Lake City, Ron would make it back to Nevada, and our modern lives would continue. Somewhere, far down below, the Colorado River made its way to the west slowly cutting through layers of rock and time, just as it had been doing for 6 million years before.
