After spending a summer in Texas selling alarms door to door, I had a month off to basically be a bum. I was running low on funds, but I had all the time in the world. I spent more than a couple nights camping. Part of my camping was because I missed the fresh air and the wilderness of Utah. Part of my camping was because I had nowhere else to go. I did end up crashing on a friend's couch for a week or so while I was waiting to go on the company cruise that we had won. More on that later.
I love my Subaru. It is the perfect car for me. My Subaru has allowed me to travel cross country so many times. It has never let me down, and it has proven to be quite a comfortable porta-bedroom. With the seats folded down, and an air mattress rolled out, I can sleep quite comfortably. On most road trips I push my body too far and stay awake on the road as long as possible. I can't afford hotel room every time I get drowsy. Whenever I would finally pull over to sleep, I used to have to recline the seat as far as possible and scrape together 45 minutes of shut eye before hitting the road again. In my Subaru Outback though, I can easily sleep 6-7 hours and get back going as if I had planned to spend the night in such a fashion. It's not quite an RV, but for the amount of "softroading" I do, and the gas mileage I need to travel as far as I do, it is perfection.
After spending a few days camping out at my favorite spot in the mountains near Tooele, I decided to saddle up and head off on adventure. I would liked to have had some friends along, but I didn't want to go through the hassle of making sure I had the right mixture of personalities, and everyone coming along had the right gear. I've been gradually hording outdoorsy gear for a few years, and knew I could pick up and go wherever whenever because after all, all of my worldly possessions were in the back of my car.
I had been backpacking with a wilderness group a couple years ago. They take maladjusted youth out into the wild to allow the healing effects of nature to take place. Being out away from technology, having time to think, having a goal in mind, and a simplified almost primitive form of living can work wonders on the soul.
After spending 8 days backpacking in Southern Utah I learned that the job was not for me, but the location was too breathtaking not to revisit. My plan was to take 5-8 days and go solo backpacking in Escalante, Utah. I hoped that my memory of the location would not get me lost. The multiple slot canyons and vastness of the terrain still leave me in awe to this day.
Pictured above is the gear I packed for my trek.
50 Liter Internal frame backpack (probably should have used my 65)
10 degree sleeping bag
Hard Shell from my Columbia 3-in-1 coat
Handheld GPS (invaluable for the lazy orienteer)
Inflatable camp mat
cook kit
(2) 1 liter nalgene bottles
(1) 3 liter water bladder (in the backpack)
3 dry bags of various sizes to contain food, clothing, and electronics
30' of webbing
hammock
4 caribiners
(1) 10x12 Tarp
(2) trekking poles
(1) knock off GoPro
my Nikon DSLR and 2 lenses
Wool hat my mom knitted for me
Goretex waterproof mid ankle hiking boots
stove with fuel
Bear Grylls Gerber pocket knife
I also had some toiletries in the backpack, tent stakes, some basic first aid equipment, and a hundred feet of cordage.
I'm sure I forgot some items, but all in all, it was quite heavy when loaded up. Some of the stuff I used just so that I wouldn't have felt dumb for bringing it along. I wasn't going up Everest or anything, but any hike of respectable length makes to wonder how many items you could do without. On my particular trip, I learned that I could have done without the freeze dried food variety that I brought.
I loaded up my gear; checked and double checked that I had all with me that I would need. I made sure that my memory cards had plenty of room left on them, and my camera batteries were full. I left mid afternoon for the 5 hour drive south from Provo, UT.
I think I told enough people where I was going that they would be able to send a search party if I didn't reappear within a week. It was fun to be off on an excursion, but a little bit daunting to be doing it alone. I knew that I wasn't as familiar with the area as I should have been, and that there was no way of getting any cell reception once I entered the canyons.
After navigating my way to the Town of Escalante, I learned that I would actually have to backtrack about 5 miles to find a service highway, and then drive about 30 miles down that to reach the trail head I was aiming for. Bombing down the dark dusty trail at nightfall was amazing. I blasted my music and rolled down the window. The cool October air keeping me awake. It had been raining for the past few days which made the road very muddy, and 2 or 3 times I came across a puddle that was over 100 feet long, and splashing up against my bumper. I am admittedly over-confident in the Subaru All-Wheel drive system, and perhaps I should not be so foolhardy when I'm miles from any help, and going into the back country at a time of year that almost guarantees I won't see another soul, but oh well. I made it through every mini-lake just fine, and kept on driving. It was only after the road got especially gnarly that I realized that I had gone past the trail head. The road was not marked, and there was nothing to make it look like an official spot to start a hike, so I had blown right past it.
As I was driving about 45 MPH down this dark road, I felt a little uneasy every time I saw a patch of dirt that showed where a river had crossed only hours before. The dry desert floor mixed with recent rainfall is the perfect recipe for quicksand. I knew that if I happened to get buried up to my axles, that there would be no way out until a bigger truck came along. Stuck in such a predicament would make me all that much more vulnerable to a flash flood. They come without warning, and can still wash your car away down a torrent of muddy water though the rain fell miles away. So, driving too fast as I was, I rounded a bend, and suddenly came upon a spot of the road that had been washed out. Not just that I couldn't see where the road was meant to go, but a culvert had collapsed, and 3/4 of the roadway suddenly dropped 6' down off to my right. I was able to skid to a halt just before my tires went into the ravine, but it was way too close for comfort. I surveyed my options and decided to cut up into the brush to the left of the chasm. My tires spun a little bit, protesting as I pushed the wagon up into dryer pastures. I was only a couple hundred feet beyond the obstacle when I realized I had gone too far. Creeping back past the gaping, car-swallowing, sink hole was more daunting on the return trip.
In a few moments I had driven myself back to the proper fork in the road and parked. I was still not very sure I was at the right trail head. I didn't want to get my car ticketed while I was away. I had dreams of crawling my way out of the wilderness, beaten and bruised, only to find that my car had been towed away and I would be left stranded.
I decided that rather than start out my trek in the dead of night, I would sleep and pick my trail at first light; a good thing too, because it wasn't long after I unrolled my sleeping bag that great drops of water came down pelting the roof of my car. It was so loud that I occasionally got up to check that it wasn't hail hitting the sheet metal. I slept uneasily, again dreaming of my car getting washed away in a flash flood. (I later found out that 20 people had died in similar conditions only a month prior) Click here for story.
First light ended up being about noon by the time I finally woke up, ate the remaining hot dog in my snack stash, and clicked lock on my car. I left a note on the dash with a phone number and an expected return date. Hopefully no one would loot my car while I was away. Finding a trail proved to be more difficult. I zigged and zagged across the scrubby desert terrain looking for any semblance of a path. My backpack felt heavy, my legs were not yet used to balancing the extra 40-50 pounds on my frame. I was grateful to have my trekking poles along. They helped me scramble up smooth rocky surfaces, and helped me stay at a decent marching pace as I crossed the dusty landscape Those poles probably saved my life more than a few times on this trip. At length I came across an old barbed wire fence that served to keep livestock from tumbling into the slot canyons and dying. I figured that I should be on the opposite side of this fence since my goal was to get into the canyons. After following the fence, I finally started to notice a crack open up in the earth. As I hiked, the crack became a trench, then a ravine. I lowered my backpack gently down over the edge of a cliff, using the webbing to get it as low as possible. After I carefully released my grip, however, the backpack still took a tumble and scooped up some unwanted soil onto my camera. I hopped down after my pack, dusted it off, and continued trekking.
Not long after dropping into the canyon, things began to be familiar. The landscape had changed a little bit due to the weather, and the passage of time. The path wasn't as worn as the last time I had hiked Coyote Gulch (the name of the trail).
That little squiggly line to the left of the blue dot is Coyote Gulch. With all the twists and turns it ends up being about 12-14 miles from the trail head.
It is hard to capture in a photo, or describe in writing how truly amazing the canyons in southern Utah are. It' almost a spiritual experience to be back in the country, away from other people. Just your wits and your preparation. In hindsight, I do wish I had someone to share the adventure with, but there's always next time.
On the first day I found out how scary it can be to sink into quicksand. Early on in the trip I was trying to keep my boots dry, and my pants clean. I wanted to be comfortable and not deal with damp, gravelly socks. The effort only lasted the first day because after a while you realize that you are constantly crossing over the river, and treading on shifting sand. One time the river bed seemed just as solid as any other spot; but upon trying to check for quicksand, I suddenly sank up to my knees. I was in a hurry to get out of it, but the whole ground gave way beneath me like I had gone from standing on gravel to standing on jello pudding. It was a very real possibility that I could get sunk, and stuck, well out of ear shot of any other human being. It would be one way to die, but as for me, I'm glad I'm still here.
The first night I slept in my hammock, high and dry. I stretched the tarp over my minuscule campsite to protect against the rain. I stopped all the time to take pictures, and am only now realizing that I haven't posted that many of them. Hammock camping in October...is cold. Be warned. I did not sleep at all the first night because the blood kept draining from my arms and legs and the wind swept away and heat from beneath me. If the ground hadn't been littered in thorns and mule deer bones, I would have slept on the ground.
My dinner was made by scooping up some river water, boiling it to kill any bugs, and to get it up to cooking temperature, and then dumping my freeze-dried mix into the pot. It was sandy, and not good...at all. I like the idea of freeze dried food. For the most part it tastes good, and is nutritious. The benefit is that it doesn't take up much space, and is fairly light. The negative is that it kinda makes you fart a lot, and may or may not turn your poop odd colors....is what I read... in a book... not first hand knowledge by any means. REI was having a sale on this type of food. It was only after I had opened the box and loaded all 18 meals into my pack that I realized that it was all 100% Vegan. That's great for you Vegans out there, but it did not do well for my required calorie or protein intake. One meal was a measly 180 calories, and they tasted nasty.
So if anyone wants 12 packets of "beefish stew", let me know. I would have been much better served by carrying extra clif bars. That, and oatmeal was my main diet.
By the second day I was getting into the swing of things. I recognized all the places I had passed by before. Constantly amazed by the scale and magnitude of what I was seeing.
Only ended up using the coat and the hammock once.
If you have never experienced Zion national Park, or Moab, or Escalante, or Arches...you need to reevaluate what you're doing with your life.
The contrast between the massive red cliffs, and the lush greenery along the river was stark. Around the winding bends of the sandstone canyon I saw arches carved away by years of wind and water.
I met my first people on my second day in. This gave me a boost of morale. Since I passed them as the were coming out, I knew that I could follow their footprints to see where solid ground was. Much of my first day was spent checking and rechecking that I wouldn't sink into quicksand. I traveled much faster as I got to know the pattern of that one guys crocs better. For the temperature, I was glad I wore boots, but for the moisture comfort level, I would recommend chacos, or similar outdoorsy sandals.
I walked far too late past dinner time before pitching camp. Before I knew it I was scrambling through the reeds trying not to fall into the river and desperately straining against the light of my headlamp to see the faintest trace of the footprints which had led me so well before. After an hour of so of struggling against the falling temperature and the failing light, I finally found a flat, dry spot near the trail and began the slow process of setting up camp. This time I used my tarp ad an impromptu tent, and cooked my dinner on a flat rock. Fires weren't allowed at this part of the trail, so I had to curl up in my cold sleeping bag with no other form of heat besides my damp, tired body.
The morning revealed that I was only 30 feet or so from one of the more technically difficult descents. I'm so glad I didn't try it at nighttime. My water supply was continuously being refilled from the river. Although my iodine tablets would kill any germs in the water, they did nothing for the red sand that gritted my teeth long after I was done drinking.
The third day found me passing by more waterfalls and hikers. The temperatures seemed to be up in the 70's and there were enough groups that I no longer felt alone. I no longer felt that I was on this crazy backpacking trip that could kill me, but rather on an extended campout that anyone could do.
One of the difficulties I ran into on the trail was that there was no trail; or rather, there were multiple options, and each one would eventually get me down the canyon. Usually there was a high road and a low road. Sometimes one would lead me into quicksand, and the other would lead me through thick vegetation. I don't even want to think about how many spiders hitchhiked in my hair during these passages.
After taking three days to reach the confluence with the Escalante river, I took a couple pictures. Paused to breathe, and then did an about face and headed back towards civilization.
On the trip down I averaged 3-4 miles per day. I t doesn't sound like much, but with the slow going of the river crossings, and the frequent photo stops, it was still busy days. Since I made it part of the way back on the third day, I decided to take a rest, and set up camp early. By about 3:30 I was set up. I had a massive ledge over me for protection, soft sand beneath my feet for comfort, and the one outhouse in the canyon on the opposite side of the river...for convenience.
This was the one spot that I actually lit a fire. It is amazing the psychological effect of a small fire in the wilderness. Something primitive is awakened, letting you know that this is home, and this is safe.
Free from the burden of my pack, and a pressing schedule, I decided to go for a jaunt with nothing but my camera. Since my boots were drying out, and I had no inclination to put my socks back on, I took off across the river barefoot.
My feet were not as tough as they used to be, but after some time I grew accustomed to avoiding cactus. I realized that this place was pure. There was no garbage, not broken glass to be worried about. A pristine landscape that had been successfully preserved, and posed not threat to me talking my little barefoot walkabout.
The red rocks had absorbed amazing amounts of heat from the day's sunshine. The darker rocks were too hot to touch.
After gorging myself on overly sweetened oatmeal, I turned in, and watched the sky fade from perfect clear blue, to deep purple. The moon rose early, and I could see the faint shapes of bats flying around catching their evening meal.
The next days were exhausting. Since I had already seen most of the sights on the way down the river, I really didn't have much need to haul out my camera heading back upstream. I powered through 5 miles on the 4th day without much to make note of. The final day is when I turned on my GPS and started keeping track of the distance between myself and my car. I realized that at the pace I was going, I could make it back in one push...if I made it 9 miles that day. With my backpack no lighter, but my body feeling a little more rejuvenated, I decided to go for it.
After many sweaty hours of long strides, and sore hips, I finally emerged from the canyon. The only problem was that I was still 2 miles from the car, and I had not emerged at the same spot I had dropped in at. The rocks were red instead of the sandy yellow they had been before. I followed a dried up tributary, hoping it would zig-zag me back to my car, but it only took me further away. At least I had a footprint of another person every now and then to guide me; to let me know that I was going the right way....to his car....if he knew where he was going.
After a while, I decided to leave the relative security of the small ravine, and set out overland. Across the flat desert. Following the line my GPS said would lead me to my car. As the crow flies is so much easier, if you're a crow. I began to feel fatigued, my snack food supply was depleted, and my water was getting low. I was in no real danger of dehydration...as long as I got to my car that night. The sun started dropping behind the distant mountains, and I continued to drag my way through the soft sand.
Every little hill was covered with small holes. I now assume they were for jack rabbits, but at the time my mind was certain that each one of these thousands of dens was that of a rattlesnake. I may come across as somewhat of a worry-wart in this entry, and that may be, but I assure you that something changes in your mind when you find yourself alone, in the literal middle of nowhere, with no way of letting anyone know where you are. It took about 2 and a half hours to finally see areas I recognized. It felt like eternity. By the time I saw the barbed wire fence, I was just done. I loved the hike, I probably shouldn't have pushed myself as far as I did on the last day, but after all that I had seen and done, I was ready to just sit down, and have my car do the work.
The drive back in to town took so much longer than I thought it would, but once their, I realized that I didn't have it in me to drive all the way back to Provo. I stopped at an amazing burger joint, ordered their biggest meal, and devoured every ounce of that grease laden bacon burger in no time flat. I had deluded myself into thinking that a week without soda would make it that much easier to stay on a healthy beverage trend once I rejoined society. The fist thing I ordered: Extra Large Mountain Dew.
I checked into a modest motel across from the burger shop. The parking lot was packed full of muddy Tacomas, Subarus, and Frontiers. Some were there to hike, others to bike, and some were just passing through. The room was equipped with cloths specifically for washing off mud, which was invaluable. I clogged the shower washing mud out of my hair, cleaned it out, and then showered some more. My shirt smelled like 5 days of sweat and mud. I found it necessary to do some laundry in the sink with the bar of soap provided before turning in for the night. It is amazing how nice a cheap motel bed feels after sleeping a week on the ground atop a constantly deflating camp mat.
