Although I managed to get a pleasant day of mountain biking yesterday despite past week’s rain, climbing was still out of the question. However, hiking was still feasible. I found a trail that looked long, exciting, and remote. I set off early in the day and messaged Leah where I’d be.
Within two minutes of starting the trail, I came across a still pool of water. I was at the start of a slot canyon that had collected rainwater from the past few days. Using my poles I found the depth to be greater than my chest height. I looked around. The canyon was too wide for me to shimmy across by stretching my body over the pool. I couldn’t see any way to pass so I turned around.
I felt let down but quickly realized that I wasn’t too far from the hike I bailed from a few days ago, Mountain of the Sun.
I still had the route information fresh in my mind and ran the first few miles. The trail was dry and the sky was clear. I quickly reached my high point from before.
I continued to follow the GPS track on my watch and recalled the route beta from before until I came to a large basin. I saw a couple hiking down carrying a rope. I chatted briefly with them and found out they were locals. We talked about what it was like living in the area. They were canyoneering and packed the ropes as a precaution for exploring new slot canyons. They pointed me toward the direction I should go. It didn’t seem intuitive to me, so I re-confirmed their advice. I took their word and started up the easy chimney climbing, pulling on a thick tree for leverage. Once I topped out from the chimney, I could see a long slab in front of me. It looked fairly easy so I started to hike up. Only a few times did I need to be precise with my footwork on sandstone edges and I was having fun with it.
After about 50 feet, the angle increased gradually and foot placements became more sparse. I couldn’t just head up in a straight line; I found myself looking around to find the path of least resistance up the slope. It almost felt like climbing. I did read that there was some 4th class movement on this trail, and I told myself I wouldn’t go up anything that I couldn’t down-climb. With that assurance, I kept moving up. Besides, the trail looked like it would flatten out within about 200 feet.
After some time, I began to feel stressed that I was making a mistake. My boots were hard, stiff-soled hiking boots that were nowhere near appropriate for the terrain I was on. The small edges I rested the tips of my boots on were coated in loose grains of sand. With a sigh of relief, I found a flat platform large enough for just one foot. I was now nearly 200 feet up and I knew looking down that a slip here would send me sliding down until I was tossed over the cliff edge and into the valley below. I hadn’t hydrated in the last hour and I was feeling hungry. There was water and snacks in my backpack, but I was too nervous about compromising the precariously balanced position I stood in. I pulled out my phone and checked where I was on my offline map. A second wave of stress swept over me when I realized I wasn’t even remotely close to being on route.
I pondered whether to hit the SOS on the rescue beacon I carried with me. I decided I would descend on my own. I knew the moves I had made and made sure that I could reverse each of them when I went up. However, for all the down-climbing practice I do, this was something different. For a short moment before I put my phone away, I had a bar of cell signal and used it to call Leah. I was only able to get one ring in before the connection was lost. I wasn’t sure what I would’ve said.
I crawled my way down the slope, focusing every muscle of my body to the small ripples in the rock. I thought about the consequence of each move before committing to it. I looked ahead to draw a line connecting the small ridges that would get me down safely. I wondered if that couple could see me in the distance. It was slow moving, but I made it down that 200ft slope in over a half hour. When I was back on the trail, I decided to just head back to the car; I had enough for today.
I made it back to my car and kicked myself for blindly taking the advice of a stranger at face value. There was still plenty of sunlight left, and I didn’t want my recent experience to define my day. I picked another remote, but easy, route and decided to carefully wander around with no agenda for a summit. The walk relaxed me and gave me the time I needed to unpack what had just happened.
As the sun fell lower into the sky, I found a viewpoint by the road. I stepped out of my car and sat, counting the layers of rock painting the cliff walls.
I was near the ever-popular Zion Canyon Overlook Trail. At sunset it’s nearly impossible to get a parking spot near the trailhead. I drove past and managed to get lucky. I had little time to make it before all the light of the day was gone, so I ran up the trail, politely waiting for opportunities to smoke past slower hikers. There were nearly a hundred people at the top, some wielding selfie sticks, boyfriends taking photos of their girlfriends doing yoga poses on rocks, and kids pouting about wanting to go home. I carefully scrambled over some rocks to get as far away from them as possible. A few easy climbing moves sheltered me from the crowds and let me focus on the valley quietly slipping away into darkness. I was grateful that I had the basic skills and confidence to get away, but I also realized it was the same confidence and skills that got me into trouble today.
