Sauntering Down the Escalante

May 2002 was the third spring in an extended drought in the western U.S. The winter had been mild and there was little snow left on the plateaus draining down to the Escalante River -- with little chance of precipitation in the near future. By luck, this was our scheduled time to take a stroll down the last discovered and named river in the conterminous U.S. It was not until the second Powell expedition in 1872 that this river made it into history...and then only by accident during a re-supply expedition.

Reportedly, Escalante was also the scene of the last wagon train in the history of western expansion -- even though this wagon train was heading east to Arizona through the man made Hole-In-the-Rock, down and across the Colorado River. An unlikely expedition initiated by the head of the Mormon faithful.

I discovered the river in 1972 via an article in National Geographic magazine. Short and precise in text with characteristically vivid and inviting photographs of slick rock desert, willows, and a cool flowing river. I actually saw the river for the first time in 1988.

This extended stroll down the river was the first time that I spent any significant time getting to know the place. This area is so remote that it seems to remain on the fringes of existence. A place you know of, but seem to always be a long way from. I was hoping to change that by getting to know it a little better over the next 6 days.

Preparations and Details

We decided to pack light, not, as one may assume, to allow us to cover great distance at top speed, but to allow me to be lazy. The very idea of a river is laziness. Water taking the easy (downhill) course, making large detours to go around even the smallest rise, meandering along with no purpose. Sauntering -- as aptly explained by Thoreau in Walking. And, as Henry David noted, a true walk allows for rummination - from which it logically follows that a lazy man with a light pack is better equipped for rumination (OK, I admit that I never had a course in formal logic!).

My pack weighed 19.5 ponds for a 6-day trip. Todd's weighed a little more, but he likes his toys (real camera, telephoto lens, tripod) and if the weather was anything but perfect, he would be much happier that I would. Not that I'm tough, just lazy. If its cold, or it rains just a little, I'm more comfortable where I am than going to all the trouble to get out more clothes and put them. Let alone to carry them in the first place. So with a poncho (doing triple duty as rain gear, camp shelter, and pack cover - none of which were needed), ground cloth, pad, sleeping bag, pot, stove, spoon, cup, an extra pair of socks and underwear, some food, and a little triple distilled vodka I set off for 6 days on the river.

If you want a detailed gear list, here it is.

Getting There

It's on the map for god's sake! Find it yourself! Hope you didn't think this was some kind of a travel guide. OK, one hint: turn left just before you get to the town and its on the left.

We started at the Egypt trailhead. The first part of the stroll was across Allen's Dump. I don't know where the name came from exactly, but the land looks like its been dumped on the ground out of the sky, so I'm guessing that's the source. Other source options become somewhat scatological and are best explored elsewhere.

As always, the best way to get to know the true nature of the land is to walk. These benches, up above the river where the roads are, seem flat and featureless from the window of a vehicle going down the road, but walking them reveals the gullies, knolls, copses, and favorite places for cows to hang out. This area is "managed" by the Bureau of Land Management (BLM), which means that it's either used for grazing, mining, or a reservoir. In this case, grazing. And a poorer grazing country would be hard to find. But it keeps the local cows happy and out of the canyon, so I guess it's a good compromise.

Into the Canyon

After a couple of miles along the bench we came to the edge of the abyss: a slickrock view across and down through the Navajo Sandstone with the river hidden in the bottom of an apparently narrow slot. We descend into the canyon. Actually a fairly easy walk but requiring some attention to keep off of the steepest slopes and to not roll around on the Moqui marbles (spherical iron concretions weathered out of the Navajo Sandstone). Slickrock walking is amazing -- not really unusual in this part of the country, but it makes the mind wander.

This bedrock, Early Jurassic Navajo Sandstone, was a once fluid shifting field of sand dunes. The dune field (or erg) could have been up to 500,000 square kilometers with an average thickness on the order of 500-700 meters. The erg was later inundated by a transgressing sea where the Carmel Formation (limestone deposited in a shallow sea) was laid down over the dunes. Where did all this sand come from? From previously existing rocks of course. No big geologic insight there, but the source rock was formed, eroded and weathered into almost purely quartz grains, blown around for who knows how long, then inundated by a transgressing sea. The submerged dunes were saturated with water containing dissolved silica. As the water flowed through he pores between the sands, the dissolved silica precipitated on the mostly silica sand grains cementing them together -- making rock. Later, the solidified dunes were uplifted along with the overlying cover rocks. Erosion and the force of gravity created a narrow gully which grew progressing into this canyon. The sand grains are now moving downhill for at least the second time since they were solidified from molten rock deep within the crust of the earth.

Base level is a term geologists use to signify the end of a sand grain's downhill journey -- at least that is the significance of that term in our present discussion. While many may argue with this simplification, erosion is basically the process of busting up rock at high elevations and transporting the pieces to low elevations where the individual grains are then composed into rock again. This lithic composition occurs at base level -- typically an ocean basin. Thanks to the construction of Glen Canyon Dam, much of the sand grains weathered from the Navajo Sandstone are being temporarily spared the tortuous journey because of the artificial and temporary raising of base level in this area by Lake Powell. (It's been said before, but bears repeating, "John Wesley Powell would not approve of his name being used to add some sort of legitimacy to this manmade natural disaster.") And, yes it is a temporary situation for the dam itself will succumb to erosion and weather away, releasing the sand grains to continue their downhill trip to the real base level (the Sea of Cortez).

Being a geologist, and a sympathetic one at that, it only made sense to do this walking trip down hill -- in solidarity with the sand grains weathered from the Navajo Formation. And of course, walking down hill is generally easier that walking uphill.

We descend down the slickrock into Harris Wash along a sandstone fin marked as, "steep with exposure" on the map at the ranger station. Physically the descent was easy. Psychologically it was a little stressful for a couple of non-climbers who don't particularly like the "exposure" part of that description. The fall would have been less than 50-75 feet at any one location. But there's not much difference between falling 50 feet and a 1,000 feet when I'm the one doing the falling. I made it by only looking directly in front of my feet and walking very slowly. We took an hour-long lunch break by the creek in the base of the wash to recover and rehydrate. Funny thing, I drank 2 quarts of water on that simple downhill stroll.

Almost immediately as we proceed downstream in Harris Wash we encounter Russian Olive thickets and beaver dams like the one shown here. These items add to the excitment by diverting the happy traveller from the stream into the brush. There are no maintained trails in this area but there are some paths weaving through the thickest areas of brush and deadfall.

A Wuss Canyoneer

This idea of canyoneering (the inverse of mountaineering) is intriguing. To descend down into, and up out of, canyons using technical climbing gear and skills. Standard activities of what Todd calls, "tough guys" -- as in, "this route is reserved for the tough guys, we'll take another". Its true. They are tough guys (and gals) with a strong desire to experience the solitude and grandeur of the most remote places in the upland deserts of the southwest. More power to them. My only complaint is that one rope left hanging from the canyon wall in Ringtail Canyon -- very tacky and in poor form, there is no excuse for such degradation of the canyon. Otherwise, it's a sport that can only be admired. Best admired, in my opinion, from a comfortable chair while reading of their exploits -- and, whomever left that rope hanging on the canyon wall should have recognized their incompetence before they ran out to defile such a beautiful place. For my part, I'll stick to the easy routes. Enjoying the stroll, learning the country on my own terms -- the way everyone should do it. The spectacular repels through the Golden Cathedral seem a little obscene to me. I'll just walk to the base and stare in awe. If others need to test their nerves, that's fine and good. Call me a wuss if you must -- a wuss canyoneer I may be, but I did not leave a rope hanging on a cliff face.

First Campsite

Backcountry chefs looking for laughs can check out menu details here. Folks with good taste or delicate stomachs should read on below.

We camped the first night in Harris Wash across the creek from a nice overhang with little hanging gardens of maidenhair fern...now, where did that name come from? As I was falling asleep, I heard light thumping and rustling in the litter beneath the trees -- caterpillars falling to the ground. It's a bit unnerving falling asleep beneath a light shower of caterpillars, but I succeeded with little effort. In the morning I noted the fluorescent green smudges on my skin, clothes, and sleeping bag caused by caterpillar guts with great chagrin. Next time I won't sleep beneath the trees.

Day 2: Down to the Escalante, Up Split Rock Canyon

We continued down Harris Wash after breakfast of coffee, oatmeal, pecans, raisins and jerky. Twenty-four hours into this walk and we have seen no one else. Some old tracks, but no other sign. This is a fairly narrow wash in places, but no slot canyon. Plenty of water in the wash, although the flow changes perceptibly as we walk downstream -- increasing and decreasing as relegated by the streambed thickness and width.

As we came out of Harris wash and headed downstream along the Escalante, it was apparent that we had left a creek and entered a river. The water was fairly low in the river, but the flow was much wider with a nice even bed of sand and gravel with few cobbles -- unlike the Virgin River in Zion which is mostly cobbles. Once again, I was rewarded with easy walking -- the best kind.

We saw a tent along the side of the canyon as we headed down the river. Our first definite sign of humanity. The gentleman later caught up with us. He was hiking with heavy leather boots that necessitated removal for every stream crossing. Based on my walk in running shoes, I would recommend them for this walk instead of boots of any sort. The majority of the walk was along the centerline of the river. Heavy, wet, leather boots would not have been very pleasant.

Wildlife was a little scarce in the areas we traversed. We saw the most on our first day along the river. One wild turkey who quickly disappeared and one scrawny doe. There were several types of LGBs (Little Gray Birds) flitting through the trees, plenty of ravens, and the occasional turkey vulture soaring overhead. And the canyon wrens - but more about them later.

We turned up into Chop Rock Canyon in the early afternoon. The trickle of water flowing into the river from Chop Rock was easy to miss within the willow thicket. After walking past a few yards we turned and saw it. The canyon mouth was actually quite wide, so wide in fact that it looked like part of the main canyon.

Walking up the canyon the skyline shows the source of the name for this interesting side canyon. We also saw the evidence of seemingly futile attempts by the BLM folks to try to control the Russian olive growth. A fairly large thicket had been cut off at the ground and burned. The stumps had been treated with some no doubt poisonous concoction to prevent sprouting. After walking through thickets of this foreign invader I can only wish the BLM crew the most success possible.

There is an excellent overhang with water close by somewhere up that canyon and we spent the heat of the day in the shade watching the rocks bake. It was an extremely quiet afternoon with no wind and only an occasional raven squawking. There were also a few flies in the area. But mostly, we had clear blue sky, warm air and a slowly passing afternoon in a remote and deserted desert.

In the evening, we walked up the west fork of Chopo Rock to the start of the "tough guy" route. Sand, cobbles, a few boulders and sheer walls of sandstone. We then headed back to camp for supper and a nice evening watching bats as we fell asleep under a better than average canopy of stars while swatting at a few mosquitos.

Day 3: Golden Cathedral/Neon Canyon & Ringtail Canyon

In the morning, we made the biggest mistake of the trip. We did not walk up the east fork of Chop Rock -- the only thing I truly regret about this trip. Instead, we headed back to the river -- which was not without it's benefits since we spotted a rosy bottomed skinny dipper enjoying her morning bath.

Onward downstream with a brief visit to an unnamed side canyon and on to the stock trail crossing and Neon Canyon. This may be the most popular area of the upper canyon. We saw 12 people there -- a real crowd in the Escalante. Most were on their way out and only two folks were in Neon Canyon during our visit to the Golden Cathedral. The Golden Cathedral is a pouroff at the upper end of lower Neon Canyon that has been penetrated by gravel and sand scoured potholes created during the brief, intermittant, but furious periods of water flow common here in flash flood country.

The Golden Cathedral overhang is truly amazing and easily accessible to day hikers which explains the realtive crowd. Pictures just don't do justice to the feeling of standing under the pour-through. Amazing.

Back to the river and up into Ringtail Canyon -- a true slot canyon. The width is fairly constant until, almost suddenly, the canyon narrows into a 5-foot slot...then 3-feet then finally 18-inches and at least 100-feet deep. The slot follows the pre-existing fractures in the rock which are basically perpendicular. The result is a narrow slot that makes 90- degree turns as you slide through sideways. We made it to where a cobble had fallen into the slot and blocked he way. It was a good excuse, for a moderately portly person such as myself, not to go further into the narrowing slot. The cool, damp air felt and smelled like a cave.

Back at the mouth of the canyon, where we had left our packs, chipmunks had chewed through my pack and gorged themselves on gorp. I patched the hole in the pack (using supplies provided by my well equipped hiking partner) and transferred the hopefully untouched portion of gorp to a new bag leaving the contaminated gorp for the little buggers to choke on.

We proceeded down river leisurely strolling with our necks craning up in awe. We passed several nice sand/gravel bar campsites but it was too early to camp. We finally chose a marginal location on the soon-to-be-shady side of the river. Inspired by the rosey bottomed skinny dipper spotted earlier, we decided that a quick wash up was in order while the sun still shone on the river.

After a refreshing dip in the creek, I took a short walk along the flats on the other side of the river and found a simple but pleasing archaeological site. On a rock bench adjacent to a vertical cliff providing good shade I found an arrow/spear point workshop. It appears that when the river was flowing on this side of the canyon it deposited chert cobbles preferentially on this little bench. Possibly they had been collected by the workers, but seemed to be strewn out over the area from natural causes. The results of their work were evident everywhere. Lots of chips, a few obvious cores and a couple of broken, partially formed points. Everything is still there if you want to go have a look yourself. The photo above is the view from the workshop looking toward the river.

This soot-stained overhang was right on the Escalante. I don't know if activity there was prehistoric or historic or both. But it does look like a good spot to hang out and watch the river.

The quick dip in the river to remove the outer crust, a leisurely stroll and a cocktail made the evening very pleasant. That night we watch multiple satellites cruising above the cloudless sky beneath an excellent display of stars and planets: Mercury, Mars, Saturn, Venus, and Jupiter were all visible thanks to lucky timing oribital mechanics.

Day 4: Hanging Out Along the River

It was a cool morning on the water with high clouds so we had coffee (me) and hot chocolate (Todd) in our sleeping bags. As the clouds cleared, it warmed rapidly to another gorgeous day of meandering downstream. We passed 25-Mile Wash because we could just not leave the river yet. As I think back on it, I may have achieved the perfect metal state on this day's walk. Mindlessly strolling and soaking up the slowly passing canyon. Nothing spectacular -- just a common, everyday, fantastically unbeleivable place.

We found a fair campsite on a willow sprout coverd gravel bar just downstream from where we spotted an egret finshing in the river. We split up for an afternoon of individual entertainment. Todd walked up on the hot sunny bench and I sat in the shade working earnestly to finish off the vodka.

A stiff breeze kicked up during dinner preparation causing us to stress our minds over design and implementation of an appropriate wind barrier to protect the stove flame and minimize grit in the chilli. Later that night, as we were falling asleep, we heard beaver climbing up on the gravel bar from the river. They would rustle through the willows, spend a few seconds chewing down willow sprouts (could hear 3 to 4 rasping bites per sprout), and then drag them into the water. As we inspected their handiwork the next morning, the source of Escalante pungi sticks was confirmed. The chewed off stumps had nice pointy ends that would be very tough on bare or sandle clad feet.

Day 5: Twenty-Five Mile Wash

The next morning we celebrated our last morning on the river in the usual way: oatmeal, coffee, etc. while laying in speeping bags filled with sand. Our typical camping setup is shown below. Five minutes to set up, 7 minutes to pack up. Travelling light does have it's advantages.

Lucky timing also has it's advantages. I've already discussed the excellent weather situation, but the insect situation was also optimal. It was too early in the season for horse flies (we saw maybe two) and the mosquitos were only slightly annoying for brief periods during a couple of evenings. A light spritz of DEET ("organic" insect repellent) and they disappeared. Better living through chemistry.

After breakfast, we walked back upstream to the mouth of 25-Mile Wash. Backtracking in these canyons is like walking along ground never before seen. Even with multiple stops to look around, you miss a lot of details walking only one way. After guessing wrong a couple of times, we arrived at 25-Mile and headed up the wash.

We ran into a couple of young families camped in the wash. They had kids in the 2 to 5 year old range and were busy splashing in the creek. This was the second most populous place we visited and it still seemed vacant of humanity.

To be honest, this was the ugliest canyon I had walked in since doing some time in Nevada. The trees were decimated by caterpillars and the stream ranged from a trickle to a mucky beaver pond -- but, don't forget the side canyons, they are definitely "worth exploration". This photograph shows the condition of the cottonwood trees - remember, this is May. The only thing left on some trees was the leaf stalks and veins.

We got our first really close-up view of Anasazi ruins in one of those unnamed side canyons. We actually almost missed it due to the forethought of its makers. It was tucked up on a bench in a little alcove in the shade. A direct approach would necessitate wading through very health poison ivy, so we walked up on a side bench and studied it from a distance.

We also found an alcove at the head of an unnamed side canyon (maybe it was the same canyon?) that was perhaps the most wonderful place I've ever been. The only sign of travel in there was a set of fox tracks that we followed up to the base of the pouroff at the head of the canyon. There was a noisy raven hunting in the cliff face (looking for lizards?).

And Canyon wrens. They were singing in most of the side canyons we explored on this trip but not too common along the river. We heard and saw one in this canyon. Actually had a very nice close-up view while he hunted and devoured larvae along the rocks and plants. He seemed to take a moment to sing after each successful hunt. Glorious!

I could anthropomorphise and say that he was giving thanks to the Great Provider of Grubs, but I won't. We were just glad to see that someone was enjoying those obnoxious caterpillars that were devastating the tree canopy in this area. Reportedly, this is a natural occurence and no permanent harm is done to the trees. But, I was sad to see that the caterpillars seemed to prefer the cottonwoods instead of the Russian olives.

An afternoon walk that will be hard to equal.

Day 6: Walking Out

The last day has arrived no matter how hard I try to slow the passage of time. We camped last night under another spectacular overhang on fairly hard ground but slept fine. Gray mud that had washed under the overhang from the last really large flood had covered the sand bars previously deposited beneath the overhang. Three to four inches of solidified mud is just about as hard as rock. After breakfast, I'm down to one bag of chipmunk chewed gorp and a trail bar, so, it looks like we have to leave. But, before we go, the map shows another side canyon that we should take a look at...

Finding the trail out of 25-Mile Wash onto the bench and up to Egypt is not as easy as we thought. Navigating the bench is somewhat tricky with 200-foot cliffs appearing in the most peculiar places. We finally thread our way through the upturned maze and hit the stock trial for the final climb to Egypt.

Back at Egypt the wind is blowing fiercely and I'm thinking about beer and pizza and a phone call to my wife (not necessarily in that order), so we don't linger for end-of-the-trip photographs. We jump into the Trooper (it's last expedition at 180,000 miles) and head for town.