It's Not An Adventure Till The First Thing Goes Wrong

I’m writing this in the early morning dark, using my headlamp for illumination, accompanied by the soft hoo-hoo of the owls.  I’m wearing my Wintergreen pullover, with the comforting smell of last night’s fire permeating it.  It’s colder here at Zion than at Bryce, but the days will be warmer.  It’s an amazing rock we live on.

One thing is clear – all Americans should go to Bryce Canyon National Park.  Oh, I don’t mean all at once – that would be a bit much.  And I don’t mean a government program – that would cost a bit too much.  I suppose I’m just surprised, after being here, it took 54 years of my life to get here.

It’s funny.  Our second morning at the Bryce campground and the place felt a bit like home.  (Note: I said “a bit” – it’s not home.)  I was up before sunrise, blogging, and getting packed for the move to the REI Signature campground in Zion.  (More on the campgrounds in another post).

Breakfast was blueberry pancakes and, I think I’m right in recalling this, apple chicken sausage.  Whatever it was, it tasted better than it sounds!

We loaded up the van/bus/transport – whatever you want to call it – and were off to Bryce one last time by 8:25.  I suppose because it was move out day they wanted to give us extra time to pack.  Carol now packs for me on big trips (a couple day business trip, no.  A long trip overseas or where gear is important, yes).  Otherwise, I would just throw it all in there and not have enough room for everything.  I was careful in unpacking (I will wait a moment whilst you get over your understandable shock), so it was easy to repack.

We arrived at the rim, eager and ready to go.  After ten minutes of gear adjustments for the group, we actually were ready to go.  Our 21 year old wunderkind, Chance, led us on this hike.  Amanda saw this as part of his training.

Starting at the top, we went down into the first Fairyland valley.  There’s probably a real name for it (although the whole hike is known as Fairyland because it’s a magical, mystical place full of wonder).  I of course, brought up the rear with my constant photography.  I took 351 photos that day (Tuesday for those of you who want #realnews), despite having to put away the camera for a while (but that part of the tale can wait).

There are hoo doos all around, with stunning views off into the distance.  But you also walk right past them.  There are small uplift rock formations scattered all around.  In most places around the country and the world, any one of these formations would be a scenic stop or a hike-to spot (“Have you hiked to Hammer Rock yet?” “Oh, you really must!”).  And yet, there were so many that the mind could scarcely take it in, much less comprehend it.

The trail going down was easy. . .seems to me it was crushed sandstone flattened hard by years of tourists. There weren’t many rocks (if any) that were tripping hazards, and the trail was wide enough there is no danger of sliding off the edge (standard blogger legal disclaimer: if somehow you manage to badly injure or kill yourself by sliding off the edge, don’t sue me, it’s your own damn fault).

There are reds, and oranges, and whites.  Hoo doo spires and hammers.  Arches and soaring rock formations with small holes that eventually will get much bigger (but we will all be dead by then, so you might as well go see it now).  Rock monuments that look like monuments, cathedrals, and temples.

For a while I amused some in the group by pointing out what certain rock formations looked like, such as “the cowboy boot,” the “guy riding the elephant,” “the Buddhist,” and “the Politburo watching the May Day parade.”  (Others didn’t see the last one that way, but they were too far up the trail to get my angle.  And my angle is definitely weird that Politburo popped to mind whilst viewing a rock formation in Utah.)  Eventually I stopped naming the rocks aloud, fearing that my weird habit would cause the group to turn on me, and shove me down a cliff or slide.  Since it didn’t happen, I probably chose wisely.

You’ll see in my pictures that I liked to take two of lots of formations, hoo doos, etc – one far away to give the scale and one close up to accentuate the grandeur.  (Don’t worry, I’m not posting all 351 photos on the blog!  If you want nothing more than to see all the pictures, shoot me an email and I will send you the Dropbox link).

Well, in nature, what goes down must come up (Editor: What about the first day’s hike? Blogger: Sigh.  You got me there!).   We had some ups and downs (literally), but eventually started back up.  The trail took us, after a brief snack break, to the most dramatic spot on the whole hike.

It was a saddle trail with staggeringly (no worries, no actual staggering was done) beautiful views both to our east and west.  We were up around 7500 feet, looking down a good 1,000 feet or more into both valleys.  It wasn’t a steep drop-off (more foreshadowing) but going over the edge would have meant a significant roll down the hill.  You know, like when you were a kid and rolled down grassy hills.  But this would be steeper and rockier and you’d either be dead or severely injured, so don’t try rolling down at that saddle trail.  (It’s not just a blog, it’s a public service safety message!).

The amphitheater walls rose in the distance, showing many hoo doos, spires, monuments, and well, you know.  There were huge creamsicle walls – orange on top and bottom, with brilliant white in the middle.

Straight ahead of us was a huge monument above us in the sky, and off to the side there was cat rock and mouse rock.  Perhaps a better name would be Tom and Jerry.  I’m not sure of their actual names, but I would appreciate it if you forward my suggestion on to the Park Service.  (No takers?  Bummer.)

We headed back down to valley to the west, and as we did, the rains came.  We all stopped to put on our rain jackets.  By “our” I don’t mean me.  I’m the moron who saw it was sunny and believed it would stay that way the whole day.  Thankfully I wore my green Devil’s Backbone t-shirt, so that way the cotton would stay wet much longer than if I had worn a sensible quick wick shirt.

Our guide Chance gave his rain jacket to the one other person who forgot their’s (no names, no blame), so we were the brotherhood of the jacket-less, him being 21 years old and fit, and me being more than 21 years old and less than fit.  So yeah, I had that going for me.

As the rain came down, so did we – through stunning red rock country.  It’s a shame I had to put my camera away in the rain (yes, I even forgot to bring along my backpack rain cover – apparently I was about effective in packing as Eli Manning on Sunday night against the Cowboys).  Everywhere we looked there were beautiful walls and formations of red.  I did move much faster by not stopping to take pictures every 50 feet or so.

A little ways after the bottom, with 1.7 miles of upward hiking to the finish, it stopped raining.  I can hear you, dear reader, cheering – “yea the rain stopped.”  Don’t get too excited, as it became hail.  The hail was not large (the size of pinky nails) but it was relentless.  We took shelter as best we could under trees, being thankful for our hats and rain jackets (at least I had my hat).  It’s weird, I did not get really cold, so at least I had that going for me.

As the hail stopped, it was once again replaced by heavy rain that turned the trail into muddy with a side of water sliding down it.  I nervously eyed the wash we hiked through, but fortunately it was only a trickle and not a flash flood.

My good friend John Passacantando is fond of saying, “it’s not an adventure till the first thing goes wrong” (our chief guide, Amanda, fervently disagrees and would just as soon pass on things going wrong, but that’s how she rolls).  The hail was definitely unexpected, but we weathered it and climbed on, ever upward.  It was definitely the toughest hiking of the trip thus far, with switchback after switchback.

Eventually the rain stopped as well, although the sun did not really come out till we were having our picnic lunch in town.  We hiked through some dramatic cliffs, and were treated to views of Powell’s Point in the distance.  The last challenge was one more peak (the trail does not top it, does go way up it).

Throughout the trail we occasionally saw other hikers, some heading in the other direction, and some going past us.  I’m sorry if I sound like a grumpy old man (not sorry) but it was weird to see people rushing past, as though the payoff was in the destination, when it really is ALL about the journey.  As we neared the rim, we saw more and more people hiking the rim trail, or dipping down a little to get some pictures.

Finishing, the seven mile hike was a real sense of accomplishment.  The first day’s hike was down then flat, and the second day’s hike was relatively flat.  This one was a real humdinger.  I love mountains, but hoo doos are pretty damn impressive in their own right.