Zion Narrows, harder than it should be
Thursday, August 25, 2011 @ 1:32 PM
One year ago, my mother joined the wife and I for a short trek up the Virgin River into the fabled Zion Narrows. The wife, I believe, enjoyed herself more than anyone else in the group. She waded into all of the deeper pools intentionally, she splashed about, laughing the entire day. By the time we finished the hike that day, she admitted she might want to hike the entire fourteen miles of river through the Narrows.
While hiking across the Grand Canyon earlier this summer, Monkey Boy told us he had landed permits for 6 to hike the narrows. The wife never hesitated...
Two weeks prior to the dates we intended to hike through the canyon, the wife and I managed to entice Eeyore out of his den and we headed up to Zion. We hiked a mile or so up the canyon and back down. The wife, again, thoroughly enjoyed herself. We found the river changed, the floods over the winter deepening some areas, moving rocks to others and making them more shallow. The wife laughed hysterically as she gave up trying to wade across the deepest pool, instead swimming and floating with the current. Anticipation grew for the big hike we had planned.
***
After a hectic day trying to reach the backcountry office at Zion before they closed, a day that included returning home for forgotten items (thankfully before leaving the North Las Vegas city limits) and unexpectedly buying four new tires for the Jeep, the wife and I set up camp and headed into town for pizza and beer.
Getting the permits the night before our hike was essential to preventing a day of misery. Our shuttle to trailhead left the Zion visitor center at 6:30am. Missing that shuttle meant standing around until 11:00am and not reaching the trailhead until at least noon. Given that, based on our experience hiking through the Grand Canyon, I expected us to put one mile behind us (at most) every hour, missing the first shuttle would leave us trying to navigate slippery rocks in the dark.
The backcountry office opened at 7:00am, a full half hour after we intended to be on that shuttle. The office closed at 7:30pm. We walked in to retrieve our permits at 7:20pm. We made it. Barely.
Unfortunately, Monkey Boy failed to provide me with what I needed to pick up the permits. In desperation, wanting desperately to make sure the wife wasn't forced to hike at night, I told the ranger we would be on the 6:00am shuttle and in the river before she arrived to work the next day. I explained why. She relented after I recited Monkey Boy's phone number as proof I knew him, and she wrote new permits in my name.
The pizza and beer at Zion Pizza & Noodle Co. somehow tasted even better than we remembered it from a year prior.
***
The excitement felt at embarking on our trek down the river seemed somehow heightened by the extremely cold temperatures we found at the trailhead. A group of hikers from nearby Hurricane expressed joy at the "perfect" temperatures. Everyone from Vegas stood shivering and dancing about in an effort to stay warm. "Perfect, my ass," I remember thinking. The 40-degree morning on the North Rim of the Grand Canyon in June felt warmer than standing in that meadow waiting to gear up and head out.
The cows serenaded us as we made our way down the path. One apparently found the wife somewhat attractive and chased her down the trail a bit. Almost immediately, we came to our first river crossing. We harbored no doubts that the water at the trailhead was far colder than the water at the bottom of the canyon. We walked along, listening to the cows call out each time a new set of hikers passed until they eventually faded away behind us. The other hikers moved swiftly past us, leaving the six of us to enjoy the trail in peace.
We paused in front of Bulloch's cabin as I slipped a toe condom (greatest product ever invented) on over my now bleeding toe. The leather of my hiking sandals buckled inward, creating a spot that rubbed the top of the toe in a bad way.
By the time we dropped into the river for what would be the remainder of the hike, the wife and I found ourselves alone just as we had in the Grand Canyon. We splashed along, stopping for snacks, lunch, making our way over, under, and around the various obstacles we encountered. We enjoyed the surrounding landscape, but mostly just enjoyed being with each other as we tackled our latest adventure.
***
Somewhere above North Creek Falls, the wife slid off a submerged rock and twisted her ankle. We faced another nine or ten miles of slogging through the river before we finished. I knew her ankle would slow us down, but I had yet to discover exactly how much. To that point, we maintained our mile per hour pace and I expected us to reach camp around 5:00 that evening. I never expected we might be in as much trouble as we were. We pushed on.
We rested at North Creek Falls. As the wife stared over the edge, I calculated our progress. Only then did I begin to get a sense of how much trouble we were in. On one hand, I tried to focus on ensuring that the wife had a good time despite her injury. On the other hand, my brain screamed at me to push her to move faster. I now expected to reach camp around 7:00pm.
By the time we reached the confluence of Deep Creek, I began to feel fear creeping into my consciousness. The wife rested, foot wrapped and elevated, while I refilled our water bladders. At first, I hesitated to even stop but instinct told me we would need the water. As I refilled, I again performed the calculations to judge our progress. I realized where the fear came from. I knew that if we intended to make our designated camp site, we would be hiking the river in the dark.
My only concern at that point focused on keeping the wife as safe as possible. Given that she already sported a tweaked ankle, I dreaded having her try to navigate the slipperiness of the river rocks with only a headlamp.
I reloaded our packs and we pushed on.
***
I felt my heart sink when I realized she was crying. Sure, we both wore headlamps but they provided little help in seeing the boulders beneath the river's surface. I found myself frequently having the wife stay put while I attempted to scout ahead and find the safest path through the water. That fear that tried to creep into my head earlier now possesed me entirely. I knew, given the need, I would make camp. I also realized, as we reached the confluence of Kolob Creek, that it would be well after midnight by the time we reached camp if I pushed on.
I pushed my fears down and reassured the wife everything would be OK. I found a dry spot big enough for the tent and we made camp. In the darkness, she had fallen twice more and found her knee hurting now as much as her ankle. We skipped dinner, sank into our sleeping bags, and drifted off to sleep. At least, the wife fell quickly asleep. I stared through the screened top of the tent, counting stars - I count things, everything, especially when stressed - as I wondered if I could safely see my wife through to the end of the hike.
With the wife asleep, my fears were free to run rampant through my head.
***
We reached our designated camp around 7:30 the next morning, our four hiking companions watching as we made our slow, methodical progress down river.
"You're a sight for sore eyes," Monkey Boy confessed. I explained the wife's injuries and after a few minutes of catching up, the wife and I pushed on. I knew we dared not stop for any length of time. With every step, our rate of progress slowed as the wife's pain increased. I focused on keeping us moving. The other four passed us an hour later, asking us to text when we made it out of the canyon. I kept the doubts I held about our ability to make it out that night to myself and nodded my agreement.
The wife and I stopped for lunch at camp site number eleven. As we ate, I realized that what should have been a thirty-five minute walk from our encounter with our hiking companions had taken us almost two hours. I knew then that we would not make it out of the canyon that night. I idly wondered if the rangers would see our Jeep and make inquiries. My thoughts started to wander - what would Big Springs look like at this time of year, how far had our hiking companions made it by now, with all of the people who had passed us that morning was there anyone left behind us, what would we eat tomorrow...
What would we eat tomorrow? Our only hot meal we packed, we ate for breakfast that morning. I pulled the food bag out of the wife's pack, only confirming what I already knew - we didn't have any food for the next day. I silently rolled up the bag and took the water bags down to the river to refill. I maintained silence regarding our food situation, only offering encouragement and praise for the wife as we started out down a trail that would keep us dry for a while.
***
I reached the steep slickrock ramp first, both excited and dismayed to see the rope a previous hiker left to assist in downclimbing the ramp. I paused and considered my options - I could force the wife to retrace her steps back to camp site eleven and we could slog through the river back to the point only twenty feet below where we stood, or I could somehow help her summon the courage to tackle the downclimb and push on. Honestly, neither option held much appeal.
I grabbed the rope and tested its hold. I dropped my pack and ventured out onto the ramp to see how steep it really was - everything looks steeper from the top than from below. I judged it safe enough for her to make it down. I never ask her to do anything I know she's uncapable of. Sometimes, I need to convince her she can do it but I make it a point to never put her into a position where she is in danger.
I tied my pack to the rope and lowered it down the ramp. I used the weight of the pack to help belay the rope as I descended. After untying my pack, I climbed back up and repeated the process with her pack. Before I even had her pack untied, down she came, sliding down the ramp as if on a slide in a neighborhood park, using the rope for balance as she made her way down. I only hoped she had as much fun as it looked, despite her pain.
We geared up and continued our way down river.
***
We approached Big Springs. I managed to put our issues aside long enough to pull the camera out and take some shots. I still haven't looked at any of the shots I took. I know the shots were rushed. I know I should have used a tripod, the light being fairly crappy. Given the circumstances, whenever I do look at them, I hope to get one good shot I can share.
Big Springs, honestly, proved to be the highlight of the trip. I personally think the scenery of the upper canyon is better than what most people think of when they talk of the Narrows. Less dramatic, perhaps, and definitely more subtle, the scenery alternates between forested areas and short sections of towering cliffs. The water flows calmer, the river much smaller than in the bottom of the canyon. Overall the upper canyon seems more peaceful, more my style.
Big Springs, though, is amazing. Water rushes out the side of the canyon from multiple spots. Waterfalls cascade down through beautiful greens and reds into awesome emerald pools. Getting to spend an hour or so at Big Springs with the camera and tripod might lead to some amazing shots, admittedly shots done by so many before me, but still...
***
Somewhere below Big Springs, I opted to take a bypass trail over a hill as opposed to traversing another area of rapids. What seemed like a good idea at the time likely scarred both the wife and I for a long time coming.
I reached the peak of the hill and surveyed the route. I liked the route. I looked back to see the wife working her way up and over a series of tree roots and boulders. I watched, seemingly in slow motion, as she lost her balance and started to fall backwards. She spun on her way down, landing on her side, her face mere centimeters from a thirty-foot drop to the river bed below. I still don't know if the voice I heard crying out was hers or mine.
I shed my pack as I raced towards where she had fallen. It took everything I had to get her, now terrified of moving on the narrow trail, to even sit up. After getting her upright, I scouted a way down the hill and led her down to the river. My heart raced. I doubt I have ever felt so badly for another human being in my entire life. She says her life flashed before her. I know she was scared. I honestly don't know if she was as scared as I was at that exact moment.
She now added hip and shoulder pain to the ankle and knee pain she already felt. I added more fear and doubt to my subconcious. The doctor, months ago, prescribed me anti-depressants as sleep aids. I began to think I might need them for more than sleeping as I helped the wife get moving again.
***
I only wanted to reach the Orderville Canyon junction the second night. Reaching Orderville Canyon held great amounts of symbolism in my head. To me, Orderville Canyon meant, first and foremost, an end to the lengthy section of narrows below Big Springs. From Big Springs to Orderville Canyon, hikers find themselves in the river continuosly.
Between Big Springs and Orderville Canyon, there is no way out other than to push on - no high ground on which one might set up camp in an emergency, no side canyon through which one might seek refuge if needed, no sand bars on which one might take a break from walking in the water. The canyon, narrow and dark, sees little sunlight even with the sun directly above at midday
I felt a lingering sadness as I slogged through that dark section of river. Whether because I knew I was largely unable to ease the wife's pain, or perhaps simply due to the lack of sun and the never-ending search for a foothold among the greasy rocks, I fought off a depression that threatened to take hold. I tried to stay positive, to smile whenever I looked back at the wife as I waited for her to catch up to me.
I wanted nothing more to be sitting at Oscar's, inhaling a Murder Burger. I focused on that as we made our way down river. I brought to mind the image of the last Murder Burger I ate, two weeks prior. I imagined the smells and the tastes, how well it paired with the Pale Ale I ordered with it. I kept thinking of the Murder Burger instead of the tight confines of the canyon I no longer wanted any part of.
***
Just past Orderville Canyon, we found an alcove that seemed safe enough to camp in. I threw the tent together as the wife pulled out the last of the Clif bars we had. We ate in silence. "At least", I told myself, "we wouldn't be trying to walk through the river in the dark tonight."
I judged us closed enought to the end that we might see day-hikers the next morning before we got moving. I put the rain fly on the tent for a little privacy. Besides, it also blocked views of the canyon and this felt somehow reassuring. After years of dreaming of this hike, I realized I doubted I would ever do it again. The highlight of the hike, Big Springs, proves reachable by hiking up from the bottom and back down the same day. As I drifted off to sleep, I struggled to find a reason to hike the Narrows top down again.
***
The wife waited by the restrooms at the visitor center while I trudged our packs out the Jeep. As I exchanced the packs for the duffel with clean clothes, I spotted the yellow sticker on the steering wheel. The rangers wanted to speak with me.
I dropped the duffel off so the wife could clean up and change clothes. I walked to the backcountry office to take care of the yellow sticker. The rangers, indeed, noticed the fact that we were a day late. They called Eeyore, questioning him as to my hiking abilities and other things. I assured them all was well, that the wife suffered injury and we made very slow time. They suggested I call Eeyore as they might have caused him some concern.
***
The Murder Burger, shortly after getting cleaned up and into fresh clothes, tasted phenomenal as usual. The service, doled out by Grant (best server in Springdale, hands down), proved excellent as well.
***
I may have said this before, probably upon moving back to Vegas from Colorado, but the sight of the Las Vegas valley from atop Apex, definitely ranks as one of my top five favorite sights in Vegas. After this hike, the view holds even more meaning for me.
***
The wife still suffers, two weeks later. I still feel badly. Hiking the Grand Canyon, in my opinion, was far easier. The Grand Canyon is about endurance and mentally pushing on when you don't want to. The Narrows is about physical ability, strenuous exertion, and stamina. Had I known the Narrows might be so difficult for the wife, I never would have allowed her to make the trip. I continue to blame myself for letting her get hurt.
At least she didn't swear off hiking - OK, actually she did...about a dozen times on day three in the Narrows. She finally admitted she would do another Grand Canyon hike, or similar. I doubt we go traipsing through a river any time soon though.
***
I promise to start working on those photos soon...
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Glad to hear it worked out, even if scary.
asking us to text when we made it out of the canyon.
My recollection is there was no cell phone service in Bryce Canyon. Being able to text must have given you some feeling of security?
Still no cell service in Bryce or Zion, at least not on my phone. I found enough signal to text when we reached Springdale - still couldn't make/receive calls, and I couldn't receive texts, but I could send them.
At least I could let everyone know we were still alive, which was nice.
S: maybe next time you're going hiking/offroading somewhere remote, think about renting a satellite phone for the trip? These folks appear to have semi-reasonable rates...
http://www.satellitephonerentals.org/
Just a friendly suggestion. :-)
Good idea. Maybe I'll win the Megabucks and buy an Iridium ;)
Hopefully they work better today than they did in the late 90s...
Thanks!