Utah photo dump 2: Slot canyons for acrophobes in Grand Staircase - Escalante

Es-ca-lahnt. Es-ca-læ-ni. Es-ca-lahn-teh. We've asked a few folks in the area, and they say it's pronounced however you want to pronounce it: "you say po-tay-toe, I say po-tah-toe." So we switch it up, sometimes even mid-conversation.

We stayed a few nights in Escalante in order to explore some of the sights along Hole-in-the-Rock Road. The take-away: no hike was like any other hike. The variety in the landscape of Grand Staircase - Escalante is mind blowing, although you can't really tell without walking down into it.

Day 4: Bighorn and Zebra Canyons

According to assorted reviews on AllTrails.com, Bighorn Canyon is relatively wide for a slot canyon and doesn't require much clambering, which sounded like a perfect introduction for us novices. The out-and-back hike included two slots at the far end.

The cairns were helpful once we found the trail.

Heading into the slot to the west...

Heading into the slot to the east...

We turned around when the slot opened up to some great views...

...but the slot continues northward for a few more miles.

Well that was a fine thrill. What next?

L's husband P had recommended Zebra Slot Canyon a little further down Hole-in-the-Rock Road. He told us "there will likely be water at the very beginning, but it will only be waist or chest deep. Probably cold in February, but it'll be OK--just go through it because the slot is great." My personal Rules of Acrophobia include challenges with bodies of water in which I can't see the bottom (because, you know, there could be a 1,000 foot drop below me, which would count as a height even if I were floating on top of it), so I had crossed Zebra off our list--but a recent review on AllTrails said there was currently NO WATER at the entrance. So after we finished Bighorn Canyon Trail, we thought we'd just stop by the Zebra Slot trailhead to check out the water situation before heading to another trail down the road--not understanding yet that you have to hike in a few miles before you reach the actual slots; and of course, after we had hiked in a few miles--which would have been spectacularly worthwhile even without the promise of a slot at the end--we were determined to go all the way to the slot, where there was still NO WATER at the entrance! In we went. 

There were two hikers ahead of us, both of whom had taken a canyoneering class. All four of us soon dumped our hiking poles and backpacks as the slot narrowed. S went through first, wedging himself up the sides of the walls to get over a particularly narrow spot. With some maneuvering, Hiker A followed; then Hiker B wedged themselves so far up the wall that they were afraid to come down. Meanwhile, I lacked either the upper body strength or the coordination or the technique to wedge myself up the wall at all, so I bailed, squeezed my way back to a slightly  wider spot, and figured out how to wedge myself up that spot instead. S was the only one of the four of us to figure out how to make it through the end.

En route to Zebra Slot

Millions of years of geological history

Look P, no water!

Too tight for me

I took the selfie above while hanging out above the slot floor.
It was actually quite a comfortable place to hang out...

Courtesy of S

Courtesy of S

Courtesy of Hiker A, before they also bailed

The canyon walls were adorned with spherical iron concretions filled with sandstone, called moqui balls. We assume the ones that had fallen out had been polished smooth by water flowing through the slot; the ones still in the walls are coarser.

Day 5: Dry Fork Narrows and Peek-a-Boo Canyon

There's a popular trail down Hole-in-the-Rock Road that includes two slot canyons: Peek-a-Boo and Spooky. I had read enough about them to know I wouldn't do well in Spooky, and I was pretty sure the 15-foot vertical climb to get into Peek-a-Boo was also beyond my acrophobic abilities. But there's another slot canyon, Dry Fork Narrows, described on one website as "not necessarily a major attraction unto itself" but "deserv[ing] a visit before--or after--the strenuous journey through Peek-a-Boo and Spooky." Dry Fork Narrows sounded like a perfect major attraction to us.

It was fabulous.

The Dry Fork Narrows slot spits you out a few hundred meters away from the entrance to Peek-a-Boo, so we walked over just to take a look. Even with the footholds that had been carved into the rock, I had no desire to try it, so S climbed up alone, went to the end and back, and took a bunch of photos en route. (This was possible only because we were there off-season. Some 35,000 people visit these slots each year, and when the canyons are crowded, traffic is one-way only.)

I waited down below...

...while Carly made it about halfway up the wall. (She had help.)

The Dry Fork Narrows trail was a loop: we entered through a wash and exited along a rim. My camera couldn't capture the height we scrambled up to reach the rim; I'm pleased that I made it up, avoided a panic attack, and lived to type the tale. The adrenaline jolt had me energized and yammering for the rest of the day. I was also pleased to observe that I wasn't the only acrophobe who had walked the trail, as evidenced by desire paths paralleling the designated trail but a few feet further from the rim. (I'm a stickler for taking nothing but photos, leaving nothing but footprints, and staying on designated trails in the wilderness, so I smugly skipped the desire paths.) 

Pretty sure the entrance to Peek-a-Boo is that wee vertical opening to the right.

You can't tell from this photo how far down the drop is to the right
--but it's far down.

A Carly-sized natural arch!

On the way back to Escalante, we stopped at Devils Garden to admire the hoodoos and arches.

Sun in our eyes, warm rock under our backs, hardly a sound to hear.

Utah photo dump 1: SLC to Escalante

For the past eight years, ever since my sister-in-law S and my friend L posted photographs on social media of their visits to slot canyons in southern Utah and northern Arizona, I have coveted seeing those places: the striations, the undulations, the hues, the other-worldliness. 

This spring, S is on a long overdue sabbatical. I've taken a leave of absence from my teaching gigs, and we're taking some time to travel.

We were there: Salt Lake City, walking to pick up a rental car.
Aaron T. Stephan's "Point of View" (2016)

We planned a Utah itinerary to include some slot canyons, filling in the rest of our two weeks with an abundance of other geological and archeological wonders. We consulted with the friends who inspired this trip; then, because I'm an acrophobe, I poured over online trail reviews to find acrophobe-vetted slot canyons and hiking trails. (We're now one week in, and I've only had one adrenaline-pumping episode, scrambling up what was probably only a 30-degree incline but that felt like way more, because that's what acrophobia does to perception--but more about that later.) 

Our usual travel mode is "let's figure it out when we get there," but because much of this trip is in remote areas, it's our most carefully planned trip since, well, ever.

Day 1: RDU to SLC

Toto, we're not in North Carolina anymore. Salt Lake City has light rail (TRAX). Hop on at the airport, hop off downtown. Easy peasy. Free in February, even. It's like local government is encouraging folks to use mass transit or something.

Day 2: SLC to Torrey

Meeks Mesa Trail, a few miles east of Torrey:

Day 3: Torrey to Escalante

Capitol Reef National Park in the morning. Photos don't do it justice.

Cassidy Arch:

Cassidy Arch, from as close as I was willing to get to the edge of the cliff.

Cassidy Arch from afar

Petroglyph Trail:

Hickman Bridge:

Bighorn sheep!

In the afternoon, we drove to Escalante, stopping at Lower Calf Creek Falls on the way.

View from up high in Dixie National Forest

Aspens!

We started the seven-mile Lower Calf Creek Falls hike two hours before sunset and got to the end and back with time to spare because we walked FAST.

From one hike to the next, the views kept getting better and better--and we hadn't even gotten to the slot canyons yet.

Mathemalchemy update

Goodness, the last time I posted about Mathemalchemy was in 2020. A lot has happened since then!

Still walking

A year has come and gone, and I'm still walking. My walkiversary was January 21, and I had intended to write something profound about that, but my mileage tracker app thinks a year means January 1-December 31, not January 21 to January 20. So I made a push at the end of 2021 to rack up 2,021 recorded miles for the year. I ended with 2,022. 

Looking back on my first post about this topic, I don't have much to add. Walking is still better than not walking. Walking is still a choice; choice is still a privilege. Walking still makes a big world smaller and unfamiliar places familiar.

I'd add that walking doesn't require a lot of gear, but some gear is helpful. I use sneakers until well past they're worn through and then some, which explains why my idea of "dress shoes" is sneakers without holes. I recently threw out two pairs (salvaging one set of laces), which led me to wonder how many shoes go into landfills every year. The answer is some 300 million. To learn more, I'm now awaiting a used copy of Foot Work: What Your Shoes Are Doing to the World.

For non-urban hiking trails--places where I encounter tree roots, large rocks, creek crossings, etc.--hiking boots are helpful for supporting ankles and keeping feet dry. Last year, online-shopping fan S decided my 20-yr-old hiking boots looked like they were falling apart, so he bought me a new pair (same company, same size, same last). Shortly afterward, just before the end of a 2.5-day backpacking trip, the soles fell off the old pair--although I maintain the old pair perished from the shock of seeing the new pair arrive (in the same way that my beloved 1982 Honda Accord was fabulous right up until the moment in 1998 when my dad observed it was falling apart--at which point, a gaping hole opened up under the gas pedal.) Trekking poles are also helpful on rough terrain, both for speed and for maintaining balance.

In last year's post about all of this, I mentioned walking to prepare for walking. I've long fantasized about doing a long-distance walk where I walk out the door and just keep going. S has a sabbatical this spring, so I'll finally start realizing this goal with two cushy walks in Germany (cushy, because I'll be staying in Pensionen overnight rather than in a tent)--about 400km total. I'll revive my Ur-blog to document those treks. (Looking at that blog just now, I'm amused to see the last post, dated December 29, 2019, in which I deem an 8-mile walk "long.")