An Autopsy of Decisions

You're welcome, Mom.

I bent down to test a seemingly dry spot with my hand. Nope, icy. Tried another one. Nope, that one's icy too. I turned around and scooted on my butt down the slickrock incline. Justin was at the bottom, having taken a dry route. We scrambled on all fours up another icy slope. The view at that top was disheartening. Ahead was a few hundred yards of exposure. Steep sideslope exposure, ending at a cliff with a sheer vertical drop. It was time to turn around.

 Photo - Justin Swanson

Earlier in the day, Justin and I had made the decision to take the Peekaboo Trail, which crosses overland to Salt Creek, rather than an 4x4 road. The views were jaw-dropping. The day was bright and sunny and we enjoyed views of the snow-covered La Sal mountains in the distance. But the higher we climbed and the further we trekked, the slipperier it got. It hadn't rained recently, that much was certain. But the previous night had been a dewy one, and a thick layer of frost covered north-facing and shady sections of slickrock.

The first few encounters were pretty mild. A couple of slippery steps here and there, but nothing to be concerned about. We dropped down into Squaw Canyon, and then climbed out. Dropped into Lost Canyon, and then climbed out. By this point, we had traveled more than four miles, and less than a mile separated us from Salt Creek Canyon, which we would follow upstream. That's when things started to get dicey. We had climbed considerably - we were at around 6,000 feet. And although the sun was bright and cheerful, in the dregs of January it's so far south in the sky that half the landscape lay in shadows, even during midday. There were a couple spots where we had to deviate from the trail, shimmying up a crack to get better traction the slippery rock. But there was no real danger, other than that of a bruised ego and a sore tailbone, were one of us to slip and fall.

Then we came to the ledge. Several hundred yards long with that steep exposure on the left side. But there might be a way that we could navigate in the vegitation on the uphill side of the ledge. I crept forward cautiously to investigate. We could probably swing from tree to tr...

This is crazy. There's no way we can navigate this safely. One misstep will literally lead to death. Yes, we've hiked four miles and don't want to hike four miles back to the car, and then five miles from a different trailhead, just to get to a place we're within shouting distance of. Yes, the views look great and it'd make for a great story. Yes, we've come this far and have managed to do it. But this is crazy.

Turning around is hard. It sucked to return the way we came with our tails tucked between our legs. It sucked to have to make a shorter hike in Salt Creek Canyon. It sucked to not see some of the cool Indian petroglyphs in the upper part of the canyon. But it was the right decision, and it was the wise decision.

The hike back was somber. I reflected on our decision, and how we were blessed with the wisdom and experience to know when to turn back. We also reflected on other people's decisions. Terrible or destructive choices don't come in a moment of temporary insanity. They come as a result of the escalation of bravado and the escalation of commitment. We made it through the last one, we'll make it through this one. We've made it this far, we can't turn around now. We made the right choice. But in a situation where the right choice is the hard choice, suddenly our human limitations show through.

The trip itself was terrific. The weather was beautiful, the scenery was jaw-dropping and the company was great. It's amazing to live in a place where we can backpack year-round. But what I'll take away from this trip is honesty. Honesty to admit that, despite my extensive experience, there are some things that are just going to beat me. Honesty to admit that I don't always get it right. Honesty to admit that it COULD happen to me. 

Thank you, Lord.

2014 - In Review

2014's been a good year. 

A few fun facts -

Trips -

Backpacking trips - 13
Car camping trips - 1
Nights in a sleeping bag - 46
Miles backpacked - 474
National Parks visited - 4
Solo trips - 9
Trips with friends - 4


Experiences -

Car overheating incidents - 2
Trips on which I brought a stove along - 2
Trips on which I had had the desire to actually cook - 0
Trips requiring an ice axe - 2
Glissades down snowy slopes - 3
Nighttime animal encounters - 3
Nights spent under the stars - 13
Trips requiring off-trail travel - 8
Favorite moment - sliding down Paintbrush Divide on a snowfield
Least favorite moment - 13 hour rain and windstorm above treeline in the Uintas
Highest Point - Kings Peak, UT (13,528')
Lowest Point - Escalante River, UT (4,400')

Gear -

Backpacks used - 3
Sleeping pads used - 2
Sleeping pads carved up and otherwise mutilated -1
Shelters used - 2
Max water carry - 4 liters
Heaviest pack basewieght - 15 lb (Coyote Gulch)
Lightest pack baseweight - 8 lb, 14 oz (Lower Muley Twist)
Longest resupply - 6 days (Highline Trail; Stratton-Monson ME) 
Pairs of shoes destroyed - 2

Dayhikes -

Miles hiked - unknown, probably at least 250
Snickers bars consumed - 54
Blisters developed - 1
11'ers summited - 6
Lakes visited - 7

Top five favorite photos of 2015-

#5 -  Rock Creek Basin - High Uintas Wilderness

#4 - Maybird Ridge, Lone Peak Wilderness

Photo credit -ej Horrocks

#3 - The Fairyland, Bryce Canyon National Park

#2 - Amethyst Basin, High Uintas Wilderness

#1.5 - Cascade Canyon, Grand Teton National Park

#1 - Upper Muley Twist Canyon, Capitol Reef National Park

2014 was a terrific year. Onward to 2015!

Twisting Mules (Part 2)

If Upper Muley Twist Canyon was spectacular, Lower Muley was even more so. I met my friend Corona Sam, who had previously secured our permits, down south on Friday night. After camping high on Boulder Mountain, we got an early start Saturday morning, heading south into Lower Muley.

Within a couple of miles, we dropped into a narrows in the canyon, with distinctive red rock. We noticed that the recent heavy rains had left their mark in the canyon - there was fresh debris strewn as high as eight feet above the canyon. But the highlight of Lower Muley is the huge alcoves that water has carved into the sandstone. Some of the alcoves were several hundred feet deep. 

The trail meandered another seven miles south before finally merging with Halls Creek. At that point, we turned north and followed Halls Creek upstream. Of course, the term "creek" doesn't mean that there was any water at all in the drainage. There was, however, a patina of slippery, sticky clay-mud on the creek bottom which was impossible to walk on without skidding. It was a hot hike, in the full sunlight. We camped in a location that's absolutely definitely 100% legal, please don't ask me where.  

The next day, Corona roadwalked a few miles (for which I ragged on him mercilessly) back to the car, while I took a supposedly sketchy overland route over the canyon rim and back into Lower Muley. There was a little bit of exposure, but it wasn't so bad... once I found the trail. Of course, the problem was finding the trail. Segue to...

Utterly Impractical Hiking Item of the Week. I've been using a free website (caltopo.com) to create map packs for my hikes. They allow me to carry just the maps I need, and to zoom in to whatever degree is necessary for effective navigation. Save the map packs as PDFs, and print them. On this particular hike, I had a larger-scale overview map, as well as detailed maps covering the entire route...

Except a very small slice. The slice that led from our entirely legal campsite over the rim back into the canyon. The same place I got off-track on, resulting in scrampbling up and down sketchy slickrock, only to get cliffed out after an hour and backtrack to the surely legal campsite to start the whole thing over again. Utterly Impractical Hiking Item goes to me. Sadface.

All photos - Tracy Martin

Twisting Mules (Part 1)

In the latter part (haha, get it?) of the 19th century, groups of Mormons were sent out from Salt Lake City to explore and populate remote parts of the greater Utah region. One group was sent to the Four Corners area, in southeastern Utah. In their way was the Waterpocket Fold, a huge ripple in the Earth's crust. The rock layers on the west side of an ancient fault line are several thousand feet above the same rock layers on the eastern side of the fault line. At the eastern edge of the Waterpocket Fold, therefore, is a large vertical escarpment - a significant obstacle to a team of horses, wagons, and settlers.

After much searching, the settlers found a way to descend the east side of the Waterpocket Fold - through a skinny, winding canyon. They named it Muley Twist Canyon - a canyon narrow enough "to twist a mule". 
 

Photo - Justin Swanson

This fall, I took a couple trips down to Muley Twist with friends - one to the upper part of the canyon, and another to the lower part. This post concerns the hike through Upper Muley.

My friend Justin and I left Salt Lake on Friday evening and drove down to the Boulder, Utah area. We camped high on Boulder Mountain (at around 9,000 feet). A warm sleeping bag is a necessity up that high in late September. We got up the next morning, waded through some red tape to get our permits, and headed along the extremely scenic Burr Trail road into the Waterpocket Fold district of Capitol Reef National Park. We got started hiking around mid-morning.

Unfortunately, there's no reliable water in Upper Muley, so we each carried around 4 liters for the 2 day round trip. Upper Muley has plenty of arches, and the miles passed quickly when we weren't stopping to take pictures. A particular highlight was the impressive Saddle Arch, where we also found a pothole of pristeen water from the recent monsoons.

Photo - Justin Swanson

It got fairly warm in the canyon as we continued upward. we stopped in a couple side canyons to get some shade and take some photos. I'm sure there were many more arches that we didn't even see.

Finally, at the top of the canyon, Lower Muley turned into a slot before disappearing entirely. We explored the slot for a while. The different colors of the rocks were breathtaking.

Time to play everyone's favorite game - avoid the muddy water! Photo - Justin Swanson

After the slot, we climbed out of the canyon on a decently sketchy cairned route. The ascent was a steep slickrock endeavor, and there were a couple of no-fall zones sprinkled in, just to increase the adventure factor. But once we got onto the canyon rim, the views were spectacular. The canyon rim also serves as the eastern edge of the Waterpocket Fold. To the east was the canyon we had just climbed out of, and to the west was a huge gulch, innumerable mesas, and the Henry Mountains. 

We found another clean pool of water up on the rim, and hiked for a few hours before making camp on the rim. Our campsite that evening was simply outstanding. Fifty yards to the west was the dropoff into Upper Muley; fifty yards to the east was the Gulch and the western edge of the Waterpocket Fold. It was a warm, pleasant evening. 

The next morning we watched a phenomenal sunrise over the Henry Mountains. It was a short couple of hours to drop back into the canyon and retrace our steps back to the car.

Gear Review: High-tech Handwear

There are very few articles of clothing I always bring with me on a backpacking trip. In the summer, I may skip the pants. In the winter, the short sleeve shirt is pretty pointless. But regardless of season, there’s one item that always comes with me:

My green sparkle gloves.

These gloves are priceless. They’re lightweight. They’re breathable and my hands don’t sweat inside them. They don’t melt when exposed to DEET. They do a fine job of shedding the wind. And they even allow me the dexterity to do most tasks while wearing them. Yes, fine gloves indeed.

But the best part, of course, is that they’re green and sparkly. It’s a fun little reminder not to take myself too seriously. The gear on my back may cost almost a third of what my car is worth, but my humble green sparkle gloves were bought on clearance in the children’s section of K-Mart. They set me back a buck fifty. Literally.

And the best part – when you inevitably post-hole in the soft winter snow, you look like even more of doofus with green sparkle gloves!

Enjoy the Jerny

Oh how quickly time passes! In July of 2013, I got off the trail at a random road crossing in southern Maine. I had battled injury and terrible weather in the south. I had pushed myself to the limit of my capabilities racing across the mid-Atlantic. I had battled the tough terrain, on a gimpy ankle, through New England. I wouldn’t change a thing. I was worn out and hurting, but incredibly disappointed for having to quit on the home stretch.

I’ve learned and grown a lot over the past year. My ankle is mostly healthy again, my pack weight has dropped by 50 percent, I’ve expanded my skill set, and if anything, my love of hiking and the outdoors has actually increased. So maybe it’s not entirely surprising that my return to the AT this year felt a little… tame. I had hiked nearly 2,000 miles. I had tackled the toughest terrain on the trail. I had undergone the full thru-hiker experience. I had been there, done that. And besides, I’ve been spoiled by the spectacular scenery of the West. Would I really enjoy walking through the green tunnel all day?

Immediately, upon my return to Maine, it became apparent that my attitude couldn’t be more wrong. First off, Maine was beautiful. Beautiful by any standards. Several peaks reached above treeline. Enormous ponds (lakes, really) dotted the lowlands. Evidence of glaciation was abundant.

Even more importantly, though, being on the AT got me back into thru-hiker mode, which I’ve missed since getting off the trail last year. It’s impossible to get the feel of a true journey on a weekend hike, or even a week-long hike. My section on the AT this year was part of something bigger, something that started a year and a half, and two thousand miles ago. I shared a sort of comradery with this year’s class of thru-hikers. I felt that north was forward, south was in the past, and east and west were mere diversions, or at best, means to an end. I now realize how poignant my words were, that I wrote after concluding my hike in 2013:

I just want to know what’s around the bend. I want to climb to the top of Avery Peak, Saddleback, Bigelow, and most importantly, Katahdin. But more than all of that, I want the hiking life. I love the freedom, the independence, the simplicity, the importance, of life on the trail. Some people were counting down the miles until their hikes ended. Not me.

Next year, Lord willing, I will conclude my journey by hiking from Monson, ME to Katahdin, passing through the Hundred Mile Wilderness and summitting what the Penobscot tribe called “Greatest Mountain”. But although it will be the end of my time on the AT, the journey will continue. What’s next?

Weekend Wanderings

Quick and dirty details -

Destination - High Uintas, Middle Basin

Dates - August 7-9, 2014

Miles - 35ish, including 5 miles off-trail

Sometimes you just need to get away. I threw this weekend trip together at the last minute. I stopped at the store on my way home from work, grabbed a map and pointed to a random place, packed my stuff, and headed off to the Uintas for the weekend. It was a smashing success. I even went swimming!