Canyoneering 2008

When I discovered the listing for an “Introduction to Canyoneering” trip, I was excited for the opportunity to learn canyoneering with an experienced WMC guide. After attending the mandatory rappel certification, I was eager to explore some of southern Utah’s beautiful slot canyons. In the past, I’ve gazed down into these constricted rock formations and marveled at nature’s splendor. These narrow slot canyons had previously been off limits, since I did not have the proper gear and canyoneering skills. I visualized long rappels into bright, sunny, red rock canyons. I imagined walking along dried stream beds with some gentle bends and twists along the way.

My excitement quickly turned to fear and trepidation when I received the introductory email from Rick Thompson (the group leader). Rick indicated that our clothing would be “shredded” and we might prefer “knee and elbow pads for added protection when doing the human elevator”. My initial enthusiasm toward the trip now turned to terror. This is not the sunny canyon I had envisioned! A human elevator? I pictured an out of control slide resulting in my body hitting the canyon floor with a big thud. This “introduction” to canyoneering appears to be more of a dangerous adventure than I had anticipated. My fears turned to dread. Although I proceeded to purchase the required clothing and additional gear, I was secretly hoping for bad weather. If there was any chance of rain, I had an “out”. I wouldn’t have to face my fear of the “human elevator” (and my death-slide) if the trip was rained out.

As fate would have it, the weekend forecast for southern Utah was for warm temperatures and zero chance of rain.

When I arrived at the campsite south of Hanksville, I was surprised at the number of WMC members who were gathered around the campfire. Apparently Rick’s email hadn’t scared these people (as it had me). Rick revealed that Saturday’s canyon was going to be “energetic”. But as the conversations started, it became apparent that most people had prior canyoneering experience with Rick. The stories of shredded clothing and the dreaded “human elevator” stoked my fears. By the time I retired to my tent, I was terrified of facing the next morning. There was no turning back now. I spent a sleepless night contemplating an out of control slide, and what method Search and Rescue would utilize to extricate my injured body from the slot canyon.

Of course, I was awake well before the alarm sounded Saturday morning. I crawled out of my tent to witness a spectacular sunrise as the surrounding red rocks were illuminated by the first light. Since I had arrived after nightfall, the rock formations surrounding the campsite were a delightful surprise. In the dark, I thought the campsite was simply a clearing in the flat desert.

We had a beautiful hike Saturday morning to the beginning of the slot canyon. Hiking on solid “slick” rock, we traveled from a red rock zone at the lower elevations to a white rock zone at the higher elevation. Although the rock foundation in southern Utah is termed “slick rock”, the rock is actually course and sandy. Perhaps it should have been termed “smooth-looking rock” instead. This rough quality of the sandstone not only provides the clothes-shredding mechanism in canyoneering, but it also allows for good traction. As we hiked, the panorama in all directions was a vista of solid rock formations. Since there was not an established trail over the slick rock, we hiked toward an aptly-named “diving board” formation in the distance.

As we approached the end of our hike, a crack in the slick rock became visible below. From our high vantage point, it was impossible to determine the depth of the canyon. Our canyoneering destination appeared as a thin slot winding through the rock. Due to the fact that the sun can not reach the narrow canyon bottom, an optical illusion is created. From above, it appears as though the slot canyon is just a twelve inch deep crack in the rock. Since there were so many people, we divided into two groups. I was in the first group with Rick. As I was fastening my harness, a few of the more experienced group members dropped down into the canyon.

My worst fears were immediately realized. There was a drop of approximately fifteen feet, but Rick was not setting up a rappel. In order to descend into the canyon, the dreaded human elevator maneuver was required. Without practice at a “safe” height, I was immediately forced to face my greatest fear. No rappel option was available. I was so terrified, I’m sure my hands were shaking. “I can’t do this!” I thought. I hesitated on the edge of the rock, considering my options. I contemplated hiking back to the campsite alone. Just then, Jena appeared in the canyon bottom adjacent to the drop in point. Jena yelled “put your butt against the rock there, and your feet over there”. I reluctantly slid down according to Jena’s instruction. “Now put your right foot there, your left foot there” Jena indicated by pointing. I began inching my way down the slide. Jena patiently guided me move by move down the rock. In a few minutes, I was down to the bottom without injury. Whew! Glad that’s over, I thought. But instead of relief, my fear intensified. NOW I’m committed! The return hike option has now been removed. There’s no going back; the only way out is DOWN!

The solid red rock canyon which now engulfed me was beautiful. With the narrow V-shaped bottom, it certainly lived up to the description “slot” canyon. I had to be careful not to let my foot slide all the way to the bottom; it would get wedged in the slender crack. Every bend was a new adventure. Large sections were so narrow that I had to scoot sideways. Sonya taught me to keep my feet facing opposite directions, in order to move more quickly. Sometimes the canyon was so tight that “stemming” above the constrictions was required. Still other sections had rappels, twisted slides and more human elevator.

At times, the small amount of light from above barely illuminated the corridor. The canyon depth seemed to vary from ten to forty feet. I learned to be very cautious when there was a sharp turn in the canyon. Oftentimes a surprise waited in the form of a drop off or chock stone. With all the twists and turns, I oftentimes could not see or hear another group member. I was surrounded by smooth rock walls, squirming and sliding my way down. Figuring out the best body movements to make my way down this maze was like trying to solve a giant puzzle. It was no easy hike; traveling down-canyon felt almost as “energetic” as rock climbing.

My fears had not subsided by the end of day one. Given the choice of an optional afternoon canyon, I opted out of Lucky Charm. Instead, I went on a very relaxing hike that just happened to be in a non-slot canyon.

Ironically, Sunday was my birthday. Instead of pampering myself, I was punishing myself—mentally and physically. Sunday began with another picturesque hike to Blarney right fork. I was relieved to discover that the initial drop in was not a scary slide, but a long (open) rappel. Since we were losing so much altitude with the initial drop in, I surmised that this canyon would be less difficult. Certainly the elevation loss would be minimal, since we’ve just repelled such a great distance.

For some reason, the initial rappel distance didn’t appear decrease the difficulty rating of the canyon. The slot still required much of the effort of the previous day. I was stemming, sliding, crawling, slithering, and balancing as I cautiously made my way down-canyon. I did not feel confident on many of the sliding moves; my fears had not subsided. Although the scenery was spectacular, my anxiety levels remained high each time the terrain required sliding techniques. Increasing contact on the rock translates to increased friction. I contorted my body into unnatural positions in an effort to make contact with the canyon walls. I enlisted whichever body part that could possibly scrape the rock: back, shoulders, hips, elbows, and knees. Eventually the slot canyon widened, and we hiked back to our vehicles for lunch.

I pondered quitting for the day. The weekend of terror had wracked my nerves. My clothing was drenched in sweat and my pants required more duct tape. My elbow pads were inadequate; my arms were sore with bruises. In the end, I decided to attempt the afternoon canyon. Certainly this is the last time I will choose to frighten myself and abuse my body like this again. It will make a memorable birthday -- I might as well go for it.

Once again, the entrance to the canyon (Blarney left fork) required a long belay. However, this time I wasn’t lulled into a false sense of security that the difficulty would lessen. As we descended, we passed two slings rigged to rappel. Rick stated “just because someone else rigs a belay station doesn’t mean we need to use it”. Surprisingly, he was right. By turning, twisting, and stretching my body into unnatural angles, I was able to slide down these sections in a semi-controlled manner. Of course this required periodic duct taping of ripped clothing, but so far I was not bleeding profusely or otherwise defacing the canyon.

Midway through the canyon, Rick instructed me to rappel. As I threaded the rope through my belay device, Rick chided “do you see that white helmet 40 foot down there”? “NO, I said, I’m not looking down!” And then I had my epiphany. If I didn’t look down, I wasn’t scared! Concentrating on my exact position and looking straight ahead or level allayed my fears. If my gaze remained level, I began to enjoy my descent instead of feeling terrified. As I lowered myself down into the dark, I began to enjoy the process. When Tim shouted “stay high and thread the needle”, I smiled as I navigated downward.

Further along, I had difficulty stemming the v-shaped canyon floor. I tried placing one foot on either side of the wall, then both feet on one side and hands on the other. Neither angle would support my weight without sliding. The person behind me lost patience at my slow progress and began shouting instructions. “I’m trying, but it’s not working”, I replied. I slowed the tail end of the group down as I inched my way through the section. After advancing, I heard a tell tale “slide-THUD” behind me. I chuckled as I shouted back “See, I told you! It doesn’t work there”!

Now that canyoneering had morphed into an enjoyable FUN activity, the remainder of the canyon went by too quickly. Finally, the canyon walls became increasingly wide. Blue sky was now visible overhead. As a result, the intense heat of the sun was astonishing. The shaded canyon had provided protection from the high temperatures. Peeling off layers of protective gear, I was remorseful that the canyoneering adventure was now finished. I relished in the glow of overcoming my fears. Rick’s promise to “push us beyond our comfort levels” had certainly been realized. I had gained confidence and learned new skills. The experience was so memorable that I know I’ll never forget my first canyoneering weekend.

As we exited the canyon in the bright sunshine, Rick summed up my mood. “It doesn’t get any better than a double Blarney day” he declared.