Grand Staircase/Escalante National Monument
Sept. 3, 2014

At my request, that fount of all knowledge who sits beside me explained away the obscurity of the monument’s name.  It refers to the progressive stepping down of one high plateau after another until it reaches the Colorado River/Lake Powell.

As we leave the town of Escalante, it is with the decision to return to experience more of what the region and the monument have to offer.  Most of the attraction lies in the extensive outback of mountains, forests, canyons and lakes; however, the town itself has attractions that we intended to take in, but ran out of time before moving on.

Of course for us, a major interest is history, and Escalante abounds in evidence of its origins.  They have published an impressive guide called, “Walking through Escalante’s heritage” that details a full 96 historic residences, back houses and barns. 

Settled in 1876, it was originally called Potato Valley for the small wild spuds that grew there.  The guide is well-written: concise while managing to include building construction date, architectural style, owner or builder and salient features.  Unfortunately, we were otherwise engaged the entire time we were in Escalante, so that tour will wait until the next trip - that and visiting a gallery owned by one of the women met at the farmer’s market. 

She was co-owner of the Serenidad Gallery; while offering her wares at market, she stayed busy with winnowing and packaging seeds that she has harvested and sells along with many other items.  When I mentioned that I was developing gardens at my new house, she gave me a garden-warming gift of sorts - a start of what she called "walking onions", one more example of the warmth of Escalante folks.  They are online at http://www.serenidadgallery.com/.

Devil’s playground . . .

Chris pointed us out into the monument, a vast area with extreme diversity of terrain and topography.  First stop was a site called Devil’s Playground, an area of slick rock and hoodoos.  It offered us the chance to take off wandering on foot through the fascinating rock formations. 

 

One step I took was far too close for comfort to a rattlesnake.  My foot made landfall about six inches away from the coiled reptile; if it had not been extremely torpid where it lay in the shade after ingesting a meal, I would surely have been hit.

Not surprisingly, I jumped backward with enough force to nearly topple my hiking partner, and still the rattler remained in its cowpie-like pile, barely budging even after our heartbeats returned to normal and we nudged it with a stick.

Tire changing . . .

Many things in this life leave me scratching my head: someone’s low tire at Devil’s Playground resulted in just such a time.  Campers had returned to their truck to find a tire was losing air.  That ordinary happenstance would typically result in the spare being put on and away they would go, but not in this case.  A Formula 1 racing pit crewman was at hand and employed his expertise to assist.  Still not overly unusual, but somehow, a couple of Asian men found the whole affair worthy of filming and then two children jumped into the fray.  I’m guessing that somewhere on Youtube, there is an up-close and personal video of this seemingly momentous event.  And I am scratching my head in disbelief.

Coyote Gulch slots . . .

Many of the roads on the monument are suitable only for four-wheel-drive vehicles, which eliminates some of the places we would enjoy going since we are sans Ruby, our trusty four-wheeler.  Hole in the Rock and Dance Hall Rock are among those rougher stretches; the Coyote Gulch slot canyons are not, although the gravel road is fairly long and washboardy.

I can’t imagine what I was imagining for a way to get down into the gulch for access to the slot canyons, but pretty sure it did not involve walking down steep rock faces, maybe a nice little dirt switchbacky trail, but no, not even close.

The señor held my hand in the serious fall-to-your-death places and otherwise, I did okay.  It was comforting, though, to know that if I went, he was going, too. . .

The gulch itself is not overly wide, but the big attractions are the narrows and slot canyons within.  I’m still wondering just what is the difference between narrows and slots.  Anyway, the first of several there that we tried was the Dry Fork of Coyote Gulch.  Flat bottomed and sandy, it was cool and lovely in those winding depths.  We wondered why this was called a "narrows" and the other were called "slots" when this seemed to us to be very much a slot canyon.  The designation became obvious later. 

Enjoying a bite of lunch in the cliff-side shade, we were approached by two men who were having trouble reading their map.  We were orienting them when they asked, “Aren’t you our neighbors?”  And sure enough, all these miles out here in the midst of empty vastness, our neighbors from the RV park and we have converged in the exact same place at the exact same time in the bottom of a canyon.

Moving on, we checked out popular Peek-a-boo, a slot that required getting through a water hole at its bottom to get to the absurdly difficult climb up.  Needless to say, I have no clue what it is like farther in because we declined the experience.

Look closely to see people in the shadows making their way down out of Peek-a-boo Canyon.

It is timely here to talk about the Africans; at least I think they were Africans, judging by their skin color and language, which was constant and loud.  They were a large group with small children and appeared to be completely without fear.  As I was inching my way down, down, down, they were taking a short cut across the rock face with kids tucked under arms and practically skipping, laughing and talking all the while. 

Same thing at Peek-a-boo: what appeared to me to be life-threatening maneuvers to get the children out as they skooched down to where waiting arms could tuck them into an alcove didn't seem to bother them a bit.  I couldn’t even watch the final leg of getting everyone down from there.

Other slots are further down the gulch than we cared to trudge through more sand; our final adventure in those depths was at Spooky Canyon.  I had wondered at the name, thinking it very odd.  It was not long before I understood its origin.

Beginning fairly innocuously, Spooky is beautiful; before long, the walls begin to close in and waver, yes, the walls waver, or so it seems.  They twist this way and that.  They loom over you; they close you in; they force you to lean forward and backward.  Several times, I said I was not proceeding further, but as Chris would disappear from sight, I would be overcome with wondering what I was missing, so would continue on.

I shall here set out instructions for getting though this crack in the rock.  First, remove backpack.  Next divest yourself of any items hanging off of your person such as cameras and binoculars.  These things can be left behind or held on arms stretched out to the sides.  Now you are ready: suck it in for all you're worth and skooch along duckstepping sideways, leaning forward or backward as required.

I made it!  Clear to the end where there is a rockfall clear to the rim that appears climbable with difficultly: our turn-back signal.  Great fun and fascinatingly beautiful, but what’s up with a snake we saw way back in there.  I suspect it will not survive in that barren environment.

The canyon wren that flitted ahead of us, though, seemed to be finding something attractive along the walls. 

Spooky was an amazing place, equal to or better than the famous Antelope Canyon near Lake Powell.  I am grateful that we hiked both upper and lower Antelope before it was commercialized.  We simply availed ourselves of its incredible colors and sights without so much as a howdy-do.  Now, however, one cannot enter without a guide and permit and the accompanying fees.  When we passed that place a few days ago, I saw scores of cars of folks waiting to enter the inner sanctum, so it must be pretty crowded  in those depths.

 

Whatever forces could have created this rocky swirl?

These tiny lizards skittered everywhere in Coyote Gulch.  They seem to be the same as the lizards that were given as prizes at the Arizona State Fair when I was young and were called chameleons.  I liked having them for pets.

This was quite an old specimen in the wash bottom.  The tree was impressive, too.

Posey Lake . . .

Having skipped right on by Posey Lake when we were risking life and limb on that crazed rim road to Hell's Backbone, we rattled back up there and discovered a lovely little lake perched amidst forested slopes. 

Hiking around the inlet end, we discovered a semi-hidden beaver pond that pools the stream before it enters the lake; its water seems to seep downslope creating a marshy area between the pond and the lake.  The creatures have also built a large den at the other end of the lake.  Trout fishing is said to be good there.

We tried to continue the hike all the way around the lake, but the morass of criss-crossed downed trees finally became too much effort for the ground gained.

Point & shoot, the depths . . .

Escalante Canyon was nearby and beckoning; our final day at that location was into its depths.  

Just as we ventured to the rim, I discovered that my camera was malfunctioning - argh! - many agonies I experienced along with gnashing of teeth until that became tiresome and I submitted to the inevitable.  In this case, it was unfortunate, but could have been worse.  The poor mechanism has been subjected to such indignities, it’s a wonder it works at all.  A lens inside became dislodged and would not allow me to see what I was photographing; thankfully, it did continue to record the scenes toward which I pointed it. 

This is my disclaimer: all photos past this point were taken blindly, bringing a whole new meaning to “point and shoot”.  It was a challenge to try to frame a photo without being able to see what we were doing.  All in all, it didn’t turn out too badly, but obviously, we must look for a new camera, not a previously budgeted item.  The worst part of it is that Lewis bought me a camera for a back-up, but that one is safely tucked into the closet at home. 

The initial drop into the chasm was an easy hike; actually, none of it was steep or difficult.  Fortunate that we knew ahead of time to wear river sandals because we walked in the ankle-deep water and crossed the stream of the Escalante River numerous times, splashing a bit more than necessary each time in enjoyment of the refreshing cooling of our feet.

That hike was unlike any I have done: somehow, being in the narrow bottom with cliffs indescribably massive on both sides and ahead as the river meandered yet another direction filled me with emotions I can’t even name.  I at once felt minuscule, invisible, huge, peaceful, awestruck and completed.

Each turn of the canyon brought to view another unique scene, rock hues changing as we walked, textures varying with seemingly endless variety, even vegetation transforming with the canyon orientation, and always underfoot - fine red sand.  At times it was like walking on crusted snow - deceptively solid but easy to break through; other times it was just loose and deep.

Those who came before . . .

At about three miles into the canyon is perhaps the largest rock alcove I have ever seen.  Chris estimated it at 300 feet in width.  I photographed it from a distance with him out there for perspective; he is barely visible.  Inside there were scarcely recognizable remains of rudimentary prehistoric granaries, but the real prize were the pictographs painted on the back wall, from Fremont culture natives, according to my archaeologist partner.

For size perspective, Chris is at the left bottom of the cliff face on the right.  I call him "Speck" now.

Inside the alcove, granary ruins are visible on the ledge at the bottom of the red rock.

Speck and friends.

The remains of other figures are visible; unfortunately, rock spalling off the wall has taken most of them away.  I wonder if there were photographs taken before some of the damage?  Modern writings (what is the time cut-off for rock writings to be classified as historic or graffiti?) have been obliterated as best as could be accomplished.

Pre- and historic visitors . . .

One small alcove invited us to step inside and evidently has done the same for many others through the years.  First glance showed us names, dates and places penciled or chiseled onto the overhanging rock and then Chris noticed that fossilized lizard tracks were running from one end to the other through the graffiti.

Some were more recent, but of course I was taken with the markings left by folks as far back as 1920.  All was very faint; there may have been older dates, but Baker was at that spot on May 4, 1920; his first name had flaked away into oblivion.  There was also Jessie Cloud from Fort Totten, North Dakota,1936 and Harold M. Himble in 1940 from Atlanta, Georgia. A local, Aubry Hall, from Escalante was there in 1938.

 We fortified ourselves for the hike out with lunch taken on a rock that allowed us to dangle our feet in the water while basking in the incredible experience.

I love this cottonwood root mass.

Handcarts & babes . . .

A leisurely stroll through the Escalante Cemetery revealed some interesting tidbits.  I was astounded at how many handcart pioneers were interred there.  I had never seen the emblem honoring them before; a large number of the gravestones bore that badge of honor. 

Those folks were among the approximately 3,000 Latter Day Saints, primarily immigrants, who trekked from Iowa and Nebraska to Utah on foot while pulling their worldly goods and sometimes children in handcarts to fulfill their commitment to the church to settle that western promised land.  The migration was accomplished in the 1850s and cost a number of lives when some of the companies encountered severe freezing weather.  Apparently having recently immigrated, they lacked the funds necessary to better equip themselves with oxen and wagons.

My niece's great, great grandfather, Peter O. Peterson, was a young child when he crossed the American plains by handcart with his parents, Jens O. & Anna (Jensen) Peterson.

An enigma in that burying ground was a row of infant graves all marked as "unknown baby" who all died in 1902.  Who is burying babies whose identities are unknown?  Or are these later markers to replace known child graves with obscured names?  If so, why would they all be in the same year?

Brits . . .

New neighbors Mick & Chris created quite a stir when they showed up with their expedition-style Land Rover complete with tent bed atop.  Visiting Canada, the U.S. as far north as Alaska and South America, they are touring for a year or so with one fly-back-home planned in the midst of it. 

Organization is the name of the game for them; they know in which bin each needed item is stowed.  The pair have been world travelers, individually and together and intend to continue now that they have retired.

Very nice folks - we quite enjoyed visiting with them and hope they will look us up when they come to Prescott, a planned stop.  They can be followed at intrepidfor10minutes.com.

Birds . . .

New birds added to the trip list are American crow, western bluebird, cliff swallow, ruddy duck, ring-necked duck and western wood peewee.