Journey to Zion

Saturday, April 11th. It was the beginning of Terry’s spring break. We had packed the car the night before to assure an early start—frequently a difficult achievement for us—and we were rolling out of town with our mugs of java by 7 a.m. No traffic. We drove over Cajon Pass and across the desert under cloudy skies. Unstable weather was the forecast for the next few days. Our destination: Zion National Park. The plan: Rendezvous with Terry’s brother and sister-in-law, Dan and Becky, to climb Lady Mountain.

I had learned of the Lady Mountain Trail a few years back while surfing the internet for things to do in Zion. First of all, the term “Trail” is stretching the definition, for it climbs the sheer walls of Zion Canyon, from floor to rim, gaining 2,600 feet in elevation. Native Americans, dating back centuries to the Anasazi, utilized the route as a shortcut in and out of the canyon. In the steeper sections, they carved small footholds in the rock, called Moki steps. Most likely a few Mormon settlers made use of it in the 1800s, and surely there were adventurous people at the turn of the century that had made ascents. But the route pretty much remained in this primitive state until 1923. That is when the National Park Service installed steel railings and cables at the more dangerous sections. A ladder was even constructed at a vertical cleft called The Chimney. From the start, the Lady Mountain Trail became the premier adventure outing in Zion—albeit a daring one—and would remain so for decades. Unfortunately, maintaining it was a royal pain in the butt, and expensive. In addition, tourists frequently became stranded, gripped in terror by their lofty predicament, and had to be rescued. A few of them (at least two, probably more) even fell to their deaths. So by the late 1960s, the Park Service had had enough and shut it down. They removed all the hardware and cables, uprooted the signs, erased the trail from Park maps and pretended that it never existed.

But it does exist, and we were going to find it.

Our first stop, though, was the hospital in Las Vegas, where my step-dad, Darrell, was being held hostage. He’s kinda like me in that respect: We don’t do hospitals. Nevertheless, his doctor insisted that he needed heart surgery right away, so off they whisked him, code red, for a 100-mile ambulance ride. He was supposed to have had the operation on Friday. But due to a scheduling mix-up, they had to postpone it for a few days. We found him sitting in his hospital bed, clicking through mindless channels on the TV. For someone who needed heart surgery, he certainly looked healthy. His only ailment appeared to be cabin fever. Still, he gave us a recap of the cardiogram that piqued his doctor’s concern, and then the wild ride to Vegas.

“You know how much that ambulance cost? Seventeen thousand dollars!”

Thank God for Medicare.

It was mid-afternoon when we jumped back onto I-15 and headed into Utah. Rain pummeled us at the state border, a dusting of snow in the high country above Toquerville. We drove past a stately ranch: brick house in a grove of cottonwoods, an American flag waving in the front yard, verdant pastures full of ostriches. Yes, ostriches. Cattle ranches are so passé.

We met Dan and Becky at Watchman Campground in Zion. They had driven down from Provo that morning and had already made camp. Joining them were their friends, Heather and Scott. Becky and Heather were into a lively hacky-sack rally when we pulled up. Dan handed me a beer. We were off to a good start.

One thing to know about Professor Dan: He is an awesome chef. His camp stove is a portable 4-burner apparatus that unfolds to the size of your range at home. It’s like having a five-star gourmet restaurant in your site. (Note to self: Invite Dan & Becky to all future campouts.)

While Terry and I pitched our tent, Dan cooked up a delectable supper of grilled fajitas. Then we gathered close around the campfire with food and wine, discussing tomorrow’s plans. Though it was cold and a bit drizzly, stars were beginning to peek through the cloud cover—good news, for sure. When the wine bottles were empty, we crawled into our tents and fell fast asleep. Then it began to rain.

Easter Sunday, April 12th. Surprisingly, clear azure skies greeted us in the morning. After breakfast, I divided up the gear: a 30-meter rope; harnesses; five Camalots; a handful of slings and carabiners. Getting out of camp took longer than I had anticipated, and it was nine o’clock by the time we started hiking to the Park visitor’s center to catch the tram shuttle up Zion Canyon (public vehicles are banned). Then I had to find the start of the un-marked Lady Mountain Trail. This consumed valuable time, for I initially led us down the Emerald Pools Trail in the wrong direction. Oops. But alas, we found it: a barely discernible path winding up a steep, brushy slope.

The old trail zig-zagged up through pinyon pines, gaining several hundred feet before encountering the first cliff band. Now the climbing began, up cracks and ledges to a 30-foot slab called the Moki Steps, where the Ancient Ones carved oval toe-holds into the sandstone to make the ascent easier. Still, the slab was seriously exposed: If you slipped here, it’s a nasty fall. For this reason, I pulled out the rope and harnesses. I led it easy enough, and gaining the top, plugged in a cam and belayed the others up.

Above the Moki Steps, the route meandered up steep terrain via blocks and ledges. Arrows, painted on rocks here and there, ushered the way. We were a thousand feet above the canyon floor when we faced the next obstacle: The Chimney, rated 5.4. I uncoiled the rope again. Terry led the pitch, making quick work of it.

After the Chimney, the route traversed a cliff band for several hundred yards, following narrow ledges and shelves. A few remnants of the old route could be found along the way: Steps carved into the stone, and the occasional rusted-out expansion bolt that, years ago, had anchored railing and cable to the rock. This brought us to the last roped section, called The Corner. It was only fifteen feet high, but it was a tricky 5.6 off-width crack: too wide to jam, and too narrow to get inside and chimney up. Again, Terry took the lead. She didn’t bother to place any protection at the crux, just pulled on through.

Now the route followed a steep ramp system called the Endless Staircase, with spectacular drop-offs on the downhill side. We had been ascending steadily for hours, and the summit of Lady Mountain was still several hundred feet above us. We stopped for lunch on a sunny ledge, two thousand feet above the Virgin River. That’s when Dan pointed out that it was three o’clock, and that Scott had to be at work Monday morning. He and Heather had to drive back to Provo that night.

Summit Fever: It can get you to the top, or it can get you into trouble. Lord knows I opposed turning back when so close to the top, and after all that hard work. I knew we could summit by 4:30, if we kept moving. And Terry and I had brought headlamps in case we were caught out after dark. It was doable. We should go for it.

But then my sensible side overruled: If we went for the summit, nightfall would catch us halfway down the mountain. And even with two headlamps, it would be next to impossible to follow the circuitous route down in utter darkness, with treacherous drop-offs everywhere. Therefore we would end up huddled together on a frozen ledge until dawn. And Scott unquestionably would not be at work in the morning.

So we turned and headed back down.

It was late in the day when we reached the canyon floor. The east-facing walls of the gorge were immersed in deep shadow, while the west-facing ramparts were ablaze in color. We caught the shuttle back to camp, where Heather and Scott bade us farewell and started back to Provo. I drove into Springdale to fetch firewood. Dan got dinner going: sautéed vegetables and grilled steak (yep, Dan must accompany all future campouts). And then we enjoyed another campfire evening under the stars.

Monday, April 13th. More sunny weather. Dan and Becky broke camp and headed back to Provo directly after breakfast. They’re both professors at Brigham Young University and Becky had a biology class to teach that afternoon. After seeing them off, Terry and I packed a lunch and took the shuttle tram up-canyon to the Narrows.

At the Narrows, the canyon pinches down to only a few hundred feet across—and most of that real estate is claimed by the Virgin River. For this reason, it’s the end of the road. If you wish to explore further, a trail leads along the river bank for about a half mile, and then it TOO comes to an abrupt end, for the gorge narrows even further until the course of the river runs wall-to-wall. In the summer and fall, it’s possible to hike/wade upstream for another two miles, to where the giant walls close to just eight feet apart—this is the true “Narrows” of Zion Canyon and it’s quite sublime (though you don’t want to be here during a flash flood).

We hiked up the trail, to where it terminates on a sandy river bank. Several people milled at the water’s edge. Nobody ventured into the frigid river. We settled onto a sunny boulder and snacked on tuna and crackers, watching the local squirrels con food from the tourists. These furry critters are very effective beggars. One of them approached us and stood on his back haunches, as cute as can be, and within reach of Terry’s food bag. She flicked him with her bandana and off he scampered. I don’t get it: If Wall Street is entitled to hand-outs, why not squirrels? (In fact, one could even argue that rodents have higher values than Wall Street vermin, but don’t get me started.)

In the afternoon we hiked to the summit of Angel’s Landing. Rising 1,500 feet straight up from the canyon floor, this remains Zion’s premier tourist hike—though not for the lighthearted. Most of the elevation is gained via two miles of paved trail. But the final push to the summit entails scrambling up a knife-edge ridge with sheer drop-offs on both sides. Railings and chains have been installed at the most daunting sections of the route. Even so, seven people have plunged to their death over the years: six accidents and one homicide (a man was convicted of pushing his wife over the edge).

We checked into the humble Canyon Ranch Motel in Springdale at the end of the day, reeking of sweat and campfire smoke. A hot shower was first on the agenda. Mark, the motel proprietor, his long hair pulled back in a ponytail, recommended the Whiptail Grill for dinner. We gave it try. It was a funky little establishment, located in a renovated 1940s-era gas station. Strange, I know. But the food was top notch.

Also that evening, I spoke with my sister Therese, who gave me an update on Darrell and his surgery. Everything was good. He was recovering in ICU, and if all went to plan, he’d be able to go home on Friday. This was definitely good news. Our original plan had been to stay in Springdale another night, but now it made more sense to head back to Vegas tomorrow. But first: A recon of Aires Butte…

Tuesday, April 14th. We checked out of our room, ate breakfast at a local coffee shop (Utah coffee blows), dropped by the Springdale post office to mail our income tax returns—doing our part to “stimulate” the economy—and then drove into the Park. The sun was gone. In its place were dark clouds and the threat of rain. Actually it wasn’t a “threat”—on the drive up Highway 9 to the tunnels, it started to sprinkle. Climbing was out of the question now. But hiking into Aires Butte to check out a route was feasible.

I had first learned of Aires Butte from a Climbing magazine article a while back. There are no published guidebooks that list it, so what little I do know about the route was culled from internet sources. It is rated 5.6, four pitches of runout slab in a backcountry setting. All you supposedly need are four quick-draws and two ropes to rappel the route when you’re done. It sounded enticing.

We parked in a turnout where I suspected the approach would start. The rain had stopped. In the gully across the road, I found boot tracks leading up the wash. We followed them. Our objective, Aires Butte, came into view a few hundred yards upstream, a cream-colored crag against charcoal skies. Leaving the drainage, we scrambled up slick-rock ledges and slabs, the terrain becoming steeper and steeper… Terry waited as I climbed carefully up another hundred feet to check it out. It was as dicey as it looked—but doable, so long as the rock remained dry. Then the wind kicked up and it began to rain.

Abandoning the Aires Butte recon, we returned to the wash, where we stumbled upon petroglyphs along one of the canyon walls. There were bighorn sheep, deer, rattlesnakes and hunters, etched into the rock centuries ago. The overhanging wall made for a natural shelter, but once the rain had passed, we hiked back to the car and left for Las Vegas.

Wednesday, April 15th. Terry and I met Mom and Therese first thing in the morning in the motel lobby. We climbed into Mom’s van and drove to the hospital, which was practically across the street from the motel, but with the cold, gusty winds, nobody was keen on walking there. Once inside the hospital, Therese did a superb job of navigating the maze of halls to ICCU.

We found Darrell in his room, sitting up in bed and looking mighty good for someone who had gone through heart surgery 48 hours ago. Yesterday the nurses had him up walking around the ICCU ward, and they told him the sooner he could gain his strength, the sooner he could go home. So he did several more laps around the ward. Terry had purchased several magazines for him to read between laps: PC World, Popular Mechanics, Popular Science and others.

We stayed for most of the morning. But in due course, it was time to start home. The storm was moving east, a slash of blue sky ahead on the desert horizon. Mother Nature had thrown an assortment of weather our way the past few days. And as we motored down I-15, the plans for our return to Zion began to take shape. We had unfinished business: Lady Mountain and Aires Butte (maybe this fall?).

To guarantee a successful summit of Lady Mountain, we fleshed out a better strategy… 1) Be on the route no later than 8:00—we lost three precious hours of daylight due to a late start; 2) Cut the thirty-meter rope down to twenty, which saves weight and still gives us enough cord (barely) to rappel the Chimney on the descent; 3) Bring just two Camalots (#.75 and #2) to save even more weight; 4) Leave the climbing gear at the top of the Corner—this is the last technical section, so there’s no need to lug it up any further. In fact, Terry proposed ditching the climbing paraphernalia altogether, just leave it in the car. This has its merits, for the technical parts are short and easy. However the 5.4 Chimney is slightly overhanging, and while rappelling it is a snap, down-climbing it is tricky because you can’t readily see your foothold at the crux move. Screw up here without a rope and you’re looking at a very bad fall.

Leave the rope... Take the rope... Decisions, decisions. Nevertheless, we were happy for the adventure and good company. We were also elated for Darrell’s good fortune: a seventeen-thousand-dollar ambulance ride with a happy ending. All journeys should end this way.

To view the entire Zion slide show, go to…
http://www.flickr.com/photos/91696789@N00/3581865219/in/set-72157618881380215/

(As of this posting, Darrell is back home, walking the dog, tinkering in the garage, playing with his new MacBook Pro, surfing the internet for the best jokes and political cartoons, and driving Mom crazy.)