Zion National Park/The Narrows - Day 1
The Narrows
Zion National Park
We woke up in the desert. It was the first time in my Georgia-girl rarely-even-been-on-a-plane life I could claim such an oddity. Surrounding us were oranges and yellows and soft browns that wove together with the lightening blue of the sky in the ethereal sense I’d only seen in movies.
Surrounding us were oranges and yellows and soft browns that wove together with the lightening blue of the sky in the ethereal sense I’d only seen in movies.
From the hill between camp and the pee spot.
Of course, I experienced this as one always does upon waking in the morning at a campsite: while stumbling my way into some semblance of privacy to relieve myself of what I’d been holding much of the night. Why do we do that to ourselves? Is it to balance out the splendor of waking in such an exotic and breathtaking place with the tight hold of bodily functions to reign in our spiritual subconscious? Honestly, I think it’s far less poignant. It’s just scary to go pee at night. #shrug
Anyway, that particular morning, as the sun hardened the day’s lines into something more concrete, we made our breakfast of freeze-dried mountaineering food and I listened to Josh regale the rest of the crew with the wonders of an enormous cinnamon bun he heard could be experienced just outside of the Zion park entrance proper. Of course we would make a stop there—why not? We needed to get the rest of the guys their gear nearby anyway, so what’s to stop us (read: Josh) from starting the day right with an enormous cinnamon roll, too?
I exercise a lot, but it takes a person of Josh’s intensity and focus on training to out-exercise Josh’s eating habits.
I exercise a lot, but it takes a person of Josh’s intensity and focus on training to out-exercise Josh’s eating habits, for real. Let me tell you: it was a massive cinnamon bun, and our camp buddies tore through it with Josh at the helm. I had a bite, and yes it was good, but that much sugar in the morning is bad for my tummy (not to mention how much stress it would invite into my inner dialogue to intake so many empty calories at once) so I focused on my coffee instead. Even so, my stomach mutinied for about an hour and I excused myself to sit on the precarious rock rim of the canyon the restaurant overlooked and tried to let my stomach decide once and for all if it would keep its breakfast.
Finally over whatever my stomach was mad about, freshly caffeinated and not worn down by a sugar (or sugar-regret) overload, I was ready to go. I found the guys chatting in the café and spurred them to action. We drove into the park and took our places on the bus to the Narrows.
Pro Tip: Ride in the back of the bus in the mornings. Certain drivers whip through the park like ex-Daytona 500 drivers trying to relive old glories.
When we arrived at the foot of the trail that leads to the Narrows, we suited up. The weather was warm, but we had been warned about the need to wear our Captain Spock (if Captain Spock gained 60 pounds) drysuits and canyoneering boots. Putting rented drysuits on, by the way, is an exercise that reminded me each time of a particular scene in the ever-rewatchable Ace Ventura 2: When Nature Calls (by far the better of the two films, in my celebrated and clearly professional opinion).
Remember when Ace experiences a kind of rebirth? Not the emotional or spiritual kind, mind you. The kind that involves struggling inch by inch to free oneself from the ass of a metal and rubber rhinoceros in the searing desert sun? Yeah, that one. Putting the Spock suit on, and especially taking it off again…it’s like that.
The suits donned, we giggled at each other, making frequent allusion to Star Trek. I mean, just look at us:
Josh has his own gear, of course, because he has all the gear. We’re seriously considering adding onto the house to accommodate his gear and organize it appropriately. As far as adventurous possibilities go, though, it’s an awesome problem to have! The rest of us got to re-enact scenes from episodes on water planets all day.
“Captain, use the staff wisely – prod the ground before each step to protect yourself from the groundlings. They bite at your ankles and pull you underwater to feast on your supple flesh.”
Often we wonder if the guide groups and local shops’ admonitions about appropriate gear are overkill or guided more by commerce than actual necessity. In the Narrows, the suits and staffs were necessary though, for sure—the ambient temperature hovered around 50, and the water was definitely much colder. It was also swift water and in most places deep enough to sweep a stumbling, unbooted, underprepared but self-aggrandizing visitor off her feet. Deep enough into the canyon, a mistake like that could be quite costly as temperatures drop at night. Even well-prepared, I found myself up to my neck before I knew it more than once. The horrible outfit’s Ace-Ventura-in-a-rhino aesthetic proved useful in those moments as the icy water stayed outside of the suit despite my bobbing around in the unexpected pools.
“Captain, watch out for the giant worm creatures that hollow out the stone. Wield your magical staff to repel the foul beasts while you take your loveliest of photographs”
The canyon walls were full of awesome features. Some sections were pocketed by heart and wormhole shapes, carved and smoothed by the water and wind for millennia. Of course, we climbed into as many of these as possible, a low number in the end because the wet rock made climbing anything extremely difficult.
“Captain, the only option for escape from the groundlings and giant rock-grinding worms is to use your staff as a floatation wand and keep your ass well-lifted.”
There are portions of the hike deep enough and swift enough to float down prone; Dawood, Reuben, Michael, and David chose to “race” one such section. Hard to say who won the race, but David won some water straight down the back of his unzipped drysuit, and the noise he made made me glad I kept mine zipped up tight!
Near our turn-back point, there is a waterfall. Scared of being cold as I am, I didn’t play in it. Josh, though? Beeline. He skipped in his giddy way over to the falls and stood in the direct path of 200 feet of water falling from the overhung canyon rim. I dare say if I were without regard for dripping hair as well I may have done the same, but I still wouldn’t have rushed into the waterfall’s path as Josh did.
Of our crew, Josh and Dawood are the spontaneous and most playful. While I am accustomed to enjoying Josh’s shenanigans, having two of similar ilk together was alternately a treat and a menace.
See my blog entitled “A Character Study” for my heavily-biased appraisals of these two ridiculously wonderful gentlemen and the rest of our crew.
The Narrows are incredibly beautiful, another spot in our nation’s backyard that looks and feels completely alien. Besides the windswept sides and miles of colorful stones, there are gorgeous striations from the sediment eroding and staining the rock in various patterns. The walls are hundreds of feet high on both sides, and the canyon goes on far longer than the several miles we explored. Its grandiosity is difficult to fit into the pictures, but suffice it to say deciding to turn back was tough. The water was anywhere from ankle-deep to neck-deep (though rarely that) the duration of the hike, and we were lucky: the next day, the water was too high and all hikes were canceled. What an experience, and we were a one-day planning difference in missing it altogether. Serendipity 🙂
Shanna Irving is a guest blogger here. She is also a mother, a lover, a teacher, and in all things an adventurer. Her recent adventures have taken her backpacking and hiking throughout the US, and this year will begin her international adventuring with a trip to the glaciers and ice caves of Iceland and to the mountains and plains of South Africa. Writing about it all, too, is an adventure in itself.
The advice to get an early start on Angels Landing is no joke. By the time we worked our way down from the phenomenal views of the painted cliffs and meandering valley, we were facing down a long line of terrified hikers just inches apart and clinging to the chains. They were packed too tightly to move out of the way for people descending, despite the obvious truth that the more people that descend, the fewer people in their way and the less time they’d have to cling to the chains in deadstop traffic. Irony doesn’t affect physics, though, and we were all, those ascending and us on the descent, left with few options…