I step back off the edge of the world and trust my entire life to the rope attached to my harness. Okay, it’s not really the edge of the world. And I am fairly, rather say extremely, confident in the harness and rope. But, I am working my way over the edge of a one-hundred-fifty-foot cliff drop down into a narrow slot canyon. I slowly loosen my grip on the rope enough to allow myself to start the descent over the edge. Walking my feet down the wall and feeding rope through the ATC, I quickly feel very, very alone and vulnerable. Simultaneously, my blood is pumping with adrenaline and I’m completely locked into the present moment. About fifty-feet down, the cliff wall angles concavely in towards itself. I kick off the stone, knowing this will be the last time my feet touch anything solid until I reach the ground one-hundred feet below. Above me, the rope stays taut against the cliff face. I’m hanging fully suspended in the air, swinging around in the nothingness. Today is one of those days where I don’t have to wait for hindsight to see how incredible it is. Finally, my feet land on the flat ground inside of Pool Arch Canyon. Monstrous walls surround us on all sides. They seem to absorb noise, as the ambient sound is a minimal hush. I feel I’m standing in a place very few have gone before, a place I’m lucky to pass through, and a place where I need to keep my head on a swivel and my feet moving.
The day started out early. We woke up in an Airbnb just south of Moab, Utah. We’re all going to Hunter and Jordan’s wedding this afternoon, so it’s fair to say that the pressure on our deadline is strong. Thankfully, our group of five is composed of three former rock and river guides, one former college athlete, and me, who is too competitive to fall behind.
How is this even real? The landscape is out of this world. Literally. I feel like I’m on a different planet. For as far as I can see on any horizon there is nothing but rock. Red, sun-scorched, daunting rock. “You could live here for ten years and barely scratch the surface of the adventures that are possible,” I say to the rest of the crew on our drive to the trailhead. They laugh a collective very-impressive-realization-genius laugh at me. I guess I’m so enamored with the beauty and magnitude of these desert mountains that my conversational skills have diminished to simply stating the obvious.
We move quickly on the two-mile approach hike up to the first rappel point. Passing over hard-packed dirt, loose sand, fractured rubble, and car sized boulders, it sometimes feels we are on a path and at other times it feels like we’re wanderers at the mercy of the steep incline. The intensely hot desert sun subdues my energy and makes me think twice about any extra movement. Each step feels earned, fought for, and depleting. I’m still an eastern boy at heart – far, far out of my element in the expansive, radiatively hot western wilderness.
Today is my first time adventuring down into a slot canyon. This type of canyon is aptly named because it is at points so narrow that you have to twist, turn, and contort your body to navigate through it. Unlike a normal hike, the flat path disappears below your feet, and you have to push off the opposing walls in a spiderman-like-fashion to make forward progress. You are the quarter in the slot machine. Often, uprooted trees block the way and have to be crawled under or over. Their you-don’t-really-belong-here presence is a concrete reminder of the biggest danger we face down here: flash floods. We’re in the lowest part of the desert valley. A slot canyon is a highway for floodwaters. Get caught in a narrow, high-walled portion of the canyon when a flood barrels through and it is fatally bad news.
After thirty or so minutes of hiking down the canyon we arrive at the second rappel point. This drop is shorter, maybe only sixty feet, but the thrill of entering the world of the vertical is still a welcome experience. As we get further and further down the canyon the landscape opens up more. The expanse of wilderness down here feels as pure as I’ve ever seen. Aside from the worn footpath and small rappel anchors, there is not the slightest sign of human influence on the land. Birds dart back and forth across the sagebrush filled canyon floor. Blue sky pours over the top on the walls and spills its charming glow onto everything in sight.
One final rappel takes us back down to “normal” ground. Outside of the canyon, back on regular planet earth, it feels a little safer, but much more pedestrian, much more PG rated.
With plenty of time to spare for showers and getting dressed up, we make it to the wedding easily. A mega day. Fully loaded to the brim. But when in Moab…
