2023-07-29 00:02:00
Heat and loneliness in the wilderness on the Arizona-Utah border are constant companions on every hike. A borderline experience.
June 14 is a Friday and a public holiday in some states in the United States. It is also for my wife Ursula and me, although it is not on any calendar. And the story begins on the 13th, this time on a Thursday.
House Rock Valley Road in Utah runs north-south along the Paria Plateau. From previous visits we already know the Buckskin Canyon and part of the Paria Canyon. The starting point for these hikes is the Wire Pass Trailhead, which also offers access to one of nature’s most exquisite creations, known among photographers as The Wave. Up to 20 people are now permitted to hike there per day – five years ago only four visitors per day were allowed.
The Wave is a sandstone wave sculpted by water and wind, unique in its dimensions and fantastic in shape and colour. One part runs more or less gently up the mountain, another is horizontal with two sections. Seen from below, the left section stretches toward the center like the crest of a water wave. You hike into the trough of the waves, stepping carefully over the fragile rock – always careful not to destroy the thin, fragile edges of the individual stone waves. The right section resembles a wave tunnel, a canyon with overhanging red walls. There is a second trail to the wave, starting about three miles south of the Wire Pass Trailhead. We park Rosinante, our truck camper, next to a cottonwood bush and study the terrain map again. Because there are no marked hiking trails in this wilderness area, distinctive terrain formations are the only clues. A compass is helpful, but only of limited use in rough terrain. In addition to the photo equipment, we only take light luggage with us, two water bottles and a small snack should be enough for about six hours there and back.
The first destination is a canyon at the end of a wide plain overgrown with sagebrush, desert sage. A climb of about 100 meters crosses several side canyons, and every now and then there are small cairns, erected by helpful hikers for orientation. We underestimated this first climb as it takes almost two hours – twice as long as expected. The heat is increasing rapidly, shade is rare. Arriving at the saddle, a valley about two kilometers wide spreads out in front of us.
On the right are the Coyote Buttes, sandstone outcrops. There we spot trees and bushes and we decide to hike there. In this way we bypass the basin with the deeply cut gorges and do not lose altitude. After a short rest in the shade, which is quickly dissolved by the sun, we move on. Our little thermometer shows 42 degrees.
A water bottle is already empty. The rocky ground radiates the heat mercilessly, slowly we climb down into the valley at a narrow point. Too early, as it turns out, because the canyon ends at a nearly six meter high drop. So go back and try again above. It’s now twelve o’clock in the afternoon and we’ve been on the road for more than four hours. Again and again our eyes search the south side of the buttes for the distinctive crevice that marks the entrance to the wave. In vain. A single juniper tree provides some shade. There, a pinnacle we know – we must be close! And finally footprints in the sand leading up a gully. After a 20 minute climb we reach The Wave after four and a half hours.
The second water bottle is still two-thirds full. Now in June, around noon, the sun is directly overhead. The body shadow is an oval around our feet, the ridges in the rock appear flat and colorless. We crouch under a ledge above the vertical wave and a gentle wind promises some cooling. It’s very difficult to take pictures in this light, so we’ll wait. The dark shadow beneath us is slowly growing.
The water bottle is still half full. We leave at four o’clock. Determined to walk along the top of the valley wall, through the yellow teepees, and thus achieve a direct descent into the canyon. The air shimmers before our eyes, the head hurts, the legs are heavy. Unprotected, we stumble along, gasping for breath, constantly having to rest. Narrow cliffs offer some shade, but the air stays hot and stuffy here too. The last 300 meters to the saddle height are blazing in the sun. Here the rock is dark and – hotter than the light sandstone. Halfway up we drag ourselves on, the last few meters are unspeakable torture. Deep sand blown into the corner of this transition by the wind makes every step difficult. The sun now burns mercilessly in the face, making breathing twice as difficult.
The water bottle is used more often, it is almost empty. Pine trees at the transition donate longed-for shade for a short rest, footprints and cairns point to the descent, sun and compass confirm the direction. It’s now six o’clock, in an hour we should have crossed the canyon. Soon there is bare rock under our shoes and no more traces of other hikers can be seen. In addition, many side canyons are confusing, rock faces block the direct view of the plain. The direction changes again and again and the compass is only a guide. Our destination is to the west, but the terrain is criss-crossed by north-south ruts that determine our walking direction.
Dry creek beds occasionally cut through these rock barriers. It is a well-known fact that water always flows downwards, and that’s where we want to go. We simply follow our instinct down the valley. The gravel band – our hope – ends in a crash. When water flows up here after a heavy rain, it falls about ten meters – a pretty waterfall!
But there is no rain. And our water bottle is empty. Desperately we follow another creek bed, this time upwards. From a ledge I can see down to the level with the sagebrush, somewhere beyond that is the parking lot where our Rosinante is waiting. The sun is slowly sinking to the horizon, it’s already seven o’clock and we still haven’t found the descent into the canyon. We mobilize all our strength again and change direction again until we come across a dry, sandy stream bed again. Footprints in it give hope, but only briefly. It’s our own that we left here half an hour ago – we went in circles!
We sit resignedly in the sand, dusk has already set in. One last attempt to find the descent: with the last of our strength we overcome the hill and come across a dried-up creek bed. Hope makes the legs light, the dry mouth is forgotten. We jump down small obstacles of one to two meters in height, and when there are larger ones, we climb back onto the gravel belt sideways. It’s going down, quite quickly in fact – almost as quickly as darkness sets in, speeding up our steps.
The abrupt end follows a few minutes later – we are standing on a rocky edge that is about eight to nine or more meters above the valley floor. In the dark it is no longer clearly recognizable. In that second we realize that we can’t make the descent anymore, that we’re stuck here. A mad thought for a short time, a reluctance to accept the final situation, a search for a last resort, the right way! But in this rough terrain
sheer recklessness and the realization of spending the night here in the open air quickly becomes reality. The evening star is already shining in the sky and in the last pale light we stumble back. A sandy hollow under the still warm rock gives space and a little protection, even conveys a bit of security. Our backpacks are used as head pads, shirt and jacket are used to cover up. We encourage each other, hug each other tightly. The sky is adorned with thousands of stars, soon there will be millions shining above us. The thought of water, of something to drink, slowly disappears, the exhaustion of the body gradually takes hold of the mind as well. A state of unconsciousness sets in, the completely silent environment no longer allows one to determine one’s location – one is nowhere.
At some point it got cold and dawn came. It is now five o’clock in the morning and with increasing light our hope increases. Almost impatiently we pack up and go forward again to the abyss. Diagonally to the left below us, about a kilometer away, is the wide plain with the green sagebrush. In the same direction, the rock turns into a gravel heap – a possible descent! Stumbling and staggering we reach the level, the last few meters become an eternity. At seven in the morning on Friday, which is a public holiday in Arizona, we open the door of our camper. After 19 hours without anything to eat, after 14 hours without anything to drink, after ten hours under the scorching sun and sometimes more than 40 degrees, we have reached a limit. We hug each other in silence, hug each other tightly. It’s too dry to cry.
#Journey #scorching #hot #world #stone