Chutes & Ladders Sept 15

 

As a last day treat, Ryan took me into a mine he had been ranting and raving about and exploring for minerals. This ended up being a way more extensive mine than I could have appreciated, world class in several ways. At one point in the late 1800s it was considered the richest silver mine in the world and continued to be one of the largest producers of silver in the US until 1930. The richness of this deposit became its downfall as more of the ore was greedily removed than could be supported, causing the upper 700ft to catastrophically collapse in 1885 in a devastating blow for production. By this time the modern equivalent of zinc, copper, lead, silver, and gold recovered was on the order of a half a billion dollars. Various attempts were made since then, including in the 1920s, to reconnect to productive portions of the mine and safely work around the old mine's collapse; while clearly these efforts were still economic they did not match the pre-collapse heyday. It all made for fascinating history.

We drove about an hour and a half into the Basin & Range on increasingly lonely roads. Ryan detoured to show me the neat cluster of charcoal kilns and then we drove up the hill to the enormous headframe of the shaft. The machinery and construction was impressive between the size of single planks of lumber, hoisting gear, and ore hoppers. After the tour we carefully packed for the day and I followed Ryan in. The view down the shaft was intimidating and dizzying, an organized but at the same time haphazard array of ladders, platforms, and beams descending out of sight. A 12ft section of ladder (occasionally missing rungs or loosely attached) would land on a small landing platform (sometimes covered in rockfall of half-gone) and then we would have to squeeze through gaps between ladders, frame, and assorted piping to gain the top of the next ladder. Without these platforms if would be a terrifying 800 foot drop straight down so I certainly appreciated the offsets. Ryan and I aimed to be about 15 ladders apart as we descended but inevitably small rocks would still be sent flying and clinks and clangs from the piping would ominously resonate. With every action I made sure not to trust something completely. Meanwhile Ryan seemed thoroughly at home walking out on beams across the open part of the shaft. The ladders did get to be in better shape the deeper we went, and the repetitive nature helped ease into a rhythm. 66 ladders brought us down 800 feet to a floor! Apparently the mine continues downward at least another 600 feet but this would be the deepest we would go. The entrance exam behind us, I was relieved to have a break from the exposure and an opportunity to explore some of the horizontal adits. Even going downward I worked up a sweat on these ladders. The surface felt a long way away!

Ladder, rinse, repeat

I very soon realized this was the most extensive mine I had ever been in. Ore cart rail junctions, hoist machine rooms, ore chutes, and grated floors (grizzlies) feeding ore to lower levels. The sheer amount of timber contained in this mine was hard to comprehend- a whole forest it seemed. It was neat to look around to try to sleuth everything's purpose. One adit was half-dammed to hold back a reservoir of water for some reason. A little handmade peg board seemed to mark the number of ore carts of material sent down a chute. Various trash from the late 1800s through to the 1920s could be seen (and also unfortunately quite a lot of year-old graffiti). Ryan showed me a side passage with a deep blue azurite-colored mineral and some interesting fibrous ram's horn helictites. Everywhere we looked was a new fascination. Some of the jenga-stacked cribbing filling gaps between walls and ore chutes were also neat to see.

With the tour out of the way Ryan led me to one of the main junction areas and from here we sorted through piles of ore and I supported Ryan as he dug out dogtooth calcite crystals out of pockets in the ceiling. The ore was unlike anything I had ever seen and made for some of the most enjoyable world-class mineral collecting I have ever done (right up there with Trona halite). The sparkles and colors and textures I had never seen before, it was hard to show restraint and decide what would make the cut, especially since the average density of these rocks was probably close to x4 that of water. 

Ryan had cleverly led me into the mine down the long shaft of offset ladders because we were now taking a step up by going up a hundred feet of ladder in a single span, often close to vertical. In this part of the mine we got nice views of the primary fault the mineralization was occurring along, an several intersections to the mine collapse area with precarious scree slopes and timber shorings snapped like toothpicks. We found a few more interesting minerals and pockets in the ceiling but perhaps the highlight of this quick loop was the old riveted mine cart, handmade barrels, and eerie trap door with ladders down into the unknown. We went back down a different hundred foot ladder to arrive back at our main junction area where we left our backpacks.

We spent some more time high-grading our prize specimens, I smashed my thumb with a rock hammer (ouch ouch ouch ouch!), then shouldered our packs (ouch) to begin our ascent via a considerably more convoluted route that I think Ryan would have to admit was more sketchy and difficult than he remembered. The ladders were more exposed than our way in and occasionally even overhanging. We ascended in about hundred foot increments to where there would be a horizontal passage or offset providing brief respite. The exact sequence turned into a bit of a blur but about 200ft up Ryan pointed out a still-filled box of deteriorating dynamite in a side passage and about a hundred feet further up we stopped at a prominent spiral stoped area. Some more nice ram's horns grew from the walls here. Ryan checked out a new-to-him ladder dangling over a bottomless pit that took him to the edge of another collapse area while I was satisfied to sort through a scree slope for colorful ore. My pack was already heavier than it needed to be but this area offered some new colors and patterns that were hard to resist. 

After a while we reassembled and continued on up increasingly sketchy ladders. Some required horizontal transitions from ladder to ladder and veering half off the ladder, some had rungs missing which required herculean gymnastics to pull myself and 45 off-balance pounds up a steep shaft. The horizontal breaks were crucial, even when these too had collapses to crawl through. Onward and upward we continued hoping there would not be some critical gap missing that would force us back. I was actually losing some arm strength pulling myself up the ladders and occasionally would need to take a breather where I would bear-hug the ladder tight to slightly relieve the pull of my pack. Eventually there was only one more sequence of ladders and I waited eagerly for Ryan to reach the top as bats now swirled around me. At the top was one final awkward gap and then we crawled out into the cool fading light of the day. I immediately enjoyed removing my dust mask and pulling in deep inhalations of the fresh mountain air after 9 hours underground.

We dropped packs and strolled up the hill to retrieve the truck, then back down to retrieve our packs. We stopped for late night Mexican in town and then back to Ryan's place. It was quite an adventure! I will not soon forget this fascinating mine and the maze of chutes and ladders. I built myself a couple shelf display of the treasures I brought up- I still am in disbelief each time I view them. I'm generally quite comfortable for long periods of time underground in caves but trusting the 100+ year old infrastructure was something I occasionally struggled with on the trip. I certainly was very conscious of escape during much of the trip and was all to eager for the surface for the entire journey back up. At the time I was good and satisfied at the unique experience but now I think I would go back. How quick the terrors fade while the wonder holds. It was an awesome way of ending ending this trip and a great way to reconnect. I would have loved to stay longer to check out some of his backyard on ATVs but that would have to be another time. Thanks a bunch to Ryan for the highly memorable experience.

Clear Creek Sept 14

I last visited the Clear Creek tributary of the Escalante in March 2014, a cold but otherwise wonderful trip through a lush canyon ending at an incomparable cavernous hairpin bend and waterfall grotto chamber named Cathedral in the Desert, key symbol of the grandeur lost to the waters of Lake Powell. For that 2014 trip Jeff and I descended a long chain of tricky potholes and then a 90ft freehanging amphitheater to enter the canyon; the lake level then of 3576ft elevation was the lowest since 2005 and was just about perfect to be able to jump the Cathedral waterfall into the lake and packraft out the canyon. As a sign of the times, the lake level for this current trip was 3546ft, 33ft lower than its previous year and an elevation at which the floor of the Cathedral would be fully exposed. I was interested to try the easier sidewall rappel route into the canyon (no wetsuits!), see the Cathedral fully exposed, show Ryan a bit of the wonders of Lake Powell, and confirm my packraft exit still worked at lower lake levels.

We awoke to a clear morning with lovely light growing on Fiftymile Mountain and a surprise in seeing a group of three trucks pile out a bunch of people a mile away right at dawn. My initial reaction was disappointment that we would be sharing the canyon with other people (this is a rare off the beaten path canyon where that should never happen) and that these other people were getting a head start on us. It was much much later in the day that we realized these were actually hunters and we did in fact have the canyon to ourselves.

We did our best to pack light and efficiently but packraft gear and 420ft of rope offset this pursuit slightly. the approach was a pretty straightforward 3 miles, mostly on slickrock. As we detoured around the prominent jointed side canyon (rather than straight down through the potholes like my previous trip), we noticed the group stopped high up on bench to the side (again strange behavior for canyoners but later understood as hunters surveying the land). We found the bolts for the sidewall rappel easily enough, and the rappel itself was surprisingly straightforward down a steep slab that sheep clearly use to enter the canyon. We came prepared for a 200ft rappel as the beta suggested but we found that 100ft was plenty to get us to low angle slickrock slopes.

Rope pulled, Ryan hung out as I had a quick jaunt up to the amphitheater rappel I did last time. I could see webbing on the bolts above so they seemed somewhat recently used. The whole area was a lot more overgrown than I remembered from the last time. From our drop-in we went around a beehive rock to bypass the first drop in the canyon, then crossed and recrossed through the lush vegetation. The whole technical portion of the canyon was only about 1500ft long with no slot- unlike Choprock we did our best to take it slow and savor the sights. A nice subway slickrock patio led us into a chain of wet potholes dropping a few short feet into a waist deep pool. It took some care to not have our feet slide out from underneath us and end up fully submerged but we both managed. The reflections in the pool and the hanging gardens of maidenhair ferns were spectacular.

A few steps further was our next ledge drop into a shallow pool. I remembered this as the one I meat anchored Jeff down and then jumped in with a spine jolting impact I had no plans to repeat. Happily this time a single good bolt was present on canyon left and so we used that for a 20ft rappel to the edge of the pool. More ferns. From here on out there was dramatically more vegetation than a decade ago, clearly a sign of these elevations more regularly being emergent from Lake Powell. It was an interesting contrast. No poison ivy and lots of green to contrast with orange-red canyon walls so I had no complaints.

Another short 200ft further was the last major obstacle before the Cathedral. Last time we climbed our way down a short slot on a knotted boater's rope across a hanging pothole into the pool below. This time we opted to try the less awkward route of descending 60ft off the side using an existing boulder anchor. The reflections, golden light, and trickling water delighted the senses.

Instinctively I held back a little at the penultimate bend in the canyon, giving Ryan the opportunity to enjoy coming upon the Cathedral first. I think overall the light was less dramatic than my last visit but everything else about the chamber was as impressive as I remembered it. With the lake evacuated out of sight around the corner the chamber seemed even more voluminous than I remembered. We hung out for a good long time, eating, drinking, and eventually rigging our rope for the last rappel into the Cathedral. The sliver of light that penetrated to the canyon floor moved rapidly in our time there. Cathedral in the Desert is a great name but if I first came upon it I think I would have gone with The Sundial Chamber. After a while we could hear boaters and when we spotted our first walking around the corner we decided it was probably time to finish the canyon. I went first and Ryan followed. A dozen or so boaters soon appeared to marvel at the base of the Cathedral most asking us where we came from and where we planned to go from here. Scenically I'm not sure if I liked the sandy floor of this trip or the half-flooded chamber of my previous- both had their appeal. We snapped a few more photos and then turned the corner to find a half dozen boats moored against the shallows of the lake and all manners of people and dogs enjoying the beach and water.

To get to the boats we had to swim about 40 feet across a finger of the lake. The water was perfectly lukewarm and I happily swam across. Ryan took up an offer to be ferried across on a paddleboard. I wish I had taken a photo: a guy haphazardly paddling across while Ryan awkwardly tried to balance on his hand and knees, with our two packs forming an overloaded pile in between. It looked 50-50 but they all made it across mostly dry. Happily a nice multi-generational family group gave us a ride on their boat, saving us time and wet gear as we zoomed the 1.5 miles out into the Escalante Arm. It was the good life. They kindly detoured the minimal 0.3 miles to drop us off at my exit ramp, just as easy at this water level. We gave our hearty thanks and waves, carried our packs up to the first ledge, then cliff jumped into the pleasant water to cool ourselves before the inevitable climb up and 4.5 mile journey back to the car.

Very frustratingly I managed to take the exact same wrong turn I did on my last time here! I was lured upward by the creases in the rock thinking I could easily top out onto the slickrock patio above when I should have followed Ryan's lead by traversing further over to some slabs before climbing. Exactly like last time I had to backtrack about a hundred feet of elevation and cross over further before ascending. Almost immediately we began to overheat as views of the lake teased us below. With the tricky part out of the way it would just be a whole lot of cross-country slickrock back to the truck. Partway back we heard a boom and then cheers as the group of hunters clearly made a kill across the canyon from us and we watched them coalesce for what was undoubtedly the not fun part of hunting. 

It took us about 3 hours to make it back to the car. Decisions. It was before 4pm. After some deliberation we decided we were satisfied with our couple trips in the Escalante and opted to drive back to Ryan's for a good night's sleep and the goal of tackling a mine the next day that Ryan had been raving about. We still had a loooong drive down 54 miles of the Hole In The Rock Road. We attempted to grab dinner in Escalante but the one place open was thoroughly packed with a long line to order and so we drove on. The pizza place in Tropic took good care of us instead. Ryan drove through the dark night through a parade of deer. I really enjoyed this canyon (so much more than Choprock). It is fairly light on challenge but tops on beauty. The boaters did us a solid too.

Hole In The Rock Sept 13

The 13 hour day and extra night coming out from Choprock set us up for a leisurely "adventure hangover" day working our way down Hole In The Rock Road for our next big day trip. This was probably for the best as this was the most active day for thunderstorms and the area around Egypt seemed to have been reamed by some large cells. We started by checking out some interesting dinosaur trackways at Twentymile Wash while dark skies approached ominously. The tracks were preserved in the top of an Entrada Sandstone layer, making for a much different style of track than the mud imprints I more often see. It took us a while to clue into what to look for but once we did we saw about a hundred footprints, most as giant dinner plate-sized patches of complexly disturbed sediment. 

We continued on for a long layover at the Dance Hall Rock parking lot, a perfect opportunity to dry all our gear while we ate lunch and flew drones. Initially I was satisfied flying my drone over the convoluted slickrock behind Dance Hall (including inescapable standalone potholes with cottonwood trees growing in them), but then I got jealous of Ryan flying over some neat terrain further away on the flanks of Fiftymile Mountain. Our midday entertainment was about to begin.

I pulled my drone back out and sent it off about a mile and a half towards Fiftymile. Almost immediately the wall of wind hit us from the storm approaching from the north and I had severe trouble controlling my drone. Not only was the drone being tossed around and I could not get it to outpace its strong headwind, but there was also other bizarre communication behavior, best I can guess weird electrical interference from the storm. It was a highly stressful 20 minutes as I would lose signal, attempt to return it home, regain signal briefly to allow me to gain a few hundred feet of progress towards home, then lose signal all over again. It was looking grim and my chill day turned to drama. The wind got worse and so did the interference. I managed to get it above an old two track road to at least serve as a landmark and tried to ease it back along. I lost connection as the battery level was becoming critical so Ryan and I set off down the road to the nearest point where there might be a hope of a connection. Ultimately I had to accept it likely crash landed, and we walked down the two-track about a half-mile to start searching from its last connection point. This could have been an epic or unsuccessful scavenger hunt but miraculously the drone was right at the last GPS point I lost connection, and was sitting upright on sand between some sage bushes, remarkably undamaged. All in all the best possible outcome but still alarming to have my first major connection loss event with mysterious circumstances.

Drone recovered, we drove on down the final 20 miles of Hole In The Rock Road, now significantly rougher and less traveled. Down here we saw no one apart from a large group of hunters and a couple lone campers. Some of the sandstone monoliths we passed were reminiscent of Uluru. The road occasionally scraped its way across some unimproved slickrock that had us questioning where the road was going. We saw some nice hoodoos and alcoves. Eventually we reached the remote end of the road at the Hole In The Rock, a crazy but over-celebrated crease in the otherwise unbroken cliffs that Mormon pioneers toiled to lower their covered wagons 800 feet vertically down to the Colorado River. The cliff edges seemed much more appealing than the steep down and back hike to the shore of Lake Powell so we set off across the north side until I reached a suitably panoramic view. Ironically despite the isolation the cell reception here was better than anywhere because the direct line of sight to the dark mound of Navajo Mountain looming to the south.

 

We took our time enjoying the view and catching up a bit on our lives back home, then strolled back to the car. Having seen the entire road we both agreed the roadside slickrock a mere 1400 feet from tomorrow's trailhead was the best spot around. Ryan carefully positioned the truck for a level night's sleep in the bed, then we took our dinner and margaritas up the nearby knoll to watch the sun fade on Fiftymile Mountain, Navajo Mountain, and the slickrock ocean of fossilized Jurassic sand dunes stretching out for miles. It was a stellar end to the day.