Return of the Native

We are merely reactions, responses to our environments. Certain smells can create an ennui of euphoria, some sights stir a sense of melancholy. This lesson was driven home, deep into the marrow, this past weekend for me.

I came to many conclusions about great many things. For one, the saddest words for my eyes to scan are:

LEAVING CANYONLANDS NATIONAL PARK

Friday had me at work early in hopes of leaving mid-afternoon. By duty and my own stubborn work ethic, I didn't leave the station until 4 pm, just in time to be deposited into rush-hour traffic. A trip to the gas station, two cappuchinos and over 400 miles later, I pitched my tent in the desert night, under the silent cacophony of hundreds of constellations encroaching upon one another.

The inaudible din was intoxicating and alluring, drawing me into the void until I realized three things; 1. I am much too mortal to comprehend such magnificent things, 2. My nose was numb from the prevailing night breeze, and 3. My neck was starting to hurt.

A dream about getting a backcountry permit actually woke me up the next morning, in time to pack and go, well, get a backcountry permit. The two alien men in my dream yelling at me while preparing a cowboy breakfast were great guides as I secure the final backcountry spot in the Needles District. Not only in the district, exactly where I wanted to go: Chesler Park.

A short drive to Elephant Hill and I was on the trail before 10 am. A short way in I stopped to water the flora. As I returned to the trail, I saw a ranger approaching where I left my trekking poles. "Great," I thought, "I'm gonna get a lecture about leaving the trail and the frailty of the cryptobiotic soil - a black crust that is the symbiotic partnership of algae and mold that acts as the building block for plant life to grow in the desert.

Instead we wound up hiking and talking for about three months. She is on a 3-month internship before she starts her doctorate at USC. It was a good way to make the miles pass.

Before I knew it I was at my campsite.



Nestled between mature juniper trees, backed up against sandstone spires, the site provided a perfect setting for needle watching.

A nice squeeze near my tent



The view from the top out on both sides





After a brief lunch, it was on to play. I did a 6-mile loop up and over and through a section called The Joint - a quarter-mile constriction through a slot.



A view to another slot branching off. If I was the diminutive Chinese acrobat from Ocean's Eleven, i might have fit inside



The slot just kept going and going...





Before you arrive in a giant cavern, littered with hundreds of cairns. The Hall of Cairns was like stumbling onto an unearthly ritualistic site, left hidden for eons.





Normally I resist such urges, but I felt compelled and even obligated to leave my own statuette. Selecting varying colored stones, I constructed my own obelisk.



A wild slot canyon off to the side of the Hall of Cairns. Downclimbing on the dilapidating sandstone proved to be stimulating. The bottom was rather choked with sandstone debris and vegetation. Progress was slow but it was worth it.



The next few hours were spent exploring. I'm not one to stay on trails. I traveled up some cliffs, climbed some formations, poked around some washes and slot canyons, bouldered (yes I brought my climbing shoes with me) up some fist cracks and just plainly, was being me.



I returned finally to camp in the early evening. Tired, I brewed up some coffee and read for an hour. A scoop up on a formation proved to be a luxurious Lazy-Boy.



Recharged, I did it all again. Finished a couple of bouldering traverses around my camp site, checked out a crack climb, smearing up 30 feet to the base; the climb will probably go at 5.11 (an off-width/squeeze, leading to an overhanging block would be spicy). Hiked out and checked out a pass between formations, clambered down the other side. Climbed up a couple more formations, well, you get the picture.