JFRCalifornia
Keeper of San Juan Secrets
Tuesday, September 6, 2008
Wetherill Canyon
Lake Level - 3629'
The back of my right hand is burnt, though oddly not much else on my body. It’s the one place I must have missed today with the sunscreen, and I suppose that’s the price I pay for being right handed. Sirius XM is pumping out the classic rock of the 70s and 80s from the speakers behind me on the roof. Right now it’s Cold As Ice, which is not what it is apart from what is coming from the radio. It’s actually quite pleasant, low 80s I’d say, as the sun ducks behind the top of the Morrison Formation capping the Cummings Mesa to the west. You often wonder what it looks like on top of those distant mesas. Well, we decided to see for ourselves today.
The motorboat launched early. Early for us anyway, after obligatory breakfast and sitting around. Bob made eggs. The rest of us just ate cereal. Meanwhile, the Camelbaks were filling, hiking boots pulled out of storage, sunblock slopped on. It would be a long hike up the mesa above Dungeon Canyon, several hours in the direct sun, so it was important to beat the heat as much as possible. A 9:30 start would have to do. Only Bob, Khawer and Garrett stayed behind. Dungeon is two canyons to the southwest of us here in Wetherill, only a couple of mile away via the lake. Much longer on foot.
This would be a dry hike, and the concept was simple. Just head up the canyon until it ended, then climb the front of the mesa till you get to the top. Later, Bayan’s GPS unit confirmed it was a 9.25-mile round trip, but at the beginning, we were glad we had only a vague idea of that. Though all of us except Bayan had done this long ago, the memories were vague and mostly positive, focusing on the triumph of reaching the top, with photos to prove it. But the reality the second time out is that everyone is several years older, with creakier bones to match, so the memories didn’t match the current reality.
But don’t get me wrong—this was a lot of fun. We all knew what to expect, except Bayan, who pronounced it awesome (or maybe that was my word). Which it is, without a doubt.
Kelsey’s book describes this hike, and offers some good route-finding advice when the average person would look at the steep mesa and simply shake their head. On the other hand, Kelsey, as is usually the case, downplays the difficulty of this hike. It’s sort of a dismissive “just have to follow the sheep trail up, then zig-zag to the top”, as if this were directions to the bathroom. His concept of reality and everyone else’s are highly divergent,
his only nod to the frailties of the normal human being his acknowledgement that the “3-hour round trip” might take as long as 5 for some people. Which might actually mean 6 to 8 for most anyone else.
Well, we must not be superhuman, because 5 hours is pretty much about as long as it took us to do it. And it wasn’t easy. Hard to find the trail, no shade in sight, except for the occasional boulder, or the lucky overhanging cave or two, this is not a casual walk in the park. But it is rewarding, if you can make it to the top. Nayyer, however, not in need of some sort of reward of this nature, called it quits once confronted with the big 1,500-foot climb to the top in the last mile. He’d done it once before, it’s true, but this time, he felt that the “98% chance of making it without injury” was insufficient. And he measured his heart rate at 130 bpm. So he quietly sat in the shade of a boulder, while the other four of us continued.
Bayan loved this place. He’s a marathoner, so he noted that this was not particularly strenuous for him, but it was nevertheless a challenge. It doeslook impossible to do from below—straight up a talus slope, with no obvious path, then a zig-zag puzzle across sandstone layers to the top. Nayyer chose to follow what his eyes told him. The rest of us simply followed our feet. We stole shade where we could, but between the slippery path and the loose scree, there was nothing straightforward about the hike. Kelsey would tell you otherwise, which is one reason he has his detractors, but as long as you account for his casual gaps in the cautionary aspects of his instructions, and double his time estimates, his book is a valuable guide.
Once at the top, you turn around and imagine how the hell it was possible that you had just scrambled up that thing. It is hard to fathom, but your presence at the top of the flat mesa provides all the evidence you need. Photos help too, so we took them. We also knew, thanks to Kelsey’s book and Bayan’s GPS unit, that Wetherill Canyon was only one kilometer away to the east, a simple walk across the soft sandy mesa top. Just head straight at the huge dome of Navajo Mountain, perhaps aiming toward the toe of its north slope. And sure enough, soon you come to the edge of the mesa overlooking Wetherill Canyon, where the lake snakes along at the bottom, dark green and narrow. And there, plain as day, sits our houseboat, camped in a nice sandy nook of Wetherill, barely the size of a small toy, far below and far away. Enticing but unreachable. You couldn’t see it, but you can bet Khawer was sitting there on the back deck, engrossed in another book. And was that Bob on a jet ski, meandering his way up the canyon? Too far away to tell. As for Nayyer, he was probably sitting in a cave alone, halfway down Dungeon Canyon. For a moment, we thought a motorboat that we saw pull up to our houseboat might
have been Nayyer, whom we wouldn’t put it past to take the boat and return without us, till I realized I had the boat key in my Camelbak. Nayyer better enjoy his cave. He’d be there for a while.
As it always is, going down is more straightforward than going up, mainly because you can see exactly where you’re going, and you’ve already been there before. Still, Chuck fell at one point, scraped his arm and leg, and narrowly avoided the slide to the bottom that Nayyer feared, with some justification. But he’s got the story to tell, and the pictures to prove it. And about a year’s worth of giving Nayyer some crap for stopping.
Nayyer just came up to me on the houseboat roof watching me as I type, and tried to bribe me into changing the account of the hike to something more favorable for himself. I said I would consider it. I’ve considered it.
Wetherill Canyon
Lake Level - 3629'
The back of my right hand is burnt, though oddly not much else on my body. It’s the one place I must have missed today with the sunscreen, and I suppose that’s the price I pay for being right handed. Sirius XM is pumping out the classic rock of the 70s and 80s from the speakers behind me on the roof. Right now it’s Cold As Ice, which is not what it is apart from what is coming from the radio. It’s actually quite pleasant, low 80s I’d say, as the sun ducks behind the top of the Morrison Formation capping the Cummings Mesa to the west. You often wonder what it looks like on top of those distant mesas. Well, we decided to see for ourselves today.
The motorboat launched early. Early for us anyway, after obligatory breakfast and sitting around. Bob made eggs. The rest of us just ate cereal. Meanwhile, the Camelbaks were filling, hiking boots pulled out of storage, sunblock slopped on. It would be a long hike up the mesa above Dungeon Canyon, several hours in the direct sun, so it was important to beat the heat as much as possible. A 9:30 start would have to do. Only Bob, Khawer and Garrett stayed behind. Dungeon is two canyons to the southwest of us here in Wetherill, only a couple of mile away via the lake. Much longer on foot.
This would be a dry hike, and the concept was simple. Just head up the canyon until it ended, then climb the front of the mesa till you get to the top. Later, Bayan’s GPS unit confirmed it was a 9.25-mile round trip, but at the beginning, we were glad we had only a vague idea of that. Though all of us except Bayan had done this long ago, the memories were vague and mostly positive, focusing on the triumph of reaching the top, with photos to prove it. But the reality the second time out is that everyone is several years older, with creakier bones to match, so the memories didn’t match the current reality.
But don’t get me wrong—this was a lot of fun. We all knew what to expect, except Bayan, who pronounced it awesome (or maybe that was my word). Which it is, without a doubt.
Kelsey’s book describes this hike, and offers some good route-finding advice when the average person would look at the steep mesa and simply shake their head. On the other hand, Kelsey, as is usually the case, downplays the difficulty of this hike. It’s sort of a dismissive “just have to follow the sheep trail up, then zig-zag to the top”, as if this were directions to the bathroom. His concept of reality and everyone else’s are highly divergent,
his only nod to the frailties of the normal human being his acknowledgement that the “3-hour round trip” might take as long as 5 for some people. Which might actually mean 6 to 8 for most anyone else.
Well, we must not be superhuman, because 5 hours is pretty much about as long as it took us to do it. And it wasn’t easy. Hard to find the trail, no shade in sight, except for the occasional boulder, or the lucky overhanging cave or two, this is not a casual walk in the park. But it is rewarding, if you can make it to the top. Nayyer, however, not in need of some sort of reward of this nature, called it quits once confronted with the big 1,500-foot climb to the top in the last mile. He’d done it once before, it’s true, but this time, he felt that the “98% chance of making it without injury” was insufficient. And he measured his heart rate at 130 bpm. So he quietly sat in the shade of a boulder, while the other four of us continued.
Bayan loved this place. He’s a marathoner, so he noted that this was not particularly strenuous for him, but it was nevertheless a challenge. It doeslook impossible to do from below—straight up a talus slope, with no obvious path, then a zig-zag puzzle across sandstone layers to the top. Nayyer chose to follow what his eyes told him. The rest of us simply followed our feet. We stole shade where we could, but between the slippery path and the loose scree, there was nothing straightforward about the hike. Kelsey would tell you otherwise, which is one reason he has his detractors, but as long as you account for his casual gaps in the cautionary aspects of his instructions, and double his time estimates, his book is a valuable guide.
Once at the top, you turn around and imagine how the hell it was possible that you had just scrambled up that thing. It is hard to fathom, but your presence at the top of the flat mesa provides all the evidence you need. Photos help too, so we took them. We also knew, thanks to Kelsey’s book and Bayan’s GPS unit, that Wetherill Canyon was only one kilometer away to the east, a simple walk across the soft sandy mesa top. Just head straight at the huge dome of Navajo Mountain, perhaps aiming toward the toe of its north slope. And sure enough, soon you come to the edge of the mesa overlooking Wetherill Canyon, where the lake snakes along at the bottom, dark green and narrow. And there, plain as day, sits our houseboat, camped in a nice sandy nook of Wetherill, barely the size of a small toy, far below and far away. Enticing but unreachable. You couldn’t see it, but you can bet Khawer was sitting there on the back deck, engrossed in another book. And was that Bob on a jet ski, meandering his way up the canyon? Too far away to tell. As for Nayyer, he was probably sitting in a cave alone, halfway down Dungeon Canyon. For a moment, we thought a motorboat that we saw pull up to our houseboat might
have been Nayyer, whom we wouldn’t put it past to take the boat and return without us, till I realized I had the boat key in my Camelbak. Nayyer better enjoy his cave. He’d be there for a while.
As it always is, going down is more straightforward than going up, mainly because you can see exactly where you’re going, and you’ve already been there before. Still, Chuck fell at one point, scraped his arm and leg, and narrowly avoided the slide to the bottom that Nayyer feared, with some justification. But he’s got the story to tell, and the pictures to prove it. And about a year’s worth of giving Nayyer some crap for stopping.
Nayyer just came up to me on the houseboat roof watching me as I type, and tried to bribe me into changing the account of the hike to something more favorable for himself. I said I would consider it. I’ve considered it.
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