"Hole Sweet Hole?" the ranger read off the sandstone wall written in Peppermint Extra above a stagnant pool. "Well, you asked what we did to keep ourselves busy." He shrugged. After being trapped for four days and three nights in a slot canyon we had affectionately come to call "The Hell Hole," I had temporarily misplaced my religious zeal for wilderness preservation and could have cared less if my litter remained undigested for seven years in the belly of my captor. The canyon had marked me, and I didn't care if it was marked back.