Reid says: Today I headed out with a couple of friends to explore a slot behind the Watchman, which may or may not have proven itself. They'd heard about it from another canyoneer and it sounded worth checking out. We drove up through the Zion tunnel and parked at the Pine Creek trailhead. From there, we headed up Pine Creek and then into Gifford Canyon. After a beautiful hike, we began to climb around the immense slickrock bowl separating Gifford Canyon and Hepworth Wash. Three Bighorn Sheep teased us with their climbing skills as they led up and around the bowl. I often thought laughing at the poor following skills of a "tattooed Southern redneck."

Once over the far lip of the bowl, we began the descent toward Hepworth, looking for the little slot we hoped to find. Heading South, we worked our way into the second drainage west and were instantly rewarded with a glimpse of our goal. Soon as we gained the slot's head; it was obvious that she was going to be short but very sweet. I'd wondered whether to bring pads and decided against it, but now found myself wishing I had. Lots of interesting downclimbs through sweetly striped sandstone led to "It's a Lake Powell slot!" being verbalized more than once. She ended with a gorgeous rap, partially free, into a smaller bowl which opened onto Hepworth.

aging tatooed Southern redneck hippie type

In the Wedge

Reid about to rap

At this point, we knew we had multiple options for escape. Climbing back over to Gifford in the heat and leaving the way we came was unappealing to all of us. Hiking back down to Springdale through the canyon next to the Watchman also seemed longer than desired. The quickest (hopefully) escape seemed to be up through a notch paralleling the Bridge Mountain Arch access. So we headed up, hoping to rap down onto the road below the Zion Tunnel via a series of raps expected to be easy with the single 200 foot rope plus 200 foot pull cord on hand. After an exhausting ascent and two short rappels, we found ourselves in the WRONG NOTCH, about 400 feet above the switchbacks on an almost sheer face.

There was debate about attempting what we were looking at or going back to the other drainage, which had been checked out from the bottom and the top, but not previously attempted. I think my friends were (rightfully) concerned about my ability to do the multi-stage rap ahead of us. But I'd already slowed them down immensely (it was now about 18:30 and we'd intended to be back to Springdale by 16:00). And, although I was exhausted, I firmly believed I could (had to) do the rap, because I knew I couldn't hike back around (down and up) to the other drainage, then complete multiple raps through it. Long story short, the guys scoped out the route, found a series of ledges (without anchors, so two bolts were required), and determined the way forward was down.

Looking down at the switchback

By now, I was so tired that the usual outcome of being on a rope (allaying my fear of heights) was no longer in effect. Once the rap to the first ledge and the bolt for rapping to the second were both set, it was my turn to start down. Honestly, I decided that "I'm not going to die today," then tossed that aside and began my roughly 50 foot descent. Sadly, I wasn't able to appreciate the view (one of my favorite things about rapping). All I could muster was to manage the rope and keep my eyes on the wall in front of me, relying on the partner below for directions about where I was headed.

That first ledge was iffy (for me) - perhaps the size of a large coffee table, but blessedly flat. Once down, I was tethered to the new anchor and did my best to stay out of the way. Don't know how long I spent pressed against the wall until we were all together and then the boltmaster went ahead to set the next anchor. Again it was my turn to head down, this time about 100 feet. I'd already heard discussion that the second ledge was smaller and really didn't want to know any more as it might have frozen me where I was. I also couldn't even consider looking down, which really screwed with my ability to descend with anything approaching my usual lack of grace. So, clutching the rope in both hands and staring directly at my ATC, I slid down the entire distance on my left shoulder and hip. Stupid, yes. But that's what fatigue and fear can do for you (or for me, at least). Finally hearing a reassuring voice telling me I was down, I looked for a foothold, only to find the smaller ledge was about eight inches deep and just wide enough for two pairs of feet. Got my toes on and was tethered again, at which point I determined that I simply would not move a muscle until time for the last drop. I've a new appreciation for the discomfort which must accompany catatonia, and I was only vapor-locked for what seemed like hours, but was probably 15 or 20 minutes.

Decisions were again required. Worked out that 200 feet of rope was insufficient to make the road, we had to go for a last ledge still high above the road. But our new problem was compound. There wasn't enough room for all three of us on the middle ledge, and we hadn't enough rope for rapping down as things were set up. So the two lowest of us were to make the bottom ledge, then the last to use the pull cord to bring the rope back up to him, rap, pull the rope and reset for the `last' rap. Now things got hairy. Once on the skinny ledge, my uphill partner found that he couldn't pull the rope all the way. He was only able to get enough to leave its tail waving in the breeze about 50 feet about our heads. Well, 55 feet plus eight inches (give or take) as I was spread-eagled on the beautifully immense (maybe 150 square feet) ledge which was both my security and cooling blanket. Decision made: rap to the bottom of the rope, splice the pull cord on, ascend, pass the knot, finish the rap on pull cord. "Holy shit!" I thought. Then from my lips to the Gods' ears, "NOBODY is going to die here today!" Then the thunder and lightning started back up from where we'd come.

Reid rapping

What can I say? My partners had mad skills. We all made that `last' ledge OK, only to find that what had appeared to be an easy downclimb to the road just below the tunnel was impassable 20 feet half way down. Next decision: cut what we could get of the pull cord and rap it down. It was now almost 21:00. One partner headed off hoping to retrieve an untowed vehicle from the Pine Creek trailhead (unlikely) and the other stayed to help me through the last of the scrambling to the road. Now, I've learned over the years that I drink far more water than I see recommended for various lengths of hike. I thought I'd brought a gracious plenty, but had been out for several hours. While I'm ashamed of the miscalculation, I'm not ashamed to say that I rummaged through the trash cans at the guard station, hoping to find a container of anything which still contained liquid. No such luck. So we headed up toward the Pink Creek trailhead. Just beyond the tunnel entrance, I'd begun to say, "The sweetest sight in the world right now would be headlights coming toward us." But I didn't get the last few words out as we heard an engine up-tunnel of us and immediately turned tail and ran down hill. Stopping outside the tunnel, we were more than happy to be greeted by our partner, with a cooler of water and soda.

Not only did we get down safely, but also made it back to Springdale without incident. The two highway workers we encountered were very good not to tell us we couldn't make our way on down. Almost completely vapor-locked, I didn't think I had the energy to eat. But the Bit and Spur was still (barely) open and the bartender was gracious enough to serve us. Beer and Chile Rellenos have never tasted so good. And company has never been better.

W. Reid White, MSN, RN Chapel Hill, NC 27517-8548

Libations

Yeah, what Reid said, though he was a little hard on himself. What slowed us down was the late start due to the road construction, and the heat. The heat was oppressive!

Well, it started like this: Hank had a canyon from the Watchman down to Springdale that looked interesting. Captain Steve from South Africa had done a fun canyon with Rick Eddy a couple years ago (and a couple of times this year), and had shown me where it was on the map. And I had checked out a short, easier exit from the Bridge Mountain Arch (Crawford Arch) route down to the top switchback west of the tunnel. Plus Reid was back in town, looking for something to do. It all added up - at least it added up TO "EPIC".

Perhaps if I had looked at Google Earth a little more carefully, I would have figured out that the gully I had seen from below, with numerous trees and an overall low angle, was not the one heading from Notch One on the Crawford Arch route. But I didn't.

With the road closed overnight, I arrived in town to meet Hank and Reid 9:00 o'clock-ish. Hiking about 9:30 am, thus, "We got a late start". And it was hot, draining us of water and energy. etc. etc. etc.

Then, as detailed in Reid's account, things went south. We followed up the features for the Crawford Arch hike, but I had not fully checked the connection on GoogleEarth, which would have clarified the situation. For Crawford Arch, one hikes up the first notch right of Bridge Mountain, then down the other side a hundred yards to a series of ledges that lead left (west) around to... etc.

Entering the Wedge

Late in the day, we continued down this gully, seeking the fairly moderate descent I had viewed from below. In the gully, we found two short and one long rappel, before arriving at the top of a 320-foot vertical wall. Oops. Too late now. A comfortable ledge was 40 feet down - maybe the rope would reach from there. I drilled a bolt and tossed the pull cord bag. Nope!

I rapped toward another ledge 50 feet down but off to the side, thinking I could just swing over to it... nope! I rapped further to the best ledge within reach - about the size of two feet - cleared off some moss and drilled another bolt. I really, really hoped it would reach from there, partly because the wall was overhanging below us. It did, thankfully.

We figured out how to get us all down, since we three would not fit on that tiny ledge. Down came Reid - I clipped him in. Down went I to the ground. Down came Reid to the ground, to lie semi-comatose on the cool, flat ledge. Then it was Hank's job, in the fading light, to retrieve the main rope with the pull cord, set the upper rappel, rap, clean, set the lower rappel, rap clean.

in the tunnel

But of course, it did not go smoothly. The rope got stuck at the first anchor. A safe backup plan was devised and executed, then the pull cord would not pull. I reached up and cut off as much as we could get - which turned out to be just enough to rap past, single line, the 20 foot cliff band below us. We got out of there. I got to walk the tunnel. Things were very quiet up at Tunnel West, that night.

To the Bit!

Cleaning up the mess, will be in the next post...