The Barrier Canyon Chronicles:  I Am Lost.

Storm

A tall, blue eyed, 72 year old hiker with the kind of silver-grey hair that hinted of a youthful blond, wrote those words in a remote trail register a few miles from Horseshoe Canyon. The trailhead where he wrote his note is rarely visited and days can pass without anyone checking the register. It was cold, with snow flurries and wind gusts high enough to physically jar me on the trail. Temperatures, without windchill, were in the low 40's and expected to drop below freezing at night. Jim was 7-8 miles from where he should have been and on the opposite side of the canyon from where his car was parked. He did not know he was on the wrong side of the canyon and was planning to backtrack to the canyon rim and start hiking north until he found his car. This would have been a mistake; he would have been far from any trails and route finding would be complicated by the deep canyons encountered heading north and he would still be on the opposite side of the canyon from his camp and car. 

I met Jim that morning at the NPS trailhead on the west rim of the canyon as I was beginning my patrol for the day. Jim asked me about other places in Canyonland's Maze. I explained that most of the roads he was interested in are high clearance, 4WD roads. Definitely not suitable for his Toyota Corolla. While talking with Jim, his face and responses seemed vague, as if he wasn't taking in all we were discussing. He looked disappointed and I was a little worried that he'd try the roads anyway. He told me he was planning to to the hike to the Great Gallery.  I wasn't really concerned becasue the hike into Horseshoe Canyon is well marked, and with the exception of one panel, the art is easy to find. We talked a little more and I started my hike into the canyon for the day. The hike into Horseshoe follows an old road bed built by Phillips Petroleum in the 1920's. The road descends almost 750 feet in about a mile over steep Navajo sandstone, traversing cliff faces and passing through deep sand before arriving at Barrier Creek. We try to keep it well marked with cairns.

As I was hiking into the canyon I met a group who asked if I would guide them to the Great Gallery and show them the other panels on the way in. This is one of the things the Park Service asks us to do and I always enjoy showing folks the panels and pointing out things that many people miss. The art is beautiful and mysterious in its size, height and obvious spiritual content. Discussions with visitors are usually interesting and entertaining. The morning was windy and cold but the panel sites are sheltered and offered some respite from the weather. 

The Great Gallery from Barrier Creek

We arrived at the Great Gallery and I gave my Great Gallery talk and pointed out some details in the art that are often overlooked. 

Hunter with Atlatl and Dart: Detail from Great Gallery

 Although I have now spent over 50 days in Horseshoe Canyon, I still find details in the art that I've missed. For me the Great Gallery is an inexplicably comforting and tranquil.  The deep spirituality of the original artists is evident, though the message is not. As a non-believer I have experienced a similar effect when visiting the great cathedrals in England and Europe.  I can't quite explain it, perhaps these places are imbued in some way with traces of the faith of the believers or the physical sites themselves are simply so special that they evoke deep-rooted feelings that my conscious side has rejected. Nonetheless,  science has taught me, there is more that I don't know than I do know.

Emergence: Detail from Great Gallery

Surrounded by cottonwoods and with a stream fed by a perennial spring , the Great Gallery is in a sheltered alcove that was not unpleasant even on this cold and very windy day.

 Jim showed up toward the end of my talk and sat on the opposite bank of the creek among the cottonwoods to eat his lunch. I expected him to cross the stream to get a better look at the art work, but he headed south from the Great Gallery, the opposite direction from which he had come. Visitors often hike south; the canyon is beautiful in that direction. The spring that feeds Barrier Creek is not too far south of the Great Gallery and is surrounded by cottonwoods, reeds and tall grasses that create a lush feeling in the desert setting. The canyon opens up a bit here and it would be easy to imagine an encampment among the cottonwoods. The cottonwoods' leaves were just emerging and they had that Crayola crayon "spring green" color that is especially striking in the low angle Spring light. Sitting there with eyes closed I can imagine the Barrier Canyon people going about their daily routines of gathering rice grass, making points and sandals, grinding pigments for their art work, laughing and playing games. With little effort, the low murmur of water in the creek is turned into thousand year old voices and the hours quickly pass. 

Hunters with Atlatls: Detail from Great Gallery

Others hike south looking for more rock art or Blue John Canyon, scene of the movie 127 Hours. The subject of the book and movie, Aaron Ralston, was rescued not far from the Great Gallery. I think the book has increased visitation to the canyon given how often I'm asked about it. One evening, as I was hiking out of the canyon I met a runner going into the canyon just before sunset. I asked about his plans and he said that he was going to run to the place where the “arm” was. He had a strong Eastern European accent and I thought I mis-heard him. But no, that's actually what he said. I told him that Aaron's arm was no longer there, he looked disappointed and said he would still go to see the “plaque”. He was even more disappointed when I told him there was no plaque to mark the spot, nor is there a clear trail to Blue John. Furthermore, the exit from Blue John to Horseshoe Canyon requires a 30 meter rappel, and therefore was likely to require a 30 meter technical climb to enter the canyon. Nothing I said could dissuade him, so I asked if he had food, clothes and a light. He did (the light was his iPhone), he gave me a description of his car and off he went. I saw his light coming back up the trail a little before midnight and was relieved that we wouldn't have to go looking for him.

After the last of the folks at the Great Gallery left, I started hiking south, in part to warm up from the cold (I wasn't as prepared as I should have been) and in hopes of meeting up with Jim to see what he had found. Something about the interaction we had at the trailhead was unsettling and I was a little worried but really didn't think he might be in trouble. Hiking south, I saw boot prints heading up Deadman's Trail. Deadman's is a short, nasty trail requiring moderate sandstone scrambling, it climbs about 850 ft in a mile or so and parts are quite exposed. It does not resemble the trail Jim used to hike into the canyon in any way. The tracks were those of a man, the only other person I saw heading south was a woman and she had returned. I followed the tracks up the trail, thinking that Jim must have felt like extending his hike to have a look from the east side of the canyon. I was impressed that he would consider a 14 mile round trip hike, given the weather, his age and that he was hiking solo. My initial thoughts were "good for you Jim".

Part of Deadman's Trail

As I followed his tracks to the top of the east rim, I was surprised to see that they continued away from the canyon toward a trailhead accessible only by high clearance, 4-WD vehicles.  Hiking the difficult trail to the top for a view of the canyon is one thing, but hiking away from the canyon seemed off to me, given his age and the weather. The wind was hitting in 50mph gusts on the rim and with the 30-40 degree temperatures the windchill was at least 10 degrees lower. The predicted lows for that night were in the mid-20's with continuing high winds. It would not be a good night to spend in the open; and wandering around the cliff tops in the dark would be dicey. So I continued tracking him, luckily his were the only tracks on the trail which made the job easy. As I approached the trailhead I saw someone leaning over the kiosk that holds the trail register. He turned and headed in my direction, it took me a while but I realized that it was Jim. I continued hiking toward him thinking, wow, bold hiking on a day like this!  When we met on the trail his first words were “are you looking for me?” I wasn't sure how to respond, if he was just hiking I didn't want to insult him by saying yes, his next words, however were: “I am lost”. We talked and he told me he had written a help message at the trailhead kiosk. I assumed he was planning to back track to the canyon bottom and return to his car, but he had become so disoriented that he was sure he was on the correct side of the canyon and if he walked north he would eventually find his car. Fortunately I had cell phone service and was able to call into the Hans Flat station to let them know that if any of the rangers were headed to the Deadman's trailhead they could ignore the help message. I had to use my cell phone because some ATV-riding, anti-government assholes partially destroyed the solar panel powering the radio repeater for Horseshoe Canyon.

I told Jim that he was on the opposite side of the canyon from his car and 8 miles or so away. His look told me that he didn't quite believe it, but he was going to trust me to guide him back. He's a good hiker and although I was worried about the descent over the slickrock he was just fine. It was obvious he'd spent more than a few days in the backcountry. We talked as we descended and hiked back toward the main trailhead. He was an English professor for a number of years and then had taught high school English for 25 years in California. His wife had died of cancer sometime earlier, he didn't say how long, and he had a son in Chicago. He was an adventurer who had circled Kangri Rinpoche in the Himalaya, a trek that gives good fortune to those who complete it. He participated in the Native American Church peyote ceremony on the Navajo reservation, at the invitation of a Navajo he had befriended in California. His stories were wonderful and included an account of an ascent of Mt. Whitney under winter conditions, which he did with only a sleeping pad, no sleeping bag and a sharpened stick to help him up the snow slopes.  The longer we hiked, the more he realized how disoriented he was. He clearly wasn't remembering the landmarks he'd passed a few hours before. I had hoped, selfishly, to not witness what was sinking in for Jim. We rested for a bit, really a 14-16 mile hike is a long one, even for someone a lot younger than we are. I asked him, while we were sitting and enjoying a water break, if he had hiking companions. “Not really” he said. “It's hard to find them when you are 72” and although he had plenty of friends none were really into the kind of adventures he was. We finished the hike to the trailhead quietly, making the steep climb out in good time.  The distress in his face as he realized the extent to which  his memory had betrayed him, was painful to see. He acknowledged that a pretty simple hike could have ended badly. 

The meteor or 'shooting star' is often used as a metaphor for a life.  But what we see of a meteor is its end, it is beautiful and bright, its vast history is hidden. With few exceptions this is not our fate and the difficulties we experience at the end of our lives can often obscure the beautiful and bright parts of our lives and how we are remembered by those around us as the end approaches.

Horseshoe Canyon Night Sky with Meteor 

As far as we know, the original inhabitants of Barrier Canyon probably lived no more than 50 years, often dying from injuries or infectious diseases of one kind or another.  They probably never had the experience of having a healthy body with a brain that was wearing out. If current Pueblo Indian beliefs are any indication, their lives were continuous with the world around them and dying did not separate them from it. In fact being fully integrated as part of, not separate from the earth and sky was the highest state of being that could be achieved.