hike the NatioNal parks

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s u r v i v a l out alive 0 6 . 2 0 1 4 WATER CRASHED THROUGH THE 70-FOOT-HIGH SLOT CANYON, PUSH- ING SAND AND DEBRIS AGAINST MY BODY AS I TRIED TO CHIMNEY HIGHER TO ESCAPE IT. My two friends did the same, but it was no use. Foam lapped against our necks. Beneath the surface, the torrent felt as heavy as wet concrete. I glanced downcanyon at the 45-foot cliff behind us. The roar of water piling onto the rocks below sounded to me like certain death. My friends, David and Jason, and I were out for a July weekend of camping and rappelling in Zion National Park. Jason had canyoneered before, and though David and I were firsttimers, we found his stoke for the slots contagious. This trip was our payoff for several years of climbing at Red Rocks near our Las Vegas homes. This is what we’d trained for. We woke up early and secured a day-use permit for Spry Canyon, a technical slot consisting of 12 rappels through sculpted sandstone. The 20 percent chance of afternoon showers felt low-risk —we had also researched Spry’s watershed and learned that it’s tiny (see “key skills,” page 47) compared to the vast wilderness encompassing it. We hit the trail mid-morning after another group and took our time scrambling up slickrock to Spry Canyon’s entrance under bluebird skies. Each time we turned a corner, it felt like we were the first ones to set foot there. The darting shadows and beams of sunlight dancing on the sandy floor illuminated the cavern. Our sense of self-reliance increased around each bend, feeding our anticipation of ultimate escape. We made good time through the first half of the canyon and marveled at the towering red walls above us. We only had three rappels left when thunder rumbled overhead, at around 2 p.m. Our sliver of sky had gone dark with thunderheads and we were above the first of three successive rappels, where the canyon is boxed in by narrow and steep walls. We didn’t need a second glance to know we should get out fast. I threaded the rope through my belay device, and as it slid through my hands I thought only about how quickly we could make the next two descents. Twenty minutes? Thirty? I felt a slight drizzle start when I touched down five minutes later. I unclipped and walked 20 feet to the edge of the next rappel, a sheer, 45-foot drop that ended in a jumble of boulders and sand. When I turned around, Jason was descending and the rain was intensifying. Water began to slither down the canyon walls. David Frankhouser later returned to the base of the second cliff he was swept over. FIRST DROP 45 FT. SECOND DROP 60 FT. As Jason unroped five minutes later, muddy water was already pooling around my ankles. We looked at each other in panic. David couldn’t climb to the rim from where he stood above us, so he shouted, “Coming down!” while Jason and I scoured the gritty, wet walls for handholds, anything to help us get above the canyon bottom. I looked up at David, who was now rappelling down a waterfall. We could hardly hear him shouting over the peal of thunder and the roar of rushing water. It had only been 10 minutes since the first drops fell, but the current was rising fast, PHOTO BY COURTESY 044 BACKPACKER.COM
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hike the NatioNal parks

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