St. George, Utah, Day 4, June 2009
It was exactly 27 years ago - the summer of '82 - that friends Carlos, Alex, and I set out from the Bay Area for Baja in a '75 baby blue Ford wagon, loaded down with water, tents, and boxes of cassette tapes. At that point we had been friends since high school and had already done one excursion together - a ski trip to Salt Lake a couple of years before. But it is the Baja trip that resonates: our wives pale when we say "remember in Baja ...?" Which we often do.
We talked about our futures that week (but mostly we talked about food, beer, banditos, mythical sorority girls, and how to get the car out of axle-deep sand) and tried to predict them. I don't recall what we said, but I'm pretty sure we didn't foresee meeting up 27 years later in southwestern Utah, replete with wives and kids (2 each), to hike, camp, and listen to kids playing in the pool.
Ava, Will, Andie and I flew into Las Vegas on Saturday afternoon, the first time for the kids. We hustled out of the airport ("Wow! So that's what a slot machine looks like! Don't touch it Andie!") and marveled at the Strip as we drove past, spinning tales of pirate ships and faux skylines that we will see (for a couple of hours) before we fly back home. Two hours later we arrived at St. George, looking for that key to Ava happiness: a nice lunch with great iced tea. Quite a quest in a town that defines generica: every chain store in America, not a touch of local flavor. Except for one little corner that we found - lunch with tea and the wife is happy for another day. We found the house and waited for our friends to arrive. They did, and much swimming ensued.
Monday we set out for Zion, to get our permits and hike the famous river trail. It is aptly named, for you set out along a well maintained (paved!) trail, which soon enough peters out into the river. If you want to continue (which you do), wading against a strong current is involved. The intrepid among us (Carlos, Sasa, Camilla, Ania, Will, Andie, me) continued, the ones with excuses (tee time, leather boots) did not. The pay-off was spectacular, soaking wet, magnificent vista spectacular.
"Come on Andie, you can make it."
We got the permits and returned to St. George. Sated by a typically robust Lily / Alex feast, we packed the gear and retired early.
The backpacking trip in Zion was a somewhat complex affair. Our tour guide Alex, who has visited every single national park and spent a good part of his sleeping nights under the stars, abhors repeating any stretch of trail, so 'out and back' isn't in his repertoire. Our itinerary therefore was to start at a trailhead in the northern section of the park called Lava Point and emerge 15 miles later at the Grotto trailhead in the canyon, a short bus ride away from the visitor center. So on Monday morning, while the other four grown-ups set out to leave a car at the Visitor Center, Ava and I dawdled for nearly an hour before pouring 6 kids into the van o' fun and departing for Lava Point. The drive was spectacular, crossing in and out of Zion, traversing high plateaus and meadows of yellowish green grass and wildflowers. There was the threat of carsickness (which Ava and I have learned the hard way to never ignore, vomit being the fastest way to get rid of that new car smell) but it was only a threat.
No children were harmed in the making of this photo ... but the photographer was nearly run over.
At the Lava Point trail head
That first day was mostly flat, with some short stretches of descent and some fairly steep ascent. Alex kept saying things like "boy, my pack sure is light" and "this is really easy", to which I would mumble some form of ascent while silently plotting to put rocks in his pack and steal his shoelaces when he wasn't looking. Then we would see just how easy it was! However, it was hard to be annoyed at a guy who drops his pack and comes back down the steepest ascent to help Andie and Ava. By that time the place called campsite 4 had become our Xanadu, a mythical place where the trees would offer ample shade and the water would flow like ... water. But when we reached the glorious spot it did not quite live up to expectations. Yes, the views were great and the space ample, a great spot to drop packs and set up tents. The water, though, was nowhere to be seen.
"Alex, I thought you said there would be water at the campsite."
"Well, it's nearby."
"Oh, how far."
"Two miles." For Alex, two miles is nearby. He and Ania tried to jettison me at that point, but I foiled their plan, proving that I too can be a driven fool. None of this sitting around relaxing for me. I wanted to hike four extra miles with a pack full of water bottles! That's what I call fun! At least we would get to dangle our feet in the sparkling mountain stream while we filled the bottles. Ah, but we hadn't read the Utah guidebook, where it surely says that the definition of "spring" is "one inch deep mud puddle teeming with debris."
"We're going to drink that?" Ania protested.
Alex sometimes enjoys the macho aspect of camping a bit too much. "That or die," he replied. That our party of 12 drank the water and survived is now a living testament to the Katadyn water filter, which turned that mud puddle into delicious drinking water. I shall forthwith call it the alchemist.
Ania returned to the camp (uphill, with a pack full of water) like a bullet shot from a rifle, leaving Alex and I to scramble in her wake. She really needs to take more pity on her elders.
Dude, there's no water here!
Now we are well-traveled people, and have dined (or at least have known people who have dined) at some of the world's better restaurants. But there isn't a 5-star joint on the planet that can compete with backpacking meals. Alex manned the pot, which soon was filled to overflowing with rice. I managed the Jetboil assembly line - panicking for a moment when I realized I hadn't ran the little stove in nearly a year and if it didn't start I would have to make the longest pizza run ever. But it fired up, and soon boiling cups of water were descending into foil bags. Beef stew. Corn. Mix them together over rice and you have a supreme delicacy (just don't try it at home ... really, don't).
Dinner complete, it was off to bed. Our tents were unfettered by annoying rain flies, Alex having checked the forecast and assured us that no precipitation was in the offing. (Which Robert reiterated when he told Ava, "it's a desert, it doesn't rain there ... duh!"). Except, it did. Just a smattering, just a spritz, but at 2 AM it was enough for team Carlos & Ania to spring into action. Spurred by the memory of a Yosemite trip that ended in tragic quagmire, they grabbed flashlights and immediately started spreading tarps over tents. My first thought: "HOLY CRAP that lighting is close!" Then, having sheepishly realized that the lightning was in fact my friends protecting their children and being better parents than me, I had to decide if I was going to follow their example and figure out how to save my children from the coming deluge, or hope that the sprinkle was all we were going to get. I chose hope (aka laziness). It worked, but Carlos and Ania sure seemed to be having a lot of fun wrestling with that tarp.
The hike to the canyon the next day (Tuesday) was spectacular, although there were a few "fall and die" places that can make a father nervous. The views were breathtaking, and so were the drop-offs.
Don't look now, but there's a chasm behind you.
The plan was to meet up at Angel's Rest, but when that failed Ava, Andie, Will and I continued down the trail, with the plan to meet up at the Visitor's Center. We figured we had an hour or so, so we detoured to the Zion Lodge for a quick (but apparently not quick enough) lunch. So the second meet-up was screwed up too, leaving several adults mad. Alex, Ania, and I got in the car and started dashing back to the top to get the other cars. Differences were calmly discussed, we opened the windows to release the steam that was coming out of Ania's ears, and general balance and happiness was restored. But then this horrible smell started coming out of the vents.
"Alex, what's that horrible smell?"
Alex, deactivating the button that circulates the interior air: "It's us."
