Entries about canyons

On the Path of the Sacred Pools

I awoke at dawn to the smells of cold dew covering the ground of a wet pine forest, and of robins singing their sweet morning songs. I looked out and saw three deer foraging not more than fifty feet away, the pickings were good.

After rising, I underwent some of the fundamental routines that all mankind embraces in the morning. I set about to French press some coffee, to accompany my breakfast. I thoughtfully watched the deer munching grass, and noticed the light had intensified the colors of the forest around me. I thought about the hot spring that I was going to visit that morning. I vaguely remembered it from a brief visit two years ago. All I could remember was a pool on the far side of the bluff down near the river. The pool had a hot waterfall that dropped about 25 feet into it. This hot spring has haunted me ever since.

I wanted to take a morning soak. I finished my morning chores, and slid into the driver’s seat and headed east along the valley road. My visual senses were keen. I am usually perceptive to interesting light, and I had not driven very far through the valley before I started to recognize the unique qualities of the day. The sun was still low in the sky, occasionally blocked by the valley walls, and sometimes shining down into it. There were many fast moving clouds in the sky that played with the sunlight. At times, they totally blotted out the intense rays, or partially dulled down the light creating fantastic light on the valley below. There were occasional pockets of mists that would rise through up from the river added to the scene. Finally, the rugged river canyon was very interesting. It was a mix of tall mountain meadows, gigantic boulders, steep rocky cliffs, and the surging river running swiftly at the bottom.

I saw a scene stretch out before me that I had to stop and take in. Luckily, as this was a scenic byway, there was a small pull off on side the road. I stopped parked, hopped out of Marvin and climbed up to the top of a giant boulder for a better vantage point. I looked down at the river and saw the roaring white water of rapids rolling along side the cliffs. High above the river, the road I had been traveling was bathed in light that Ansel Adams would have loved. Hell, any photographer would have loved the crisp intensity and changing dynamics of that morning’s light. I chose sepia for these images because I liked the warmth the brownish hues added, compared to shooting in true black and white.

I jumped back in my van and started up the road again, only to pull over at the next spot that I could. I began to see a pattern forming, and since I wasn’t in a hurry, I embraced the beautiful morning. I don’t think the Middle Fork of the Payette ever looked better. Surrounded by tall pines and towering rock cliffs the gorgeous light made the river shine.

At one point, I looked up river and saw my destination. The billowing clouds of steam from the hot spring rose up along the canyon wall, and I knew I was not far from soaking in that haunting pool. I drove on to the trailhead, parked, and packed a daypack. The air was cool, somewhere around fifty degrees (F), the trail was worn, covered in a layer of pine needles. It felt good on my feet, and I set off down the path to the sacred pools.

I walked along side of the river, and the sights, sounds and smells were that of a robust river in spring. It was a pleasant walk through the pines. I found the spring area as I remembered it. The hot spring seeps from an exposed rock cliff on the side of the canyon. It runs down the rock in a series of small waterfalls, and is collected into pools made by rearranging rocks and damming up the flow.

As I neared the toe of the cliff, I saw another American Dipper sitting on a rock head high rock singing its morning song to me. I think Dippers and I are kindred spirits. We appreciate beautiful rivers, and we spend a lot of time around them. I took this as a good sign that I had chosen my day’s path correctly and began to look for a pool to immerse myself. There were shallow pools at the base of the cliff, but they weren’t what I was looking for. I started climbing the cliff, and found the best route was up the waterfall that ran down the rocks.

About thirty feet up, I found what I was looking for. A beautiful pool of crystal clear water, hot, and wonderful. At this point, I figured that this would be a two soak morning. I would spend quality time in this pool, and then move on to the waterfall pool when I tired of this one. It sounds like a rough morning, I know. I stripped down (a bit), and eased my body into the hot water. It was perfect. The builders of this pool had done well for themselves. It was about 15 inches deep, maybe 12 feet long in an oval. It sat above the river on the cliff by about thirty feet or so. The river rushed along below rounding a small bend and giving me a pleasant white noise to listen to. I shut my eyes and relaxed. This was better than I could have imagined, and I was enjoying this moment to its fullest.

I went in search of the second pool. I had climbed across the top of the bluff where the springs originated and looked down on the far side of the cliff. I could see faint tracks of other hikers that descended a talus slope and I knew that was where I wanted to go. I made my way along the edge of bluff, it was precarious, but I was careful and I made it to the trail with little difficulty. I made my descent, and the waterfall and pool grew larger as I grew closer.

It looked incredible. The water collected in a large pool perhaps 15 feet long and 10 feet wide. It was about 15 inches deep and was fed by an amazing waterfall. It was a hot water waterfall. I felt it and started laughing aloud. I eased my body under the waterfall. The deluge of hot water massaged me. It was the best hot spring experience of my life. It felt incredible. I felt like that Irish Spring dude who took his bath under a cold-water waterfall, except I knew mine was better.

The thing about waterfalls is they are very powerful. It’s hard to open your eyes when you are under one, and I kept mine closed. I eventually sat back against the cliff and looked out and the gorgeous river canyon around me. What a moment. Have I told you I am haunted by hot springs? I could not have dreamed a more sublime experience than what I was living.

After awhile, I knew it was time to prove my meddle. I gingerly made my way down the rocks to the river. I found a spot out of the current that I knew I could get in and out of in a hurry. The air temperature was about fifty degrees. The temperature of the water was much colder. This was winter snowmelt rolling by. Without thinking about it, I stepped into the ICY water, waded to a spot I knew I could submerge myself and lowered myself to my knees. My body went into a spasm and I began to try to negotiate with myself, but before I gained any sense, I dunked my body underneath the surface of the river. I came up fast, clutching myself and speaking in some high-pitched language that only dolphins would understand. I remember thinking to myself, “Do it again. Prove it.” So I dunked myself again, and came up croaking, “Proven.” Then I hustled my way out onto the rocks and scampered back up to the waterfall to soak again in hot water. I’m weird like that.

I spent a couple of hours in that spring. I even dunked myself in the river twice more to cool off between hot soaks. I was purified, and I was cleansed. I don’t think I have ever been cleaner in my life. It felt amazing. My body tingled, and felt wonderful for the rest of the day.

“It is said that if you go to a sacred spot, you yourself become sacred." ~Bear Heart

I felt sacred.

The rugged Guadalupe Mountains of west Texas are located about one hundred miles northeast of El Paso, and sixty miles south of Carlsbad, New Mexico. They are pretty much smack in the middle of nowhere, surrounded on all sides by endless miles of Chihuahuan desert, eroding buttes, foothills and smaller mountain ranges. This I believe is to their greatest advantage.

Because of their lonesome locale and wilderness area designation, the Guadalupe’s don’t see a lot of action like their trendier, friendlier mountain cousins further north (aka the Rockies). Having visited this park on two other occasions, I had learned enough about these mountains to warrant another visit, and this time I was headed into the back country.

The backside of the Guadalupe Mountains National Park has been on my mind for a long time, and I’ve finally taken it upon myself to go and see what there is to see. The ranger station at Dog Canyon is the starting point for any adventures that begin on the west side of the park. To get there, one must travel sixty miles west and south off of the beaten track along beautiful winding desert roads. Watch out for cows, cow crap, and gorgeous evening views of this lonesome locale.

The first day of our adventure started off frigid. A cold front had moved in, combining with the crystal clear night that turns the desert mountains into a freezer. It’s a dry cold, however, so it’s not as bad as it could be. I was prepared for anything, but on that morning, I realized I had forgotten a pair of gloves. Cursing myself, I went about my early morning of making coffee (pressed French style), making breakfast, and packing my gear into my pack to head out into the wilderness.

Our plan was straight forward: We’d hike in five miles or so to the Mescalero campground by way of the Tejas Trail. We’d continue on another eight miles the next day catching the Marcus Trail to the Bush Mountain Trail which would bring us back to Dog Canyon.

You are probably wondering, “Why such a short loop?” The answer has several reasons, the first being that there is no water to be had in the wilderness of the Guadalupe Mountains. You have to carry all the water you need for as many days as you are planning to hike. They recommend about a gallon a day per person, so for us that meant each of us were carrying an extra eight pounds of water weight on top of our already full backpacks. I’ve stopped caring how much my pack weighs, I’ve come to realize that no matter how light I try to pack that it is ALWAYS heavy.

Secondly, my travel partner has recently recovered from a broken ankle, and we wanted to challenge it, but not overdue it on our first backcountry adventure. I figured thirteen miles in the mountains would be a sound challenge for us to gauge our meddle.

With a grunt we launched our packs skyward, and wrestled them onto our backs, securing them with a “snap” and set off up into the mountains.

It never really warmed up at all. The wind remained strong, growing more powerful as we climbed higher. Though it was sunny, it was still cold. However, it was a nice autumn day for a hike and our spirits were soaring as high as the ridges we climbed that day. It was good to be hiking mountain trails once again.

The November sun was low angled and slanted in from just over the ridge. This made for long shadows on the pines across the canyon wall. It was beautiful, really, and made for pleasant views and photographs as we made our way to Mescalero.

We arrived at Mescalero at about 3 pm. This gave us a couple of hours to set up camp, relax, and make dinner before the sunset, and the moon rose, bringing in the night. I decided I wanted to document the finer moments of what goes into a good backpacking adventure.

Thom’s Finer Moments of Camping:

Journal Writing.

A Snooze in the Hammock.

A Good Pack and a Place to Hang It.

Water Bottles.

A Good Tent.

Dinner.

Food is very important subject for the backpacker. It’s all I can think about, for the most part, and I really look forward to a good dinner after spending all day on the trail.

Waiting For Water to Boil.

Morning Coffee (French Pressed)

A Hand Warmer (Hot Tea in a Cup)

A Little Ingenuity in Action (I rigged this up to protect our food from nocturnal nibblers).

The sun set early and it was dark not long after. The moon was rising high however, and the canyon side across from our camp was bathed in a ghostly white light. It was bright enough for shadows, and we had no problem negotiating around our campsite in the night.

The clear skies kept the temperatures down around freezing. It was hard to leave the comfort of the down sleeping bag in the morning, but we fought our weakness, and got up to meet the day. After boiling water for breakfast concoctions (coffee being my favorite), we packed up our gear, swept our tracks away (leave no trace) and headed out again along the trail.

The day was off to a good start, and as we hiked along the ridge of side canyon that leads to West Dog Canyon, we warmed up with our efforts. The trail was pleasant, and textural. We walked through crunchy oak leaves dropped by the trees. The oak leaves of the mountain desert have a much smaller leaf than in the Midwest, but they smelled great all the same.

Walking westward, we left the small copse of oaks beyond and headed out onto an exposed ridge once again, and began our long descent into West Dog Canyon. The switch backs seemed endless, and it was hard on the legs, but eventually we made it down to level ground once again. West Dog Canyon is beautiful. The bottomland is sandy with lots of grasses, cactus and shrubs growing on it. I was surprised at how much color there was to the landscape.

We ate lunch at the intersection of the Marcus and Bush Mountain trails hunkered down in a nearby sandy draw to gain some protection from the relentless wind. I boiled up a cup of water and added it to my once steeped grounds in hopes of another decent cup of coffee. I was not disappointed, and I enjoyed my lunch of peanut butter and honey on tortilla, and a cup of coffee. I felt like a cowboy.

I looked up at the top of the high ridge that separates West Dog, and Dog Canyons, and I knew I was in for a long slog. The trail was relentless, and every step I made was uphill. I followed the switch backs higher and higher, doggedly keeping pace. As I looked out over the landscape, I became enthralled. It was gorgeous! There were long views of the canyon and mountains. The trees seemed to have been planted by an artist as to give the landscape the most appealing leading line into the view.

In my opinion, the trees are what make the Guadalupe Mountains so beautiful. On every ridge, there are perfectly placed trees adding depth and dimension to every landscape. My camera was in my hand for every step up and over this ridge, as the vertical angles of the slopes combined with the trees made for very appealing scenery. The Guadalupe Mountains are a national park for a reason, and the Bush Mountain Trail has been one of the most beautiful trails I’ve hiked this year, and perhaps in my life.

Upon reaching the top, we took a brief rest before continuing on down the other side. We had reached out hiking limit, and this is a dangerous time. As the last run down the mountain on a pair of skis is when the most injuries occur, the last mile down the hiking trail has the same feel to it. We picked our way carefully, continuing to admire the view, and made it back to the car safe and sound.

There isn’t a much more euphoric experience in life, as setting down your heavy backpack after many miles of rugged trail hiking. I felt light as a feather, sore in my left shoulder, and moving a bit gingerly, but I was happy. It was a great hike, and I look forward to heading back into the far reaches of the Guadalupe Mountains once again.

Having successfully enjoyed the backside of the Guadalupe Mountains, we took on the highest reaches of the state by climbing 8751 ft. Guadalupe Peak. Then we headed south to new landscapes and new roads... We are enroute as I write this.

Cheers!

“One night a wild young cowboy came in, wild as the west Texas wind.” Marty Robbins

I understand these lyrics a lot better now. I have a full appreciation of the wind that whips the grassland and mountains of west Texas. I have fully experienced the Wild West Texas wind during two nights of attempted sleep. The wind was just as Marty writes, it came on all of a sudden, as a cowboy would enter a bar, and suddenly the wind turns violently strong whipping everything in its way. I have never experienced wind like this, and I was impressed.

In our sturdy little tent (named Columbus), we attempted to sleep, but it was a long time coming. The wind hammered, harangued, whapped the sides of the tent, pushing them in with such ferocity as to slap us around every few minutes. I was viciously slapped in the face, until I finally rolled over and let my back be massaged by the tumult. It took awhile to get used to the noise, and the beatings, but eventually both of us slept.

What was just as amazing was the how quickly it came and went (just like Marty‘s cowboy). At one point, I had finally fallen asleep. I awoke a few hours later to silence, with just a breath of fresh morning air under sunny skies for wind. I doubt anybody would believe me if I tried to tell them of the gale in the night.

The wind is part of the allure of west Texas.

Besides the wind, the geology of the northern Chihuahua desert is just as impressive. Ihave been spending my quality time exploring the Hueco Tanks, east of El Paso, and Carlsbad caverns of New Mexico. Between both parks, I have spent more of my days underneath the earth as I have spent walking above it.

Hueco Tanks State Park

Huecos are hollows, or water carved recesses in rock. The Hueco Tanks area are just that, an ancient low lying mound of rock that are filled with huecos. The huecos store water in them even during the driest parts of the year. In the desert, water is life, and life has flourished here for thousands of years. Man has used these watering holes for just as long. The low rocky mountains are a jumble of humongous rock slabs, piled up boulders and narrow caves and crevices. Man has been leaving their signatures for as long as they have been coming to the tanks. The ancient visitors left pictographs of masks, and hunting scenes, more recent but still historical visitors (in the 1800’s) chiseled their names, dates, and home into the rock. Modern morons have left their mark-using spray paint, sometimes covering up the priceless ancient markings.

The park is well regulated, and they keep track of who comes and goes, as they only allow a limited number of visitors each day. They are doing a good job preserving the ancient sites, yet allowing the boulders and rock to be used what it ought to be used for: the great playground that it is.

Hueco Tanks state park is designated by four “mountain zones.” Three of the zones are closed to the public and are only reachable by ranger-guided tour. One of the zones, North Mountain, is open for day use only, and that is where I spent my time exploring. With a map, a climbing guide to the boulders, and my reckoning, I spent a day traversing north mountain.


It was tremendous fun to explore through the giant boulders, rock slabs, slot canyons and caves. It reminded me of exploring Joshua Tree National Park’s rock islands, and my approach was much the same. With determined effort, I found I could climb, slither, slide, crawl and squeeze my way through the mountain. I was in my element, my urge to explore unleashed.




Using these methods, we stumbled upon most of the ancient sites. One cave was filled with paintings of masks in exquisite condition. The rock was slick from the hundreds if not thousands of feet that have visited this amazing cave. This was a good place, an ancient place, and one I will never forget.

Though we were not the first people to explore these mountains, and find these ancient sites, it felt like we were the first. It was exciting, and fun, and the thrill of discovery was intoxicating. I happily left the mountain in the late afternoon. I was satisfied with my efforts.

Creatures of Hueco Tanks
Lizards and Horse Lubber Grasshopper

At the campground, late in the night, I had stepped outside to use the bathroom. Beware, when stepping out to go pee in the desert. EVERYTHING is sharp. As I found relief, I looked up at the stars and found my self gazing at the constellations. I wondered what the ancient people thought of the stars. I became inspired and I captured a photograph of Orion (the Hunter), and Taurus (the Hunted) before I crawled back into my sleeping bag.

Carlsbad Caverns National Park

A few days later, I found myself once again heading down the natural entrance to the big room at Carlsbad Caverns National Park. For once, I was prepared: I had a working camera with fresh batteries, and sturdy tripod. The caverns were mine to explore by camera. In past visits, I was hampered by a lack of batteries, or tripod, and unable to photograph the impressive decoration and wonder these caverns hold.

My traveling partner and I had made reservations for two of the wild cave tours, one for the Hall of the White Giant, and The Spider Cave. These tours were on two consecutive days in the afternoon, so we had the mornings to spend walking around the natural entrance and the Big Room. This turned out to be the perfect combination to exploring Carlsbad, (outside of dating a caving ranger).

The Natural Entrance and Big Room are beautiful, and full of amazing decoration. The whole route is on an asphalt path, guarded by railings and lit up by decorative lighting. I had a great time setting up photos of the caverns, much like Ansel Adams had years before. The exposures are long, and a tripod is necessary to keep the images sharp. What is great about the tourist route of the caverns is that the lighting never changes. I had all day to get my exposure and focus the way I wanted it.

Which do you prefer? Black and White or Color?
I can't decide which I prefer.

I would highly recommend to any photographer who wants to learn to take long exposure extreme low-lighted photographs to practice in a cavern. Not only are the subjects beautiful and interesting, the lighting is constant, and a great place to learn.

The walk was pleasant enough, but as this was my third visit to the place, I wanted more adventure than the easy routes could offer. That is where the ranger-guided tours of some of the other caverns came in. While I’ve gone caving on my own before, (a serious no-no in the caving world), I had never had the right gear, or gone on an actual caving exploration. I was curious to see what it was like to go on a modest exploration on well-explored routes.

I was pleased to find cave exploration as fun and exciting as I hoped it would be. Once again, I found myself crawling, scooting, slithering into narrow, passages and crevices. I climbed up rock chimneys, and pulled myself up ropes, and ladders to get to our destinations. I was sweating from the exertion, I was filthy with mud, and dirt, and water. Above all, I was smiling.

The White Giant is impressive, a massive stalagmite rising up from floor, one of the cooler seldom seen decorations at Carlsbad. Spider Cave was full of pure white crystalline decoration, and rooms of delicate halectites, draperies, and soda straws. It was just as fun to crawl through the cave as it was to see these beautiful decorations.

The ranger talked of other rooms in the cavern that aren’t open to the public. Carlsbad has over a hundred miles of known passages, just about three miles of them are opened to the public. Granted, they are an amazing three, but just think about what other gorgeous views could be hiding under the ground.

The only way to see some of the other caverns is by applying for a permit to the four that are currently open to explore by permit, becoming a ranger, or by dating a ranger. The rangers have more access to some of the restricted caves in the area. I’m going to take the advice of one of the rangers and check out www.caves.org. I want to explore more caves, and this is a great place to get involved.

I am spending the day here in Carlsbad, New Mexico getting more supplies, (food, and gas) and taking care of some business. While on the road in the U.S., a great place to stop is the local library in whatever town you might be visiting. Not only are they clean, full of information, and quiet, almost all of them now have a WIFI connection.

It has been a great week here in west Texas. I am now heading into the Guadalupe Mountains to explore some of the high country, including a return to the highest point in Texas.

So long, and Adios, Amigos!
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Far back in a desert arroyo, in the depths of a narrow slot canyon, there is an oasis that belongs to the birds and the bees.

This place is very near where rain water begins its brief journey through the desert. Not far away is the end of the canyon, the very top of a slot box canyon. It is possible to climb out, and to be out, is to be atop a short mountain overlooking a formidable country of crumbling rock formations and twisted canyons.

It begins like this: As rain hits the coastal mountains, gravity takes hold of the water molecules and sends them on their way down to the lowest point possible by the easiest route possible. In short, this is where rivers are born, though here in the desert they flow only very occasionally.

This slot canyon is narrow, maybe four feet wide at the bottom, a dry wash, strewn and choked with gravel, boulders, and giant stones wedged between the walls. They are immovable by man, but with time, water, and wind could move them. For me, they are an obstacle to an easy hike, but I prefer a challenge anyway. It’s as though nature has gouged into the rock with a knife, and is still in the process of polishing the edges of the cut.

It’s shady here for much of the day. Only during high noon does the sun slant its way down to the bottom. Even then, it doesn’t completely reach every nook and cranny of the rock. The lighting is contrasting: a slow and steady change from dark and light, black and white.

I’m perched on side of the slot canyon. I’m about thirty to forty feet up off of the canyon floor, sitting on a smooth rock covered in bird shit. I like my perch. It is a unique place to sit, and I know of only two other people who have sat here.

Next to me is a rounded bowl of smooth rock. At its base is a pool of brackish water perhaps twenty feet in diameter and at least two feet deep. It’s probably deeper from the force of the water falling that carved this place. It smells faintly of rocks, dust, bird shit and old water. A thirsty man would guzzle it down and relish the liquid, but I take pulls on my water bottle to quench my thirst.

This natural cistern is really a feast for the senses, and mine are in tune with the place. There is a warm desert breeze softly touching the side of my face. It’s warm, and I can feel the heat of the day immersed in it, even though I’m sitting comfortably in the cool shade. My views are of the far side of the rock canyon, and of the pool filled with floating bits of plants, and water insects. There are water striders mostly, whose light weight and surface tension of their feet allow them to walk on water. Some unfortunate bees have also landed in the water. When they beat their wings in a futile attempt to regain flight, narrow concentric circles emanate from them and radiate outward. Picture visible radio waves broadcasting from the a radio station. The surface of the water is black, except for the perfect reflection of the top of the canyon. I can only see a narrow thumb shaped slot of the top of the canyon, due to the black rock of the top of cave.

The birds and the bees make this pool special. The bees are everywhere, attracted to the fresh water. The place is filled with the constant thrum of lazy bees, buzzing and flying around seemingly aimlessly. In the book, “The Zoo Keeper’s Wife,” there is a passage which refers to the ‘rumba of the bees.’ I’ve always liked this line, and this place definitely was filled with the Rumba of the Bees.

Desert birds are also attracted to fresh water, and it wasn’t long before a flock of black chinned sparrows flittered down to take a drink. They flew in as a flock of five. They cautiously flew down, five feet at a time, eyeing me up, as they made their way to the water. Who was this intruder? I was someone to keep an eye on, but not someone to pass up a drink of water for. I kept still, with my camera ready, and it wasn’t long before they started drinking. The birds took turns drinking and watching. There is safety in numbers, even when drinking.

They flew off, and left me alone again with the bees. I was satisfied with my find, this was a good place to sit and spend the morning. I thanked the bees, and excused myself, climbing down the rock cliff back down to the dry wash of the arroyo.

Returning to Palouse Falls was one of the better decisions I’ve made lately. To make it happen, I had to stay awake for what turned out to be 23 hours straight. I’ve been adapting well to long hours and little sleep it seems. I made the plan the day before, I would work my night shift, stay up, and catch the zodiac/ bus ride to the falls with the guests who were going on a tour there that day. There was in fact, two tours going that day, which allowed me an opportunity to stay longer as I could go there with the first group and return with the second group. This gave me three uninterrupted hours to explore this magnificent gem of the Palouse, and Washington State.

The Palouse region of Washington is located in the extreme southeast part of the state. It is a land of high rolling hills, squat eroded mesas, dotted with glacial erratic- boulders dropped from retreating glaciers of long ago. The land is wild, undulating and lumpy, carved and shaped by the usual suspects: water and wind. It has a desolate and barren feel to it, like the empty distances of western Kansas or the sand hills of Nebraska. However, those locales are flat, and the Palouse is anything but flat. I tip my hat to the pioneers who crossed this region by foot, those hard men and women had legs of steel, make no mistake. To view the Palouse from a high point is to see miles of vertical fields stretching to the horizon.

Agriculturally, the Palouse is one of the best wheat producing areas in the world. The climate is ideally suited to wheat, and so the land is covered in long acres of fields, mixed with occasional small stands of apple orchards. The ranchers who live here must do more planning than the average settler must. The nearest grocery store can be over 40 miles away. Forgetting the milk too many times is grounds for divorce in these parts.

I had a plan in my mind for my visit to the falls. Two years ago, when I visited in the spring, I had spied a promising trail that might lead down to the water and possibly to the lip of the high falls. On that visit, for whatever reason, I didn’t follow the trail, but instead was content to gaze at the expansive canyon from up high. This time, I was going to beeline it straight to the trail and head down to the river. I found the trail easily enough, right where I left it, in fact.

Looking down from the top of the ridge, I could see a thin line of the trail first descending a scree pile and then worming its way through a tangle of sage to the upper falls. This was indeed my ticket to paradise. Without a further glance, I galloped down the ridge to the top of the talus pile. I love running down talus piles. The trick is to keep your feet moving quickly, and make small switchbacks to check your speed. It looks reckless, and it is, but my technique is a controlled recklessness. Once committed to running down a talus pile, the only thing to do is to go with it, as stopping midway is hard to do. I kept my feet moving, making light steps, and descended the 500-foot pile with relative ease.
I was on the floor of the canyon, walking a beaten trail through a corridor of wet, green sage from the morning dew that had formed on it. I love the smell of sage. It’s such a clean, earthy, powerful smell. It evokes images and memories of past desert jaunts, solitude, and wanderlust. It’s powerful medicine, both figuratively and in reality, (drinking a bitter sage tea has been used to combat colds). The sun was still rising over the canyon wall, illuminating the southern half of the floor of the canyon, but leaving the northern half in cold blue shadow. The air was quite fresh, and the sound of the upper falls drowned out any other noise except that of my thoughts. I was in my element once again.


I set up a few pictures of the upper falls, satisfied with my efforts; I moved on over the slippery rocks and found that the trail continued toward the high falls. I love it when a hunch proves correct. I found reserves of energy I didn’t think I had, after being up for 18 hours, and I bounded over the rocks, jogging along the trail, energetic as a deer. The trail clung to the base of the sheer canyon wall, and I had to slow down to pick my way across a few sketchy areas. Rounding a final shallow turn, I found myself looking at the Castle Rocks, a band of thin finger like rock jutting into the sky; they look like two hands rose up waiting to catch a falling star.

The whole canyon opened up before me, I was looking at the expansive Palouse Canyon from the north side looking south, and it was as awesome and impressive as I’d hoped it would be. The canyon is expansive, a massive void that impresses upon the senses. I found myself settling down for a moment, sitting in a good location to take a drink of water, and a drink of the beautiful scenery in which I was situated. This huge canyon was carved down through the ages, and the layering of the rock is evident in the sheer canyon walls that surround the falls. It rather puts things into perspective, what a brief time we live in comparison to the eons that it took to carve the rock.

In time, I took out my camera and tried to do the landscape justice. I found I like the Castle Rocks the best, and the lighting was decent but with the sun rising it soon would wash out the scene. I worked methodically, and ended up content with my choices.

Hiking out was just as pleasant as hiking in. The upper falls were finally lit up in sunlight, and they made a pleasant resting spot before I scrambled back up the steep talus pile and topping out on the ridge once again. The climb was a killer. Gasping, and churning, I burned my legs back up the incline, and made it back up to the quiet top of the mesa.
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The sun was beating down, and it felt good to sit on the canyon edge and gaze out over the river, the falls, and the majestic canyon out in front of me. I settled into a good loafing position using my backpack as a pillow. I watched the scenery, and then I noticed about 10 black beetles milling about in the short grass around me. I pondered there movement, and wondered what was going on in there world. A migration? Foraging for food? Who knows? All I know is that I thoroughly enjoyed my day at Palouse Falls, and I’m looking forward to my next visit.