We turned left and headed upriver through Paria Canyon. I felt a surge of happiness as we emerged from the darkness.Ī camping area lay ahead. We were nearing the confluence of Buckskin Gulch and the Paria River, a silty, greenish tributary of the Colorado. A good omen? A ribbon of water flowed toward us. When would this canyon open up? Was that the wind or the roar of floodwaters? Could I scale this wall if I had to? What just darted past? The stunning views just kept coming, yet I felt a creeping sense of claustrophobia. Higher up, indentations and outcrops resembling human faces stared down at us. Wavy black rock polished smooth by water. Orange and black walls more than 400 feet high hemmed us in. We rounded corner after dark corner, like trespassers creeping through the dank keep of some medieval fortress. We slid our packs through the hole, then eased down the 10-foot-chute using another fixed rope to control our descent. The rope was there, but I brought my own just in case. A rope is sometimes in place to help you. If it’s clogged you can climb down a set of “stairs” cut into the rock. We peered down a chute into an opening called the “Rabbit Hole.” Luckily, it was clear of debris. We eventually reached a low spot in the canyon called the Middle Route, where you can scramble 100 feet up and out in case of a flood - assuming you’re close to this spot when it hits.Īn hour or so later we faced the infamous “boulder jam,” a collection of massive rocks that seemed to block the way forward. We moved on, leaving Peters to finish his rock bridge. Both shoes nearly came off as I climbed out. The third gave way and I sunk knee-deep into the syrupy muck. A man in the shadows hurled rocks into a trough of watery muck, each landing with a hollow `plop. Logs were suspended between the walls high above us, testimony to the power of flash floods. My mind conjured images from “`Lord of the Rings.” The gloomy mines of Moria, the tunnel of Shelob, the giant spider that skewered Frodo Baggins before neatly wrapping him in silk. Inky black alcoves appeared to the left and right. The serpentine walls narrowed to four feet across. We were ants in a brooding geological Oz. “Every time we try to go, this place just sucks you in deeper,” he replied. “We plan to drive to the Grand Canyon later today so we can’t stay too long,” said Rodney, a Pentecostal pastor. Ahead were Rodney and Stacey Shaw of Austin, Texas, gaping at the forbidding stone ramparts before them.
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