On the day I disembarked from my campsite facing the San Rafael Reef, I took a little side-trip to Little Wildhorse Canyon. It was only about three miles up the road from where I had been staying, so it seemed a shame not to see it.
It was a perfect day for a hike, not too warm, not too cool, plenty of sun and a nip of fall in the air. The parking area for the canyon was too small for my RV but fortunately there was a space across the road that was deeper and more amenable to RV parking. Unfortunately I decided to get something out of an overhead compartment before I left.
I opened the wrong door and failed to put up a hand as I did so, to prevent items that had shifted on the bumpy, dirt roads from falling out. Thus two glass bottles full of sweetened tea fell onto the couch. The second one shattered the first into thousands of tiny shards and slivers of glass that went in every direction. Plus 32 ounces of tea were left soaking into the couch. Aw sh#*!
Fortunately I do keep a cover on the couch to prevent the cats from turning it into their favorite scratching post. Thus I was able to corral a good portion of the glass and shake it into the trash. That still left a few hundred pieces, both larger shards and bits smaller than 1/16 of an inch on the carpet, floor, dinette, steps, in my shoes, you name it. I got up as much as I could get to easily then wiped up what tea hadn’t already soaked into every porous surface. I hosed down the throw pillows and left them draining in the shower and just said, “the heck with it!” I was not going to spend my whole day cleaning up the mess. It would wait. The canyon wouldn’t.
The hike started with an easy walk up a dry watercourse. The dampness remaining in the sand in the shady areas let me know that the isolated showers that had passed by the day before hadn’t skipped this canyon. The cottonwood trees were decked out in their bright fall yellows and my earlier “oops” was quickly forgotten.
After a short while, Topper and I came to a couple of nice pools in some large rocks blocking passage in the otherwise-dry river bed. Another couple that were hiking the canyon stopped to admire them. While the woman was taking pictures of the pools, the man tried by-passing the rocks on the right, which I could see wasn’t going to work. The rock shelf he was walking on ended about ten feet in front of him.
“impassable pools”
On the left side of the draw was another possible path, this one marked with a pile of rocks that indicated the trail. As I started hiking up it I heard the man say to his wife, “well, there’s no way to get around those rocks this way. I guess we’ll have to turn around.” Huh? I kept my mouth shut. He could see me going around the corner on my side. I got the impression that hiking the canyon was her idea and he didn’t really want to. Not my business.
Once around the barrier the challenge became choosing the easiest path back down to the sandy bottom. The first route I chose turned out to have a very steep, sheer rock incline as its final leg. I knew my new hiking boots had great traction, but I decided to look at another possible route. This one turned out to be much easier with far less possibility of having to end up in a (hopefully) controlled slide to the bottom.
That behind me, the rest of the hike turned out to be very easy. No steep climbs, no treacherous, narrow ledges, just stroll in the sand, step over a couple of rocks, stroll, etc. Sweet. It wasn’t too long before the walls of the canyon began to close in. I was told that this was a slot canyon, and indeed it was.
over or under?
The Narrowing
The banded, red walls became closer and closer together until I found myself edging sideways through certain areas. As I exited this first passage I thought I might have come to the end of this little adventure, but as I rounded the corner I saw that the canyon walls came together again. This time even narrower with far more twists and turns.
winding road
slot canyon
Topper, up to this point, was handling everything wonderfully. He was channeling his inner mountain goat to the max. Every now and again I wouldn’t be able to find him…until I looked up. He kept finding every little ledge, rock and shelf within reach of his little doggy legs and checking them all out for some new adventure. At least until we hit water.
The one thing Topper hates and fears is water. He has no idea that walking out in front of a swiftly moving car is dangerous. He will stand at the very edge of a high cliff and let his ears flap in the breeze. But three or four inches of water leaves him quivering, whining and shaking.
So when the canyon began its really skinny, tortuous turns with water, a good four to even six (gasp!) inches deep in some areas, that was it for the dog. I managed to drag him through the first section (which had rocks to walk on, large enough for my feet), but the second was too much. My new boots, which have mesh uppers for breathe-ability, were said to be waterproof. Amazingly enough, they really are! Let’s hear it for Merrill boots! Topper knocked me into the puddle twice while I was persuading him to continue.
Unfortunately, the next section was a couple of inches deeper, with no rocks, and a sharp turn in the middle. I would either have to wade or do a partial “chimney” action to stay out of any water that would top my boots. (I used my walking stick to measure the depth.) And there was no way I could do that carrying the dog. I was only three feet ahead of him at this point and he was crying and whining and simply beside himself that he couldn’t get to me past all that terrible water!
Topper’s nemesis
I didn’t have the heart to leave him there and I didn’t have the hardheartedness to just clip on his lead and drag him through. All he had on was his slip collar, which would have choked him terribly. I hadn’t thought to put his harness on, not knowing about the water. If he had been wearing the harness, he could have learned that a little water and mud wouldn’t kill him and I could have seen the top of the canyon. Oh well. Live and learn.
We turned back, I got to test out my waterproof boots one more time getting my big baby back through the first section (yep, still dry). Then we hiked back to the RV and headed back toward the main road. Once there, we stopped at a camping area just to the left of the junction. A grand total of about 20 miles from where we had just spent the past two nights. At least we had a start on the next stage of our journey. And I still had a little energy left for picking tiny pieces of glass out of the carpet.
heading for camp
slipstreamserendipity 