Rain’s steady carves and mother’s mighty acts
Paria Canyon
12 -13 July
Elevation: 3,084 ft/940m
Hot; 102f/39c
Paria Canyon is considered one of the longest slot canyons in the world at around 42 miles. Slot Canyons, or Wadis, which is how I’ve always known them given my expeditions in the Middle East, are narrow slots in otherwise flat plains. Rain slides across these plains like marbles on a steel plate, pouring into these slots and quickly forming a torrent of water that carves the stone deeper into the earth. They say that a ¼ inch of rain on the desert plain can result in a 3-foot flood of water in a slot canyon. These flash floods rip and carve through the stone like lightning cutting through a midnight sky.
Paria Canyon is made of Navajo Limestone, yellow and gold rock whose walls have lines and carves that mimic the flow of water that made them. Antelope Canyon, nearby, is more famous. This is because Paria Canyon is less welcoming. You need to commit to a hearty hike in +100-degree weather, with scorpions and rattle snakes, and then pitch a tent somewhere and hope that coyotes don’t rob you of your food while you sleep. I was committed. Call it another late middle-aged man’s bucket list.
Of course, I decided to do this with my brother, his 10-year-old daughter, and Dante, my 11-year-old son. Weirdly, I had sent various posts about Paria to my brother and his wife at least a month previously and had talked about it incessantly with Silvia during all of our planning. Yet, the facts only really dawned on them the morning of, as we ascended from the pleasant conifer forest around Jacob Lake and onto the stark desert plain of northern Arizona and southern Utah. This is a sun-blasted land more reminiscent of the landscape on Mars than any earthly abode. This other worldly landscape is what sparked the mama freak out. They found a blog that talked about the rattle snakes in the canyon that had pictures of the snakes coiled up along the canyon floor. The mamas sought out helicopter emergency services, despite the fact that we would have absolutely no signal in the canyon. They worried about injuries, heat stroke, dehydration, more about the damn rattle snakes, and were mustering all motherly spirt necessary to shut this little endeavor down. Somehow, I got them on the trail, which they could join us for the first hour or so.
While they were never at ease, this first bit of the hike includes a glorious slot along the Wire Pass where the light strikes different parts of the 50-foot walls. The whole crew were suddenly calmed and awed by the play of light and color. They were still worried, but they understood why it was special to hike down this special place.
This was not without some calamity. My brother dropped his tent somewhere along the line and Silvia, Helen, and Elena found it when they were trekking back to the car without us. After a ricochet of decision making between them, they decided to get it back to us—they knew where our campsite would be. When Elena—all strength and stamina—arrived with the tent, it was like a small miracle. And, off she went, back up the Wire Pass slot, leaving us with the falling sun and dawning night, alone with the canyon and stars. If anything, this episode was all testament to the power of woman—the ability to be highly emotional and highly decisive and strong and quick all at the same time. I don’t want to fall too much into gendered meanderings but most men’s modus operandi is to push the emotion down, to become stoic and strong, like movie heroes, and then to act. We men try to dim the emotion when the emotion is really the driver for the most courageous acts.
