While the calves may look familiar, this is not me: my camera needs a rest before I can post some photos of the Narrows. Until then: a resource.The
clouds were already rolling in when I woke, hanging thick above the Watchman campground, the color of a bruise.
On board the shuttle that would carry me for 40 minutes before debarking at The Temple of Sinawava, I considered the implicit warning in the possibility of rain: being that the 4.8 miles up and 4.8 miles back ran along the Virgin river, with sheer cliffs over a thousand feet tall overhead at points, the chances for a flash-flood were real* (though the risks associated were somewhat less, in my estimation - if I told you there was a 10% chance of a flash-flood, would you take those odds? 1%? Do you take any solace in statistics?**).
Upon arriving at the beginning of the hike, though, I could see I wasn't the only one unswayed by the the weather - hundreds of hikers were splish-splashing their way into the Narrows.
About 60% of the hike is within the river itself, alternating between wading through chest deep water, scurrying over turbulent rock beds, and at times swimming upstream. But while the water is cold - the origins of a large amount of it likely melt - and even on clear days the cliffs above conspire to keep the sun from a relatively short peak down, I never felt chilled. I'd chock this up to the exhilaration factor - the hike is effectively a natural incarnation of Schlitterbahn***.
Similarities to waterparks aside, the hike is no lazy river: footing for most of the river bed consists of rocks that average out to roughly the size and shape of bowling balls.
Now is probably a good time to mention that I'm still nursing a right ankle sprain, and dancing across watering bowling balls was conspicuously absent from the PT regimen the clinic recommended. Thankfully the strong current keeps the footholds relatively clean of algae, so I felt confident in the grip of my Keens to keep me upright.
Keeping with the good clip a party of one provides, I manage to outstrip most of the herd after a couple of hours****. At this point, as I feel a giddiness bubble up, charging chest first into a deeper section of the river, a sudden realization hits me:
It's Monday.
It's Monday, which means nearly everyone I care about is back at work after another weekend too short.
It's Monday, people are at work, and I'm traversing some of nature's finest work.
Fantastic.
--
For much of the start of the trip up the Virgin****, I repeatedly come across what appears to be an indigenous species to the Western National Parks, one Jeffrey and I saw in abundance back in Joshua Tree. Germans! I would hazard a guess that, within one 30 minute section of the Narrows, I was the only inhabitant possessing of a US passport. Now, understand that I love this - the fact the I'm lucky enough to be four tires from venues that people will travel half a world away to visit, places like Zion, brings a smile to my face. Keep 'em coming, Klaus*****.
The water's getting deeper at spots now, and I congratulate myself for my packing job. I endeavored to keep my backpack bereft of anything I wouldn't want to lose or subject to water damage (except for my camera, a calculated risk, and iPhone, which I shrewdly lost the night before to protect it from the river). Up until this point I've been holding the pack at arm's length above my head when the water gets up above my belly, but now I'm inclined, both by extra water and fewer people, to find a spot to stash the bag. And I'm not particularly concerned with the need to "stash" the bag - I harbor perhaps undue faith in the morals of hikers I've never met. Still, I find the perfect alcove, tucked away under a protecting lip of rock and somewhat out of the way from the casual eye, and deposit my water and food there, taking off for the home stretch freed of my burden.
At this point I enter a stretch where I gradually realize that I haven't seen another soul in an hour or so (time is tough to tell without a cell phone or Sun above). The next group I encounter is the first of a new breed of Narrows denizen: I'm going up, and they're coming down. Having camped the previous night high above us, these folks had hiked down into the river bed on they're way to a 16 hour journey.
After a few more hours, I reach what I expect is the point that hikers going upriver are instructed to stop at******- springs pouring from cracks in the walls into the river. After chatting with two guys who I later identified as the rearguard of the over-nighters, I'm content to pivot and start heading back downstream.
No longer on the opposing team from the current, I'm making great time back. Keeping my eyes peeled for the rock outcropping where my backpack rests, I trudge on for a long while before reaching a fork in the river. I'm nearly positive I had my bag when I passed this landmark coming up. Yes, I'd had it. Now, right as I'm slowing down just a tad, I've got to backtrack up and find that bag.
My thoughts: has that trust proved to be as naive as part of me thought?
After what seems like a half-way trek back, I encounter the two guys I'd run into a while back. Quickly picking up on why I'd be heading back, they immediately ask me if I'm looking for a red and black backpack. "300 yards back", they tell me.
I knew that those assumptions about the virtuousness of hikers weren't unfounded. And the water and beef jerky awaiting may never taste as good as it did in that moment, sitting above the river on a dry rock, legs tired and satisfied and with miles ahead of them before they'd reach the entrance to the Narrows.
*Once again, I love the amount of personal responsibility Zion gives visitors. Things might end poorly, but it's on you.
**An example: I know that the odds of me running afoul of a shark while swimming in the ocean and infinitesimal. The odds assure me it will never happen. And yet that entirely rational, logical point doesn't slow my heartbeat when I can't feel the sand on my toes in murky water, or stop me from from bringing myself to the brink of panic when I'm swimming in deep water.
***To those unfamiliar with Schlitterbahn, I feel for you.
****Full disclosure: I'm also reading "Desert Solitaire" by Edward Abbey on this part of the trip, so a bit of misanthropy is trickling in my thoughts. Future Book Club post? Yes. Book Club is still alive, just very, very lazy.
*****Here's a game I like to play with myself when I'm in a National Park or New York: based solely on the clothes - brand, cut, style - of the person approaching you: American or foreigner? I've found my own ability to call this game is limited, but there are some key indicators to keep an eye out for:
- Fila clothing. European, or recent partnership between Fila and Walmart? As touch a read as any for intrepid gamer.
- Apparel with "USA" or an American Flag prominently featured. A classic misdirection, this person does not pay US taxes, though that doesn't necessarily mean they're a foreigner...
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