A Tiny and a Huge Slice of Utah Wilderness

 by Señor Rojo
Photos by Monique Beeley

The Tiny Slice:

 By Utah standards, the Box Death Hollow Wilderness north of Escalante isn’t very big, only 25,751 acres. But it’s big on rugged beauty and backcountry allure. Vertical multi-hued walls of Navajo sandstone rise majestically above two canyons carved by tributaries of the Escalante River. Pine Creek forms the area called The Box. To the east, its namesake, Death Hollow Creek, has formed Death Hollow. Tomorrow and for the next three days we’ll explore this tough and unforgiving landscape on foot.

First light of dawn breaks over the Escalante canyons illuminating the cliffs that only hours before had reflected an entirely different glow at dusk. None the less spectacular. We arise early to a glorious day. A severe clear, with no chance for improvement. There’re four in our group, experienced backpackers all, but never in Box Death Hollow, and we’re a psyched quartet. Señor Rojo, Madre Karina, his wife of over cuarenta hiking summers, Monique and Bobbie. We’re all good friends and have done many outings together, even though Mo and Bobbie are half our age. We meet up with our guide, Rick Green of Excursions of Escalante, at his gear shop/restaurant/headquarters in downtown Escalante. Rick’s got the topos out, and his co-worker Mack has the Joe perked and pou red with freshly baked muffins on the table.

The day before, Rick and Mack had packed in much of the gear to our base camp. We’ve got some fairly severe uphill to put behind us this morning, so the call is for light packs. Rick says there’s fresh water near camp, so a couple of liters each for the trek up should suffice. But we all hydrate, big time. We check and double check gear, rain suits, extra clothes, sleeping bags, tents and meals and heft packs into Rick’s shuttle, which maybe the Beetles had in mind when they wrote The Yellow Submarine. Even with lightly packed backpacks we’re tight on room, since Rick’s three generations of labs, Beau, Elle and Kaiparowits Brown claim their rightful territory in the back. They are experienced hikers and are as excited to get on the trail as we are.

After a short drive up Pine Creek Road we arrive at the trailhead, unload the gear, lace up the boots, shoulder our packs, cinch up the bands and start hiking. We cross tiny Pine Creek and ponder how such a little stream could create such massive canyon walls and monoliths that surround us. The trail steepens and the day warms. Rick’s obviously been here many times, building cairns, however unobtrusive, to mark the way. After and hour and a half, we reconnoiter in the shade of some small scrub oaks and re-hydrate. “Half way there”, Rick says. But we look up the trail and realize that it’s certainly not all downhill for the second half.

The labs are great hiking companions. They’re extremely obedient to any command from Rick and have boundless energy. We hike up 100 meters, they run up and back 200, sniffing for critters. Rick takes them everywhere, even in the slot canyons.

The three ladies are lovely. An attractive and healthy outdoor woman is even more so doing what is traditionally c redited to being a male dominated activity, like backpacking. Thank the Lord for Title Nine! Madre Karina, now an abuela of two two-year-old nietos, can still keep pace with the two young ladies. But tonight in camp she’ll crash much earlier, guaranteed. As will Rojo.

Finally we’re at the top. What a place! Piñon and juniper rise up from the plateau high above the canyon. We could camp anywhere here, but Rick says to push on, we’re headed for a “cool place.” Rick tells us to go slowly and look down, “you might spot an arrowhead.” He stops, bends down to turn over a rock, and comes up with one. We laugh and accuse him of planting it for “enhancing the experience” with past and future clients. With a sheepish grin, he retorts, “Would I do a thing like that?”

Another ten minutes and we’re there, and we all know it without Rick saying so. It is, indeed, a cool place. Really cool. Realmente bien! We’re on a slickrock shelf surrounded on three sides by huge boulders blocking the wind. The fourth side is the rim of the canyon dropping off to The Box hund reds of feet below. Señor Rojo thinks to himself, “Caramba! If I have to get up in the middle of the night to pee, I better go the right direction or it’ll be my last!” We all stake out our territory, including the labs, grateful to drop our packs and pitch tents after the long and arduous trek up.

But not so tough that we can’t do some exploring before dinner. With just hydration packs we set out to have a look-see of the area. Far out on the horizon we can identify some mountain peaks where we’ve been before, Mount Pennell and Mount Ellen in the Henrys’, both over 11,000 feet. This place is really cool! All kinds of rock formations and buttresses, nooks and crannies, twists and turns. A great place for a game of Hide n’ Seek, except the hider would always win.

Back at camp, we discover that part of the provisions that Rick and Mack had hauled up the day before included a couple of liters of wine in Nalgene bottles. What a treat! We sit down to a meal of packaged chicken & rice, raw veggies, Chardonnay and toast each other, the day and the place! Bien comida răpida!

Long shadows from the sun setting behind the boulders grow longer. Soon there’s a surreal glow in the western sky, dusk becomes evening and the heat of the day dissipates into the cool of the night. Stars. We’re miles and miles from any artificial light and even farther from any urban haze. Stars. Rojo and Karina lie silently, gazing out the skylight of their tent. Stars, sleep.

Coffee always starts the day off right, but even more so after a night in a tent, and when you’re fighting off the morning chill dressed in fleece pants a pullover and a wool hat. Soon, warmed by the big red orb, we’re shedding layers. The labs are frolicking over the rocks chasing after sticks, stopping only long enough to chow down. Four-legged energy machines. But Rick has to tell the old gal, Beau, that she can’t go on today’s hike into The Box. It’s too steep, dangerous and treacherous. Caramba! Too steep, dangerous and treacherous for Beau! What about Seńor Rojo?

The lens of a good camera is no match for the human eye. But here’s what Box Death Hollow Wilderness looks like through the eye of a good photographer and the lens of a good camera. Photos by Monique Beeley.

The Huge Slice:

What can be said, or written, about the Grand Staircase Escalante National Monument that has not already been said and written? That it’s roughly two million acres are about the same size as the states of Delaware and Rhode Island combined? But Delaware and Rhode Island win the population derby, just under two million inhabitants to a few hund red for GSENM (there’s no towns within the Monument, just some outposts.) That Bill Clinton was stupid to declare this national treasure a national treasure and protect it for future generations? That within the monument, there are eleven species of plants that are found nowhere else on the planet? That’s all been said, and written.

We go into this amazing land with Drew Cosby, owner with wife Julie, of Escalante Outback Adventures. We specifically go into slot canyons. In the Monument, water has eroded countless canyons in thousands of feet of undeformed layers of sediment, creating unforgettable landforms. In many cases, dramatic slots have replaced the familiar stepped-back canyons. These narrow passageways, some only a few inches wide at the bottom, form when rock is the same composition from top to bottom. Walking in the soft, rock-muted light of a slot, it is easy to forget that these narrow corridors can easily become death traps, flash floods caused by a storm many miles away.

With Drew as our guide, let’s go take a look.