The Subway - Stephanie's Perspective

Being that I am a woman, Brad is a man, I am an artist, he is an engineer, I am messy, he is organized... (this list could go on) we often tell the same story from two very different perspectives.  So we thought it would be interesting to write our own versions of The Subway story.

So here goes....

When I first stepped into The Subway, I pictured God molding clay into these beautiful shapes, adding a splash of color here and a splash of color there - stepping back, looking at His creation, nodding and saying "Yes, they will enjoy this".  

"Every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of the heavenly lights, who does not change like shifting shadows." - James 1:17

God has been amazingly good to us.  There are so many moments I am overwhelmed by His grace, His talent, and His love.  The day of this hike was no exception.

The day began with the hour drive to Zion.  We got to the trail head just before 9:00, put our packs on, and went on our way.  To begin it's quite nice, you take a well groomed path through a field of Juniper trees, and down a few slopes.  One of the websites we read mentioned the trail was steep going down.  Well I thought the "few slopes" was the steep part - boy was I wrong!  You should know that I am not a huge fan of heights, am very clumsy, and am NOT well-balanced.  If the "trail" had been any steeper, ropes and harnesses would have been required.  So we very slowly made our way down the side of the canyon.  "One step at a time" is what I kept telling myself.  We made it to the bottom!  Hallelujah!  That was a miracle! 

Now the next part - making our way up the river.  A different website mentioned "some scrambling required", which basically means there is no trail you have a climb over and around rocks.  No big deal, I can climb over a few rocks.  Ha ha.  I never meant I could "scramble" for hours.  Never the less, that's what we did.  We jumped from boulder to boulder, walked through the river, climbed, climbed, and climbed some more.

Finally we reached the cascade waterfalls, this meant The Subway was right around the corner - Yes we made it!!!  But not before we carefully walked over the very slippery waterfalls.  Most people at least get a busted knee or elbow during this section.  But we made it through, injury free.

The entrance to The Subway is ominous. It looks like a dark cave that could have any number of creepy things living in it.  But once you're in, the scenery changes.  The Subway is a canyon that has concave curves on both sides which creates a cylindrical tunnel.  Water slow trickles through the sides of the rock, which means it's always wet.  The light shines in from the top, making the walls of the canyon glisten with colors of blue, green, red, orange… colors that only God himself could create.  There are pools of water that reflect these beautiful colors, there are cascading waterfalls, then in the back the canyon gets even narrower.  You could reach your arms out and touch both sides.  If you step into frigid water 4 feet deep (in the spring the water is deep enough you have to swim) and make your way to the very back, a waterfall awaits.  What a way to finish the trail.

So that was amazing. Incredible. Once in a lifetime experience. Thank you God for giving us the ability, resources, and energy to see it.

Now the problem.  We have to make our way back the 5 miles we just came.  That means jumping and climbing over boulders, walking through the river, and oh no - making our way UP the canyon.  This is the part I dreaded most.  I thought about faking a broken ankle and having a helicopter come get me, but that seemed a bit melodramatic.  When we got to the point of going up, we took a break, changed our shoes, I cried (not going to lie), and I prayed.  I prayed God would give me courage and strength.  I kept repeating in my head "I can do all things through Christ who give me strength".  And He did just that.  We reached the top, Brad looked at me and said "I can not believe you went up that so fast".  God is good.  It's a good thing He pushed me to go fast, because the sun was setting.  We made it to the car at 8:00, just as it got dark.

See below... the Subway, Brad's Perspective.

The Subway - Brad's Perspective

Brad here.  Before I begin, let me start off with this one little nugget of advice:  take all guide books with a grain of salt.  And here's why:  they are written by people better than you.

That may seem harsh but I assure you it's true.  Let's face it, nobody wants advice from someone who is dumber and less experienced than they are.  If it is a guide book on marriage, you would hope that the couple writing it is not slapping each other around.  If it is a guide book on finances, you would hope that the author didn't write it while living in a box behind the Seven Eleven.  And, if it is a guide book on hiking, you would hope that it isn't written by some out of shape slob in an arm chair in his Mom's basement.

So it goes to reason, that if your hiking guide book is written by a better hiker in better shape with better hiking equipment,  maybe you should remember that.  Work in a little fudge factor for your own crappy skills, doughy physique and discount bin camping gear - because they are better than you.

Here is where I am going with this.  The guide books described this as a "moderately" challenging hike.  Five miles in, five miles out - no worries. A steep descent to start, then just follow the river.  A bit of scrambling over boulders and possibly a short swim, but those were right at the end and only if you wanted to see a little further into the canyon.  Then back out.  Easy right?  False.  Not easy.  Not at all.

The trail (if I can call it that) starts out in a spare forest of juniper and pine and just splits repeatedly going in all directions at once with little to no indication of which fork is the right one.  Then the descent.  Straight down a steep slope of loose rocks and gravel that would be a easier done with a parachute than a pair of hiking boots.  It was sort of like going down stairs - if each of those stairs were two inches wide by three feet tall and made entirely of loosely stacked Skittles.

Then there was the river valley.

Making any headway up the river valley at all included hopping and scrambling over boulders on hands and feet, crossing back and forth through the water, inching along slippery slabs of wet rock and occasionally scrambling up and down the steep slopes on either side when the river itself became entirely impassable.  Making it even more difficult were the piles of dead wood - trees uprooted by flash floods and deposited in piles - directly in your way.

Beautiful, yes. Easy, no.

We left the trailhead shortly before 9 AM and got back just after 8 PM that night.  Just as it got dark.  Take out lunch and that's ten miles in 10 hours.  Don't do the math.  Please.

Why did we put ourself through it?  At the very end of this hike there is a truly brilliant piece of God's artwork called "The Subway".  Possibly one of the most photographed spots in Zion, it is wide cascading waterfalls followed by a narrow slot canyon, that at the bottom bulges out into an almost perfectly cylindrical tunnel.  Like a subway. The circular walls seep water continually and reflect the limited light.  The floor is dotted with deep circular potholes filled with crystal clear water.   When you catch the sun and the angles just right the tunnel appears entirely enclosed with light beaming in from one end, reflecting off the walls, and causing the pools of water to glow.   Spectacular stuff.  Type "Zion Subway" into Google images and just see what can be done with a tripod and enough patience.  Or, just look below for what we can do with shaky tired arms, and exhaustion inspired irritability verging on maniacal.

Further up canyon, via waist deep ice cold water, there is the "waterfall room" a 15 ft waterfall dropping into an almost enclosed 5 ft round chamber in the rock.

Oh yeah.  See that picture below? Those are dinosaur tracks.  Yup.  Real dinosaur tracks made by real (and scary big) dinosaurs, preserved for 65 million years or so, then somehow uncovered and dropped here for the sole purpose of completely blowing my mind.

Now for an interesting story with no ending…  On our way out along the river we passed a group of two older couples.  One of the women in the group had blown out her knee and was hobbling along very (very) slowly.  We asked if there was anything we could do to help, wished them the best and carried on.  We didn't do the math at the time or we would have realized that if we weren't going to make it out until dark, they were clearly going to have to climb back up the "Hill from Hell" (as I affectionately called it) and find their way back throughout the rat maze of the Juniper forest completely in the dark.  Something that would be extraordinarily difficult - even with two good knees, a headlamp, and a homing pigeon.  Something that would be virtually impossible in the condition these people were in with the limited gear they were carrying.  When we finally got back to the trailhead we called the Park Emergency line and let them know what was going on, but realistically, at that point, what could they do?  It wouldn't be the first time hikers had spent a long, cold, unplanned night in Zion National Park.

So what happened to them?  No idea.  Maybe they made it out.  Maybe they're still there.  Not a clue.  (I told you it had no ending.)

Up next… Honeycomb Rocks! (and not the cereal).

Zion - The Narrows

Our expectations were understandably high.

The Narrows of Zion has been described as “possibly the best hike in North America”. Stop and think

about that for a minute. Of all the beautiful trails with all incredible scenery in all of Canada, the US and

Mexico, this is the best? Think of everything that includes!

It includes hiking to the bottom of the Grand Canyon. It includes hiking across an Alaskan glacier. It

includes hiking through the jungles of Mexico and the over the snow-capped peaks of Banff. It includes

the West Coast Trail, the Appalachian Trail and all the trails in Yosemite, Yellowstone and 489 other

National Parks. The best hike in North America? That is a lofty position to hold.

Now let me tell you why it is very likely true.

While every hike is indeed different and unique in its own way (and therefore difficult to compare),

there are two things that I believe most serious hikers are looking for at the end of the day: a sense of

accomplishment, and memory card full of photos… and this hike delivers both in abundance.

Zion National Park attracts millions of visitors every year. All of them are there to see one main

attraction: Zion Canyon. Sure the mouth of the canyon is beautiful with its sheer multi-colored cliffs

and lofty peaks, and sure there are side canyons and waterfalls and hanging gardens and river walks. At

the end of the day however, all of those are just a side show to the Narrows – that part of the canyon

where the walls are only 20 to 30 feet apart and over 2000 feet high.

Sadly, 99% of the visitors to the park never venture past the view point into the Narrows at the end of

the paved road. Yet, even though they have had only tiny peek into the first few hundred feet of the

Narrows - they go home and rave about it. And so people keep coming back - more each year than the

year before.

This hike takes you beyond the view point and into the very bowels of the canyon – as far as you have

the time and energy to go. And it seems to just get better and better around each corner.

Fortunately it is not an easy hike or everyone would do it. (Though there are still far too many people

for our liking.) There is no trail – this is a canyon with water from wall to wall, so you are hiking right

IN the river. Your footing is on slippery rocks in murky water. Much of it is shallow but crossing some

portions requires wading up to your waist or even swimming - and the water is cold (oh so cold…). Most

parts of the canyon go all year without direct sunlight.

Fortunately that is enough to keep the hordes of sneaker wearing, camera toting tourists away.

Claustrophobia? Bum knee? No change of clothes? Forget about it, chump. Didn’t bring your

canyoneering boots, a wet bag and a hiking stick? Might as well turn around now, Shirley.

It is a challenging hike. But oh the reward for the effort!

I will give thanks to you, Lord, with all my heart; I will tell of all your wonderful deeds. ~ Psalm 9:1

…and this was just the day hike up from the bottom. We have a permit for early November to hike the

entire 16 miles of canyon - starting at the top, overnighting in the canyon and hiking out the next day. I

think that dezerves a little Woop Wooop!

Up next… The Subway. (Don’t miss this one!)

Zion - Hidden Canyon

There is nothing quite like your first visit to Zion National Park.  Photos don’t adequately prepare you for the spectacle before you as you enter Zion Canyon, towering walls of red and orange and white sandstone, rows of improbably high peaks surrounding a river that seems far too small to account for the scale of the geologic formations it has created.

I once again find myself clearly reminded that in the greater scheme of things, I am… heck, all of human history is, but a tiny speck of insignificance.   Humbling, but true.

As fantastic as it is to see today, I find myself often thinking about the first settlers who came here and stumbled onto this incredible scene.  Without cameras, they had only their words and a few paintings to try to explain what they had found to the outside world.  Most of the people who read these words and saw these paintings thought they were exaggerating.  They weren’t.  There was no reason to.

For our first hike, we figured we’d take it easy.  Four miles roundtrip.  Up a few switchbacks, across a ledge carved into the side of a cliff (acrophobes beware), and into a small canyon which has a small natural arch.  It is called Hidden Canyon, because it was only found by accident one day decades ago while a small group was trying to rescue one particularly rambunctious visitor who decided to be the first to climb to the top of one of the nearby peaks.  He made, it, lit a fire to at the top to prove it to the people waiting below, and then turned around and fell headlog down the first cliff he came across.

Here is what we really find funny.  If this canyon existed in North Carolina (or anywhere on the east coast for that matter) it would attract hundreds of thousands of visitors a year.  Billboards would line the interstates for miles in each direction “Don’t miss Hidden Canyon!”.  Gift shops would line the road up to it selling Hidden Canyon t-shirts and Hidden Canyon mugs.  North Carolina licence plates would read “The Hidden Canyon State”.  In Zion however, it is but a short side trail, a footnote – and not even a very popular one.

Admittedly the small natural arch it hides is nowhere near the same caliber as the awe inspiring spans of rock that we had just seen in Arches National Park.  And looking back on it now, the canyon itself is nowhere near the magnitude of the Zion Narrows.  That said, it was still a pretty darn cool experience, and an excellent introduction to the park.

The cliffs were astonishingly high and the canyon inconceivably narrow.  The arch?  It is thousands of pounds of rock suspended in mid air.  What more do I need to say?

It was hot, silly hot, and so when we finished our hike, Stephanie, as she often likes to do, decided to go sit in the middle of the nearest river.  I'm glad she did because it gave us the photo below, which (if I do say so myself) may just be one of the best I've ever taken.

"the Lord make his face to shine upon you and be gracious to you;

the Lord lift up his countenance upon you and give you peace." ~ Numbers 6:25-26

Up next… The Narrows (Part One).

The flood...

So what is the one thing you don’t expect when moving to the desert? 

Correct.  A flood. 

It was really the last thing on our minds, even when we woke up one morning last week to a steady downpour.  No wind, no storm, just rain pouring out of the sky in a steady constant deluge.

We thought it was strange that it was raining so hard in the desert and we were right.  This is not the sort of thing that happens out here very often.  It started in the middle of the night and it just kept coming, non-stop for more than 12 hours.

You would think rain in the desert is a good thing – that the dry parched soil would just soak it up, drink it in.  The bunnies and other desert creatures would come out of their holes and dance and sing and frolic in the puddles.  My endless hours of watching Planet Earth told me that the cactus would fatten up and and pretty flowers would come out carpeting the ground in pinks and yellows.  False.  The soil here has virtually no capacity to absorb water at all.  So when it rains, it all just starts pouring across the ground in sheets, channelling together into a torrent and then heading downhill.  Quickly.

Flash floods are a terrifying reality in the canyons that carve out the landscape here.  You don’t want to be in one if there is any chance of it raining anywhere in a 100 mile radius.   They say the first thing you hear is a roar from up canyon, like a freight train coming through a tunnel.  The first thing you see is a wall of debris, trees, rocks, and mud, maybe 10 feet high at the leading edge coming towards you.  If you aren’t already on high ground by this point, they say your best chance is to get behind a big rock to break the initial force of the impact.   Truth is, they are just being nice.  At that point you should have just aboout enough time to cower into a ball, put your head between your legs and kiss your butt goodbye.

Cities in wet climates (like say Charlotte...) know how to deal with water.  They have drainage ponds, and storm drains, and very detailed (and cautiously oversized) rain water management systems.  Cities in the desert (like say Santa Clara...), understandably, spend a lot less time and energy on the subject.   Most of the time they simply make a note not to build things in natural drainage channels.  Most of the time.

At some point in the past, maybe half a mile (fortunately straight downstream) from our neighborhood, someone chose to ignored this simple concept, and slapped up a whole bunch of houses, businesses (and other buildings not designed for use underwater) right in the middle of a natural “wash” - that is, a dry stream bed that is only a stream when it rains.  At some later date, it rained, (though clearly not all that much) and they suddenly realized their error.  So what to do about it?

What if, immediately upstream of this neighborhood, we built a giant dike out of dirt and sand?  We just dam off the stream bed, creating a big pond, so the water can’t get to us?  All that water will just sit there, and eventually evaporate away!  Great idea!

The point they missed of course, is that this only works as long as it doesn’t rain enough or often enough to completely fill the pond to overflowing… which of course, is exactly what happened.

The most interesting part of this story , I think, is that the city knew it was coming.  They had done the math and knew that there was a specific amount of rain that would overwhelm the dike, and when it happened there would be nothing they could do about it.  They talked about redesigning it, making it bigger, maybe adding some cement to it, but nothing was ever done.  No provisions were ever made to redirect any excess water away from the homes should it overflow.  No provisions were ever made to at least reinforce the dam and avoid a total collapse when that happened.

And so at noon, when the rain still hadn’t stopped, they sent some engineers in raincoats with walkie-talkies down to the dike to watch it happen.

At 1:30 pm the water started pouring over the top.  By 1:50 the dike had completely disintegrated dumping the entire contents of the pond into the neighborhood downstream.

All in all about 30 homes and a dozen businesses were evacuated.  All suffered pretty extensive damage.  At least nobody was hurt.

I happen to be driving by and got a quick view of the area while the pond was still emptying.  Police were politely redirecting traffic away from a roaring river of mud that tore across one of the main streets in town and into the neighborhood below.

Up next… Hidden Canyon (Flash flood not included.)

...

The new digs...

How did we end up here?

St. George (and the adjacent suberb of Santa Clara) has five major National Parks and countless state parks within a 5 hour drive, and also met Stephanie's requirements for a distinct lack of snow.

Neither one of us had ever been here before so we had absolutely no idea what to expect.  It was only when we started looking down at the town of St. George through the lofty eyes of Google Maps that I started to become relatively concerned.

It looked a lot different than anywhere we had ever lived.  First of all, everything looked orange and covered in dust.  There was a complete absence of the green that blankets Charlotte, Hilton Head, Newfoundland and everywhere we’ve lived in between.  Instead of vinyl siding and peaked roofs, these houses are a random collection of cubic shapes covered in plaster and painted brown. Instead of big yards full of grass and pleasingly shaped hedges, there are tiny lots filled with rocks and cactus.  Having a big yard in North Carolina means lying in the grass, listening to the crickets and chasing fireflies.  A big yard in south west Utah simply means there is more space for rattlesnakes, scorpions, cactus and other nasty things designed to poke you with something painful.

Finding a house that had a big private yard, would accept a six month lease, would allow a giant fluffy dog, and was fully furnished (several things that don't normally go together) was exceedingly difficult.  When we finally found one we were ecstatic.  When the rental agent inexplicably leased it to someone else three days before we were to drive to Utah we were in a pickle.

How we finally ended up in THIS house is a long story. but let's just say God had a different plan in mind than we did, and as usual, his plan was much much better.

As for the desert life? We’ve adapted well. Maggie? Not so much.

The first time we let her out into the yard she lasted a grand total of 30 seconds before she appeared back at the door exhausted, confused, and with cactus needles sticking out of her at every possible angle. (I’m still not sure how she got them in her butt – did she back into one?) Just petting her that first week was a hazard. We had to buy leather work gloves so we could find all the needles sticking out of her fur without impaling our fingers on them in the process.

That said, she is getting fewer all the time, and between the lizards, chipmunks and slow moving fat little birds who look like they are wearing baseball caps, she has plenty to keep her entertained out there.

Maggie’s real nemesis however, lives in the front yard. Grass is a luxury here and our house has a small patch in the front yard about the size of a queen size mattress. Munching down on this grass endlessly day and night are no fewer than four, spastic, white tailed rabbits. Day by day our tiny lawn is disappearing and being replaced by a thick layer of rabbit turds. Stephanie is in heaven. Maggie is verging on a heart attack.

Maggie just sits by the front window and vibrates. Her whole body shivers with the hope that maybe once, just once, we might understand her endless pleading and let her out the front door to go “play” with them.

I’ll admit I’ve considered it. And while Stephanie thinks that’s mean, my theory is that these aren't ordinary run of the mill bunny rabbits.  These are hard core desert bunnies.   Maggie is no match for them. I’m sure they have outrun more than one coyote in their day, and coyotes have survival instinct on their side. Our fluffy Goldendoodle, her generally sedentary lifestyle, and the fact that she doesn’t need to actually catch a bunny to feed her starving family, means that she hasn’t got a shot. Her head just isn’t the game.

But try she does. Her latest attempt was while we were out for a bike ride. A bunny appeared about 300 ft down the trail and just sat there. Maggie was already running at a pretty good clip and went after it like a shot, not slowing down even when the rabbit finally darted out into the treacherous black lava rock that dominates the landscape in this area. For her efforts, Maggie lost a pretty good chunk of skin on her front paw and earned us a night at the After Hours Animal Emergency Clinic (can you say cha-ching?).   It was her first bunny chasing injury.

Ever since she has been doing her best to look pathetic, milking her bandaged paw for treats, favors and (you guessed it) the hope that we might finally give in and let her out the front door.

From now on, her bunny chasing will be in doggie boots.

Up next… the flood.

Canyonlands

Let me start out by making one small clarification.  Canyonlands National Park is huge.  Silly huge.  And (not surprisingly) it is full of canyons, which make it a little tricky to get around.  So, if you wander off and get lost, not only is there approximately zero chance of you making it out alive or being rescued, but chances are they won't even find your skeleton.

That's too bad really, because I decided a long time ago that if it was ever time for me to leave a skeleton behind, as I spent my last few moments (probably trying to suck moisture from a rock), I would pose myself in some hilarious fashion.  That way, when the poor saps show up to find me, they will get a good laugh out of it, and that will make them feel better about finding a skeleton in the desert.

Let me make one additional clarification.  We didn't actually go to Canyonlands National Park as the title (and my rambling so far) would have you believe.  We actaully went to one corner of Canyonlands called "Dead Horse State Park".  However, one of us (and it wasn't Maggie or I...) decided early in our day that the name "Dead Horse" was simply "too sad", and so from that point forward it became simply Canyonlands.

(For those of you who have been patiently skimming through these stories about Stephanie and I and wondering when we would finally start talking about Maggie, here it is...)

The main reason we chose to spend the day at the State park (instead of the National Park) is that dogs are allowed on the trails.  By this point Maggie had just about enough sitting around hotel rooms while we went off hiking and biking and doing other things she would have very much enjoyed.  And so this time she came with us, clambering over cactus, sniffing out holes that were probably full of rattlesnakes, bounding and jumping down the trail, and otherwise doing all the things and exerting all the energy that animals better adjusted to desert environments know not to do.

Three things we learned on this hike:

1) Our lives are absurdly small flashes of insignificance on the geologic time scale.  Trying to wrap your head around the amount of time it took to create this landscape is sort of like trying to wrap your head around the distance between galaxies, the number of grains of sand in the desert, or any other number of things that make your head hurt.

2) Maggie would really (really) like to play tag with a deer.  She made that abundantly clear to us, the deer, and anyone else within a two mile range.

3) Maggie really (really) needs to start carrying her own water.  Apparently being covered in thick fur, though really cute, is just not beneficial in the desert, and results in her drinking a significant portion of the water intended to keep us humans alive.

(No, that is not a hat belonging to a waiter from a 1950's soda shop. It is a collapsable water bowl.  Yes, it is really ugly.  Yes, we did get it for free.  Yes, we did buy her a new one.  It is blue.)

Up next... our new home.

Arches National Park

Haven't been here?  You need to fix that.

My first thought upon driving into this park was "How is it that this place has just been sitting here and nobody told me that I absolutely must come see it - immediately?"

My second thought was that this place isn't a fluke of time and erosion as they would have you believe.  This is a sculpture.  A piece of art.  One that could only have been created by a crazy powerful being far greater than we can possibly  imagine.  One who was perhaps bored one afternoon and thought it would be fun to sit and play with a  pile of clay and create something beautiful and illogical just for the pure enjoyment of messing with our heads.

There is no way to capture it in photos.  Sure, we can snap a picture of an arch here and a pile of rocks there, but it is a sad excuse for the feeling of standing there, surrounded on all sides by these impossible formations.

It was mind numbing.  Literally.  Like the Louvre.   Where after an hour of going from room to room you have to go sit, stare at a blank wall, and give give your pathetic excuse for a brain time to try to comprehend what it is you have been looking at.

There are of course arches. Ribbons of rock that have chosen to simply ignore gravity.  Gave it a dismissive wave of the hand and told it to go annoy something else.  Then there are towers and cliffs and spires and hoodoos and swonks and ploppity-bobs and whirly-gigs (some of those I may or may not have just made up).  Some are white and some are yellow and some are even green - though admittedly most are red.

One thing is clear - most of these things should have fallen down a long time ago.

Remember Wiley Coyote chasing the Roadrunner?  (Of course you do.  That is why our generation is so messed up.) Somehow he always ended up running straight over the edge of a cliff.  But he didn't fall - not right away.  He would just hang there in mid air his legs still spinning but not touching the the ground.  Then, realizing his mistake, he would look down, pull out a sign out that read "Oops" and then - only then - plummet to his demise.

I think some of these rocks are at that point in their geologic lifespan.  The cliff holding them up ran out a long time ago, but they have yet to look down, and until they admit the presence of gravity, it simply has no effect.

Arches was a great introduction to Utah - and a fantastic reminder that the desert is not to be underestimated.

Day one, our first desert hike!  It is cool and a little overcast when we leave the car.  Perfect hiking weather.  Boy, those water bottles look heavy.  We aren't going that far... right?  Let's leave half of it in the car! Great idea!  And off we go!

But then the sun comes out.  Wow, it's pretty hot.  It's like an oven out here.  How far back to the car?  Four miles?  And how much water do we have left?  A liter?  Hmm...

Needless to say 3 litres of water for two people for nearly 8 miles of hiking and climbing in 100 degree weather with no shade was not near enough.  On our next hike we did less than half the distance, carried more than twice the water, and still came back fantasizing that a giant talking juice box was calling out to us just over the next hill.

...up next: Canyonlands.