Like sandpaper, the gritty details of daily life grind down our memories’ sharpest edges. How else to explain the surprise and wonder we feel when repeating a momentous event that we thought we recalled vividly?

Kath and I have backpacked in the Grand Canyon more than a half dozen times. We’ve rafted the Colorado River through the Grand.* Its been just two years since we last hiked in the Grand (North Rim to Thunder River). And still we were startled to once again peer into this great gash in the Earth.

Hiking there last week was as grand and deep an experience for us as it was the first time decades ago. Perhaps more so. Our ability to notice and appreciate detail seems to be growing. (A sign of maturity?) But it’s also the canyon itself. The more scenic wonderlands we witness, the more we marvel at this one.

Kath believes ingesting the beauty of this mile-deep canyon by hiking it, she contracted the emotional equivalent of giardiasis. The bug lives on inside her, she says. The symptoms disappear, but not forever. Eventually they recur, nagging her until she comes back for treatment: another Grand Canyon sojourn.

What neither of us can comprehend are North American hikers—particularly those living in the West, within a couple days’ drive of northern Arizona—who assume the more distant a hiking destination is, the more compelling it must be. We know such people. They’ve trekked in Ladakh, summitted Kilimanjaro, but express no interest in the Grand Canyon. Overawed by the exotic, they ignore the nearby.

Despite the noise (see our previous post regarding scenic overflights), the backpack trip we completed last week in the Grand topped any we’ve ever done—anywhere. It was a mere three days, two nights, but every step was captivating. From Hermit’s Rest, we descended the Hermit trail to the Tonto trail. The first night we pitched our tent at Monument Creek. Next day, we followed the Tonto back across Hermit Creek and continued west to our second night’s camp at Boucher Creek (pronounced Boo-SHAY). Finally we ascended the Boucher trail up and out of the canyon, back to Hermit’s Rest. (See distance and elevation details below.)

Camping at Hermit Creek is vastly more popular than camping at Monument Creek. But we find Monument a more impressive setting: a broader drainage where the canyon’s soaring walls are visible.

Most people who carry backpacks down the Hermit trail also ascend the same way. But looping back via Boucher, as we did, makes the journey a little more adventurous and a lot more scenic.

The Tonto trail, which runs much of the canyon’s length, contours along the Tonto Plateau, just above where the Colorado River—architect of the Grand Canyon—surges through the sheer-walled, inner gorge. The most exciting section of the Tonto is between Hermit and Boucher creeks, where the trail hugs the edge of the precipice, grants frequent views of the river directly below, and affords constant vistas up and down the canyon.

It’s actually surprising the National Park Service (whose concern about visitor safety is, to put it mildly, extreme) keeps this airy section of the Tonto trail open to the public. We found it thrilling, but there’s little room for a misstep. As for the Boucher trail, the NPS describes it using the words “climb” and “exposure.” They exaggerate to dissuade the inept. Much of the trail is a steep, rough route requiring strength, endurance, and confidence born of experience. But there’s no climbing required and no exposure. A few sections qualify as scrambling, but they’re easy and short. We enjoyed the Boucher trail immensely. In comparison, the broad, dusty, Bright Angel trail, which accommodates tourist-laden mules, is dull.

Ascending the Boucher trail (much easier and more fun than descending it), the way forward is not always obvious, which makes it intriguing. The terrain changes rapidly and abruptly, from constricted gullies, to broad benches, to narrow ledges on nearly-vertical walls. Ultimately the trail provides a startling, aerial perspective of the Hermit Creek drainage and much of the trail we hiked on days one and two.

An adrenaline rush at a walker’s pace? Yes. Certainly in the Grand Canyon. Definitely on the Boucher trail. The misconception that “hiking is boring” is perpetuated by the lazy and incurious who’ve waddled into a soporific forest, seen nothing of note, and haven’t ventured beyond pavement since. Granted, some trails are boring. And some hikers are bored even amid stimulating scenery, so they either zone out or chat nonstop with companions. But the Boucher trail has the power to grab most hikers by their sternum straps, bringing their distracted minds to heel in the here and now.

Hikers who reside in Canada and the northern U.S. will appreciate that the optimal time to backpack in the Grand Canyon is late fall / early winter (November) and spring (March through mid-April), when the weather at home is no longer, or not yet, conducive to hiking. Last week, the nights were chilly (near freezing) on the 6900-ft (2104-m) canyon rim. But the daytime highs ranged between 70° and 80° F in the canyon at 3000 ft (915 m). It was even warmer, of course, on the canyon’s 2300-ft (701-m) floor, near the river. Perfect for hikers. By late spring (May), it’s too hot for most of us to comfortably backpack in the Grand Canyon.

A cautionary tale…  Two years ago, while we were backpacking off the Grand Canyon’s North Rim en route to Thunder River, I (Craig) stupidly ignored my own symptoms and succumbed to heat exhaustion. By doing so, I ruined our trip and risked my life. It was mid-May. The temperature was 100° F at 6 p.m. on the slickrock Esplanade within the canyon.

By 7 p.m. we’d completed about three-quarters of the 4800-ft (1463-m) descent. Suddenly, nausea and dizziness forced me to slow, stop, sit. Minutes before, I’d been hiking briskly. Now I was prostrate on the trail, vomiting. What motivated me to continue, and what saved my life, was that we were within 30 minutes of where the Thunder River originates, blasting out of the canyon wall.

I staggered and stumbled the final distance. Kath pitched our tent on a ledge beside the torrent. She doused me with frigid water late into the night. The vomiting continued till morning. I spent the next day alternately dozing in the shade and shivering beneath a small cascade, letting the icy water lower my core temperature. I ate nothing, because I couldn’t, but I sipped electrolyte-rich Emergen-C.

Though I was terribly weak, we knew I’d soon be too weak to hike out, so we packed and began slowly ascending at 7 p.m. We continued into the dark. We made it to the Esplanade at 10:30 p.m. By then I could nibble on a PowerBar.

That night, our second in the canyon, was gorgeous—clear and still—but difficult to appreciate. I seemed to be recovering but now Kath was feeling weak. She vomited. We were both unnerved knowing this was a medical emergency and our self rescue required another day’s effort we were unsure either of us could muster.

We packed and were hiking before our enemy, the sun, pounced on us again. The water we’d cached on the way down was now more vital than we’d imagined possible. What we didn’t drink we poured over our heads and down our backs. We ascended at a plodding pace unfamiliar to us. For me, it was “the march of repentance.”

Upon arriving at our car on the North Rim, we were exhausted, grateful, wiser. We’d written about heat exhaustion, warning others to avoid it, but now we fully understood how stealthy and overwhelming it can be. Kath—who never sleeps while I drive because she’s constantly studying maps and guidebooks—slept for most of the six-hour drive to my parents’ home in Scottsdale, Arizona. I continued feeling strangely, deeply fatigued for several days, which suggests I’d been dangerously close to heat stroke.

So this year, we hiked into the Grand Canyon much earlier: the end of March. It was ideal timing. True, the upper reaches of the South-Rim trails can still be snow-covered in March (requiring hikers to use traction devices on their boots for the initial descent), but the Hermit and Boucher trails gave us a snow-free welcome.

Spring hiking in the Grand Canyon is not only more comfortable and safer, it’s the optimal time to appreciate the desert’s botanical diversity, which far outstrips that of mountain environs. From a distance, a green hue washes across the Tonto Plateau. Leafy, blossoming trees give the drainages an oasis appearance. Flowers—purple, lavender, white, yellow, red—add bursts of vivid colour to the infinite canyon-rock palette of reds, browns, oranges, mauves, tans, mustards, maroons…

Many trails plunge below the Grand Canyon’s soaring-beyond-comprehension cliffs. We’ve hiked most of them: Bright Angel (from the North and South rims), South Kaibab, Hermit, Tonto West, Tonto East, Boucher, Grandview, and Tanner. We’ve also hiked into Havasupai Canyon—a tributary of the Grand, far to the west. All are marvelous, inducing a constant “how can this be?” state of mind. Yet some are even more engaging than others. Here are our recommendations:

Backpack Trips

(1) From Hermit’s Rest, at 6650 ft (2027 m) on the South Rim, descend the Hermit trail. Intersect the Tonto trail and follow it around to Monument Creek. Next day, retrace your steps on the Tonto, then continue past Hermit Creek and along the Tonto Plateau to Boucher Creek. On day three, hike the Boucher trail back up to Hermit’s Rest. Circuit: 26.7 mi (43 km). Descent and ascent: 4500 ft (1372 m).

(2) From Monument Point, at 7200 ft (2196 m) on the North Rim (west of Jacob’s Lake), descend to the Esplanade. Cross it, then continue down to Thunder River. Camp in Upper Tapeats Gorge, at 2400 ft (732 m). Return the same way. Round trip: 18.4-mi (29.6-km). Descent and ascent: 4800 ft (1464 m). From camp, it’s 2.2 mi (3.5 km) farther to the Colorado River at 1950 ft (595 m).

Dayhikes

(1) From Grandview Point, at 7399 ft (2256 m) on the South Rim, descend the Grandview trail to Horseshoe Mesa. Continue to the end of the mesa’s left (west) arm, at 4923 ft (1501 m). Return the same way. Round trip: 8.4 mi (13.5 km). Descent and ascent: 2476 ft (755 m).

(2) From the South Rim, at 7240 ft (2207 m), descend the South Kaibab trail to the Tonto trail. Go west, contouring to intersect the Bright Angel trail near Indian Gardens. Ascend the Bright Angel to the rim at 6860 ft (2091 m). Ride the Park shuttle bus between trailheads. One-way trip: 13.6 mi (22 km). Descent: 3440 ft (1049 m). Ascent: 3060 ft (933 m).

(3) From Hermit’s Rest, at 6650 ft (2027 m) on the South Rim, descend the Hermit trail. Turn west onto the Dripping Springs trail, then hike the Boucher trail generally north to 5429 ft (1655 m) on Yuma Point. Round trip: 8.2 mi (13.2 km). Descent and ascent: 1579 ft (481 m).

(4) From Hopi Point, at 6095 ft (1858 m) on the South Rim, hike the Rim trail generally west, past Mohave Point and The Abyss, to Monument Creek Vista. Ride the Park shuttle bus between trailheads. One-way trip: 2.8 mi (4.5 km). Elevation change: negligible.

Details
Visit the national park website (www.nps.gov/grca/planyourvisit/overnight-hiking.htm) to read more about the trails, view a map showing backcountry campsites and trail distances, and download a backcountry-permit request.

If you intend to camp on the canyon rim before or after your backpack trip, stay in Mather Point Campground. Generators are prohibited on the Pine Loop, so campsites there are quieter. Reserving a site is necessary in summer but not during spring or fall.

*Rafting the Colorado River is a thrilling adventure. Kath has done it three times, Craig once. We urge you to do it, too. Sure, it’s expensive. It’s also priceless. If you’re a hiker, choose a company offering a trip catering to hikers. It will afford numerous opportunities for two- to four-hour dayhikes into fascinating, tributary canyons that you’d never otherwise see.

The Opinionated Hikers on Patrol for You

We’ve been hiking all over the Colorado Plateau for 28 years. The guidebook we wrote—Hiking From Here to WOW: Utah Canyon Country—describes “90 trails to the Wonder Of Wilderness” in this astounding region. Books have space limitations, however, so there were many WOW trips we could not include. One of them is The Maze—the most remote district of Canyonlands National Park.

Faced with the need to cull, we excluded The Maze from our book because reaching it by foot is too rigourous a journey for the vast majority of people, and because vehicle access necessitates high-clearance 4WD and requires you to endure a long, rough road.

Having just returned from the Maze, however, we want to supplement our book with this field report, which we hope will inspire anyone with curiosity, energy, a yen for canyon country, and a stalwart 4WD vehicle to explore this high-desert enclave.

Why visit The Maze? Because…

• It’s extremely isolated and therefore very lonely. You’ll probably see others at the Maze Overlook and on the ascent/descent route, but you can easily find solitude if you backpack beyond.

• It’s weirdly, mysteriously, uniquely beautiful. Before seeing it, you think, “Ah, come on, can it really be that different from all the other canyons I’ve seen?” The answer is “yes.”

• You can hike to 16, little known yet spectacular arches within The Maze.

• The Harvest Scene Panel, a mere 2-hour hike from the Maze Overlook, ranks among the most fascinating rock-art sites on the Colorado Plateau. It was painted by the Archaic People who roamed canyon country 8,000 to 2,000 years ago.

• It’s possible to feel a piquant sense that you’re truly exploring here. Not just following bootprints on an established trail, but delving into the unknown.

• The long, forbidding approach to the Maze Overlook trailhead, as well as the scarcity of water within the Maze, enhance the experience by requiring commitment, heightening your anticipation, and later boosting your sense of accomplishment.

• Before or after The Maze, you can dayhike into nearby Horseshoe Canyon to see the justifiably famous Great Gallery pictograph panel, which, like the Harvest Scene Panel, was created by the Archaic People.

The unpaved road into The Maze departs Highway 24 just 0.5 mi (0.8 km) south of the paved spur leading to Goblin Valley State Park. The initial 46 mi (74 km) to Hans Flat Ranger Station is an easy drive in almost any 2WD car. Shortly beyond, high clearance is necessary. A bit farther is a 2-mi (3.2-km) section of steep, rocky, narrow, switchbacking, 4WD-only road known as “the Flint Trail.” After descending the Flint Trail, it’s another 13 mi (21 km) on a rough (but never steep or dangerous) road to the Maze Overlook, where the on-foot descent into The Maze begins. Total distance from Highway 24 to the Maze Overlook: 75.5 mi (122 km). Because you must check-in at the ranger station, and because the road beyond, even when in good condition, prevents swift progress, allow a full day to reach the Maze Overlook.

Overall the road is not seriously challenging. You don’t need a diploma from 4WD School (4wdschool.com) as long as you’re piloting a capable, high-clearance, 4WD vehicle. Though short, the Flint Trail is the crux. Care and vigilance, more than skill, are what you need to safely negotiate it. Be prepared to make a couple three-point turns within a few feet of sharp, vertical drops. Here, as well as elsewhere en route, you’ll want a spotter: someone who can get out and confidently direct you through obstacles where the driver’s seat does not grant the optimal view of where to steer the tires for easiest passage.

A few intrepid backpackers start hiking at Hans Flat, explore The Maze, then hike all the way back out. Between the ranger station and the Maze Overlook (14.5 mi / 23.3 km), they follow the North Trail, about half of which is on the road. The distance seems trivial until you realize it’s entirely dry. Carrying sufficient water to keep you hydrated until you reach the first spring in The Maze? Later repeating that grueling task on the return trip? We don’t recommend it. If the weather’s hot, you’ll risk heat exhaustion, possibly heat stroke. And the scenery isn’t worth it. The beauty and allure of The Maze is evident only after you arrive at the Maze Overlook. So driving to road’s end is undeniably preferable.

Upon arrival at the Maze Overlook (5160 ft / 1573 m), one more hurdle remains: scrambling to the canyon floor (4580 ft / 1396 m). Some might call it “climbing.” Your perspective depends on your experience, and therefore confidence, on steep rock where you must use your hands to prevent an injurious fall. Departing the Maze Overlook, you’ll initially be hiking, but the cairned descent route soon requires you to scramble/climb where the bulbous folds of Cedar Mesa sandstone are too vertical to walk.

The young ranger at Hans Flat said, “You might want to bring 20 feet of rope to lower your packs.” The guidebook we used said the same. Both implied that only one short section of the descent posed minor difficulties and that most people, after roping their packs down, easily friction-walk through it. But you’ll find our commentary below considerably more detailed, accurate and helpful.

It’s true that some backpackers drop from the Maze Overlook, into The Maze, without roping up. They use a rope only to lower their packs in one place. But that one place requires closer to 100 ft (30 m) of rope if you want the pack-lowering exercise to be simple, easy and quick. A 20-ft (6-m) rope isn’t nearly adequate.

The scrambling, however, is exposed. Most people should, and will want to, rope-up in a couple places, then have someone in their party belay them while they down-climb. It’s unlikely an adept scrambler will fall here. But the scrambling does require agility and cool, and the consequences of falling—particularly in such a remote location—are serious. The chief benefit of roping up, of course, is increased self-assurance. That alone is usually sufficient to prevent a misstep.

We recommend you bring a 120-ft (36-m) length of climbing rope, light harnesses for the climber and belayer (or enough one-inch webbing to make swami belts), several carabiners, and some prusik cord. Assessing the descent, you might decide you don’t need the climbing equipment. Fine. But if you want it, and you don’t have it, game over.

Dayhikers—if they twice rope-up and establish belays—might take an hour to descend from the Maze Overlook to the canyon floor. Backpackers might take an additional 30 or 40 minutes if, at those two points, they also use the rope to lower their packs.

Dayhikers should remember they’ll face an approximately 45-minute ascent from the canyon to the Maze Overlook at day’s end. Having already grappled with the terrain while descending, they’ll surmount it quicker on the way out.

Excluding numerous, minor, scrambly steps on the descent route into The Maze, you’ll encounter six places that—whether or not you view them as impediments—are distinctly recognizable:

• A 9-ft (2.7-m) sheer drop into a small, slickrock bowl. It’s relatively easy thanks to contemporary moqui steps. Once the most capable scrambler in your group is down, he/she can spot everyone else.

• A concave, slickrock ledge that narrows and is increasingly slanted until you pass the midpoint. Our acrophobic friend walked it with only a little support from the rest of us.

• A keyhole pouroff where you must lower yourself to a barely-visible platform below. From there, a slender catwalk leads left to a tiny alcove. Below that you must down-climb a vertical 12 ft (3.7 m). Hand and footholds are solid, but most people won’t attempt it without a sitting belay from the alcove. It’s also possible to anchor a rope above the keyhole and belay someone from the top of the pouroff to the bottom of the down-climb. The acrophobe in our group turned back above the keyhole pouroff.

• A short but very narrow crack. Most people will wiggle down through it without hesitation.

• A longer, sharply descending crack devoid of hand holds. Working down through it is awkward, uncomfortable, time consuming, but most people won’t feel the need to rope up, because falling doesn’t seem as likely as getting stuck. Below the crack are a couple steps that are airy, exposed, but most people will take a deep breath, compose themselves, and stride over them.

• A slickrock plunge: gradual at first, then vertical. Though contemporary moqui steps lend substantial aid, most people won’t attempt it without being roped-up. A boulder immediately above serves as a solid belay anchor.

Let’s back up. Did the word “dayhike” surprise you? Perhaps you’re thinking that after such a long drive into The Maze, it would be crazy not to backpack. But dayhiking is viable here. The Maze Overlook is a gorgeous place to car camp. If you enjoy the ascent/descent enough to do it repeatedly, and if you allow yourself at least three full days, you might love dayhiking here. The 9-mi (14.5 km) loop to Chimney Rock is one of several dayhiking options. Backpacking is preferable, however, because it allows you to explore much farther and grants you the sense of being a temporary resident of The Maze.

Whether you plan to backpack or dayhike, bring the Trails Illustrated 1:40 000 topo map titled “Canyonlands National Park, Maze District, NE Glen Canyon NRA, Utah, USA.”

Remember that you’ll be in a national park, so you’ll need a backcountry permit for car-camping at the Maze Overlook as well as for camping down in The Maze. Phone the park office well in advance to make reservations.

Fill your vehicle’s gas tank at Hanksville immediately prior to departing pavement. Driving slowly in 4WD is inefficient, so you’ll be getting poor gas mileage. You don’t want to see your gas-gauge needle dropping to “E” when you’re way out in the wopwops. You’ll probably want a full jerrycan as well, just in case.

Load your vehicle with plenty of extra food and water. Rain or rockfall could make the road temporarily impassable. Getting stranded is bad enough. Stranded, hungry and thirsty is much worse.