This past week we finally attempted to fulfill Chris' dream of taking the Jeep around the entire White Rim Road in Canyonlands National Park. We technically succeeded, although as is the case with most adventures, things didn't go exactly as planned. Weather, motion sickness, preschoolers, and irresponsible rental companies can be powerful forces indeed.
The plan? Chris' brother Greg and his fiancee, Soklim, would fly out to Utah, we'd drive to Moab, rent a second 4WD vehicle for them to use on the trail, then spend three days and two nights camping, driving, and hiking the White Rim, a stunning and very remote geological phenomenon in Canyonlands. That is more or less what happened.
Initially, this epic vacation also included a second overnight camping trip to a yurt (basically an upscale tent) up one of our local canyons in Salt Lake. This would have involved snowshoeing five miles up canyon, hauling all our gear, firewood, food, and two kids on sleds; building a fire to warm ourselves; then hauling it all back (presumably this would be easier as it was downhill and we would have less stuff) the next day. Fortunately, as winter progressed we ditched this idea when it became clear that it was nothing short of insane.
White Rim campsites, by the way, are highly coveted real estate, considering they are basically a circle of rocks in the dirt indicating where you are allowed to put your vehicle and your tent. The sole amenity, a pit toilet, is a short hike away. Wood fires are prohibited, and if you want so much as a table to cook on or something other than a rock to sit on, you'd better bring it. Still, at certain times of the year, this trail is so popular that the sites must be reserved several months in advance if you want a chance at getting one. Chris scored spots at Gooseberry and the lovely Potato Bottom (sorry, but the junior high kid in me can't help giggling whenever I hear that; is it just me?) last spring, and we were locked in.
So with this in mind, as the big week approached, we watched the weather forecast with trepidation. March can be an unpredictable month. Cold was a concern; even more worrisome, though, was the possibility of rainstorms which could make roads impassable and trap us. There was also an unusually large amount of snow in southern Utah this winter, so snow or mud might block our passage as well. If this happened early in the loop, it would be a disappointment, but if it was toward the end, not having enough gas to get back to civilization was a very real possibility. This prompted Chris to go out and buy a five gallon gas can. Using nylon straps and the modern miracle that is epoxy, or "Poxy Glue" as Harry calls it....Daddy can fix ANYTHING with Poxy Glue, although Mommy is apparently not skilled enough to to use it...I guess that is my punishment for being lazy when he wants me to fix something...where was I? Oh, yes, so using nylon straps and epoxy, he fashioned a way to strap the extra gas to our spare tire. The result was, uh, decidedly ghetto - not quite as ghetto as the strategically wedged wooden spoon that has kept our entertainment system receiver working for almost four years, but close. Both of those...projects did their jobs, though, so who am I to judge?
Anyway, as the time approached, it was becoming clear that cold was going to be our nemesis. We watched the weather reports predicting, with some variations, nighttime lows somewhere in the thirties. The list of clothing and blankets to pack grew longer by the day. After much dragging of feet, we went out and bought a small propane heater that would warm the tent a few degrees if it became necessary.
About ten days in advance of our trip, Chris called to confirm the Jeep rental. The company had no record of a reservation for us. Ooooops. Fortunately, it was still available and they put him down...again. We packed, prepared, planned the meals, planned extra meals just in case, carefully figured out how much water we would need and packed even more, added blankets, added more blankets, Greg and Soklim arrived, more packing, and finally we were off on Wednesday morning. The first night was to be spent camping in an actual campground, complete with plumbing, in Moab.
The trip down was surprisingly uneventful - usually the kids manage to cause us some manner of grief - and the campground even had a playground. We bundled the kids in footed PJs over regular clothes and their winter coats over that, and put them to bed under two sleeping bags and two blankets each.
Despite this, Lily kept crying and fussing while trying to fall asleep, and around midnight or whenever the hell it was she finally progressed to full-out wailing -- much to our distress as her aunt and uncle were sleeping feet away and there was another group in the site immediately next to us. We tried putting her in our bed to no avail. Cold did not seem to be the problem. What exactly was the problem, she wasn't telling despite our desperate pleas. Chris ended up taking her on a moonlit but not peaceful drive to Arches, and at some point she fell asleep as he sat admiring the stars, or so the story goes.
This proved to be temporary relief - she wasn't back in the tent long before she was inconsolably screaming again. Harry started to stir and cry, and panicking, I grabbed her, ran for the truck, stuffed her in her carseat, then plopped myself in the driver's seat, resigned to a night of sleeping in the car. This may have not been completely bad -- as a poor college student I spent many nights sleeping in my car at trail heads and somewhere along the way, I arrived at the conclusion that you have not truly bonded with your vehicle until you have spent at least a few hours sleeping in it. The Jeep and I were still getting to know each other, so I might just kill two birds with one stone.
Presently, however, the wailing tapered to whimpering and I saw an opening for constructive communication. Somehow I managed to extract the priceless information that her EAR HURT and that this was the source of distress. Well I could do something about that...if only we had brought some children's Ibuprofen. I went back to the tent and reported to Chris that our daughter probably had an ear infection and wondered aloud if there were any 24-hour convenience stores in Moab. I was dressed and ready to go, but he sat up and said "I can go get it if you want." In sixteen years of togetherness, I don't think I have ever truly and deeply loved my husband as much as I did in that moment. "Well," I said casually, "I was ready to go but if you really want to, I won't stop you." And crawled back into bed.
It got down to the low thirties that night, but with morning came sunshine and with it, warmth. Temperatures in the Utah desert can vary as much as 40 degrees from day to night. Thursday was actually a pleasant day. Greg emerged in the morning and announced that he had just experienced THE COLDEST NIGHT OF HIS LIFE. Apparently, the bottom of his sleeping bag was not insulated and they had slept with the rain fly off, which is about as warm as sleeping under a tarp. We added buying another blanket to the list of morning tasks and headed out.
After dropping Chris off at the rental agency, the rest of us went to order breakfast. He called me shortly after and explained tersely that he would be a while. It turns out that the truck we had reserved had blown out its engine a week ago, and there were no others available. Someone forgot to call us and let us know. Ooops again. In case you're ever in a position to rent an offroad vehicle in Moab, this was Cliffhanger Jeep Rental. Just sayin'. They generously offered Chris a ride to a competitor's place, and fortunately they had a Jeep available, although it was smalller than we were planning on. We still managed to cram in all the stuff when we moved it over from the Subaru, with the exception of the camp chairs. Oh well, there were always the rocks.The back seats didn't fold down quite flat, though, and our cooler suffered an unfortunate....accident on the asphalt while unattended. This, however, was only a minor disaster. OK, it was a major disaster for the eggs. We added eggs to our list of things to get and moved on.
At long last, we were headed down Potash Road to the trail. Our original point of entry - the Shafer switchbacks, was closed due to snow. The ranger was not 100% sure we would be able to make it all the way around yet - a previous group had to winch themselves up the ledges at the Murphy Hogback (really, where do they come up with these names?) because it was so muddy. We had fun splashing through mud puddles and driving on the roads - although Soklim made the unfortunate discovery that all the jostling gave her motion sickness. The kids, however, love to be bounced. In fact, the more treacherous and dangerous the conditions, the more they seem to like it (not that we would do anything to put them in real danger, but it is unnerving to be driving up a rock wall so steep that the tires are squealing and the rock beneath you is thickly coated with the rubber of tires that have passed this way before. But to the kids, it's all fun and games).
We stopped at Musselman Arch and got photo ops of all the adults walking across the narrow strip of rock spanning a gaping canyon hundreds of feet deep. It was actually several feet wide, but that somehow doesn't seem like much with certain death waiting with a slip off either side. We consulted with everyone we passed, but no one had come from the other side - everyone was going in and back the same way we came. Some mountain bikers passed on a rumor of rock slides blocking the way through the Hogback and Hardscrabble Hill. Chris was initially excited at the prospect of moving rocks with the winch, until they described "house size boulders". Oddly, the ranger who had issued our backcountry permit the previous afternoon had not mentioned this, so we were hoping the information was incorrect or that the NPS had cleared the obstructions.
We bounced our way in to camp and hurriedly set up before cold set in. After a brief walk with the kids - taking care to keep our distance from the edge of Gooseberry Canyon - we made dinner. After that, there wasn't so much to do, although we scouted ahead a bit and got some nice pictures of the cliffs in the evening light (the sun tends to wash everything out during the day). Looming 1000 feet over us were the sharp cliffs of Island in the Sky - the developed part of the park where most visitors go. Only hiking trails led from here to there. The road back was long and treacherous at night. We were decidedly there to stay.
Darkness fell, and with it came the wind. The last time we had camped on the White Rim, the wind was almost our undoing. If you didn't read the story behind that train wreck, you can check it out
here. This time, Chris had nailed the tent down with 12 inch metal stakes - unfortunately about four inches down, the sand became hardpan. He did his best to shore it up with rocks, and when the wind really started to roar (along with some thunder and lightening), he went out and made some adjustments, and moved the truck around to make a windbreak. This did not comfort the children when the insanely loud flapping (inside the tent, it felt like the foundation of the earth itself was shaking) finally woke them up. Remembering how our tent almost blew away with us in it the last time this happened, they were completely terrified. Nothing would console them....except sleeping in our bed.
And so it came to pass that an air mattress designed to barely hold two adults comfortably, now contained those two adults balanced uncomfortably on its margins, while two small children, who took up an amazing amount of real estate considering their small stature, slept cozily in the middle. Harry was next to me, and he kept trying to move me around like I was furniture. Every time I tried to turn over to relieve some joint pain form the awkward positioning, I found my balance more precarious. Finally I gave up and elected to sleep in one of the kid's beds, awkwardly piling all the toddler-size sleeping bags and blankets on top of myself to achieve some semblance of normal bedding.
It got down to about thirty that night and we did end up making use of that propane heater to take off the edge. I cooked a chilly breakfast of pancakes while the others were breaking camp. Greg and Soklim had brought along their backpacking tent and were gradually removing gear from it as the pancakes came off the griddle. I heard shouting and looked up from my work - the tent was in the air and tumbling quickly toward the abyss of Gooseberry Canyon. We all took off running - Soklim comically still clutching a bottle of syrup in one hand and a plate of pancakes in another - and I managed to grab the tent. After breakfast came the joyful task of washing the dishes in frigid water. That is as close as I ever hope to get to frostbite.
Another challenge we faced was convincing the kids they were not going to fall into the pit toilet. This took some coaching. Harry was a brave soul, but after a day and a half of refusing to poop, I was worried that disaster was at hand. I sat him down on the toilet and promised to hang on to him if he would just try. Crouched down in front of him, eye to eye, while he grunted and stared earnestly at me, I just could not keep myself from bursting out laughing. He took it well. Lily, for her part, eventually came around to the idea that pit toilets were rather special. To the point where she was talking about it, after we were back to civilization, nonstop. "I PEED in a PIT TOILET!! Pit toilets don't FLUSH!" wherever we went. Ever notice how small children will pronounce anything scatological, slightly embarrassing or taboo with crystal clarity, even if the rest of their speech is mush?
We did have some good fortune as well - a park ranger was on patrol and had camped at the other Gooseberry site (he shared our PIT TOILET! They don't FLUSH! ahem). He was able to confirm for us that the Hogback and Hardscrabble had indeed been cleared. He was also following roughly our itinerary. To me, this was all good as we had not planned on anything illegal, and having him nearby somewhere felt like a safety net. Besides, NPS Rangers have achieved some godlike status in my mind, which I think says more about me than the rangers, and his presence was like having a talisman to bring us luck. That must be why I caught the tent.
Greg and Soklim decided that the motion sickness was too much to take for another two days, so we parted ways after breakfast - them going back to Moab the way we came, and our little family heading on toward Potato Bottom for the night. I was concerned because it was shaping up to be much colder that night, and while we would survive, another night of shivering and trying to cook on a cold windy plain was not looking too appealing. We had an excellent if uneventful day of driving - the pictures really tell this part of the story best - and when we reached Potato Bottom (giggle) at 2:30 we decided to push on through to the end. This turned out to be an excellent decision, because it only took another two hours to get back to blessed pavement, and the temperatures for that night dipped into the mid TWENTIES.
After that, we completely chickened out and got a motel room for the rest of the trip. :)
