A Sliver of Sky in a Slot

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We hiked for nine hours in what became a pretty intense midday sun. When my Chacoed feet hit the bubbling stream bed I was anxious to bathe my toes in the clear, tepid water. It was still morning when we started and my gut feeling to don sunscreen was overcome by a bravado desire to endure the trail without it. The first quarter-mile of the hike was invigorating. I tried to dig deep into my memory from five years ago when I originally hiked Mary Jane Canyon with my friend Christa. After only 20 minutes I realized that we might not have begun at the same place where Christa and I did. We were crossing electrified fences into and out of parcels of private property and at one point walked past an interesting looking resort peppered with full-size tee pees. My instincts were awry. I feebly fumbled through my mixed thoughts regarding whether or not we should turn back and pack it in or go on. I had a lot riding on this hike. I wanted to make sure I got in a solid day-hike that would make for good submission material to Backpacker magazine. I have yet to write that submission. I also had a friend along who was looking to experience a true Moab outdoor trek.

Breck and I decided to push on. After the first two miles I decided we should make our way to higher ground so I could get a better vantage point on our surroundings. We gained about 500 feet in altitude and I pulled out my trusty map. By that time the sun was at its apex and fiercely beating down on my naked skin. I finally gave in and pulled out the SPF 50 – later I would find that it was too little, too late. Climbing the ridge was a good idea that paid off. I was able to verify that we were heading in the right direction and found a small sliver of Professor Creek, the stream we were walking through in the first place, glistening in the distance. After scrambling down through the razor-sharp Chinle rock layer, we were able to bushwack our way back to the creek.

Another 30 minutes of wondering if I was crazy or knew what I was doing, and I was able to confirm that we were in fact in the same place that I graced with my presence five years prior. I told Breck not to worry, we were eventually going to see the epic waterfall at the end of Mary Jane Canyon. Mary Jane turns into a slot that weaves its way back for about three miles until it comes to a dead-end. It seemed like an eternity of twists and turns that all looked very similar to one another and, finally, I could hear the deafening gush of thousands of gallons of water crashing into a small pool. Before I turned the corner, I doubled back and yelled to Breck, “All I have to say is, ‘It’s about time!'” One leg of the canyon would be swathed in glorious sunlight and the next would be covered in ambient shade. The water was inviting and, just as I did the first time, I ducked my head beneath it for a brief bludgeoning by its rock-eroding force. It was certainly colder than it looked. I quickly walked 50 feet back into the sunlight to dry off and warm up. Breck followed suit shortly thereafter and found out how cold the water was.

It took us three hours to get back to the Jeep. On our way out, two Cliff Swallows played leapfrog through the slot, leading us back to the mouth of the canyon. It seemed as if the swallows were happy to have some company. Breck and I were the only people we saw all day until we got back to our transportation. It was nice to get away from civilization for a day. I have to say, though, I do not foresee myself hiking through a stream bed any time soon. My toes are still shriveled from walking in that water for so long. For anybody who is wondering, I got sunburned, but it was well worth it.