A Long Walk on the East Rim

A lazy morning. Prostrate in bed. Nothing going on, nothing planned. Seconds turning to minutes, minutes to hours. Still in bed. Comfy bed. Cozy bed. Don't wanna get out. But I must, I must. And I lurch out of bed with a creek and a snap and I hobble into the kitchen and eat some oatmeal or something. Maybe throw in some peanut butter. I don't know. I ain't no gourmet. 

Nearly noon, the sun nice and bright, daytime splendor all around. Outside that is. Inside it is dark. Gotta go outside. Gotta touch the light. 

I grab the pack, throw in some peanuts and a granola bar and these mediocre dried apple rings. Don't really know why I bought them. Perhaps the packaging was appealing to some backwater section of my brain. I don't know. Couldn't let 'em go to waste though. Had to eat those suckers.

Outside, in the car, driving down the road. Cars pass by, motorcycles zoom on through, and hey, look, a big ol' dead deer on the side of the road. Sunny, sunny, sunny. Outstanding weather. Fabulous lighting. A lovely day. A lovely day that was nearly half over. Oh well. That's what happens when you lay in bed all morning.

Still driving, the tires rolling silently on the blacktop. Into Springdale, into the Zion National Park, the canyon walls high, the coloration on the cliffs infinitely fascinating. Up the road, behind a big ol' camper. Yep. Gonna be stuck at the tunnel for a while. And we stop at the tunnel and wait for about 15 minutes and four, yes, FOUR RVs come through on the other side, one after the other after the other, all of 'em the same make and model and color. Perhaps the drivers knew each other. A color-coordinated family extravaganza. Or maybe it was all just a big coincidence. Who's to say...

Through the tunnel, out the other side, cars lined up on the side of the road, each one parked so close to the other the whole thing looked like one gigantic metallic centipede. And the camper pulled off the side of the road and I drove on, trying to get to the East Rim Trail. And I pulled off the side right next to the East Entrance and hit up the outhouse and then wandered around, trying to find the trailhead. Walking, walking, walking. It's a wonderful thing. Gets you where you need to go, one way or another.

And I walked on down the road and up to the East Rim Trailhead and just as soon as I started I realized I forgot to display my dang pass. Oops. Had to turn around. And so I walked on back to the car, drove it over to the proper trailhead, parked in the dirt, displayed my pass, chugged some water, said something like "alright, lets do this for real" and then set off down the trail. It was ten minutes after 12pm. Heck yeah. Just the way I like it...

I wanted a long walk. A long walk through the woods. Craved the mileage. Yearned for fatigue. Ain't gone on a long walk in a long time. It needed to happen. Ten minutes after noon on a Tuesday the day after summiting Jobs Head seemed like the best opportunity. Ok, maybe not the best oppertunity, but it was something and I was dang diddly dang gonna dang diddly take it.

Left foot, right foot, walking walking walking. Bright colors. Everything illuminated. Tiny flowers. Green shrubbery, white sandstone, wispy breeze. Springtime in the high desert. What a lovely thing. Unlike chaffing. Chaffing is not a lovely thing. But it happens. Especially when you wear boxer shorts on a long hike in the woods. 

They started rubbing pretty good about four miles in. Stated rubbin' even better after another two. And so I jumped off the trail and took 'em off and shoved 'em in the pack and walked around commando. And I walked like a cowboy in the old wild west, my knees pointed slightly outward, my legs slightly bent. Not the most comfortable hiking position, but it got the job done.

And others were out and about, people out there for the day, people out there for a few days, a mixture of day hikers and backpackers and trail runners and the like. And I passed a few of them and they passed me and we all said hello or gave a nod and performed the customary unwritten trail etiquette expected of all outdoor travelers. 

Growing shadows, shifting winds. I walked straight to Cable Mountain, following the signs as I went, stopping when the trail terminated in cliffs. An old structure stood tall and weathered; the remains of an old logging operation that brought wood from the top of the rim down to the canyon floor. Apparently that's how the Zion Lodge was built. But it don't matter. The thing burned down in the 60's. 

Everything is ephemeral. All for naught, naught for all. All that effort, all that work, the clearing of the forest, the sea of stumps, all of it for one big fire to make it all meaningless. But that was a long time ago. The trees have come back. The lodge, rebuilt. All that remains are a few bits and bobs from the past. I sat underneath the old wood structure, the thing merely a skeleton. All its good for now is shade. 

Munchin' on peanuts, munchin' on those apple rings. Crikey, those things ain't good at all. Even in my hungered state they still managed to—as the kids these days say—give me the ick. And icky they were. Nice and warm in my pack, the things were limp and a little moist, tasting a wee bit like vomit in the back of the throat. I forced 'em down, washing out the taste with peanuts and water. 

But at least the views were nice. Angels Landing, Big Bend, Observation Point. I could see cyclists down below, see all the E-bikers, see the tiny shuttle moving down the thing line of the road like a beetle on a blade of grass. I moved closer to the edge, sat down, dangled my legs. Yep. That was nice. Always gotta dangle the legs. It's just one of those things you have to do.

And then it was time to go and I walked and walked and walked, burping up apple rings the whole way, the taste still in my throat, yucky, yucky, yucky. And then I decided to check out Big Cable Mountain, a wide, flattish mound rising up right next to the trail. And you know what? Ain't nothing up there. 

I got up there, walked around, tried to find a high point of some kind, and then left. Nothing much going on up there. Lots of brush, lots of manzanita and ceanothus, a smattering of pines, a sprinkle of sheep dookie. 

Back on the trail, I hit a junction, making a right towards Deertrap Mountain. And this trail was a lot more thin and a little more "out there" or at least that's just the vibe I got from it. Sun gettin' lower now, the breeze still kickin', the colors shifting to their afternoon setting, grass everywhere, shrubs everywhere, one foot adter another, still walkin' like a cowboy, my choice of going commando not really working so great anymore.

And then I left the trail and started bushwhacking up to what is known as "Scarlet Begonias." A brushy little summit, this thing actually had pretty decent views of the East Rim, albeit a little brushy at times. And I didn't play the Grateful Dead song at the top 'cause it never crossed my mind; too busy trying to figure out why the name "Scarlet Begonias" was chosen for this peak in the first place. No scarlet, no begonias anywhere to be found. No flowers to be found of any kind for that matter. Just scraggly pines, hardy cactus and lots and lots of rocks and dirt. Personally, I woulda named this peak "Brushy Hob Knobblin" but I guess "Scarlet Begonias" is a prettier name. 

Aries Butte, Nippletop from "Scarlet Begonias"

 

A view from "Scarlet Begonias"

And I munched on more of those disgusting apple rings and finished the peanuts and chugged most of my water and then began the long, long, long trek back to the car. And the miles disappeared underfoot, one after the other. And the afternoon grew long and the shadows longer and soon I was walkin' in the shade for the most part, things coolin' off, the day wrapping up. And I was sick and tired of walkin' like a cowboy and so hopped off the trail and took off the pants and said "Aww man" and my thighs were nice and pink and I put on the ol' boxer shorts once again and kinda just thugged it out the whole rest of the way back. 

Twenty-two miles. Six hours, twenty-five minutes, fifty-one seconds. Didn't see a single person on the way back. Had the whole trail to myself. And the parking lot was also empty and I sat around with the windows down for a bit, just trying to soak in the moment and whatnot. I had gotten exactly what I was lookin' for. Lots of miles, lots of fatigue. I was able to enjoy the afternoon, make something out of the day. Coulda done without the chaffing, but there's always something that's gotta be added to the mix just to spice things up. That's just the way it goes.