We’ve been walking in the stream for a couple of miles. Mama Bear has one place on her mind, a pothole we saw when we passed by in the Spring. We round a corner and there is a giant, square boulder the size of a Mini almost perfectly in the middle of the stream. She recognizes the rock and knows we have arrived. Right at the base is a 6-foot deep hole, deep enough the water is a dark shade of green and you can’t quite see the bottom. We find a place to drop our packs and then jump in. The frigid water feels amazing in the almost 100-degree weather.
Unlike many of our weekend escapes, we only had one, very achievable objective, find swimming holes in the desert. To some that might seem a bit more difficult, but we knew where we were headed, knew there was water and knew where to look. All we had to do was walk into the desert, descend a sketchy downclimb into the canyon and move through the small rivers eroding the sandstone to potholes we knew were there.
This particular pothole was the last one we had passed a few months back coming down canyon. Now that we were headed up, it was hotter than before and we were ready for a dip in its cool depths. Mama Bear was ahead of me as I was doddling taking photos and enjoying the slow walk into a place where I hoped to see only the Blue Dolphin.
I knew she had reached our first swimming hole as she shrieked with joy. By the time I had come around the boulder, she had already dropped her pack, stripped down to what would pass as her swimming suit for the weekend and was enjoying the cool, green water.
I quickly followed suit. There was a small alcove just above the swimming hole. I made my way up to the flat, sandy deck and dropped my pack and clothes. The water was as perfect of a temperature as we could hope for. Just cool enough to give you that initial shock when you jump in from the desert heat, but warm enough that you quickly become accustomed to it and have zero desire to exit.
The water was a translucent green color, darker in the corner where the water had eroded the most dropping well over our heads. The hole was a couple of body lengths long allowing us to swim around, splash, pounce and more or less forget everything that we had left about an hour earlier and just be kids, in the desert, in an amazing swimming hole.
After a quick swim, we filter some water and make a quick lunch. This is a bitchin’ campsite, but we happen to know there is an even better one a bit farther up the canyon. An alcove rad enough to call home for the evening. We haven’t seen anyone else yet, so we are hopeful it is empty and available for our sojourn.
As we are wrapping up lunch, a couple desert wanderers saunter by. This is the motivation we need to get moving. We strap the packs back on and high tail it up the canyon passing by a few good holes, but more worried about catching our preferred spot first.
We round a bend in the canyon and the alcove appears and seems to be empty. We make our way up to its bank dodging the poison ivy and find the flat spot void of other travelers. We drop our packs feeling a bit giddy to be able to camp here and have the rest of the day to do nothing but walk through sandstone walls and swim in beautiful pools.
And now it was time for water.
Scarcity often makes things, not only more important, but more beautiful. In a place defined by lack, it is “cock the hammer and pull the trigger” mind blowingly amazing to witness water trickle through sandstone, pool in deep pockets and pour over the edge. To see enough of the liquid requirement for life slicing through a canyon that you can hear it. Flowing, draining, rushing toward down, in a hurry to get where it belongs.
Finding water in the desert holds a bit of mischievousness to it. Almost like the water is sneaking into the movies, you know and you are there just to watch the whole thing unfold to see if it gets caught. And then witnessing its ability to slide undetected through the desert, it’s exciting and it makes me giggle, laugh out loud, be humbled, energized all in one simple view of water flowing over sandstone.
We are in no hurry as we witness this guilty pleasure. Walking slowly, capturing pictures, finding water hole after water hole and swimming in the ones that look the most inviting. Finding desert suckers huddled in the depths of the biggest and deepest ones.
The water trickles over the sandstone creating a dark stain contrasting the white, dry rock. Bordering the contrast are Ponderosa Pines, big and red and tall. They stand as sentinels to ensure the water doesn’t get too out of hand and to keep guard the desert against the idiots who would desecrate it out of ignorance or laziness.
And then we enter the Narrows.
Ah, the Narrows. This short section of canyon is reminiscent of the Subway in Zion. The walls are concave and resemble a tube where the top has been ripped off. The walls border deep potholes that you can get around if you try, but there’s a pretty good chance you are going to swim. You can decide to swim or the canyon can do it for you.
I must admit the last time we were here, we dressed ourselves up in dry suits and one of us may have floated through the Narrows in a pool toy. Fun times.
This time around, we were here to swim and avoiding the water was not on the agenda. We made our way through the tubes walked where felt like it and swam up current where we didn’t.
One thing you never want when you are stuck in a canyon is heavy rain. The forecast showed a big fat zero for chance of precipitation but the fluffy clouds that had formed in the early afternoon were starting to tell a disturbingly different story. We could only see small portions of the sky due to the narrowness of the canyon but as we exited the Narrows, the sky unfolded before us showing a dark lining on the underbelly of the fluffy ones we had been watching. To add to our anxiety, the moment we stepped out the upper side, it started to sprinkle.
The obvious option was to get back to the safety of the alcove as quickly as possible. Swimming would have to wait till later. We turned and rapidly made our way back where we had just come. Luckily, the sprinkling stopped, there was never a roar or change in water color or depths and by the time we made it back to our camp, the sky was clear, it was hot and we were ready for another dip and dinner.
Every human should experience, at least once, what it is to be naked in the desert.
With our swimming and walking and being scared of impending flash floods over, we settle into our alcove for the evening. The occasional breeze feels amazing in the summer heat, but then leaves us stale, motionless, silent and hot. I observe the sun slowly setting and bathing the alcove in golden light. Any direct sunlight is gone as a group passes and heads downstream.
The only real answer I have to why is why not. These places are the paradox of humanity. We long for the freedom they provide and they can only provide this freedom if we are willing to give up some freedoms to protect them. My ability to experience this place on my terms means you can’t get here via mechanical power. I’m sure someone, in their short sighted view of what should be, would be stoked to build some sort of tram down into this hole so those who can’t be bothered to be uncomfortable can walk for a few minutes in its depths, snap a selfie, with the imported electricity there is now wifi and this place that connects me so deeply is now connected to what makes us disconnected, post it immediately. Then get back on the tram and head back up disturbing the peace with their noises, smells, reasons…
Luckily, for now, this place is mine. A man isn’t free if he can’t be the master of his own alcove. And while this alcove is only mine for the evening and I hope to leave no mark to show that I was here, it is mine. I experience the breeze completely and the heat that comes when it stops, entirely. The sand under my feet is unimpeded in the delivery of the sensation to my brain. I dig them in and let the sand filter through my toes. It’s just me and the canyon. I breathe deep, nothing but stale alcove air. No noise.
For now, this alcove is mine.
The morning breaks. The light slowly filters back in and we are up and moving before any direct sun hits our faces. It’s not a long hike, but in the summer heat it wouldn’t be fun. The water is still brisk as we dip our toes in for the first time. We quickly acclimatize and move quickly through the stream following it to what is called a river and out the other side.
The short climb up the sandstone reminds us that the heat is coming. We walk the top of the canyon quickly, but not too fast as we are still in the moment.
We reach the car and the soberness we chose to experience in the depths of the canyon is quickly ended. The chairs are thrown out, we sit and feel the heat burning our skin as we enjoy a beer.
Mission accomplished.
P. L. and R.
