It’s a strange place.
We park in a lot that while it has been updated, cleaned up and made to feel a bit more inviting still holds onto the vibe that people come here to die, not to live. The garbage is gone. The cars that look abandoned probably because society has abandoned their occupants, also gone. Maybe it’s the memories. Maybe it’s just this spot and the vibe isn’t easily washed off. Either way, it feels like we are parked and starting this weekend in a sketchy spot. The lot sits on top of a giant gravel pit and the trail leads down off the side past a tunnel with a magnificent mural. The surrounding area doesn’t change. The sharp rocks, barren hills and cooked mountains are everywhere, but within 100 yards of that parking lot, it’s like walking through the wardrobe, suddenly, we are in a magical place.
The sun is still low in the sky. The shadows stretch out over those cooked mountains deepening their darkness while the edges of said shadows pop into purples, grays and blues that you would never think to see here. The barren sidehills beam with color. Yellows and greens glow out of the brown in small patches where the sun’s glow catches the edge of the few plants speckling the landscape.
I quickly fall to the back of the group as I keep stopping and pulling out the camera trying to capture the light and the group and the vibes. The trail takes us down an old road that has been eroding for quite some time and then plants us in a canyon. We continue down the gravely wash bed until the trail turns and climbs up the dark sidehill. At this point, the trail gets steep and loose. Without fail, someone always calls it Marble Hill. It’s an apt description. The only problem with it is that every hill is Marble Hill. The trail is narrow and grapevines out across the hills. Every junction will eventually take you to where we are headed, but not all in the same way. There’s a few stop and turn arounds, a few questioning looks, but ultimately, we see the palm trees.
They jump out at us as a stark contrast to the greys and browns of the surrounding geology. These bright, big, green leaves like a thumb poked in your eye. They seem so out of place until you drop into the drainage that contains them and there is water, another strange thing to see in an area so seemingly dry and desolate. And the water is hot. The trees then make sense. We have gone through the wardrobe and it has taken us through hell and deposited us in heaven.
Befday Bear – A Tradition
Mama Bear and I don’t celebrate too many things. We do holidays on our terms and our terms mean we don’t do them or we do things that have nothing to do with the traditional way of celebrating. For example, Thanksgiving is spent riding, hopefully most of the day and in a way that sitting around a table chowing down food is more of a tired, sitting with that thousand-yard stare that has to be earned, affair. The celebration for us is the riding, the eating then becomes a natural sequence to replenish lost calories.
Birthdays are one of the exceptions, especially Mama Bear’s. We have done some sort of birthday trip since the first one we spent together. Whatever weekend makes sense around the 25th of January, we plan and go to celebrate her. For the past several years that trip has been hot spring hopping. Drag boats down through the rocky, barren landscape, pump them up and paddle around drinking beer, soaking in hot springs and genuinely having a good time. It’s low effort. The hike in is only a couple of miles, but the payoff is big.
Campsite Anxiety
Despite the fact that we have snagged the campsite we wanted every time except the very first trip down here, the Alliance always has Campsite Anxiety when dropping down to this particular piece of heaven.
Campsite Anxiety is the fear that you aren’t going to get the site you want or hope to have. It’s an entirely unstoic thing. It’s placing the fate of your trip and whether it’s going to be good or not on one spot. This flies in the face of countless campsites that were improvised or when the “perfect” site wasn’t available and just a bit farther down the trail was a bitchin’ one. We’ve been down here so many times that we know where more sites are, but that doesn’t matter. The group comes in with expectations, expectations create anxiety, anxiety creates a nervous motivation to get to the site.
Dropping down past the palm trees leaving the hot spring to be soaked in later, we sprawl out on the beach. Looking from above, we would appear as a group moving together but also racing one another. Everyone is yanking boats and paddles and stuff out of their packs. It’s a semi-organized frenzy. Then the winner pushes off in their boat and begins the 3/4-mile paddle toward our desired site.
To be fair, the site is pretty bitchin’. It sits at the mouth of a small canyon. You’ve probably already assumed as much, but yes, there is a stream running out of this canyon and the stream is warm. About a mile up said rocky slit, it gets narrow, about 6 feet across. At this spot, the water is hot and sandbags have been strategically placed to create a pool. This pool’s water averages about 105 degrees. By camping at the mouth, we are then able to sneak up for both late night and early morning soaks. Pretty much perfect.
I believe Cami won our frenzy on the beach that morning and soon there was a line of packrafters strewn out across the Colorado. If you aren’t in the front, there’s no rush. As long as one of us is there and we are the first ones to place our flag on the sandy beach, we’re good. Part of the reason we’ve snagged this same site for the past several years is that it is not easy to get to. You can hike into it, but it’s sketchy and steep. Most people who paddle to these hot springs do so from down river several miles, so they tend to try and camp downstream. We kind of sneak in with our light boats and light kits and a quick, sketchy hike from the other side making it an easy little jaunt.
I was not in the front of our line of rafts, so I don’t know who made it to the beach first. It doesn’t really matter anyway because they made it and we got our spot.
To the Sauna
On the left side of the canyon, a couple of miles upstream, I can see a black spot on the wall. That’s our destination.
After securing our campsite, the group settles into chill mode as all we have left to do for two days is paddle around and soak in hot springs. We eat lunch and have a beer. There’s talk of heading up to “our” hot spring, but we also know that if we do, it will be where we stay sucking all motivation out of the group to do anything. Plus, it’s the Taylors first time down here and they have things to see. Lunch and beers are finished. We pack up a few things and head upstream.
Packrafts are light and work great for floating on rivers that are flowing. This one is not. The flat bottomed, super light rigs make flat water paddling a bit of a chore. Luckily, it’s only a couple of miles to our sauna.
The Sauna Cave is a weird one. It’s a man-made tunnel that was cut into the rock during the construction of Hoover Dam, but they hit a hot spring and abandoned the thing. The tunnel is just tall enough that you can walk, but you can’t stand upright without risking hitting your head. It’s pitch black, as you would expect, and the deeper you go, the hotter it gets. At the very back of the cave, the walls and floor are wet, but it’s pretty much just steam. The darkness, and at least for me, knowing that it’s an entirely man-made feature, lends to some uneasiness.
It’s a short scramble up the beach to the mouth. That black spot on the wall is the opening. There’s a small dam with a drain to pool some of the water. We climb up and in and slowly make our way to the back of the cave. The headlamp is flipped off and we sit in complete darkness as the steam enthralls us. Sitting in the dark, in a hole with hot water trickling out of the walls is an experience. We hang out until everyone has their fill and head back to the boats. Destination: next hot spring.
Hot Spring Hopping
The Sauna Cave is the farthest destination upstream that we will be visiting. We point our packrafts downstream and slowly begin paddling.
One of the most popular springs is just below the cave. It’s an easy hike and the pools are big and hot. Typically, we skip these ones for that reason and the fact that we used to hike down this canyon so we’ve experienced what it has to offer. As I mentioned, the Taylors had not. So Mama Bear wanted to show them and we pulled the boats up on shore and made the short walk through the crowds to the pools for a quick soak. Our desire to experience the springs was cut short by our desire to not be around the over washed and scented masses.
Back to the boats and off to the hot spring we had passed up due to our Campsite Anxiety.
The previous year’s soak in these springs was accentuated by the experience of two naked dudes. It kind of comes with the territory of hot spring hopping that you are going to see nude folks. As we paddle back up to the beach, There’s a naked guy with two clothed friends (this always makes me question things) who upon realizing we are headed their way take off running. There’s also two people in the river. As we get closer, they pull themselves out and are also naked. Whatever. We beach the boats and climb back up to the springs. We can hear the laughs and talking of what sounds like a big group.
To get to these springs you have to climb up above them and then drop into the canyon. The water isn’t super hot so only the pool right at the mouth of the spring is really any good for soaking. The ruckus coming from the springs makes us assume there are quite a few people.
I peak over the edge at the pools below just as a lady jumps up. Those are big I think as her breasts catch me off guard as she runs from one pool to another. The Alliance is not impressed with the amount of people. The pools are chalk full and we know we have a better spring at camp. We turn around and make our way back to the river forever dubbing this one as The Naked Hot Spring.
Soaking in our Hot Spring
The sun is dropping as we drift/slowly paddle back to camp. The canyon glows during the gloaming. It turns gold with purple hues and the river drops in shade to become a black silhouette under the glowing rock. I for one am not in any kind of a hurry. The sights of being on the river are plenty for me and for the moment, I’m happy to soak in the views instead of the water.
Back at our beach of choice, the group settles in. Food is cooked. Jokes are thrown around. We have but one last item on our agenda, soak in our hot spring. There’s no rush. We have all night and even the next morning to do so. After dinner and a couple of beers, we ready ourselves and 2 by 2 begin the journey up the canyon.
Good hot springs almost always have a trek involved and this one is no different. As I mentioned, it’s about 20-minute walk from the river to the pools through an ever-narrowing canyon with hot water bubbling out of its surface in multiple locations. The stream can be avoided at first. It starts as lukewarm and as you ascend, it begins to get hotter and hotter. This is quite pleasant and feels good on the old piglets as you trapes through the stream getting incessant pebbles stuck in your sandals.
There’s two waterfalls. The first is traversed around. The second requires a handline and ascending up the fall. At the top, the water has cut a narrow gouge in the rock. You can make your way up the waterway or stem across the top. Depending on the person, both methods are used. I’ve used both on one trip depending. At this point, the canyon has an almost marble like appearance. The hot water has polished the rocks through countless floods leaving walls of blues and whites.
Usually, we have this pool to ourselves.
I was concerned and voiced as much that the recent weather that we had could have rendered our pool kaput. The narrow canyon plus high amounts of rain tend to equal floods. Floods easily blow sandbags out. This pool only exists thanks to sandbags. Fortunately, the Topham brothers had hiked down from the top (a first for us to see someone who had come in that way) bringing with them sandbags to rebuild the pool. We were grateful for their efforts as it made our soaking possible, but also meant we had to share the pool with them and two children.
We arrived and plopped in. The initial shock to the system makes me pull back up. It’s hot enough that you can’t just drop in, you gotta ease the muscles into it. Easily 30 seconds later, I’m up to my neck, skin burning in the soothing water of our spring. The Alliance all fits and soon we are sitting, joking, being a bit inappropriate for the children, and having the time of our lives.
After an hour or so, we are all cooked. The procession reverses itself and we had back to our beach. We sit and drink beer. The Planner wrangles up some wood and a fire is built. Something about a trifecta to do so. Beer and wine and fire make for a perfect end to our day.
This particular celebration does have traditions and traditions that we uphold. Sometime around 6 am (could have been earlier or later, I wasn’t looking at my watch), Shelby starts to stir. Soon he’s up and the beam cast by his headlamp makes its way past our tent and he heads up the canyon. This is our alarm clock. As soon as he’s past, Mama Bear and I roll over and start the same process. Find a pack, stash the stove and coffee stuff in said pack, decide whatever else we want to take up canyon with us and then exit our sleeping bags for a chilly jaunt up canyon for sunrise coffee in the hot spring.
This process is repeated five times. Each couple readying themselves at their own pace and then beginning the journey up the canyon.
It’s still pitch black as Mama Bear and I begin walking. The bubble of light illuminates about 30 feet of stream and we quietly make our way up the canyon. The timing of our ascent puts us just above the waterfall as the light starts to fade into existence. By the time we hit the pool, our headlamps are off and we are ready for some coffee and soaking. Shelby is there and we soon find our way to the pool with a mug in one hand. Slowly, two by two, the rest of the Alliance wanders in, making coffee and then plopping into the hot spring.
As the caffeine does its job, the crowd starts to get lively. Even second cups of coffee are brewed. Conversations around what trip is next, when we are going out again are mixed in with philosophy, crass jokes and seeing that Shelby was there, probably something about rocks.
Mama Bear and I tend to max out on soaking around an hour. This is amplified when coffee and lack of food are factors. With the sun up and feeling sufficiently boiled, the two of us head back down canyon. Our beach is quiet. The sun hasn’t hit it yet but is illuminating the river and small portions of the canyon casting shadows and throwing a small light show.
We ready breakfast. The rest of the crew slowly winds back down the canyon.
Back through the wardrobe
The Topham brothers had mentioned wind. As in a windstorm was forecasted to hit the canyon sometime around midmorning. Light, flat-bottomed boats are not good on flat water and really not good on flat water with a headwind.
This is taken into consideration.
After our soak, it’s more or less break fast and break camp.
The sun has reached our little gravely beach as we are just about ready to push off. The Ballers have time and plan to stick around. We say our goodbyes and put on paddling back upriver for that 3/4 of a mile. There is wind. Luckily, it’s going our direction and we arrive at our exit canyon quickly and with little effort. The organized frenzy is reversed as we deflate and pack up our boats. Everything is shoved, placed, tetrissed into our packs and we begin the short hike back to the cars.
I have to think the vibe of this parking lot is strong. Both the Lickers and ourselves have left bikes in vans that are more or less in sight. I hadn’t even thought about them until we start to get closer to the parking lot. The sketchiness returns and I start to worry about broken glass and missing bikes. Luckily, my anxiety is unfounded and the glass is intact and our bikes are where we left them.
One last thing on the agenda, a trip to the brewery. Mama Bear loves the Dam Brewery and we head that way for some beers, fried pickles and lunch.
It is indeed a strange place. Partially due to the juxtaposition with Las Vegas, partially due to the barren landscape that burst through with vegetation when some hot water suddenly boils from its ground. We always have talks of making trips when it’s less cold, of coming back more often, but this strange place kind of just lives in the tradition of the Befday Bear.
And I think we all like it that way.
Embrace Chaos. Seek Discomfort or hot springs, whatever comes first.
