Smokies, Bunker Hill Mountain Bike Ride, 12-18-94,

At the beginning of the year Peggy and I had done a hike up Gregory Bald from Cades Cove. This is a common route, except that we had ridden our mountain bikes from Cades Cove to the trailhead. This time Jonathan, Peggy, and I were looking to do a similar hybrid bike/hike trip and targeted the old Bunker Hill Fire tower site.

The Bunker Hill Tower and cabin in 1941 from Open Parks.

At that time the spur road to Bunker Hill was still shown on park maps. The spur starts from the gravel Parson Branch Road, the one way road connecting Cades Cove to US 129 (Aka, the tail of the dragon). Parson Branch Road is prone to washouts from rainstorms, and can be closed for years at a time before the NPS is able to reconstruct it. Sometimes the road is closed to vehicles but remains open to hikers and bikers. We decided to take advantage of one of these windows.

We rode from the entry to the paved Cades Cove Loop Road around the north side of the loop for 5.5 miles to Cable Mill. Here we turned off onto the gravel Forge Creek Road, and pedaled another 2.2 miles to the Gregory Ridge Trailhead, where the gravel Parsons Branch Road begins. December is as quiet as the Cove gets, and we must have had an uneventful ride as I made no notes for this part of the trip.

Parson Branch is steeper, and rougher than Forge Creek (hence its susceptibility to flooding), and gave us our first real climbing of the ride.  But even though it was closed to vehicles, we found it in reasonably good shape for biking. The bank was eroded away in one spot, and there were other areas near the start where cobles had been washed into the road, but a good 4WD driver could have driven it easily.

In 1.3 miles we came to an open gate that marked the start of the tower road to Bunker Hill. We started in on the bikes, but the tower road quickly became too rough and overgrown for riding. We didn’t know how long the tower had been closed, but obviously long enough for trees to start growing! The tower was probably abandoned in the mid-1970s when the park service switched to areal fire spotting, and was torn down in the mid-1980s when liability from the abandoned and unmaintained towers became a concern. The road to Bunker Hill is shown as a trail on the 1931 park map, and as a road to the tower on the 1949 map. The access road and tower are both shown on the latest USGS Quad.

After a half mile we gave up trying to ride and walked the last ~1.8 miles to the tower site. The tower road was visible, and it was an obvious and easy winter walk. At the tower site we could see the footings, some old car batteries, and an antenna, but there was no view. A 2011 MS thesis on Smokies Towers from Clemson University indicates that the tower was built in 1941 by the CCC. The 60 foot metal tower had an accompanying cabin that was still standing in 1968.

On our return we noted that much of the south side of Bunker Hill Lead had burned relatively recently. Once back on the bikes it was an easy ride under cold clear skies back to the cars. I thought this was a trip worth repeating, but have subsequently only been back twice to the tower site, both times on off trail hikes coming up from US 129.

On 11-18-07 with Jean, Claudia, Clyde, and Nan we climbed off trail up Tabcat Creek to the tower and back. The batteries and footers on Bunker Hill were still in place, along with a few scraps of metal.

On 11-20-11 Jean, Claudia, and I hiked the off trail Grassy Flats-Revenue Road Loop. At the tower site we still saw the batteries, this time with some sort of stand and some PVC piping. We walked some of the Bunker Hill Road down to the south end of a “V” where the Revenue Road started, and the tower road was well overgrown by then! 

Jean and I at the Bunker Hill Tower site in 2011.

Curry Mtn. Meigs Creek Trail Run, 12-11-94

 At first glance East Tennessee doesn’t seem like the type of place that gets more than its fair share of storms. It is a long way from the coast, not in tornado alley, and receives relatively little snow. But the Great Smoky Mountains get plenty of severe storms, and especially did so in the first few years I lived here. My move in day was during the Blizzard of 1993, when Knoxville got an unprecedented 15 inches of snow. In 1994 a late March rainstorm triggered record high river flows, and closed three roads in the park. And in 1995, the strong winds and heavy rains of Hurricane Opal closed multiple trails in the park.

It was the March 1994 storm that taught me a few lessons about making the best of these events. The storm damaged three main park roads: the Laurel Creek Road to Cades Cove, the Little River Road between Elkmont and the Townsend Wye, and the Tremont Road between the Laurel Creek Road and the Tremont Institute. The Laurel Creek Road was fixed relatively quickly, but the damage to the other roads was severe, and the roads were closed for months. Streams had risen to record levels, closing all the roads in the park, and causing an estimate $1million in damage, to trails, campgrounds, and picnic areas.

But the 1994 storm did not destroy entire roads, just certain sections where the power of the flooding carved away banks and undercut roadbeds. The park kept these roads closed until repairs were complete, but also allowed foot access when safe and practical. As repair stretched into the following winter the two roadways were open to foot travel, providing a unique opportunity to run on what is normally a heavily trafficked highway. With part of the Little River Road closed to traffic, but open to foot traffic, I could complete the Meigs Creek-Curry Mountain loop, a trip I never would have contemplated with normal traffic on the two miles of busy, narrow, and curvy roadway. I also was able to run on the closed Tremont Road and Lumber Ridge Trail during a lull in that road repair. 

Both runs were part of my training for the long ago Smoky Mountain Marathon (Marathon), much of which I did on the trails. Both runs were also recorded in my Smokies Notes, an early attempt at an electronic journal. For this post I’ve included a copy edited version of my original notes for both trips, along with some recent (2025) annotations. I do not have pictures from any of my early Smokies trail runs, and these runs took place well before the development of GPS.

Curry Mountain-Meigs Creek trails loop run, 12-11-94

~12.5 mi., 1100’ climb, 2:20 for the main 10.9 mile loop, Solo

I ran all of the loop except a few food breaks.  There was a dusting of snow on Curry Mtn and Meigs Mtn, both of these are old roads.  The snow was beautiful and temperatures around freezing. Jean is grading exams; too bad she missed it.  There's a random sign on Meigs Mtn. Trail reading “Meigs Creek.” I'll bet it marks the start of a manway.  Meigs Creek Trail itself is tough. I barely made some of the crossings without getting my feet wet.  I ran back to Metcalf Bottoms on the Little River Road which is now closed again after last spring’s flood.  The 2.2 miles of road I ran did not look to be in that bad shape, but it was great to run the road and watch the river without any traffic.  Since I still felt strong, I also ran up to the Little Greenbrier School and returned by the road to add an extra 1.5 miles to my loop.

This was my first trail run since the 17 mile race at the Big South Fork in the fall, and I missed these runs.  Jean and I will be apart four weekends in a row over the holidays, and as much as I will miss her I know I can spend my time on the trails looking forward to the hikes we'll take together next year.

2025 updates: The loop was clockwise from Metcalf Bottoms Picnic Area, up Curry Mountain, over on Meigs Mtn., down Meigs Creek, and back on the closed roadway. The Meigs Mountain mystery sign may have marked Campsite 19.

Lumber Ridge Trail Run, 1-22-95

12.4 miles, ran about 9 miles, 2400’, 2:41, Solo

I chose Lumber Ridge for another run because Jean probably wouldn't be interested in it, and it is also a short section of trail I haven't been on.  The Tremont Road is closed to unauthorized vehicles, so I ran it also.  The road is washed out in four places, the last is the worst. Here the road is undercut, and one lane has dropped into the river.  This is the best spot I've seen for an erosion photo yet.

Lumber Ridge is a tough climb, and I could tell early on that I didn't have much energy.  There are two areas of bad blowdowns, but nothing like Roundtop.  In some shaded areas there was nearly complete ground cover of snow, other areas were completely bare.  Saw some tracks, mostly deer, and no people on the trail.  There may be a fourth unmaintained trail at the junction with Meigs Mtn and Meigs Creek trails. There appears to be another trail that comes up from Tremont to intersect the trail at an old signpost.  There are a few winter views through the trees, otherwise not much to recommend this trail.  

Crested Dwarf Iris on Lumber Ridge Trail (5-3-15)

2025 Updates: Lumber Ridge Trail, plus various distances along the Meigs Mountain Trail, would become one of my favorite trail runs due to the nearly perfect footing on the trail. I now hike up the long first climb from the Institute. The Tremont Road is also the start of both my 12 and 17 miles loops from the Townsend Y, so I’ve now run that section of road over 100 times. The nearby Roundtop Trail was covered in blow downs when I ran it on January 7. The “fourth unmaintained Trail” is the start of the Spruce Flats Manway, later to become one of our favorite off trail routes. The “old signpost” or “M” Trail is a Tremont Institute trail that I have never explored. Besides having great footing for running, Lumber Ridge is an excellent wildflower trail in spring.

Pink Lady Slipper on Lumber Ridge Trail (5-3-15)

California Peak Bagging Trip, 9-3-94

Early in my move to Tennessee one thing I still missed was access to the high mountains. I was enjoying the Smokies, and had not yet really discovered the  Cumberlands, but I missed that top of the world feeling one could get on a western summit high above treeline. My early hiking trips had all been mountain focused, hiking a trail to the top, and then coming back down. I’d broadened my world, appreciating the canyons and the forests, but the mountains were still where I felt the most at home.

After some successful peak bagging in the time I lived out west, this would be my last dedicated peak bagging trip. I’d still make many trips to the mountains near home and across the country, but this would be the last time I’d head out for a week with a list of peaks that I wanted to climb, and mostly as day hikes. I remembered living in Reno in the early 80s that there was great access to the Sierra Nevada and other desert peaks. My friend Karl was now living there, and I put together some other bucket list summits around an attempt with Karl on Middle Palisade in the Sierras.

But first on my list was Boundary Peak, the highest point in Nevada. I still needed a few other western states to complete my 50 State High Points, but knew if I was ever to complete that list I’d have to do many of them solo. Boundary is a peak isolated at the north end of California’s White Mountains (distinct from my native White Mountains of New England) that few others would have much interest in. As long as I was in that range, I thought I’d also try for White Mountain Peak, the high point of the Whites, and the only fourteener in the lower 48 outside of Colorado, the Sierras, and the Cascades. After Middle Palisade, I hoped to move over to Yosemite and climb Mt. Dana, a 13er, and one of the park’s most scenic peaks. Most of the climbs would be walk ups, but Middle Palisade offered some third and fourth class climbing.

9-3-94

I flew into Reno arriving at 11:30, and rented a Chevy Cavalier from Alamo. I drove 225 miles south to the turnoff for Boundary Peak and into the Inyo National Forest following the instructions in Holmes’ Highpointers Guide. Presumably I drove down US 395. The guide had all the turns noted correctly, but the rental car was barely up to the challenge, a very wash boardy road for the first 6 miles, then lots of rocks and wash outs in the last six miles. Already I was bored with all the solo driving and was looking forward to seeing Karl in the Sierras. I camped by the trailhead with several other parties.

From the road, Boundary is an impressive peak. The White Mountains rise steeply on the west side, and less so on the east, with long canyons stretching out toward the plains. From the west side, Boundary and Montgomery looked bleached white, with the rest of the range looking buff brown. The route for the next day’s hike looked rough.

Trail Canyon TH

9-4-94

There is no maintained trail to the top of Boundary Peak, but the route is as well used as you’d expect from a state highpoint. I was on the way at 6:45 and still had another 15 minutes walking to reach the end of the road. There was no campsite at the road end, so it was good I stopped where I had. The route times were one hour to the end of the springs, an hour up the draw, another hour up a steep wall, then another 30 minutes to the summit. After a summer of hiking in the dense greenery of Tennessee the sun-blasted White Mountains were a revelation. The trail was very faint from the springs to the end of the sagebrush. From the sagebrush upward the ground was very loose, and the rock all shattered to form a deep talus. Boundary was a mountain that seemed to be falling apart. The existing path didn’t follow either the Holmes or Zumwalt guides exactly, I ended up going more left (south) after the springs, and climbing nearly straight to the summit. Unfortunately, this was one of the rare trips where I did not mark all my hiking routes, so I do not have a precise map of any routes on this trip. I saw three other parties.

Boundary Peak from the meadows.

The top had a register and great views of the range south to White Mountain Peak. I could see snowbanks on the east face of Dubois, the next main peak to the south. Boundary is an unusual highpoint in that it is a spur of a larger peak. Had other survey lines been used for the CA-NV border, or different criteria used for highpoints, Wheeler Peak (13,065’), way over in the Snake Range in the eastern edge of the state, would be the Nevada highpoint. The main summit of 13,140’ Boundary is 13,441’ Montgomery Peak, separated by the 12,887 Cal-Nev boundary monument. I was doing well on time, and decided to try for Montgomery. Might as well get all the way to the top! There was a fainter path between the peaks where the route swung sharply east around the shattered ridge crest. The traverse was on steep, loose talus that had me twice thinking about turning back, but I eventually found my way to the top.

Montgomery Peak from Boundary.

I retraced my route back, arriving hot, tired, and fried by the sun, despite drinking three quarts of water. I’d forgotten how tough it is to climb 4,000’ in a day. To drive to the White Mountain Peak trailhead I had to loop south and into California thru the Fish Lake Valley, one of the most desolate places I’d ever seen. The last store I’d seen had been the day before in Lee Vining.  I thought about stopping at Grandview Campground in the Inyo NF, but it didn’t have water, and looked crowded. So, I went past it and found a nice campsite by the side of the paved road. I had just enough water for cooking, cleaning, and the next day’s hike, with the plan to go into Bishop the next night for a hotel.

Montgomery Peak, 13441’ and Boundary Peak 13,140’, 8.4 miles

White Mountain Road

9-5-94

The White Mountains lie in the shadow of the Sierras in literally every way possible. The Sierras are taller, and that range is broader and longer. The range of light is one of the best explored in the country and has an impressive literature, while the Whites remain almost unknown. And the Sierras are to the west, meaning their evening shadows fall on the Whites, and that the range’s impressively efficient rain shadow guarantees the White remain dry, stark, and nearly lifeless.

White Mountain Peak from the approach road.

One thing the White Mountains are known for is their groves of bristlecone pines, renown as some of the oldest life on earth. In the morning I passed both the Shulman Grove, containing the Methuselah Tree and the Patriarch Grove driving toward the trailhead. The University of California operates research stations on the mountain, so the road is in good shape beyond the Patriarch Grove to a locked gate. It took me an hour to reach the locked gate, then 45 minutes of hiking on the maintained road to reach the Barcroft Research Station and Observatory. Beyond the Observatory the route followed a two track road. I took 3:30 to get to the summit of White Mountain Peak, the last hour and a half included a drop to a low saddle and a switchback route to the top. There was still a little snow on the north slopes on the south side of the saddle. I’m not sure if I had a guidebook description for the route, but with a road to the top one was hardly necessary.

White Mountain Peak Summit.

There was a large body of granite near Barcroft, but the rest of the hike was over hornfels and other metamorphic rocks. I saw four other parties, fewer than I’d seen on the mountain yesterday. One group of mountain bikes had even made it to the summit. I told myself I could have ridden to the low saddle (yeah right, at 13,000’), and walked the last two miles to the top. 

The Patriarch Grove was a mile off the main road, so instead I hit the one mile hiking loop at Shulman Grove instead. Next I drove into Big Pine and got a room for the night at the Starlight Motel. I called Jean, and then Karl to finalize our arrangements for meeting for Middle Palisade.

Bristlecone pines in the Shulman Grove.

White Mountain Peak, 14,246’, 14 miles

Big Pine, CA Starlight Motel

9-6-22

This was to be an easy day to allow me to rest up for Middle Palisade. I ate breakfast in Big Pine and then drove the USFS road west up Big Pine Canyon toward Glacier Lodge. I staked a campsite at Upper Sage Flats campground. The first part of our climb would overlap with a 1990 John Muir Trail trip I’d taken with Buddy and Steve up the South Fork. The 1990 trip had started with the group splitting up on the hike in, with two parties sleeping on opposite sides of the ice covered fourth class Southfork Pass. I hoped this trip would go more smoothly.

North Fork of Big Pine Creek.

I’m not sure how we choose Middle Palisade for our target, but suspect this was Karl’s idea. He would have been more interested in a technical climb, and likely would have had access to more local information on the intriguing peaks than I would have. My copy of Roper’s “The Climber’s Guide to High Sierra” lists the East Face (sometimes called the North Face) route as class 3, with some fourth class sections being the penalty for navigation errors.

Temple Crag above the North Fork of Big Pine Creek.

But my goal for this day was just an easy day hike. I decided on the trail to First Lake on the North Fork of Big Pine Creek to give me some new terrain. The first 45 minutes of the hike was mundane, but improved once I exited the sagebrush into a cool forest by a waterfall. From there it was a pretty walk to an overlook above the lake. I had lunch at the lake, and then returned via a lower route that headed back to Glacier Lodge. As a quick aside, the main lodge building here burned in 1998, but the resort still operates (2022) as cabins and camping. I was able to eat a wonderful dinner at the nearly empty lodge while Karl arrived late and had to suffer dinner by Taco Bell. 

First Lake.

The hike was enough to give me doubts about the climb. The Palisades group was every bit as intimidating as I’d expected, with all the routes seeming steep and exposed. Plus, the was the specter of the debacle at Southfork Pass looming in the background.

9 miles to First Lake

Upper Sage Campground

9-7-94

Our permit pickup went smoothly, probably the result of a post Labor Day drop in demand. We shuttled our packs to the trailhead and stated hiking about 8:15. The trail (described as an obscure footpath by the FS) was easy to follow to Brainard Lake. From there we split from my 1990 route to Southfork Pass, and followed a fainter path to a beautiful campsite high above Finger Lake.

Finger Lake.

We set up camp about 1:30 and rested up a bit. But naturally we got restless and took a short scramble up the cliffs above the lake. We took a path of sorts to a point where we could see much of the Middle Palisade Glacier and all of our route above it. The route looked slightly less intimidating, and Karl’s opinion was that it was doable for us. I was less sure, but knew that regardless of the outcome it would be a beautiful day. We did more scrambling on the route back to camp, which helped me a bit with my confidence.

South Fork Big Pine Creek, 6 miles

Finger Lake

9-8-94

Summit Day! We left camp at 7AM and hiked to 9:30 to reach the top of Middle Palisade Glacier. Most of the hiking was easy, along a faint path, until we reached the steep moraine of the glacier. We found the start of the route OK, but were surprised when it began with a 20’ pitch of rock climbing. We made the climb, then traversed a well beaten path into a broad couloir. The couloir started with another brief climb, but then the climbing got a bit easier. I imagine Karl was doing the leading and the route finding. He was better, and more experienced, at this than I. The guidebooks discuss a variety of variations of this East Face Route, each using whatever couloirs appeared to be better routes the season that the writer was there.

Looking down on Middle Palisade Glacier.

Our first couloir died out near a prominent pinnacle (probably the gendarme described in some guides). From the pinnacle we climbed the right hand arete, and then followed the next couloir to the right. This was the easiest section of the climb, and well within the advertised third class climbing. Next we reached a greenish rib where the couloir forked, and we went left. We used some of the floor and some of the wall of the couloir as it gradually steepened, though most of the climbing was on well-travelled ledges.

Gooseneck near the summit of Middle Palisade.

Near the top things got even steeper and we topped out between two pinnacles. I went to the right to be a photo subject and found out quickly that was not the correct way. Downclimbing from that pinnacle was sketchy, and so was the final scrambling to the summit. I was so relieved when Karl called out “I see the register”, his navigating had been right on. It was 11 AM.

The views were fantastic, of course, but this was more a climb for the challenge, rather than the scenery. We could see the High Sierra crest from Mt. Whitney on the south to North Palisade on the north, and west into the rest of the range. The White Mountains to the east were also clear. Even the wind, which had howled all night through our campsite was nearly still, if you hid behind the right rock. I was exhilarated, this was about as much technical climbing as I done. We signed ourselves into the register, and for some reason added Don Gifford, a friend of ours from our Black Hills days. There were only a few ascents in the register for 1994, almost all in August, and none over the recent Labor Day weekend.

Descending Middle Palisade.

Alas, getting up a mountain is often much easier than going down. We knew our good times had to end, and started down. We took two short rappels into the couloir, and then Karl gave me belays for 4-5 pitches of downclimbing, before I realized this was slowing us down too much. With most of the hard pitches already behind us I was able to do most of the rest of the down climb unroped. Karl was a far more experienced rock climber and had little trouble with the downclimb. We were also able to downclimb the short wall at the base of the lowest couloir, but needed a short rappel to descend the cliff down to the head of the glacier.

Descending Middle Palisade.

On the hike back to camp we descended snow as much as we could, traversing about half of what my journal calls the Norman Clyde Glacier, but was probably the west half of the Middle Palisade glacier. We arrived back in camp at 3:30 and napped for bit. After a quick, cold dinner we fell asleep to the winds which howled again all night.

Middle Palisade, 14,040

Finger Lake, 10 miles

9-9-94

We slept in waiting for the winds to die down. The hike out took only 2:45, we saw 6 other parties heading in. At the trailhead Karl had left beer on ice and to our pleasure it was still cold two days later. We then drove into Bishop, had lunch, and then split up, unfortunately with me still in possession of Karl’s tent body.

My next goal was a day hike of Mt. Dana in Yosemite National Park. This would be my first visit to Yosemite, except for a brief, barely remembered side excursion on a trip in grad school. I drove up to Tioga Pass to Tuolumne Meadows. All the campgrounds in the park were closed but I was able to call Jean briefly, after standing in a long line for the pay phone. The forest service campgrounds near the park were all full, so I ended up at the highest county campground above Lee Vining on Highway 120. Since I was so close to town, I went down for dinner before heading back to my campsite to repack.

Hike out, 6 miles

County Campground

9-10-94

Easy access from Tioga Pass makes Mt. Dana one of the most popular peaks in the Yosemite area. The route is an easy class 2 walkup. I started from a little truck turnout directly at the park’s east entrance booth. At the beginning there is a well-defined trail. The whole route is officially off trail, but my Wilderness Press map of Yosemite NP, showed the first half as trail. About halfway up the route indeed became less defined as it worked its way up a talus cone to the summit. The hike took only 2:10, but would have been much longer except for a cold wind. I stopped only once for a quick drink, and wore all my clothes all the way to the top.

Mt Dana Summit.

The view from Dana was all I expected. You look directly down into Mono Lake and across the valley to the White Mountains. In Yosemite, Mt. Conness and other peaks to the north are close, and I could see nearly straight down again into the Grand Canyon of the Tuolumne. This was one of the best short summit hikes I ever did, it was just too bad the wind blew so hard.

View of Yosemite from Mt Dana.

In the afternoon I drove back to Reno, had some trouble finding a hotel, but ended up at the McCarran House in Sparks. I flew back to Knoxville the next day.

As might be expected for such a legendary mountain range, the Sierras have inspired some great literature. First up is “Mountaineering in the Sierra Nevada” a story of the mapping of the range by Clarence King the first director of the US Geological Survey. John Muir’s “My First Summer in the Sierra” “The Mountains of California” are the range’s classic stories of exploration.  A surprise 2022 addition is “The High Sierra: A Love Story” by Kim Stanley Robinson, a science fiction writer best known for his Mars trilogy. Coincidentally I found Robinson’s book in the library as I was transcribing my journal from this trip. It is a wonderful story of his lifetime affair with the mountains, weaving together its natural and human history with Robinson’s own lifetime of trips.

Mt Dana, 13,083’

Reno

Stillwater Canyon Green River, Canyonlands NP, UT, 4-24-94

Our Green River trip was meant to be a leisurely spring break float down a gentle section of the river while soaking up warmth and sunshine. The goal was to be family friendly, with Buddy and Frank bringing their small kids along. Buddy, Frank, and James did the planning, Buddy and Frank in particular were experienced with rafting and paddling trips. I was tagging along, and would paddle a canoe with Catherine in the bow. I’d done some previous canoeing, but nothing approaching a weeklong trip. We would be floating 52 miles of flatwater from Mineral Bottom to Spanish Bottom on the Green River through Canyonlands National Park to its confluence with the Colorado River. Ideally, there would plenty of time to explore the side canyons on foot and to enjoy the warmth of spring.

NPS Canyonlands map for Stillwater Canyon.

4-22-94

I flew to Denver from Knoxville, and met the Koonces and Mike at the airport. We picked up James, Mary, and Catherine at a brewpub in Denver, and then drove up to Evergreen to stay the night with Frank, Sandy, Jordan, and Alex Weber. Beer and soaking in Frank’s hot tub eased the pretrip jitters.

4-23-94

We spent most of the morning in Evergreen buying and repacking food. We split into three food pods, the Koonces, the Webers, and me with James, Mary, and Catherine. Next was the long drive to Moab, which we partly short cutted thru Cisco. Our crew got to Moab a little early, so we took a short walk on the Courthouse Overlook in Arches, then headed to the brewpub. The food and beer were good, but we waited for the rest of our group, eventually napping in the parking lot. Eventually, Frank and Mike showed up, they’d already been in the hotel for a couple hours. Frank shuttled us to a camping spot on the outskirts of town where we crashed in a dry wash.

4-24-94 Fort Bottom

In the morning we drove to Frank’s motel and frantically repacked all our gear. Then we went to Tex’s Riverways and loaded our stuff in an old school bus that was pulling a canoe trailer. We were required to haul out all our waste, so we had rented a groover (essentially a bucket with a seat) from Tex’s. We also got the canoes and at least one raft from Tex’s. The shuttle took 1 ½ hours, but all we’ll ever remember was the perilous  descent from the rim to the canyon floor, a narrow steep hairpin descent covered by a string of mountain bikers who didn’t like having to edge off the road for a bus.

Prepping for launch at Mineral Bottom.

At the bottom we unloaded into our canoes, and got a lengthy review of the river highlights from our driver. A guided party, with some members in wheelchairs, took off just ahead of us, but finally we were on the river. The Koonces and Webers were in small rafts, with James and Mary plus Catherine and I in two canoes. I had my gear in a large dry bag, and had a smaller day bag with me near my seat in the stern.

We soon learned that the afternoon was not the best time for paddling. Cold wind was blowing, and we quickly had to pull over and put on extra clothing on top of our swim gear. For some of the kids that first day bathing suit ended up as their base layer for the entire trip. It was sweatshirt time for me. The wind was blowing hard up the canyon, cancelling out the river current. Catherine and I struggled to keep the canoe upwind into the whitecaps. I had canoed modestly before the trip, but my skill level wasn’t quite up to handling a heavily loaded canoe in wind and a light chop.

Our plan included a side hike to Upheaval Dome, but we didn’t have enough time, and pushed on to an island near Fort Bottom. We called that section the Canyon of Doom for our struggle with the wind. We abandoned the exposed island for a sandy beach, and camped. The kids were cooped up in the rafts most of the day, and seemed to enjoy the playing on the beach in the evenings as much as any other part of the trip. Frank’s kids especially enjoyed “the head plow,” pushing furrows in the sand with their noggins.

4-25-94 Anderson Bottom

The next day brought a more open section of Stillwater Canyon. The White Rim Formation, a white, cross-bedded, sandstone was close to the canyon rim, and the well-known trail named for it followed alongside. We saw mountain bikers and a few vehicles. Though it wasn’t the complete getaway we were looking for, it was nice to see a bit of a trail that had been on the edge of my “to do” list for a while.

We took one side hike in the morning to look at a cabin associated with Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid. I’m not sure what we were using for guidebooks or maps, I had only the Trails Illustrated Canyonlands NP map, which was skimpy on river information, but clear enough to follow our progress and map our campsites. I had no way to track our mileage.

The wind came up early in the morning and some of the gusts were hard to fight. I suspect Buddy and Frank had a tougher time in the rafts than we did in the canoes. The trip was colder and windier that we expected, but at least we weren’t all sunburned or baked by the heat. We decided to camp at Anderson Bottom, where a raft trip from Crested Butte had stopped for lunch. We lounged around camp and looked a petroglyph at the top of a nearby sand dune. I did a short hike with Mike to the first fork at the head of the canyon, then right to a cattle guard where the faint old trail headed to the rim. 

James and Mary paddling.

Later, part of the raft group sprinted back, frantically unpacked a boat, grabbed a backboard, and sprinted away. It seemed one of the party had been scrambling on the rocks, fell, slid down the slope, and fell over a ledge. The group included an EMT who was able to stabilize him. It seemed to take a while for them to work out a plan, but it turned out that there was a ranger patrol just upstream. Both groups ended up camping with us. For a while a helicopter was on the way, and it looked like we’d see another airlift (our first was on  Mt Ranier in 1992). However, the guy who fell eventually recovered, and even planned to finish the trip.

4-26-94 Below Deadhorse Canyon

This was a short day on the river to our camp below Desolation Canyon. We had an easy paddle out to Turks Head where James, Catherine, and I climbed onto a plateau where the whole shelf must have been a single layer of jasper. Mary had stayed back in camp and got pelted with hail. 

Frank and Ellen in Frank's raft.

We then had a quick paddle down to Deadhorse Canyon, but another party had already claimed the site for the night. We continued downriver to the next site at a small side canyon. James and I took a short scramble to climb to the rim above our camp.

A major difference between paddling and backpacking is gear. With a boat you can take most anything, but while backpacking you pay the price for everything you take. Food, comfort, and drinks are the main priority, though not always in that order. After dinner we all drank some beers, but Frank outdid himself. The next morning, I was looking at the amount of water in my boat when he walked over and asked me if anything was missing. He confessed that after the rest of us had retired, he’d gotten naked, took a midnight canoe trip, and then hiked up a side canyon. On the return he’d been singing while standing on the canoe, and turned the boat over. He told us “You have to stand to hit the high notes.” He’d rescued the cooler, but lost two paddles and two jugs of drinking water. He’d already lost two maps earlier in the trip, and we let him believe he’d lost our last river map in the tip over.

I assume we had spare paddles, or the rest of the trip would have been much more of an ordeal than it was. I also have a faint memory of recovering one paddle from an eddy early the next day. The water loss was serious as well. The Green River flowed soupy brown, far too silty to be able to filter for drinking water.

4-27-94 Water Canyon

During the night, after Frank’s voyage, it rained hard, driving me into the tent and sending us all scrambling to put up our rainflies. The weather after breakfast was little better. We’d been fighting headwinds the entire trip, and now encountered a wind blast loaded with hail, then rain. All we could do was put our heads down and paddle hard. Eventually we pulled into a side slot canyon and took shelter so that the kids could get in tents. After an hour or so, things had improved, and we headed off for Water Canyon.

Our canoe in a small lagoon.

As seems to happen, immediately after a low point comes a highlight of the trip. We’d been a little disappointed with Stillwater Canyon, albeit with our benchmarks being the Escalante and Grand canyons. Water Canyon had more natural vegetation, less sagebrush, and more cactus, plus cryptographic soil. Just beyond our camp was a small Anasazi granary. James and I walked to the granary, and then up the canyon. There were lots of small pools and waterfalls. The bedrock was an intensely fossilized limestone. James was able to identify many of the fossil types.

We continued up toward the rim and met a couple who told us the canyon didn’t give access to the rim, so we turned back. 

4-28-94 Spanish Bottom

Another ominous start to the day. Just as we started breakfast another mini hailstorm blew into camp. I hid in my tent and the others hid in theirs as well. These storms seemed to last only an hour or so, and after that we were back on the river. Thankfully, it was a calm easy paddle to the confluence of the Green and the Colorado. Catherine and I were watching the birds and the geology as the canyon slowly deepened. We had dropped far down section, starting in the White Rim Formation that was now a thousand feet above us.

The Green River at the confluence with the Colorado River.

We would head down to a larger camping area at Spanish Bottom, where we would be picked up by Tex’s the next day, and taken back to Moab by jetboat.

This section was the easiest paddling of the trip. Even so, just before a sandbar at the confluence we got hit with another windstorm and we ate a lot of sand with our final river lunch. We’d pull over one more time before Spanish Bottom to avoid another storm. Besides an increase in the current, the river seemed little different below the confluence despite taking in the flow of another whole major river.

Stopover on the Colorado River.

Once at Spanish Bottom, Buddy and Hannah walked downstream to the first rapid in Cataract Canyon, but I missed that chance to see that with them.

This would be our last camp, and probably prettiest. The Doll House lies on top off the canyon in the White Rim Formation. For a switch we had a clear starlit night and I stayed up watching the falling stars.

The Doll House above Spanish Bottom.

I was surprised that the trip had worked as well as it did. The kids had been great, and we all survived the unexpected wind and cold with barely a whimper (except from me). I would have liked more time for hiking, but that is almost always the case. Catherine was great to paddle with. With such a large group things are always hectic, as each one tends to do their own thing. For example, the Webers had decided to stay at Water Canyon that night, and would meet us the next day at the takeout. 

Campsite at Spanish Bottom.

4-29-94 Glenwood Springs

We woke early (the river trip having officially ended) to have time to hike up to the rim and visit the Doll House, one of the landmarks of the Canyonlands NP’s Maze District. Hannah was the star of the day, making most of the ~ 2.8 mile roundtrip, 1,200’ climb on her own. The Doll House is a series of Spires of White Rim sandstone, and known for Anasazi granaries. We had little time to walk around, instead hiking out to a tremendous overlook by the campsites, and taking a loop to the granaries, with unusual stick frames and adobe shells.

The Doll House.

Tex’s jetboat picked us up for the long cold ride home. High speed and occasional spray kept us wishing for a short ride. The Green below the confluence, and the lower Colorado are motorized so we saw only a single canoe party.

HR and Buddy at the Doll House.

Tex pulled out before Moab, and hauled us by bus and truck back into town. We made a quick brewpub stop, and then drove to a motel in Glenwood Springs for badly needed showers.

Catherine at a Doll House granary.

4-30-94

First off was a 9AM soak in hot spring at Glenwood, then a stop at a brew pub in Breckenridge, where we found out the entire Colorado Plateau had been suffering with us all week in cold blustery weather. All but the Webers ended up staying in Denver by the airport, too tired to have more fun. The only excitement of the drive back was running out of gas on a snowy Vail Pass, the product of inattention to the gas gauge, and a lot of water in the tank.

This would prove to be my only long river trip, and one of only two overnight paddle trips I ever took after going to summer camp in my teens. There is much to say about the pleasure of just sitting back and letting the scenery go by, and about the luxury of carrying all the food, clothing, and shelter one would desire. But there is also the contrary winds and willful power of the river to contend for paddlers to contend with.

I would soon transition from trips with Buddy and other friends, to trips with Jean. Together we’d find a good mix of trips on the ground from long backpacking trips to multiday visits to the national parks. 

Our Green River Route.