Mountain Sheep Spring Camp
to Shower Bath Camp
Day 2 – Sunday, May 8, 2016
9 miles
Elevation loss: 1,200
Today we walk through Jump-Up Canyon to the confluence of Kanab Creek and its host canyon. Since it’s going to be a very long day, Stefan wants us up and ready to go by 8:00 am. My sleep had been spotty and interrupted by periods of waking (and peeing) through the night, so I’m not feeling rested as I begin packing up on Day 2. I feel that my leg muscles – especially quads and calves – are going to blossom into full out pain from the descent that we struggled through yesterday. As usual I’m lulled into a false sense of hope because my legs feel relatively okay when I first wake up. It’s later in the day that the real muscle pain sets in.
A couple of packets of organic instant oatmeal with cran-raisens and walnuts for breakfast. Instant organic coffee with raw sugar and powdered creamer. It’s hot, and that is good, but it tastes…well, it doesn’t taste like the coffee I make at home. Since it’s our first time packing up camp, it takes us a while to figure out the best way to repack our monster backpacks. But we make it in time to meet the 8:00 am deadline.
Off we go. There’s no trail to speak of. We walk on gravel, around boulders, over rocks, even over packed and loose sand. We start out with a bang with a wade through Kanab Creek with water up to my armpits. Nice way to start the day – soaking wet and worried about the stuff in our packs getting wet, especially our sleeping bags. We walk as close to the creek as we can, although we often stray to one side or another in order to get around impassable boulders. Our feet stay wet all day. The first few miles are long, and as I bring up the rear, I stop to take a few pictures. It’s unreal to be walking through this ancient place, with rock layers having names that I can’t remember, only knowing that they are millions of years old. But the hiking pace, in order to get to Shower Bath Camp at a reasonable hour, precludes stopping and looking, seeing and feeling. I snap a quick picture and spend the next few minutes catching up to Nancy.
The elevation loss is much less than we did on Day 1 so that helps, but I’m walking on legs that have already gone past their point of no return in terms of feeling sore and weak. I keep on and foolishly, pridefully agree that we should walk another ten-fifteen minutes when Stefan stops to let us know we’ve been walking for an hour. I’m always tired and ready for a break on the hour, but Stefan uses his tone and inflection to make it clear that he wants us to keep pressing on for a while longer. And I always say yes. Who am I trying to impress? Me? I’m not impressed. I just feel stupid.
A 61 year old woman who can’t admit she’s tired…foolish.
By the time we stop for a break, I’m exhausted, legs feel stiff and muscle soreness is beyond making its presence felt. It feels good to take the pack off – that’s for sure. Our breaks last between 15 – 30 minutes, usually somewhere out of the direct sun, where we eat snacks to keep our energy from drifting away. We stop at a spring where water oozes from holes between the rock and drips down into the creek. An overhanging garden with red flowers adorns the cliff where the water drips. I’m too tired to stand in water up to mid-thigh and hold a water bottle under the drips, but Stefan does. I sit and try to recover.
The canyon walls, once we have turned left down Kanab Creek Canyon, become more and more narrow. I can see and feel how a flash flood up creek could come through this narrow slot with devastating ferocity. We would probably hear the roar of rock and crashing muddy water before being lifted away and pummeled until our lives were taken from us. A morbid thought, but Stefan takes the time to use the satellite phone to contact someone in the office to make sure there’s no severe weather up canyon that might cause a flash flood. We’re good to go so we keep walking.
As we move further down the canyon, the sides of the walls turn into a layer of soft, grey stone, as smooth and soft as talcum powder. At one point Stefan reaches out both of this trekking poles and is able to touch both sides of the canyon – it’s that narrow. Very cool. We walk under a mammoth overhang where the water of past floods has dug a curve as the water surged through the narrow canyon. It’s like a huge amphitheater, our voices and footsteps echoing as we walk under it. I can’t even guess how high the curved area is but we’re able to walk on hard sand which is a relief after miles of boulders.
My energy begins to really wane toward the 6th or 7th mile, and I have to work hard internally to remain positive. I could so easily wallow in feeling sorry for myself, feeling how sore and tired my legs are, how cramped and uncomfortable my shoulders and neck are from the pack, but know that going down that rabbit hole only leads to despair. Nancy and I encourage each other when our energy flags. I’m so glad she’s there, despite the fact that we aren’t able to stop and listen, see and feel this incredible place around us. Her constant, unwavering support helps me pull myself toward a more positive mental attitude.
The last mile and a half is miserable… Exhausted, sore, wet and so ready to stop moving and sit down on something comfortable, I can hardly stand it. Finally we move away from the creek and up a barely visible trail that leads us to a camping area surrounded by small trees, long grass, and lavender colored flowers nodding in waves. It’s a beautiful spot and the breeze combined with the last warmth of the sun feels fantastic.
Nancy and I pick our tent spot and set up. Then take off soaked clothing and hang it all over tree branches to dry. Nancy’s sleeping bag is pretty wet from the dunking it took when we waded through the deepest part of the creek. She drapes it over the tent to get the most out of the evening breeze to dry it. It feels so good to change into clean clothes and only have a minimum of tasks to complete before being able to sit and rest.
Once again faced with sitting on rocks, I start out feeling comfortable. I can sit for maybe half an hour before my butt starts to complain…and when it reaches that point it never shuts up. Even using my camp pillow as a cushion doesn’t shut up the whining. It’s only when Stefan tells us that our dinner of chicken fajitas with red and yellow peppers and onions is ready that I’m able to think of something else for a while. Yum!
As we eat, Stefan talked about the three types of fun:
- The kind of fun you have in the moment. Playing games, telling stories, laughing with friends.
- Stuff that’s considered fun after the fact – like a difficult hike
- Experiences that were awful, but turned humorous with time
It’s a struggle to imagine that at some point in the future I will look back on this experience and call it fun. But stranger things have happened. I know how my mind and memory immediately begins to forget about a difficult or painful experience. I never hold onto an extremely emotional or physical experience for long – must be my way of maintaining sanity and preserving my emotions in such a way that I am able to get up the next day and continue to hike with sore muscles and a heavy pack. I only feel desperately miserable in the actual moment – as soon as I take off my pack, sit down, take a break, I start to filter out the memories of the hike and concentrate on how truly sore I am, how exhausted.
I like Shower Bath Camp, but am too tired to hike down to the spring. Stefan hauls a lot of water on this trip, carrying a six-liter bag back and forth for cooking and hiking water. The three of us are too tired to move.
Still the four of us talk and laugh, tell stories, hedge around the truth of how we’re feeling, and enjoy a post-dinner hot drink as the sky becomes a deeper and deeper blue and stars begin to peak out from the night sky. I watch bats swirling in the air above us, on the hunt for insects. Night in the Canyon is never silent – there’s always the sound of insects or water or wind through the trees or bird calls. Once we crawl into the tent and lie down, Nancy and I talk some more, and yes, we laugh and make fun of our situation. There’s no crying or gnashing of teeth; it feels good to be able to really tell someone how I feel. Nancy listens and shares. I feel heard.
I have always perceived myself as a strong person, physically and mentally, but this adventure, embarked upon in my 61st year, is a real comeuppance for me. I am not as strong anymore, not as able to physically do what I was able to do at age 50, no matter how hard I try. The strength simply isn’t there. There is will but there is absolutely no way. I sit with that knowledge about myself, feeling its truth, admitting it to myself and to Nancy, and trying to figure out who I am if I am not the strong, athletic woman I always considered myself to be. It’s like the age door has slammed closed on my fingers. I can’t deny the deep, painful throbbing or make it go away.
For the rest of the trip I have to deal with not being able to do something physically, of having to accept help, a hand, a boost, and I have never been good at asking for and receiving help.