| | -
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
| |  |
|
1 |
-
-
-
-
-
|
| | |
|
| Canyoneering | 7.00 Miles |
1,130 AEG |
| | Canyoneering | 7.00 Miles | | | |
| 1,130 ft AEG | | | | |
|
|
| | Canyon Hiking - Non-technical; no rope; easy scrambling; occasional hand use |
| |
| Linked |
|
none
[ show ]
| no linked trail guides |
| Partners |
|
none
[ show ]
| no partners | | My previous trip here was a once in a lifetime experience. I saw this canyon in a way that few, if any, had or ever will see. Right then, I should have made a pact with myself never again to return to this place, as the bar had been set impossibly high for any subsequent visits. But, after 2-3 days of almost continuous rain, my curiosity got the best of me (the 'kat') and I had to go check it out.
As I started off, I couldn't help but compare everything I saw to the way it looked the last time. It was completely unrealistic to expect it to be like that again and I knew it, but after hiking nearly 2 miles without seeing any water, I actually considered turning back. This was my 4th time up this rocky canyon and it just didn't seem worth the effort to continue. As I debated that idea, kicking myself for not choosing any one of several other destinations I had in mind instead of this one, it started to drizzle. It was already a cold, dreary day and the idea of getting wet tipped the scales pretty heavily in favor of scrapping the trip. But, who's gonna be a quitter? Not me! In remarkable foresight, I had stuck my rain poncho in my pack that morning, so I put it on and kept going.
Feeling a bit smug for not being a wimp, I was determined to stick it out, regardless. This 'can do' mentality lasted almost 2 minutes. The poncho was a cheapie and there was just enough breeze to keep it billowing around me, making me look like some sort of absurdly hued cartoon tent in a tornado. It was bugging the crap out of me and I couldn't see my feet most of the time, which is downright dangerous in Hog Canyon (especially if you're hiking alone when you snap your ankle). I was just about one profanity away from throwing in the towel when I saw running water. This looked promising enough to outweigh all of my current grievances, so I removed the circus poncho (since it had stopped drizzling) and got down to business.
Hiking further up the canyon, I started seeing less and less water... not a good sign. This meant that the water I had seen probably wasn't coming from the falls above, but from the lower drainages along the way and the upper part of the canyon had already drained out. Knowing that the best was already over before I even got out of bed that morning sent my ever-fluctuating enthusiasm needle back into the red zone. Nevertheless, I was now fully indoctrinated to self-punishment, so if this revelation crushed my last delusional hope, you would never know it as I marched onward, picking up my pace just to get it over with. I thought about one of my favorite Monty Python skits... "Could be worse... could be raining."
Just before the turn-off to the falls, there is a lesser tributary which doesn't appear to be reasonably accessible. The logical entrance is walled off by many years of sediment and flood debris piled high from water coming down the main canyon. It always catches my interest when I walk by and I did make a half-hearted attempt once to find a way in, but I came up with nothing. Approaching it now, I thought I could hear the falls. Can't be. Even if they were flowing, I didn't think I'd hear them from this distance. Trying to pinpoint where it was coming from, I looked up that tributary to see a rather large waterfall quite some distance in. I never would have noticed it if it hadn't been the only water sound left to hear now.
Fifteen minutes later, I rounded the last turn to see the wet, black stain on the cliff wall that was undoubtedly a spectacular waterfall 12 hours ago. That's how fleeting the excitement is here in Hog Canyon. The moment it stops raining, the countdown to obscurity begins. I knew I should have been here at midnight!  The pools were full to the brim and just a little water was still creeping down the soon to be dry fall, keeping a slow spillover going from pool to pool. No surprises here. Just as I sat down at the edge of the upper pool to have lunch before heading back, it started to rain - complete with thunder rumbling in the distance... not exactly the water sounds I was hoping for. I put my poncho back on, tucking my pack and myself underneath, and sat there eating cookies, watching the rain and thinking I really got my $3 worth out of this cheesy looking thing.
As the rain was ending, a chilly breeze was blowing in and that was the final factor in determining that I was completely through having fun up here and it was time to be anywhere else. Instead of the usual speedy trip back, it had rained enough to make all the rocks and boulders wet, which slowed my progress considerably and provided plenty of gut check moments as I slipped and slid my way down. I was greeted by sunshine as I stepped out of the canyon, even though it was still gloomy behind me. After being in the cold (wet) shade all day, the warm sun was an instant attitude boost and when I finally got off those rocks and onto the dirt road, I was absolutely beside myself with joy.
Every hike has a happy ending. Whether you're happy because it was the greatest trip ever or whether it was a death march and you're just happy it's over... happy is happy!
 |
| _____________________
I'm at home in the wilderness... it's civilization I have problems with! ](https://hikearizona.com/dex2/images/smilies/eusa_wall.gif "Brick wall") |
| | |
|
|
|
|
|
| |
Route Editor
Route Scout
