Rope skills, Climbing and Navigation - More Canyoneering Part 2

Elephant Butte

For the ascending portions of much of the trail, nature had graciously provided us with ramp-like structures to reach rocky benches that would deliver us higher and higher towards the apex of the Elephant Butte complex, but not all were created equal. We were offered a few mild ones to build our confidence, but several were not as gracious. We encountered a couple of sections that Quinton and I were able to carefully friction climb our way up, but they were tenuous and unprotected. There was not huge exposure to deal with, but a fall would still not be advisable. Our companions may have been able to make their way up just as he and I had, but with the lack of experience and being isolated in the middle of a canyon, the decision would not have been a prudent one, not to mention unnecessary. Once he and I reached a spot with secure footing, Quinton set up a rope so the others could reach and haul themselves up. However, without any good place to build an anchor, he and I became anchors made of flesh and bone, just like the early climbers from previous decades may have done. For reasons I don't entirely comprehend, (I studied art, not physics) it's always easier to ascend these types of features than descend, but when I scramble up a particularly challenging rock face that I would not want to climb back down unless absolutely necessary, I often wonder at the people who pioneered the route. What was their preparation and mindset like? Were they prepared to do the dangerous downclimbs, leave gear behind, or get through by any means necessary? Without grippy rubber shoes, GPS, well scouted beta, etcetera to aid, the embarkation into these areas that had probably seen little to absolutely no human intrusion, would certainly qualify as adventure and our efforts pale in comparison.

At the first rappel we had a massive patio from which to work. This was the first section that provided no other means for navigating the rocks besides using our gear. Graciously, someone had established a robust anchor system made of bolts and chain so we didn't have to rely on building one from natural materials. As the second most experienced person, I went down first and Quinton, the most experienced, helped the others get rigged up. We didn't have enough gear for everyone so as some of us descended, we then ferried some of our items up the rope so the remainder of the party could use them. As a dutiful guide, Quinton set up the second rope so he could belay the others in case of catastrophe while they rappelled down. They had the best of both worlds, the thrill and fun of a rappel and the added safety of a belay. The sinuous nature of the water-worn rock walls do not always allow for much sunlight to enter, a blessing during warmer months and a bit of a curse during the colder ones. Rapping one person at a time takes a lot longer than you'd think, so we had a lot of waiting around in the chilly shade of the canyon waiting for all the folks to gather. There are techniques for sending people down on both ends of the rope, but I don't think we were that confident in those skills and it was better for keeping an eye on each rappeler without overcomplicating things.

With the first major portion done, we had unlocked a section of terrain that didn't seem like it would be possible to enter without the use of ropes. Maybe with enough exploring, someone could find all the right weaknesses in the rock, but we were grateful to be able to rely on the previous expeditions and the resources they left behind to make our way through. Climbing up a series of undulations in the slick rock, not nearly as steep as the features in the beginning, we were afforded this veritable playground all to ourselves with cool, but beautiful, weather. Again, enjoying an incredibly touristy national park with beautiful weather and only your friends to share it with is a rarity.

Making our way into this more open section, we were able to start moving our way upward towards the top of the butte. As we climbed higher, we were granted greater and greater views of the expanses composing Arches National Park. Though the features we were traversing felt massive, the butte only represents a miniscule section of the park. We had one final overhanging ledge to negotiate over before we would be granted access to the top and we were able to find a small crack that we could squeeze up and through in order to make it happen. We had to hand up packs so we could fit and I probably should have sent my harness up as well as it managed to create an undesirable amount of added friction between myself and the rock. Having found passage past the final obstacle, we had reached the top of Elephant Butte and the highpoint of Arches National Park. Enjoying a well deserved snack break, we admired the views around us as Quinton pointed out some of his favorite areas for exploration. The park offered many more adventures for future visits.

Sparing the details of every rappel and downclimb that the group had to contend with, of which there were several more, we had a few more hours of work to make our way out of the wilderness. The remaining impediments were exciting in their own way, but not necessarily of note. Going down first on each, I found them all to be enjoyable and Quinton, pulling up the rear on each, descended them in glorious fashion, looking like some sort of debonair desert rat who had done it a thousand times before, but part of that is because he has. Again, it must be stated that all the anchors were expertly built with modern materials and I would have loved to have been a fly on the wall when the first canyon explorers arrived and had to figure out a way through using only their wits to overcome the lack of conveniences and safety.

Towards the end of a long trip when one knows that the cars aren't far ahead and all the fun is falling behind, there tends to be a feeling like the environment is trying to hold onto you. Suffering a bit from the siren song of civilization, there were a couple of wishful moments where we thought we had reached the bottom and that the vehicles were just around the corner which continually proved to be untrue until it finally wasn't. Where we eventually popped out to rejoin the informal path back to the parking lot made the whole day feel like some sort of dreamlike experience. Though we had been traveling for hours ascending and descending a plethora of seemingly remote rock formations, we were still within relative spitting distance of where we started. I couldn't fully comprehend the geographically anomalous configuration of the rock that would allow for such a feeling of remoteness while never being that far from the car, but as I've come to find out, that's a typical feature of canyoneering.

Having reached our chariots just as darkness fell, it was now time for some well earned Domino's pizzas and a pathetically tepid hot tub to soak our bones. Nicki and I gained a lot from this experience. We learned that we largely had the skills necessary to guide ourselves on a canyon with similar technical sections, but we were thankful to have had someone to help shepherd us into a new discipline. Canyoneering in southern Utah would become our passion for the next several months while we waited for Colorado to thaw out a bit.