Company Loves Misery

“Company Loves Misery.” Isn’t that the old saying? In this scenario, I am referring to Fat Man’s Misery, a slot canyon in Utah. I have to say, it’s one of my personal favorites, and I have shared good company in it the two trips I’ve taken through it. A few weeks ago I dragged a friend visiting from out of town through. Okay, she went willingly, and we’re still friends, even though the walk out of the canyon at mid-afternoon along the three miles of exposed slickrock in 108 degree temperatures, made me question once or twice if tomorrow she would still be my friend or if she would ever consider visiting me again. More about that later…

This story began in the Watchman campground at about high noon on a Saturday. Ron, Leanne and I had secured our tents, and Luke was on his way over to the campsite for a visit. Thunderclouds were rolling in, and boy were we happy about two things. One, we had our permit in hand. When a flash flood warning is declared they stop issuing permits for at least eight hours. Even if you aren’t planning your trip until the follow day. This has botched our plans before. Two, we weren’t already in a slot canyon. There is a reason they stop issuing permits for up to eight hours and it’s a damn good one! The last place you want to be when the monsoon thunderstorms start rolling in is in the middle of a tight slot canyon.

We kicked back and watched the lightning display over a few cold beers. As we studied the increasing number of fat raindrops with curiosity, we wondered if we were going to get Leanne’s introductory canyon, Keyhole Canyon, under her belt before tomorrow’s 9.25 miles of Misery. Keyhole is only a .7 mile total loop hike, but has all you need to know to decide if the sport is for you or not. There’s pretty narrows, a few rappels (albeit short ones), some down-climbs, and (this season) a swimmer or two. Now the rain had stopped and there was a lingering cool breeze. The 110 degree wall of heat we arrived to had been doused and it had to be at least 30 degrees cooler. With the storm subsided, we managed to get out to Keyhole before losing the sunlight. The whole time I was trying to gauge Leanne’s state. I decided she was reserved, but not nervous. I decided this was good. She even joked about the “Keyhole Stew” we had to swim through. I could see it in her eyes, she was ready for tomorrow.

The shaded walk in towards Fat Man's Misery.

The morning was just gorgeous. The previous evening’s rain had cooled things down, and we had managed an early start getting to the parking area just as the sun was beginning to rise. Apart from almost forgetting our rope, we were clear in the mind and heart as we marched past the Checkerboard Mesa. I remembered how pretty the walk in was and it felt good to be back. My guest was in good spirits and we were all chatting as Ron led the way, and Luke took numerous photos at the back of the line. Then I heard a deep pitched “bonk.” It was one of those sounds that you recognize immediately because you have created it yourself before. Like a tangible memory, I felt an aching pain in my forehead and the muscles in my face squeezed. I turned around to see Leanne sitting on the sandy canyon floor, legs spread out before her, with a dazed expression. “Man, it knocked her off her feet, ” I thought, as I eked out the words, “Are you okay?” The old fallen log angled over her head was the obvious culprit. Leanne’s no baby, I do know this about her. She quickly recovered, dusting herself off and resuming with a smile.

View from on top of the pass.

Cool looking cairn.

The yellow brick road...

As we trudged up the sandy pass, I knew a playground of slickrock and pines were awaiting us on the other side. This motivated me to keep placing one foot in front of the other, even though I could see myself sliding back down and evidence of any progress was difficult to measure. Once at the saddle, we were rewarded with a stunning 360 degree view, where one world is divided from another. Ahead I could see far towards the horizon, where huge table-top mesas dotted the skyline, like the backbone of a colossal creature. Between there and where we were, our destination slot canyon lies carved into the earth making its way to the Virgin River. Once we passed the rock formation I like to refer to as the “ice cream cone,” the scenery really opened up. Rolling “hills” of slickrock lie before you like hard baked waves. Ribbons of orange, red, gold and pink stream through the ground’s surface shooting off in all directions like a sadistic version of the yellow-brick road. The sandstone dunes are broken sparingly with the dark green foliage of twisted pines that have forced their way up through the bed of sandstone by a sheer will to live. I was glad to be enjoying this scene in the morning, for I feared the walk back through this area in the afternoon heat would not be as pleasant. I remembered that part well from the last trip, and that was in April. Here we were in mid July. I only thought these thoughts, not wanting to frighten Leanne into staying in the cool narrows for eternity.

Heart-shaped potholes.

driftwood?

Sneaky frogs.

As we dropped down toward to the entrance to the canyon, a barrage of potholes pointed the way. Holes mysteriously shaped like hearts and deep bowls, one of which was lined with silent frogs, hoping we would simply pass by without noticing them. Then the real fun began. I always seem to enjoy an experience more myself when I can discover its pleasures in my own time. There’s nothing more uninspiring than your guide telling you when to feel inspired. So for Leanne’s benefit, I tried to contain my “oohs” and “ahhs,” as the canyon walls began to rise on either side of us. The first set of turns in a slot canyon always get my heart racing. I yearn to capture a moment like that in my memory as accurately as I can, so when I am old and frail I can recall it in perfect intensity. The visual appeal of the over-lapping curves, the slight musty smell, the coolness of the rock in shadow; these sensations I mentally record. I spread my arms to either side and let my fingertips touch the walls, lightly grazing the surface as if I could decode the canyon’s mysterious braille.

Leanne takes the slide.

Reflection pool.

The Grotto!

Fat Man’s Misery just seems to bring out the poet in me. It’s a gentle canyon that closes and opens again and again, dipping you into deep wet cavernous spaces then plopping you back out into the sunshine again to dry. It cycles in a loop of rinse and repeat, until sadly, it is over. The first time I came here I knew I wanted to paint it. It was the grotto that appealed to me the most. Being a dark space, I didn’t get any good photos of it. This time I caught one, and I love it. It’s the one that my painting is inspired by. The first time I saw the grotto it was full of water. I had to swim from one end to the other. I couldn’t wait to jump in. I glided slowly through the crystal clear water, noticing how the reflections leaked in sparingly from the ends of the cavern. A large arch rose overhead, and a small sandy beach lay at the other end dappled in reflective light. At the other end, I was sad it was over. The second time, there wasn’t nearly half the water there had been before. This time I could stroll through the passage, taking in the sights, studying the magnificent arches. Now I could make a painting. The exit out of the grotto is stunning as well. The light comes streaming in here as the canyon once again opens up for you. Reflections from the water bounce along the golden surface of the wavy carved sandstone walls. It is a temple in the desert. To our surprise we found a deer carcass lying in the shallow bottom here, as if it were a sacrifice to the gods.

Glittery grotto exit.

Sacrifice to the Gods.

Luke slides into the hot pool.

Leanne in the Virgin River.

A rest stop.

The grand finale of Fat Man’s Misery is a series of twisting waterslides that eventually spill you into a hot spring pool. Maybe it was the July summer heat creeping back in, but it was hard to enjoy the hot spring this time. It just didn’t feel all that hotter than everything else around it already was. We reminisced about the past trip when the hot spring pool was teeming with algae and how we encountered the creature from the green lagoon. Leanne had seen the photos. I’ve included some of my favorite photos at the end of my blog here from my first trip, just for posterity’s sake.

Now it was mid-day and we savored the coolness of the Virgin River and our river walk, soaking and splashing, trying to avoid the thought of the inevitable hike out. I was so blissfully gazing into the river that I didn’t notice the low lying log propped up in my path. Bonk! There was that sound again. Leanne and Luke cooed out a collective, “Ooooooh,” before bursting into fits of laughter followed by my own. “You just can’t let your guard down for one minute out here!” I laughed.

All too soon we were at the hike out point along the river. With a deep breath, and water dripping everywhere, I began the long slog out. By the time I reached the top of the climb out everything on me was dry as a bone. We started to joke, that this part was the true Fat Man’s Misery. Soon we could see where the turn into the hollow would happen. But knowing how deceptive distance is in the desert I knew it was still a long way off. At one point I couldn’t bear the pain in my feet. I just knew my shoes were full of sand. I stopped to empty my shoes and found not a single speck. My feet were simply swollen from the heat. To quote Leanne, this was becoming a “death march.” We began to take longer and longer breaks, trudging from one bit of shade to the next. Finally we were at the pass. After summiting the pass (believe me, on the way back it felt like a summit) we were back in the grace of the shady hollow we had entered by. Leanne said it first. “If you’re wondering if I would do it again, the answer is ‘yes’,” she generously offered. I wasn’t planning on asking her until we were inside the air-conditioned car headed towards pizza and beer. “Yay!” I exclaimed. Company does love Misery!

And now for some images from my first trip through Fat Man’s Misery… Good times!

What was I thinking?

Brett shows some style.

Ron, the human anchor.

Beach party!

Brett's special trick.

Superfluous raps are fun!

I just love this one of me and my husband.

Lori B. in the fetile position.

Brett's awesome buffet of salmon crackers at the end of rap #unnecessary.

Again, what was I thinking?

Erika, go towards the light...

Eeks! The creature from the green lagoon.

Creature attacks Lori C.!!!