Passing Through Paria

ADVENTURE GUIDE PASSING THROUGH PARIA

A photographer learns deep lessons in life's passage through the narrows WRITTEN AND PHOTOGRAPHED BY JACK DYKINGA

I trudge along behind the bouncing blue beam of my headlamp as it cuts through the darkness three days and 36 miles down into the sinuous curves of Paria Canyon with my grandnephew, Peter Hodal. I want to go faster, but my raw feet urge discretion, despite the lure of the cold drink waiting in the truck. As the last of the boulder-strewn landscape passes the light's periphery, my mind wanders through a vision-quest recollection of how this canyon has shaped my life for three decades. For three days, I have watched a parallel transformation in the face of my 22-year-old companion as we made this long trek from Utah down to Lee's Ferry in Arizona. Weary from the effort of keeping up with him, earlier this night I was ready to make camp in the last shady spot in the lower canyon. But we arrived only to find that a hive of bees had claimed the site. Maybe they weren't actually Africanized bees, but painful experience deterred me from questioning their lineage, so we moved 100 feet down-canyon and cooked dinner as the sun set. We could have spent the night there, but we decided to leave the bees behind and hike through the night, although it would make the day's trip 20 miles long.That first time, the narrows of Paria Canyon struck me speechless. The cathedral-like walls reduced all conversation to whispers with an overpowering feeling of human insignificance. Eons of flash flooding have tormented and sculpted the strangely shaped cliffs with an equal mixture of sand and water. Box elder and cottonwood trees cover the sandy benches, supplying emerald splashes of color. Towering desert-varnished Navajo sandstone cliffs glow blue, reflecting the distant sky. Instead of taking pictures, I simply stared in disbelief. I was in the West, I was overwhelmed and I was home. I quit newspaper work soon after that. The job was eating my soul, and my route to freedom led through Paria Canyon.

Now in the darkness, I wonder what effect the canyon has had on Peter these three days. A Marine just back from a one-year tour and 15 convoys in Iraq, Peter is now on leave. As we have hiked along, he has delighted in testing the jellylike shoreline quicksand. By jumping from one leg to another, he could turn the saturated sand to molasses as he slowly sank. He's been a kid again. His eyes have constantly searched the clefts in the stony canyon walls for the next seep. Eager for discovery, he's been the first to find those fern-covered grottos that signal clear drinking water. For my part, I want to reconnect to an immensely beautiful place and show my young friend the desert that has taught me so much.

So the canyon taught me about freedom that first time. And it has imparted some new lesson with each trip.

On a trip in June 1981, it taught me about being a father. Semilegendary hikers Pete Cowgill and Eber Glendening invited me to explore Paria Canyon's most noteworthy side canyon, Buckskin Gulch. Despite their doubts, I wanted to bring my then 12-year-old son, Peter. My son rose to the challenge. Negotiating the deepest pools near the Buckskin's midpoint, only his head and his arms holding his pack remained visible. My admiration and pride for my son swelled my chest. His self-confidence increased with each stream crossing.

My intimate memories of Paria Canyon have piled up over the years. I came here first in 1978, fresh from a career in photojournalism, first in Chicago and then as picture editor of the Arizona Daily Star in Tucson.

I watched him grow before my eyes.

Chicago still weighed heavily on me the first time I came to the canyon on an impulse fueled by several adventurous friends.

Of course, sometimes the canyon can extract a deadly price for its treasures. During an October 1981 Paria Canyon trip, with four photography students in tow, a slight change in the river's color nearly went unnoticed. But then a thin layer of flotsam streaked with mud appeared along the shoreline. Though no rain was falling, the ominous clouds to the north told a different story. It was raining upriver! We sped up, scanning the canyon for signs of a flash flood as we pushed to reach the tributary of Wrather Canyon, with its relatively safe camps (now closed to camping). Soon, large chocolate waves announced the river's violent transformation.

"Vietnam boots; it has to be Vietnam boots!" Don Bayles had insisted, knowing that Paria's quicksand could suck tennis shoes right off my feet. Seasoned desert rats, Don and Joyce Bayles knew I needed high-topped jungle boots designed for wading in rice paddies.

The lazy ankle-deep water rose above our knees, then higher yet. Loaded with silt, the heavy waters bullied me at every step to keep my 215-pound frame upright. Suddenly, a frightened hiker running down a side canyon interrupted our dash to Wrather Canyon's arched caves. In broken English, he said he wanted to rejoin his friend camped across the river. Both were Swedish biologists experiencing fickle desert weather for the first time. Across the river, his friend was in real trouble, since they'd camped on a low area in the path of an onrushing watery train. Climbing a bluff on our side, we screamed and waved, urging the stranded biologist to seek higher ground. He scrambled up the slope just as sheets of water rose over the banks and swallowed all traces of his camp.

That night, we shared our camp, our food and our smiles beneath vaulted canyon walls with the Swedish biologists. By morning, the river had subsided to waist deep. We locked arms and crossed as an ungainly multilegged being, probing the footing with walking sticks as we crossed the once-benign canyon that now tested us with every step.

I have never felt more alive.

On other trips through Paria, I sought a connection with the intricate history of this sometimes-violent land. For instance, Mormon leader John Lee, while fleeing federal officials after the Mountain Meadows Massacre, made his dash to freedom down Paria Canyon. He did it in the dead of winter. Tucson writer Charles Bowden and I knew this would make a great story if we could get Lee's journal and re-enact his icy journey. So, in January 1986, we descended into the frigid abyss. We hadn't planned on the sun's low angle and the mere 10 minutes of sunlight per day that reached the canyon's bottom. We hadn't counted on crossing ice jams and crashing through stacked, frozen slabs into waist-deep ice water. We learned what Lee experienced. We felt his pain, and it was real. Staying warm became our preoccupation. We passed the glacial hours with silly games like seeing who could spend the most time inside a warm sleeping bag.

That's another gift of the canyon. It reduces life to its essentials. Staying warm, finding water and picking safe camps replace cell phones, e-mails and traffic snarls. Perhaps that is the reason wilderness is so essential. We humans must retreat from our distractions to understand our own lives.

Maybe we can't place our feet into the same river twice. But it is not only the river that changes. I am a different person after each visit, for the canyon has transformed me. This journey is a metaphor for life, for each bend brings new delights, surprises and tests. All I can do is follow the stream, eager to see around the next turn.

We finally reach the truck. I stare at the face of my young, bearded grandnephew and see a different person. We hug, shake hands and smile.

He'll be back. I see it in his eyes. AH For 25 years, Jack Dykinga of Tucson has been a contributing photographer for Arizona Highways. He says that since 1978, Paria Canyon has shaped his photography—and his life.

To order a print of this photograph, see inside front cover.

when you go

Location: Northern Arizona, near the Utah border. Getting There: From Flagstaff, drive north on U.S. Route 89 for 105 miles to U.S. Route 89A at Bitter Springs. Take U.S. 89A north 14 miles to Navajo Bridge. After crossing the bridge, turn right to Lee's Ferry and Paria Canyon. Travel Advisory: Hiking permits are required and can be purchased from the Bureau of Land Management. Overnight permits must be purchased in advance. Additional Information: (435) 688-3246; www.blm.gov/az/asfo/paria/index.htm.

Eons of flash flooding have tormented and sculpted the strangely shaped cliffs with an equal mixture of sand and water.

RIOTING COLUMBINE

To order a print of this photograph, see inside front cover.

VALIANT SHOW

Despite eroded soil at its partially uprooted base, a cottonwood tree puts forth a contradictory green-leafed display of vibrant health. To order a print of this photograph, see inside front cover.

3 Canyon Tours ANTELOPE CANYON

The famous flood-hewn slot canyon carved from the Navajo sandstone of the Colorado Plateau has lured many photographers determined to catch the mystical midday sunshine slanting down to the sandy bottom.

INFORMATION: Antelope Canyon Tours, (928) 645-9102; www.antelopecanyon.com.

FEES: Five 90-minute tours run each day for $28.51 per guest, or catch the light on the daily photographer's tour, departing at 11:30 A.M., for $45.38.

COOL FACT: The most-visited and most-photographed slot canyon in the American Southwest has attracted a wide variety of guests from international photographers and canyoneers to pop star Britney Spears, who shot a music video in Upper Antelope Canyon.

SALOME CANYON

A granite crevice that drains into Theodore Roosevelt Lake, Salome Canyon offers a range of adventures, all of which involve swimming the length of several canyon pools and some that require a 50-foot rappel.

INFORMATION: 360 Adventures, (480) 633-9013; www.360-adventures.com.

FEES: 12-hour private tours cost $600 for two people and $200 for each additional guest, or join a group for $200 per person.

COOL FACT: The steep slopes and bluffs of Salome Canyon were the site of Salado Indian dwellings, built and occupied between A.D. 1200 and 1300.

CANYON X

This mysterious slot canyon lies 8 miles north of Antelope Canyon on private property. The Navajos allow only two to four people per day to enter this deeper, narrower version of Antelope, making it quiet and remote.

INFORMATION: Overland Tours, (928) 608-4072; www.overlandcanyon.com.

FEES: Embark on the 5-hour X-Photo tour with professional photographer Jackson Bridges for $150 per person. If photography's not your forte, try the X-Combo tour, a 4.5-hour ramble through Canyon X and Upper Antelope Canyon, for $130 per person.

COOL FACT: The undulating, vivid sandstone there has been said to "morph" into faces and figures as the light hits it. Keep an eye out for formations like the Portal, the Guardian and the Elephant Arch.