Hiking off Toroweap

PLUNGE into the Grand Canyon

Text by William Hafford Photographs by Gary Ladd When a veteran hiker drops off the edge of the world at Toroweap Point, he realizes too late that he's pushed his luck . . . and there's no turning back.

My vehicle is pushing its metal snout through a whipping and everthickening swirl of early morning snow. Red sandstone cliffs that span the Arizona/Utah border are ghostly pasteboard outlines set against a leaden late October sky.

I'm driving with my lights on, following tire tracks that define the snow-covered asphalt of U.S. Route 89 between Page, Arizona, and Kanab, Utah.

For the past two weeks, weather in the Arizona Strip country has been clear and balmy. Now this.

My initial plan had been to sleep on the ground tonight in the shadow of Vulcans Throne, an ancient volcano that stands near the 3,000-foot straight-down drop of Toroweap Overlook on the Grand Canyon's North Rim. The scariest place in Arizona, one writer called it.

Just south of Toroweap is where massive quantities of lava spilled overthe precipice about a million years ago. Today what remains of the lava clings to the side of the Canyon wall. People sometimes clamber down it.

t the bottom of the Canyon we will shoot one of the wildest navigable stretches of whitewater in North America.

That's what I'm scheduled to do tomorrow morning, accompanied by hiker and photographer Gary Ladd. At the bottom of the Canyon, if all goes well, we will rendezvous with Grand Canyon Dories and shoot Lava Falls Rapids, considered one of the wildest navigable stretches of whitewater anywhere in North America.

But sleeping on the ground tonight is no longer possible, not with the snow.

It's a minor problem, though. I will stay in George Steck's van. Steck and Gary are up ahead, making the tire tracks I'm following. Steck is a lifelong Grand Canyon explorer and author of Grand Canyon Loop Hikes (Chockstone Press; Evergreen, CO, 1989). While Gary and I descend the lava cascade, Steck will scout trailheads for a new hiking book. The following day, he will circle to the south over undulating ruts (no paved roads here) to pick us up at Whitmore Wash, where we hope to exit the Canyon.

With the sleeping situation solved, I can now turn to my major concern: the lava cascade, itself. What if that hard black rock is covered with ice tomorrow?

We turn south at Kanab, cross back into Arizona, and stop for lunch in the community of Fredonia, where I transfer to Steck's van. The snowfall has ceased, but, to the south, dark clouds hang above the North Rim.

We leave the asphalt west of Fredonia and 70 miles later arrive at Tuweep where a park ranger normally is stationed. But there's no one around now; probably on patrol.

Before selecting a campsite, we drive out to Toroweap for a look into the dizzying depths to the Colorado River far below.

To the south is the lava cascade, clinging to the canyon wall like a great glob of convoluted tar. Stewart Aitchison, a Grand Canyon hiking authority, ranked 30 routes into the Canyon by degree of difficulty. The lava cascade is the only one he termed hazardous.

So does the National Park Service. After extending permission for our hike, it sent a cautionary letter: "We discourage the use of this route. It is extremely difficult and dangerous." As I was soon to find out.

However, Gary has been down the lava flow before. I have confidence in his experience. He'll lead. I'll follow. Simple.

Under gray skies, autumn daylight starts disappearing early. Steck guides the van around the rough cinder slopes of Vulcans Throne where we camp in a boulder-strewn gully above the lava cascade. Dusk is moving in, and the sky is spitting sleet.

We do not attempt to cook a meal. Instead, we huddle in the darkened van, trading snacks and small talk.

Predictably, I sleep in fits and starts. Each time my eyes pop open, I hear the sound of sleet on the metal roof. But, sometime before dawn, quiet sets in. First light reveals a snow line no more

A towering wave hits us

from the side. I lean into it, hoping it will keep the craft upright.

Five hundred yards below the rim, I encounter a ledge. Gary is out of sight beyond a rippling outcrop of lava. I don't like the ledge. Not only is it narrow and without handholds, it slants downward and is covered with loose pebbles like ball bearings. In the gully below strewn boulders wait. I step out cautiously, and, just as I'm about to congratulate myself on my safe passage, my left foot strikes painfully against a jagged outcrop. When I examine the wound on my ankle, I see bone. A couple of stitches would do nicely, I think. But all I can do for now is smear on a dab of antibiotic salve and move on.

Farther down the incline, Gary has aimed his camera in my direction, and my old enemy, Ego, takes over. I move out of my crouch and take a long confident stride. A mistake. I'm on my seat again, and this time the pain is excruciating but, thankfully, short-lived. When I get up, my pants are sticking to my seat. A quick tactile examination confirms my suspicion. Blood. But there's little I can do except go on. If this continues, I tell myself, I'll soon need a plasma break. For the next half-mile all goes well, but fatigue is fast setting in, the loose scree taxing my reserves. Then we come to the ravine.

The near perpendicular gorge is narrow and filled with an insane arrangement of boulders. For a distance, we clamber down the precipitous dry streambed, then access a narrow trail that angles along the ravine wall. But the good news soon turns bad. The path, what there is of it, abruptly comes to a dead end. There is only one way to go: straight down some 20 feet.

Not a great depth, but if I drop headfirst onto these boulders, my next stop will be the morgue. With a length of cord, we lower our packs. Then Gary sits on the ledge, edges forward, and starts his descent as I crane my neck to watch his every move. His technique is to face out from the ravine wall and place his boot heels on projecting chunks of lava.I cringe, imagining what could go wrong: a piece of lava could give way under Gary's weight. His boot heel could slip off a rock. Or he could lose his balance and tumble into the ravine.

Minutes pass slowly, but eventually he reaches bottom without incident. He finds a seat on a boulder, takes a drink of water from his canteen, and peels the wrapper off a candy bar. All this time, I'm sitting on the ledge looking down. I am psychologically unable to make the descent.

I need to search for an alternative, and I see one. Just 20 yards up the dry streambed, the channel narrows to about four feet. A massive boulder, jammed between other boulders, hangs above the streambed like a lintel over a doorway. The drop is about 15 feet, but there are several good footholds below the hanging rock.

Feeling secure, I slide to the edge of the drop. "I'll put my left arm out there,' I call down to Gary, pointing. "Right arm, here. Then I'll ease off the ledge and hang. You take my foot and put it on that protruding rock."

He nods. I take a deep breath, grasp the boulder, and slide off into space. So far, so good. I'm hanging nicely. Then the huge chunk of lava above me groans and moves again. A cold shudder runs up my spine. If it gives way, I'm squashed!

Fearful that even the sound of my voice might dislodge it, I whisper to Gary, "The rock moved." He says nothing, but I can feel his hand guiding my foot to the ledge.

In seconds I'm on solid ground, breathing heavily, and backing away from the threatening boulder. Studying it in silence, I realize I have just engaged in the most dangerous purposeful act of my adult life.

It is not quite noon when we reach the Colorado River. The clouds have broken, and shafts of sunlight bathe the Canyon walls. My flesh-and-bone legs have metamorphosed into wet noodles. The shifting scree has done me in. I'm exhausted. And I don't see any dories.

"Do you think we missed the boats?" I gasp, trying not to think what that could mean.

than 200 feet above the elevation of our campground. My breakfast is applesauce, a few crackers, and a handful of trail mix. Then Steck chugs away as Gary and I hoist our packs and walk through a narrow defile.

At the windswept rim, we contemplate the slope. Marked only with occasional cairns, the route (it is NOT a trail) drops nearly 2,700 feet in 1.5 miles. A single glance convinces me that the incline is the steepest I've ever attempted for an extended distance.

But we have little time for contemplating. It's about 5:00 A.M., and we have a schedule to keep. The boats should arrive above Lava Falls about noon. Gary takes the lead. He has a scrawled route map and his recollection of a descent made years ago. Dark ridges of tossed lava protrude along the way. Dead bushes cling helter-skelter to powdery soil blown in across a million years. Mostly the winding route inclines through loose and jagged scree that slides under my feet. Each step requires careful placement, which strains leg muscles.

Gary moves fast, slips less. I pick up my pace, and in a millisecond I've crashed on my seat, shards of lava jabbing my posterior. I rise quickly, hoping Gary didn't see me. When I brush the seat of my britches, I discover tears in several places.

t is as the national park rangers cautioned, I tell myself, a dangerous experience.

"Don't think so," Gary replies, studying the water upriver.

Then he says just what I don't care to hear: "But if we have, we'll have to climb back out."

The colorful hard-hulled boats finally arrive, six of them, accompanied by two rubber provisions rafts. The autumn expedition, operated by Grand Canyon Dories, with a full complement of passengers, has been on the water for 14 days.

WHEN YOU GO

Getting there: The Lava Falls route begins near Toroweap Point on the North Rim of the Grand Canyon.

After lunch, Bronco Bruchak, the trip leader, invites me to hike downstream to where he and the boat guides can study Lava Falls. This is a critical exercise, he says, because the rapids change on a daily basis.

About 2:00 P.M. the dories, at spaced intervals, are slid into the jade-green waters of the Colorado.

We approach the rapids sideways in a current so strong there is no possibility of turning back. Just before we hit whitewater, Jan Kempster, our boat pilot, wields an oar, and we turn abruptly, nose first into the churning water. The bow goes nearly straight up into the air as a towering wave hits us from the side. I lean into it as instructed, hoping it will help keep the craft upright.

Monstrous waves toss the tiny boat, but Kempster deftly guides us through with her flashing oars. As the dory slides toward shore, a massive boulder looms ahead. Just before impact, Kempster twists an oar, and we slip by a miss by no more than a foot, The entire adventure has lasted about 45 seconds.

Six miles downstream, we land the dories on a wide beach. Bruchak has a tent assembled for me, and once again I'm in dry clothes. The wounds on my carcass are patched and, for the moment, forgotten.

A pork-chop dinner with rice pilaf and tossed salad completes the day.

Stuffed and aching, I retire early to my tent and sleeping bag. But just as I doze off, I'm once again on the lava cascade, exhausted and hurting. It is as the national park rangers cautioned, I tell myself, a dangerous experience. I really pushed my luck.

Travel Guide: For more about the world's greatest wonder, we recommend Grand Canyon, a one-hour Arizona Highways video ($29.95) that explores the Canyon's spectacular scenery as well as taking viewers along on one of the famous mule-train rides and on a thrilling raft trip down the Colorado River. The video is narrated by the late actor Lorne Greene. For information or to place an order, telephone 1 (800) 543-5432. In the Phoenix area, call 258-1000.

Only very experienced desert hikers skilled in route finding and rock climbing should attempt this hazardous undeveloped and unmaintained track, traveling with at least one companion. Avoid this route entirely during summer months. The lava cascade is south-facing, and summer heat can rise above 120° F. Hikers are urged to counsel with the National Park Service, Backcountry Office, before planning a trip.

For less experienced hikers there is the Whitmore Wash Trail west of Tuweep. The old stock trail is isolated and offers river access.

TRAVEL WITH THE FRIENDS OF ARIZONA HIGHWAYS PHOTO WORKSHOPS

The Friends of Arizona Highways offers Photo Workshops among the state's scenic wonders for picture takers of all skill levels. Our premier photographers lead the tours and are assisted by experts from Kodak, Nikon, and Hasselblad. Scenic Tours also are available.

Lake Powell; April 27-May 1 Explore the lake with more shoreline than the Atlantic Coast from Maine to the southernmost tip of Florida. Photographer: Gary Ladd.

Paria Canyon Hike; April 29-May 3 or May 19-23 Backpack into the wild canyon in far northern Arizona. Photographer: Jack Dykinga (first trip), Gary Ladd (second).

Slot Canyons/Vermilion Cliffs; May 5-8 Narrow rock passages and sheer multihued cliffs provide stark drama. Photographer: Michael Fatali.

Sedona/Oak Creek Canyon; May 13-16 Explore the soaring red rocks and bubbling Oak Creek. Photographer: Peter Mortimer.

Monument Valley on Horseback; June 7-12 Explore the valley of sculpted wonders with Don Donnelly Tours. Photographer: Gary Johnson.

Monument Valley; June 16-19 Marvel at the rock sculptures seen in many Western films. Photographer: Jerry Sieve.

Prescott Rodeo; July 2-5 Focus on cowboy contests in the arena. Photographer: Ken Akers.

Grand Canyon North Rim; August 1-4 If the summer monsoons arrive, watch for dramatic cloud formations. Photographers: Willard and Cathy Clay.

Hannagan Meadow; August 18-21 Enjoy the verdant scenery and cooler temperatures of the high country. Photographer: Edward McCain.

FRIENDS SCENIC TOURS

Canyonland Tour; May 4-7 or October 7-10 Visit the Grand Canyon, Oak Creek Canyon, Walnut Canyon.

Paria Canyon; May 7-11 Hike through the rugged canyon in far northern Arizona.

Keet Seel; June 4-7 Explore one of the Southwest's best-preserved cliff dwellings on this hike.

SCENIC TOURS WITH RAY MANLEY

Led by a premier Arizona Highways contributing photographer, these trips are organized primarily for mature adults.

Canyon de Chelly/Monument Valley; May 3-7 or October 25-29 See otherworldly rock formations and prehistoric dwellings in Navajo country.

For information on these and other tours, telephone the Friends' Travel Desk, (602) 271-5904.

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Order through the attached card, or write or visit Arizona Highways, 2039 West Lewis Avenue, Phoenix, AZ 85009. Or you can place telephone orders by calling toll-free nationwide, 1-800-543-5432. In the Phoenix area, please call 258-1000. (Available after March 24.)