Quest for a Slot Canyon

ADVENTURE OF A DIFFERENT SORT - PROBING A LAKE POWELL SLOT CANYON

We were in a tight spot, literally. There wasn't an inch between either side of our little boat and the walls of Wetherill Canyon, a towering slot canyon on Lake Powell.

"I don't think we can go any farther," I groaned.

"We may have to swim for it."

"Nah," said Mickey Dew, “let's try it. Push some more on the sides, and let's see if it opens up around the corner."

SLOT CANYON

None of us wanted to swim up the canyon unless we had to. Out on the lake proper, the water was cold. But here, inside a canyon where the sun never shines, the dark murky water was much colder. We knew what we were up against. On the canyon walls were streaks of paint from the sides of other boats that had tried to motor up the narrow confines of this spectacular slit in the red sandstone cliffs. The canyon is deceptive. At first the cleft is fairly wide, and it continues on a twisting, turning route for a considerable distance, luring boats into its maw. But the canyon narrows imperceptibly, and soon there is no room to turn around. The boat operator must decide whether to back out or continue, gambling that the passageway won't narrow and pinch his boat. Because of the many bends, it is almost impossible to avoid banging the bow or stern on the walls, even if coasting at very low speeds. The possibility of damaging the prop on a hidden rock or the canyon walls worries the boater at every turn. The previous day, on our first attempt at boating Wetherill, I was operating a larger boat. Soon after entering the twisting maze, I was forced to slow the boat to a crawl while my passengers used hands, feet, and a paddle to fend off the walls. Finally I reached a spot where the boat was rubbing the walls on both sides. We had traversed one such spot by a combination of pushing against the canyon walls with our hands and judiciously goosing the engine. "Any tighter and we'll have to whip out the Vaseline," I joked. No one laughed. We could see gouges in the sandstone where someone had wedged a boat. That did it. "This boat is just too big to go any farther," I said. "I've been up this canyon before, and we're still a long way from the end. We're gonna have to put the motor in reverse and squeeze out of here." Our craft, a rental from Wahweap Marina near Page, was an 18-foot runabout with a 115-horse outboard, which was great for running up the lake to Rainbow Bridge and commuting back and forth. But the craft was not designed for exploring slot canyons. I didn't want to go back to the marina and explain how I managed to get one of their boats stuck like a cork in a bottle. Lake Powell, which I think is the most beautiful and spectacular lake in the United States, is huge, more than 180 miles long. Access to the cliff-ringed lake is very limited, and if you venture any distance up the lake, you must be self-sufficient. There were several of us on this trip, so we used a 50- -base and the runabout to commute back and forth. Luckily we had towed two small aluminum boats behind the houseboat so we could do some fishing. If we couldn't get to the back of Wetherill in the big run-about, maybe one of the 12-footers would make it. The next day, Dew, Larry Bagley, Don Thomas, and I crammed ourselves into Dew's little flat-bottom jonboat for another try, while Bobby Petton minded the houseboat. I had visited Wetherill Canyon the year before when the lake was much lower. At that time, my companions and I were able to tie up our boat on a sandy beach and after a short hike enter the slot. The interior was completely dry with a level, sandy bottom that was ideal for walking. But after a winter of deep snowpack in the mountains of Colorado, the spring runoff raised the level of Lake Powell more than 40 feet, flooding three-quarters of Wetherill's slot canyon. Instead of the easy hike I had planned, we had an iffy boating adventure in store for us. A word here about slot canyons: On the Colorado Plateau, which covers much of northern Arizona, southern Utah, southern Colorado, and the northwest corner of New Mexico, the soft red Navajo sandstone has been eroding for thousands of years. Spring runoff and flash floods from summer cloudbursts have carved some extremely narrow canyons - slots actually - in the sandstone. Most of these eroded Houseboats, like this one anchored in a cove of Wetherill Canyon, serve as a popular home base from which daily excursions can be made in smaller craft. (OPPOSITE PAGE, BOTTOM) Heavy spring runoff flooded most of Wetherill's slot canyon, changing our author's plans from an easy hike to a boating adventure.

Clefts are deep, 50 to 100 feet on the average with the sky often visible only through a narrow crack overhead. Some slots are narrow at the top and wide at the bottom. Others are just the opposite. Some are so narrow, you can touch the walls on both sides with your arms extended. Others, like Wetherill, are even narrower. There are several slot canyons that were flooded when the waters of Lake Powell first started rising behind Glen Canyon Dam in 1963. Ones like Secret Canyon, just up the lake from Rainbow Bridge, twist and wind back into the interior for miles, it seems, and are so deep they remain flooded despite the fluctuations of the lake levels. But Wetherillnamed for John Wetherill, who led the first white men to see Rainbow Bridgenormally is dry and easily accessible for day hikes. But not this year. Now, after nearly getting our boat stuck, I toyed with the idea of abandoning the excursion and moving up the lake to explore Secret Canyon and other slot canyons. Still, I wanted to make another try because Wetherill is highly unusual, a one-of-a-kind phenomenon in slot canyons. Eons of runoff from infrequent rainfalls had carved Wetherill's narrow, mostly horizontal cleft through a rounded sandstone dome, one of hundreds of similar domes found in the Rainbow Bridge area. But during this period, long before humans lived on this land, another flow of water somehow worked its way down through the maze of rocks until it cascaded over and down a rocky shelf, falling on the top of the dome containing Wetherill's slot. This waterfall could just as easily have splashed its way around the dome and drained downward to the Colorado River. Instead the falling water drilled a vertical hole - a chimney - down into the sandstone dome. And then, almost as if it were directed by a higher intelligence, the water cut a hole horizontally and exited into the main channel of the Wetherill slot. This exit hole is about chest-high as you walk up the slot. Inside there is a "room" carved out by the falling water, a room big enough to comfortably hold two or three persons, more if everybody is friendly. The next morning, Dew skillfully worked his boat far beyond our deepest penetration of the day before. However, the slot eventually shrank, and the little boat, slightly more than three feet wide, rubbed the sides. That's when I suggested swimming up the canyon. But, as Dew said, by pushing and rock-ing, we got the boat past the tight spot and were able to go another 40 or 50 yards up the winding passageway before it nar-rowed again.This section of the slot was not only narrow, it also had a sharp bend. Still, by ju-dicious fending off the canyon sides from bow and stern, we got past that place, too. And then, about another 50 yards beyond, we found ourselves truly stopped. The only way we were going to get through the bottleneck was to tip the boat sideways. In addition, the light inside was fading, and we could no longer see the sky through the slot overhead.

SLOT CANYON

But back in the interior, I could dimly see an earthen bank.

"Land!" I cried. "I see land up ahead."

Probing the bottom with the paddle, I estimated the water to be about chest-deep. Clinging to the bow, I lowered myself into the water, gasping as the chill constricted my lungs. The water was a yucky chocolate color with floating bits of wood and other debris that I pushed aside with my hands as I waded forward. The bottom shoaled out, and soon I was in knee-deep water.

"Hey!" I yelled back. "Come on. It's not bad at all." The others slid over the side of the boat and into the cold water with groans and appropriate words. Before they reached me, I turned and waded the final six feet and promptly fell into a neck-deep plunge

WHEN YOU GO

hole that the flood waters had carved at the water's edge.

Gasping and slipping on the muddy bank, I clawed my way to solid land on hands and knees. "There's a hole here," I told my companions unnecessarily. "Stay on either side or you'll slide in."

The slippery bottom, however, foiled my advice, and they all fell into the hole, one after another. Getting out was tricky. Just when they were on the verge of hauling themselves out of the water, the muddy bank gave way, and they would fall back in.

We were a muddy bunch as we finally trudged up the tunnellike passage. Soon we saw some light ahead. It came from the "chimney" and side room. We climbed in to look around and take photos.

Then we continued up the passageway as the light dimmed again and the sandy bottom turned into slippery boulders. Wehose Those who wish to explore Wetherill Canyon on foot should first check with Wahweap Marina to determine the water level of Lake Powell. Fall, winter, and early spring are the best times because the lake, which fluctuates between late spring runoff from upstream and summer withdrawals for downstream water users, is at its lowest. Do not go out on the lake without a map.

Wetherill, like all slot canyons, is subject to sudden and catastrophic floods that produce tremendous abrasive erosion.

Wetherill Canyon is about 39 miles from Glen Canyon Dam and three miles from Dangling Rope Marina. Visitors will need a large boat and motor to reach the canyon and, if the slot portion is flooded, a smaller one for exploration.

Boats of all sizes can be rented at Wahweap, which is located about five miles from Page, and Page is 282 miles north of Phoenix. Take Interstate 17 to Flagstaff and U.S. 89 to Page. Restaurants, gasoline, lodging, and groceries are available at Page or Wahweap.

For more information on visiting Lake Powell, call Wahweap Lodge toll-free at (800) 528-6154, or in the greater Phoenix area, (602) 278-8888. For general information, call the Page/Lake Powell Chamber of Commerce, (520) 645-2741.

(OPPOSITE PAGE) Viewed from the top of the canyon just before entering the chimney room, Heidi Wiggins, Bob Thomas, Barbara Heslin, and Dale Wiggins are dwarfed by the depth of the slot.

(LEFT) Bob Thomas, top, Dale Wiggins, Joe Peery, Terry Heslin, Barbara Heslin, and Heidi Wiggins squeeze into the room at the base of the vertical chimney.

We encountered several places where we had to climb and scramble up inclines. Next it grew light again, and we were at the place where the passageway forked.

On the right, looking up a steep, boulder-clogged opening that seemed to be on the verge of an avalanche, we could see the sky. But the left fork tunnel, although dimmer, looked bigger and safer. Still this stretch was rough, marked by a deep plunge pool filled with the coldest water of all.

Once past the plunge pool, we had to climb up and over a smooth, slippery groove that floods had carved into the rock. Then more big rocks had to be climbed. Suddenly it leveled off, and we walked out into bright sunlight.

Here we had two choices. We could continue up the canyon, which we could see was an obstacle course of boulders, or we could climb a steep talus slope on our right.

I had climbed this slope the previous year, so I led the way. We had to go up the talus one man at a time because of the danger of dislodging a loose rock on the person below. The climb became a struggle, an ascent in which you studied each rock in the soft soil to see if it would bear your weight.

The top turned out to be a knife ridge, but what a glorious view and what a thrilling feeling we had at topping out. All around us were rounded rock domes leading ever upward. On the opposite side of the talus slope, we could look down into the boulder-strewn opening of the right fork.

By climbing a nearby dome, we could see the great crack of the slot canyon worn through the rocks. In the opposite direction, I'm sure, one could climb out on the mesas above Lake Powell. Although there was no evidence, the now-vanished Anasazi Indians may have used the slot canyon to gain the top.

Our return trip to the boat was just as adventurous as the trip in. Most memorable was the slide down the smooth, water-worn channel and into the ice-cold waters of the plunge pool.