Meat Week Part I: Stoking the Fire
As we said “goodbye” to Bryce, we said “hola” to Escalante. Incidentally The Beatles Hello, Goodbye was playing at the same time. Oh Escalante, que lindo! We arrived mid-morning as the sun was gearing up to scorch our flesh, but we retreated to the shadows of slot canyons. We intended to go right for two exciting canyons that are supposedly “as tight as they let normal people enjoy.” I don’t know if it was a Freudian slip, a tacit admission that we’re not normal people, or an honest mistake, but we ended up in a MUCH easier canyon en route to finding the ones we intended. Based on this picture, I’d say we were lost (or scared).
This first “tourist canyon” had walls about 30 ft high.
It was beautiful and unlike anything we find on the east coast, but lacked the eeriness and mental challenge of a narrow slot canyon. The next slot canyon had a pretty tricky entrance that required some advanced maneuvers (to us non-climbers at least) but was significantly tighter than the first (cue dirty jokes and snickers). Walls were higher, about 50 ft tall at the max, but sky was visible at all times which helped combat claustrophobia. Which way is the way?
Where am I? No seriously… WHERE am I?
We didn’t take ourselves too seriously though. Slot canyons–although tres chic–are ultimately a fun experience at their core. Essentially a jungle gym for grown ups. But what isn’t?
Then Greg had to go and try to get sick gnarly rad again… what to heck G-man?
We had to scoot sideways in some places.
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