Travel Photography > Desert Southwest > Colorado Plateau

Five miles from there and I pulled off on an unmarked red dirt road and followed it for an hour as it followed a valley floor; a hundred foot cloud of dust following in my trail. I stopped at a small clearing. 'Wire Pass', was written on the BLM post, so I knew I had landed. I read a passage from Conrad and marked it,

"Watching a coast as it slips by the ship is like thinking about an enigma. There it is before you--smiling, frowning, inviting, grand, mean, insipid, or savage,and always mute with an air of whispering, 'Come and find out.' This one was almost featureless, as if still in the making, with an aspect of monotonous grimness. The edge of a colossal jungle, so dark-green as the be almost black, fringed with white surf, ran straight, like a ruled line, far, far away along a blue sea whose glitter was blurred by a creeping mist. The sun was fierce, the land seemed to glisten and drip with steam."

My backpack was heavy, my tripod and equipment bag were heavy too, and it was hot, blistering hot, and I walked down a desert wash, with cactuses and junipers rising above me, and as the floor descended the two miles toward a mess of rocks and cliffs, the insects thickened. Flying black beetles, moths, deer flies. Buzzing. Buzzing. And some crawled, like the lizards. In the stillness of the air, you didn't only see the lizards, you could hear them pulling their tails along the red sand. Thhhh. Thhhhhh. Thhhhhhh. In time, the wash narrowed until small ledges of red stone, sandwiched it, and soon the stone was overhead, a hundred feet overhead.

The temperature dropped by twenty degrees and it became dark. Soon, as I continued down this dark slot canyon, there was no direct light, only the amber cast of warm tones on the grey and pink walls. These walls became narrower, as I descended. Soon, I was removing my backpack and squeezing myself and equipment through, or walking sideways, tiptoeing. When the tight corners gave way, I found myself on a 10 foot ledge, and I said "Forget this." but the Canyon echoed back, "Forget this, forget this, forget this." And it made me think; well maybe there is a way back up that 10 foot wall? And I said, "Screw it." And the canyon echoed back and I threw my pack and followed with a jump and a fall. Oh the Sweet Paria.

I edged around another dark corner, now wearing my flashlight. I saw a giant log wedged between the canyon walls - 50 feet above me. That made me realize that I was now miles from escape. If it rained, even 50 miles from here, those same floods that crammed that tree 50 feet above me would come roaring down. In time, I crossed into the sunlight; a triangular trough and the convergence between the Wire Pass and the Gulch; the two slots that wind into the Paria. Although the convergence was enclosed by 200 foot cliffs, it was sunny here, and there were green trees.

I drank water on a grassy plateau, and entered the gulch. This slot descended to 500 feet under its cliffs, and it was narrow. Soon, there were patches of water. When they became impassable I took off my boots and waded through them at knee length. The water stank of dead animals, and was a sinewy brown, so I was glad to be on sand.my feet, however, began to sink, and I realized that this was the quicksand the rangers had warned about.

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