Lost in Canyon Country

In March of 2022, I packed up my backpack and flew out to Salt Lake City with the goal of experiencing a new environment and a new challenge–the grandeur of the American West.

After visiting nearly all of Wisconsin’s State Parks and Forests, I was itching for something different. While most people are fascinated by the scale and beauty of the Rocky Mountains, I wanted to experience something different. I wanted to explore canyon country, better known as the Colorado Plateau.

After a quick flight from Milwaukee to Salt Lake City, I picked up my rental car and began the 350-mile drive south through the Wasatch Range into the heart of Utah’s canyon country. After reaching the town of Moab, I continued to drive south into Canyonlands National Park, which would become my home for the next week. With daylight fading and the temperature dropping, I quickly set up camp, cooked some dinner, and sat in front of the fire preparing for the next day’s adventures.

The following morning, I was awakened by sunlight creeping over the La Sal Mountains a few miles to my east. I grabbed my backpack, filled up my canteen, and headed deeper into the Park. Knowing that I wanted to avoid all of the crowds of people that frequent southern Utah in the spring, I had planned an off-trail hike that would take me 1,500 feet down to the canyon floor where I would follow dried up riverbeds ten miles west until I reached the Green River. From the Green River, I would meet up with an established trail that would take me all the way back up to the rim of the canyon.

After a beautiful drive to the access point, I headed off into the high desert. After a short walk, I reached a notch in the canyon rim where there was a natural spring that had eroded a massive alcove in the canyon wall. Underneath the alcove laid a steep slope of eroded rock and rubble that created a traversable path down to the canyon floor. On my descent, I noticed a faint set of footprints heading in the same direction as I was, as well as a series of sparsely placed cairns guiding my way.

My descent was fairly straightforward, other than a handful of steep, rocky segments which called for an unexpected amount of scrambling to traverse. Eventually, I reached the canyon floor and fully began to understand the environment I was in. The 1,500-foot cliffs surrounding me took away any sense of direction. At this point, I fully understood that I was at the mercy of the canyons, and my only way out was to climb 1,500 feet back up to the canyon rim. Even with this in mind, I was confident in my planning that the route I was about to embark on would take me back to the top.

And so, I headed west following a riverbed which was surprisingly flowing with a small amount of muddy water. A few miles in, the cairns I was following ended, and the footprints I was tracking began to fade. Still, I ventured on, determined to reach the Green River. Hours later, I reached a junction where several smaller canyons met to form one larger canyon that leads to the Green River.

As I climbed out of the semi-dry riverbed I was following, I was shocked to learn that my path further west to the Green River was completely flooded by water coming from another canyon to the north. Desperate for a way across, I ventured upstream to find a spot where I could safely cross.

After miles of hiking to find a crossing point, it became very clear that I was not getting across this river. I turned around and set my course for the alcove spring where I first descended into the canyon. However, there was only one problem.

After several miles of wandering, my sense of direction was completely gone.

I grabbed my phone to pull up a map, but of course, I had no service whatsoever. With the sunlight fading and the direction of my only known exit unknown, I began to panic. I sat down on top of a boulder, calmed myself down, and started to think.

I thankfully remembered that the canyon I originally descended from was oriented almost perfectly east-to-west. I hiked onwards desperately searching for a side-canyon that opened up directly east. I passed a couple of side-canyons that appeared to lead east. Luckily however, there was a voice in my head urging me not to follow them. Eventually, I found a canyon that looked promising. At this point though, I was still very unsure if this was the way back to the alcove.

With the sunlight continuing to dwindle, I knew I had to take a gamble so as not to be stuck out here all night. I made the decision to head off into this canyon. After several miles of hiking, I still could not see the alcove and began to question whether or not this was the canyon that led to my exit point. Panic began to set in again, but I nonetheless continued on.

As darkness set in, I rounded another corner of the canyon and finally saw the alcove I had been desperately searching for. My anxiety subdued as I finally knew that I was safe. I trudged back up the 1,500 feet notch and finally reached the canyon rim. When I later reached my car, I reflected on what had transpired that day.

I had completely underestimated this place. I finally understood why people seldom venture down to the canyon floor in this Park. When you are completely submerged below the canyon rim, your entire sense of direction disappears. This place is a maze that can easily swallow you up and never spit you out.

The Colorado Plateau is a rugged and unforgiving environment that will punish you for your mistakes. This adventure was the most humbling experience I have had in the outdoors and has inspired me to challenge myself to explore new places and terrains. Although looking back at this day brings me a lot of joy and satisfaction, I learned a very valuable lesson: never become complacent, and always be prepared for the worst.

Ian Lane

March 2022