Slot Scrambling

Wandering the slot canyons of Escalante

By Steven Yan

April 26^th, 2019

THE IN-BETWEEN

"UH-UH-UH-AH-UH-AH" -- Cec and I laugh as we rip down Hole-in-the-Rock Road at 40 miles per hour. Every surface and corner of our rented Jeep Wrangler squeaks in protest. The stereo, in particular, vibrates violently. As we forge deeper into Grand Staircase-Escalante, all of this begins to feel weirdly comforting as the Jeep effortlessly skips across endless, dusty washboard and the occasional cattle guard. With time and repetition, this metal box has molded in its own way to the unbending forces of this place. As we'll soon find, so has everything else.

Last to be mapped in the contiguous United States, the Grand Staircase-Escalante is one of the most remote regions of the country. Ironically, it connects some of the most iconic parts of the American Southwest: Bryce Canyon National Park, the Grand Canyon, and Lake Powell. Over the course of many road trips, Cec and I have come to cherish these remote pockets, in between the scenic viewpoints and paved trails -- places that you must stand deep inside to appreciate.

ALL THE MARBLES

We reach Zebra Slot after a 2.5 mile hike over soft sand and slickrock. There's the namesake striped Navajo Sandstone walls exuding a matte magenta-plum glow in the late morning light. However, curious black concretions embedded deep in the walls capture my curiosity. They're Moqui Marbles. We would later traverse fields of these marbles strewn across the landscape. Similar deposits appear on Mars, known as Martian Blueberries.

Earning our Stripes

Zebra Slot briskly narrows to the width of half a human, and we're grateful that we've sized down our gear into makeshift slings in preparation. There's a lot of sideways shuffling, stretching to tiptoe through cracks nearly too deep for our legs, and stemming our way up and over steep ledges. We eventually reach a deep pothole filled with stagnant water that would require relying on a single Moqui Marble as a foothold and a questionable ridge of sandstone as a handhold. We decide to turn back instead of take a bath in a mosquito farm.

Mosquito-farm-pothole-of-death. Where's Alex Honnold when you need him?

On the descent, we're treated to a new perspective of this place. Though this desert landscape is vastly different from my native Oregon, the undulating striped sandstone walls evoke the salt water taffy of my childhood on the Oregon Coast.

PEEK-A-BOO 👻

Twenty-six miles down Hole-in-the-Rock Road, we hike into Dry Fork Canyon to find the entrances to Peek-a-Boo and Spooky Slot. We choose to navigate them clockwise, which requires some serious problem-solving and teamwork to ascend the slick, fifteen-foot entrance to Peek-a-Boo Slot.

Each of these slots have their own character, determined by elements and time. Peek-a-Boo Slot meanders playfully, with a series of sculpted archways, ledges, and corners to scramble under, behind, and across. Even under an overcast sky it exudes a dusty orange glow.

A mile later, we pop back out into the Escalante landscape. We're surprised to find a wildflower-lined trail as we make our way to Spooky Slot.

"Geologic time includes now."

Peering into the throat of Spooky Slot puts me on guard immediately. In this moment, I realized just how seductive Zebra and Peek-a-Boo Slot were -- polished sandstone sirens whose impossibly smooth and vibrant contours convince you of their permanence -- that these canyons have reached their geological conclusion.

Spooky Slot is different. It's raw and seemingly alive. Razor sharp rock strata, hovering just at head level for much of the descent through the canyon, will happily shred any unlucky thing that washes into the slot. You can't help but imagine you're about to be digested.

We scramble around multiple large and uncomfortably fresh-looking rockfalls. Then under, through an awkward gap in the rockfall followed by a 10-12 foot drop that demands you drape yourself over a boulder with two serviceable handholds and terrible to non-existent footholds. The photographer in me wants to stay and bask in the magical incandescence of these boulders, lit from all sides. The pragmatist in me chooses to move on.

The walls close in quickly as we progress. We shuffle awkwardly through gaps as narrow as ten inches. Slippery, sand-dusted spiraling descents foreshadow more than a few slips and bruised shins along the way. Cec discovers that descending backwards, as one would a ladder, is actually easier.

The sinister shadows of Spooky Slot give way to that familiar orange sandstone hue as the midday sun pierces the canyon ceiling. We are scraped, bruised, and squeezed into a crack. We are content.