Labyrinth Canyon Packraft Loop

In November 2012, Julia found that her sister would visit Michigan from Norway over Thanksgiving break. She also noticed that the workload from her classes during that week was pretty low. So she decided to hop a plane home and hang out with a good portion of the family. So I decided that I would do something that would make her think that Utah is awesome and she should stay here with me. I have come to realize that I should just go with her on these sorts of trips. The things I do while she is gone to convince her that staying here is awesome tend to make her want to leave all the more. I am still working on that.

With that in mind, I decided to spend Thanksgiving on the Green River. After the Millard Canyon debacle, a packraft loop out there was calling my name. So I worked up a route that I thought I could do in four days. I reassured Julia that I would be traveling through Labyrinth Canyon where the flows are generally around 2 mph in the fall. Drowning in flat water is a possibility, of course, but even more likely was getting stuck with a headwind and not being able to move on the river. Eventually she gave up trying to convince me not to go.

I loaded up the GPS with waypoints and headed down towards the west entrance of Canyonlands on Wednesday night. Along the way to the put in, I dropped off my bike at the Horseshoe Canyon parking lot and trailhead. The idea was to drive north from there to Bull Bottom, drop the car and float down the Green River until Horseshoe Canyon comes into Labyrinth Canyon, walk up Horseshoe Canyon to my bike, and head back north to the car. One unknown was walking up Horseshoe Canyon. The only information I could find was that racers in the first Eco-Challenge in 1995 had rappelled into the canyon and hiked down to the Green to start the float. I figured if they could walk down it, I could walk up.

I pumped up the tires to my bike and left two gallons of water and tire fixing kit with a note saying I'll be back shortly. I rolled into the wash heading down to Bull Bottom around 2 in the morning and slept like a baby.

Good work, PW.

A view of the entrance to Labyrinth Canyon from the bench.

The morning required a short hike to the river. I wandered around looking for a gate to the trail that led down the cliff to the river. Good thing it was there. I didn't expect the bench to be so tall. Without the cattle trail it could have been another Millard Canyon over-before-it-starts adventure. But getting to the put in only required a couple of hours this time.

The cattle trail. Couldn't find the petroglyphs but there are
a few down along the cliff.

Time to get after it.

I had brought along USGS quads of the entire route with song lyrics on the back. I expected to be a little bored on the river and I intended to memorize a few of my favorite songs. This was a good idea.

The river offered several nice spots to rest.

Before long I was in a big canyon. From what I could tell from the map, I was making sufficient progress. At least I wasn't going to miss class on Monday. I had the maps on the spray skirt and I could flip back and forth between song lyrics and topo maps while sitting in a packraft floating through an enormous isolated canyon. If you know me well you understand what kind of mood I was in. This was the situation until dark. It was glorious.

Passed several of these grotto-type things.

Some company on the river.

Potentially a large arch someday. I'll check it out again in a
few millennia. 

Thanksgiving on the Green River.

Still water on the Green River.

My goal was to reach Bowknot Bend for the first camp. I knew I was close as the daylight disappeared. Just as it grew dark both the GPS and topo maps seemed to indicate that I was looking up at the neck of Bowknot Bend and soon I would be approaching a large sand bar. I was wondering if it was wise to keep floating. It was kind of fun in the dark and the headlamp seemed sufficient. About the moment this was going through my head a gust of wind blew the maps into the water and out of my reach. I said a bad word and tracked them down. Stopping would probably be good.

I pulled out onto the sandbar and started pulling things apart to set up camp. Then I reviewed some concepts from groundwater. Even though the water table on the sand bar (defined as the point where the pressure head is equal to atmospheric pressure) is at the same elevation of the river, capillary forces can draw water up into the voids in the sand at elevations above the water table/river. So even though the water table is below the elevation of the sand bar, there is still quite a bit of water in the pores between sand grains. That was fun to try to explain. What I am getting at is that I had to find a different campsite.

Eventually I found a relatively dry spot a little further down the sandbar and set up shop for the night. Time for Thanksgiving dinner.

Beef log and stuffing.

Easy to fall asleep. Morning came and after breakfast I hiked up to the neck of Bowknot Bend to check things out. If I were in a bind I planned to hike up here and back down to the river on the other side to skip 7 miles of floating. But no worries. I just ate a snack and took pictures and enjoyed the morning. In hindsight, it would have been wise to find a camping spot that is in the sun when morning rolls around. It was pretty chilly down by the tent.

Thanksgiving leftovers for breakfast.

Camp on the sandbar.

Hanging out in the sun on Bowknot Bend, looking west.

Same spot, looking east.

After a few hours of floating I saw people, which was weird. A couple of canoeing climbers had set up camp on the other side of the bend and a rancher had a very motivated dog herding cattle up off the river banks towards his truck. It was fun to watch.

Ranging cattle on the bow of Bowknot Bend.

Another potential arch.

Getting a wink from the terrain.

Seven miles of floating and still able to see where I ate
breakfast.

Then I was back to the wilderness. Around mid-afternoon the maps and GPS indicated that I had found Horseshoe Canyon. I collected some water and let it settle out before treating it and getting it into a clean bottle. Turns out there was water up in Horseshoe Canyon, which was good. Because it was difficult to get the silt out, I wasn't pre-hydrated heading up the wash.

Drying things out at Horseshoe Canyon.

Ready to hike.

I miss Julia.

Cold feet seem likely.

A cool looking rock in the canyon.

This part was fun, kind of like the other parts of the trip. The first encounters with water were a trickle in the wash. Eventually these turned into a stream. Often the path of least resistance was to walk up through the stream. I was glad for neoprene socks. The sun had disappeared and it was pretty cold in the canyon. For a while I considered trying to get all the way to the bike up at the Horseshoe Canyon trailhead but bushwhacking through the brush in the dark was kind of challenging. Also it was too far away. At this point I was talking to myself. I had passed several pleasant-looking camp sites. About thirty seconds after I decided that I would camp in the next spot that looked like it would work I stumbled out of the brush onto a little beach next to the creek. "Like this one." It was hard to imagine a more pleasant spot.

This set up for sleeping worked pretty well. I was so proud
of it I took a picture.

My feet had been wet for the last 14 hours or so and for the last 4 hours I had stumbled in and out of a stream searching for the elusive path of least resistance. As soon as I stopped moving I was ready for something warm. I heated up some water and shoved it into my sleeping bag. Not sure why I've never done that before. Game-changer.

The sky was clear as a bell. I counted 16 shooting stars before I fell asleep. And I was surrounded by canyon walls. It was a good night.

I woke up in the morning and made some warm water for breakfast. A warm water bottle got my shoes thawed enough that I could fit my feet in them. Despite the cold, it's hard to describe how pleasant the morning was. After getting packed up and walking about 30 seconds I stopped to pee. Yeesh. I was dehydrated even though I didn't feel like it. I dropped the pack, drank a liter, and filled up the bottles at the stream. Glad I got that figured out first thing.

Ready to move again.

The rest of the hike up was wonderful. Travel in the daylight was far more pleasant. Scrambling was kind of fun. Occasionally the canyon was pinched by rockfall or a small waterfall had developed. No obstacle insurmountable. Beautiful place.

Cool features in the canyon walls.

The toughest stretch of scrambling.

Could have stayed here for a while. Imagine
the sound of a waterfall with the photo.

The deer knew where to go and I could follow their prints far better with the help of sunlight. They had a route around every obstacle. It was fun to find their route and praise their work. Out loud. While laughing and singing. It was a wonderful hike.

The deer know. Just follow them.

They were even kind enough to make their path
visible in the brush. I love game trails. 

Eventually I turned away from the stream and the canyon began to look like what I remember when Julia and I visited a year before. And it got hot. That morning I was shivering in every bit of clothing I had brought. Now I was roasting in shorts and a t-shirt. Packrafts make maps look different and make extraordinary places easier to get to. But they also create unpleasant feelings. I was pretty thirsty by the time I started up the switchbacks on the last stretch to the parking lot. I was looking forward to my water stash up at the top. I generally try to avoid the "arrogant packrafter" statements but here comes one. It was kind of fun to have some folks on a horse riding tour ask why I had a life jacket strapped to my backpack. Because I love looking at beautiful places and this was the best way I could come up with to do it.

Looking down on the route up Horseshoe Canyon.

Hot dang! My bike is still there!

It sure as heck isn't flat that direction. Amazing place.

Crap.

Ready to roll.

After a fixing up the tire and drinking a gallon and a half of water in an hour, I was off. Carrying a pair of bike shorts all that time was entirely worth it for the 20 miles back to the car. Kind of washboardy. I opted against trying to stash stuff along the road to pick up with the car on the way out. Surprisingly, my pack felt pretty light. Unfortunately my favorite pair of adventure pants come out of the straps and disappeared on the road. Bummer. But it was the only bummer of the entire trip. Truly.

Getting close to completing the loop.

The drive in had been in the dark so it was hard to tell how close I was to the car as I biked along the road. I started to recognize features and then suddenly, as I was cruising downhill to the bottom of a wash, I saw the car. I don't know of when I have been more satisfied to end a trip. I didn't think I would be home by Saturday night. Everything had come together. I had set a relatively ambitious (in my mind) goal and made it happen. I couldn't help but cackle with delight. I hooted all the way down to the car and headed home just as the sun set.

Unspectacular photo, spectacular feeling.

On the drive home through the desert I called Julia to let her know that I was alive and I would be picking her up at the airport. I drove directly to the airport and waited about 15 minutes before she called to say she landed. The trip couldn't have ended any better.

Some of the songs I made myself hoarse with along the way:

"It's time to sing Your song again."