rock_ski_cowboy
05-18-2006, 01:17 PM
For those of you that enjoy TR's, here's one from last year that Eric has posted on his blog site, but I haven't posted here. :
Heaps was the most strenuous and adventurous of canyons I've done. The trip is definitely not for the faint of nerves. The fact that neither Eric nor I had done the canyon before, coupled with the fact that the current canyon conditions were virtually unknown (no party had descended it during the 3+ weeks before us) and the unpredictability of monsoon weather created a feeling of adventure that was absolutely incredible.
The forecast for the next day was 20% chance of thunderstorms in the late afternoon and low flash flood danger-- not ideal, but not bad enough to deter us. Leaving the visitors center around 3:30, we assumed we'd have just enough time to make it into Phantom Valley before dark. The shade made hiking up to the rim with full packs much more pleasant, although pleasant isn't a word I'd use to describe that approach in any conditions. The navigational insecurities that come with any unfamiliar route (is it this way or that way? this ridge or that? get out the map...) cost us the time that would have made the difference between getting into Phantom Valley before dark and not. Starting down the ridge, we noted how both of us had neglected to bring an extra rappel device and joked seriously of having to do the final 500' rappel sequence on a munter hitch (basically a twist in the rope that can be used instead of a rappel device to descend). Climbing down the exposed, crumbly ridge leading into Phantom Valley, I think to myself, "I really don't enjoy this kind of unroped exposure, I'm glad I won't have to do it again for a while." Just before dark, we get to the anchor tree to do the final long rappel into the Valley. I successfully--hurriedly--foolishly throw our 300 foot rope into a bush, and as I look for my ATC so I can head down the line and untangle, I realize that I must have left it at the bottom of the first rappel on scary ridge. Night falls, Eric goes down to untangle the mess I've made, and I proceed to climb by headlamp back across and up that horrible, crumbling ridge to the base of the last rappel to retrieve my ATC and return. Most people only get to navigate that ridge once per trip-- I got to do it three times (twice by headlamp/moonlight). Rappel completed, ropes gathered, we traipse down the slickrock slopes toward the bottom of the valley, hoping to bivy near some water. The moon was full and bright, illuminating the various peaks and towers surrounding the phenomenally beautiful Phantom Valley and allowing us to hike without our lamps. Water found, we sleep in a small but nice sandy spot nearby. A 6 dollar fleece sleeping bag inside an emergency bivy bag kept me nice and cozy for the slightly cool evening.
We dawned our 4 mm + 2 mm wetsuit combos and drybagged all our extra rope and gear before leaving camp early Friday morning and were treated to a hard rain that lasted for 15 minutes as we walked by dawnlight toward the first slot section of the canyon. The feeling was somber, even a little ominous. We knew that we were still in no eminent flash-flood danger, but we did not know what lie ahead. The first section of narrows and keeper potholes was mostly full of water. Pull-ups, walrus-flopping (ie beached-whale technique), and partner assists got us out of all but one of the potentially problematic keepers. In that one, we were standing in about shoulder deep water, and the pothole rim was about 4 feet up with nothing to grab on to. Although we could have boosted each other out of the hole, we used a grappling-hook wedged in a crack to climb out of it in order to get some valuable experience before we might urgently need it down-canyon.
The gorge was hundreds of feet deep and just a few feet wide in places. Plant life and moss coated the rock in the places where the sun shone at all. The rest of the canyon is a blur
Heaps was the most strenuous and adventurous of canyons I've done. The trip is definitely not for the faint of nerves. The fact that neither Eric nor I had done the canyon before, coupled with the fact that the current canyon conditions were virtually unknown (no party had descended it during the 3+ weeks before us) and the unpredictability of monsoon weather created a feeling of adventure that was absolutely incredible.
The forecast for the next day was 20% chance of thunderstorms in the late afternoon and low flash flood danger-- not ideal, but not bad enough to deter us. Leaving the visitors center around 3:30, we assumed we'd have just enough time to make it into Phantom Valley before dark. The shade made hiking up to the rim with full packs much more pleasant, although pleasant isn't a word I'd use to describe that approach in any conditions. The navigational insecurities that come with any unfamiliar route (is it this way or that way? this ridge or that? get out the map...) cost us the time that would have made the difference between getting into Phantom Valley before dark and not. Starting down the ridge, we noted how both of us had neglected to bring an extra rappel device and joked seriously of having to do the final 500' rappel sequence on a munter hitch (basically a twist in the rope that can be used instead of a rappel device to descend). Climbing down the exposed, crumbly ridge leading into Phantom Valley, I think to myself, "I really don't enjoy this kind of unroped exposure, I'm glad I won't have to do it again for a while." Just before dark, we get to the anchor tree to do the final long rappel into the Valley. I successfully--hurriedly--foolishly throw our 300 foot rope into a bush, and as I look for my ATC so I can head down the line and untangle, I realize that I must have left it at the bottom of the first rappel on scary ridge. Night falls, Eric goes down to untangle the mess I've made, and I proceed to climb by headlamp back across and up that horrible, crumbling ridge to the base of the last rappel to retrieve my ATC and return. Most people only get to navigate that ridge once per trip-- I got to do it three times (twice by headlamp/moonlight). Rappel completed, ropes gathered, we traipse down the slickrock slopes toward the bottom of the valley, hoping to bivy near some water. The moon was full and bright, illuminating the various peaks and towers surrounding the phenomenally beautiful Phantom Valley and allowing us to hike without our lamps. Water found, we sleep in a small but nice sandy spot nearby. A 6 dollar fleece sleeping bag inside an emergency bivy bag kept me nice and cozy for the slightly cool evening.
We dawned our 4 mm + 2 mm wetsuit combos and drybagged all our extra rope and gear before leaving camp early Friday morning and were treated to a hard rain that lasted for 15 minutes as we walked by dawnlight toward the first slot section of the canyon. The feeling was somber, even a little ominous. We knew that we were still in no eminent flash-flood danger, but we did not know what lie ahead. The first section of narrows and keeper potholes was mostly full of water. Pull-ups, walrus-flopping (ie beached-whale technique), and partner assists got us out of all but one of the potentially problematic keepers. In that one, we were standing in about shoulder deep water, and the pothole rim was about 4 feet up with nothing to grab on to. Although we could have boosted each other out of the hole, we used a grappling-hook wedged in a crack to climb out of it in order to get some valuable experience before we might urgently need it down-canyon.
The gorge was hundreds of feet deep and just a few feet wide in places. Plant life and moss coated the rock in the places where the sun shone at all. The rest of the canyon is a blur