In January of 1970, in Bartlesville, Okla., I was happy and content with the way my life was going. I was married to the love of my life, we had four young children, I had graduated with my PhD and had a very good job supporting the family. I knew I belonged with my family and would never go backpacking. But… Karen told me that “You are like a caged animal. You need to get out there.” I decided to go on my first backpacking trip. I called Bruce Miller. He advised hiking the Escalante canyon via Hurricane wash and Coyote gulch. At work, I talked to others, and several said they would like to go! We made plans to go in March (no canyon hiking in the summer!).

As the time approached, one by one, they all backed out! I decided to go anyway. In March, I collected my gear and drove through Oklahoma, Kansas, Colorado to Utah. I arrived in Escalante on a Sunday afternoon and made inquiries. The gas station attendant recommended Calf Creek campground east of town a few miles, and I camped there for the night.

I got up early on Monday and drove on Hole In The Rock road and found the Hurricane wash trail head. From high ground I could see Hurricane wash, straight for 5 miles, Coyote gulch, winding 15 miles across 5 miles of what the crow could fly, and the Escalante canyon off in the distance, twisting and winding perpendicularly to the gulch. I started walking in my Marwa klettershuhe (not the best hiking boots, but they fitted well). In the gulch, the canyon scenery was spectacular, the climate gradually going from early spring to full summer as the “oven” walls got higher, the hiking was nearly level, no waterfalls. I got to the Escalante canyon about mid-afternoon (20 miles already!).

I had no one to talk to, so I walked and looked and enjoyed myself. I walked down stream for about 3 miles and turned around to avoid seeing the backwater of Lake Powell and walked back to the mouth of Coyote gulch and camped out on a high sandbar, well above the river.

I was tired after 26 miles of walking, so I just unrolled my sleeping bag and went to sleep, eating nothing during that day of hiking! I had a good view of Stevens Arch. During the night, a cold front went through, and it was cloudy the next day, perhaps 40ºF. I put on my cold gear (a wind-breaker parka over a hooded sweatshirt) and started hiking back to the car.

After a few miles, my boots started coming apart. The steel spine was coming through the inner sole! The hiking required a great many stream crossings, and it was too much for rock climbing shoes. I had to take off my boots and socks and hike barefoot. That wasn’t too bad, because much of the hiking was on sand, like on a beach. The rocks I had to walk on were smoother than any sidewalk I had ever walked on. But it was cold, and my feet were a little numb. I crossed one sand bar and failed to notice the Mexican sand burrs.

My feet felt a little funny and looked at them. I saw dozens of burrs coating the soles of my feet! I picked them off and was more careful after that. I got back to the car, put on my driving shoes and drove back into the town of Escalante. I hiked 40 miles in two days. It was supposed to be a 4-day hike, but I had no one to talk to and just kept walking!

I called Karen and told her I was back in civilization. I found a motel. I cleaned up as best I could, emptying out all my pockets of sand, etc. I went into the bathroom to shower, and I deposited a ¼ inch layer of sand! I cleaned it ALL up and got myself all cleaned up and put on clean clothes. I walked up the street to White’s Cafe, the only cafe in town. I ate a rib steak that was 4 inches longer than the 12-inch oval platter! plus baked potato and broccoli. I was HUNGRY! I did not know it yet, but I had lost 5 pounds on that hike. It took me 6 months to put it back on! I got a good night’s sleep and started back for Oklahoma, stopping at Junction, Utah, for breakfast. As I drove into Colorado, I could see the San Juan mountains 100 miles to the south, very clearly, no haze at all. I got back home the next day and was glad to be there.

In 1971, now in Greenville, S.C., we made plans to hike “the Buckskin” (again on advice of Bruce Miller), considered to be the premier slot-canyon hike in the world. Several others wanted to go. We made plans to go in October (again, no summer canyon hiking!). As the time to go neared, one by one they ALL backed out. Again, I decided to go alone. I drove the first day to Eastern Oklahoma on I 40 and slept at a rest stop (14 hours to drive 1000 miles, 10 hours to sleep). The next day, I drove to Meteor Crater, Ariz., and slept in a rest stop (another 1000 miles in 14 hours). After 10 hours sleep, I started driving to Flagstaff, to the San Francisco mountains by day break.

I drove through Page and crossed the Paria river and drove to the start of the hike. I was greeted with a sign “No Hiking Without a BLM Permit”! So …  I drove back to the highway and further West to Kanab, Utah, and entered the BLM office. I was told they did not allow hiking alone in the Buckskin, but because he knew I would hike anyway, without a permit, he would give me one IF I would call him that night, to prove I was yet alive! I DID NOT tell him that if he had said no, I would not have gone!

He pointed out on the map where I should climb out of the gulch. I drove back to the start of the hike and it was already noon! I got my hiking boots on (real hiking boots this time) and shouldered my pack (3 liters of water and a map). As I started descending the moderate sandy slope I observed a FRESH cougar footprint the size of the palm of my hand in a very dry sand dune. The track was sharp, not a sand grain fallen into the print. I knew that cougar was watching me, although I could not see it.

I arrived at the narrow dry stream in about a half mile and started walking downstream. I soon entered the gulch, 200 feet high, 10 or 20 feet wide. The sound of my footsteps on hard, dry mud echoed loudly. I heard a rattlesnake rattle, but it was so injured that it could not coil up and thus could not strike (after falling from the rim 200 feet above?).

As I got farther into the very narrow canyon, often I could not see the sky for a quarter mile of walking! I found an eagle feather (a gift from the “sky gods” assuring me that the sky was still up there?). The gulch has been following the cracks in the sandstone for eons and now has eroded the narrow canyon known as Buckskin gulch or “the Buckskin” which is 12 miles in length. At times, the walls are so close together that you can touch both sides with your elbows and you cannot see the sky!

Then another ancient crack is followed, and the 200 feet tall walls are 20 feet apart and the sky is visible again. It changes direction and width every ¼ mile or so. In one of the very narrow sections, I observed a driftwood log jammed across the gulch, more than 20 feet above the gulch floor. Sometime in the not so ancient past, the water was raging through there at that depth. You DO NOT hike in there without a permit from those that know the weather for the day!

Buckskin Gulch Log Jam

I walked for several hours in the two types of very narrow/wider sections, enjoying the fantastic scenery and eventually lost track of the number of sharp angle turns. I needed to find the right place to exit, so I observed every possibility carefully.

In a fairly narrow section only 6-feet wide, I came to a “puddle” of thin coral pink mud a hundred yards long. I could not go around, so I had to wade in, very carefully. I could not see the bottom for depth or for rocks to stumble on, so I slid my feet along carefully. It was 3 feet deep, and no rocks! Then another puddle, another, finally 6 of them, all 3-feet deep and a hundred yards long with no tripping hazards.

This was starting to be not fun. I had no one to talk to and joke about it. As I exited the sixth puddle, I paused and said a prayer – “Please God, show me the way out, and I’ll never backpack alone