Our First Descent of Spry Canyon (Or Any Other Canyon)

It was our third day in Zion. We’d been up Angel’s landing on Sunday, top down through the narrows on Monday, and were feeling mighty touristy being driven around on those fancy busses with the all internationals. Apart from the toll on our feet after 16 river miles in sandals, we had been enjoying Zion’s splendors in relative comfort. I almost expected our first canyoneering exploit continue in the same vein. Instead, we had one of the longest, hardest, most serious days I can remember.

In the last couple of years, my girlfriend Michelle and I have gotten ourselves out on some pretty committing day/summit hikes. It’s become our thing. A 12 hour day with 20 miles by foot and/or 5,000 feet of climbing is not that unusual. Strenuous, absolutely, but approached with a certain degree of familiarity by now. Starting our hitchhike with full packs, full stomachs, and with headlamps in reserve - we felt that same familiar confidence. It was probably just before 9 am.

Like many of Zion’s technical canyons, Spry requires one to climb to the canyon’s origin before the descent. The approach takes you through the upper reaches of Pine Creek canyon, traveling easily along a wonderfully shady and sandy corridor. You don’t sense the real character of Spry until you start the slickrock ascent. We followed cairns up some 1200 vertical feet of fourth class slickrock climbing, stopping only to reference Tom Jones’ printed guide page and muster up the nerve for some particularly exposed pushes. Even by midmorning, the temperature was well on its way to the forecasted 100 degree high and Michelle and I felt like we were being cooked on the world’s biggest slickrock pizza stone. We’d spot a foot or so of shade from a clump of creosote a hundred feet away or so, make the push for it, recoup, then look for the next largest shadow casting object along the route. It was just brutal - and we withered. A one point Michelle said it most simply, “Now I think I understand why people go crazy in the desert…”

Onward. Eventually we did make it over the pass and took a few reverent moments marveling at the the orange and white peaks of the East Temple and Twin Brothers before the making the descent between them. The drop into the big slickrock bowl was ugly. No other word for it. Lots of branches, bushes, and tight downclimbing through a narrow fault in the rock. Eventually it deposited us in the wide sandy wash of the canyon floor. Direct midday sun. As we hiked on, the slickrock walls moved closer and closer in, and soon we came upon the first horizon line (R1- 165’). Not really a drop, so much as a super steep, slickrock watercourse.

I was grateful for the belay out to the the anchors. Not that it couldn’t have been downclimbed, but my nerves were going pretty hard by this point and it felt good to be on a rope. In fact, the ropework turned out to be our strongpoint in the canyon. I’d learned and practiced the techniques long before coming, so hanging there from the bolts, rigging the ‘biner-blocked rappel I felt right at home.

Other parts we weren’t nearly as prepared for. For example, I was terrible at avoiding “avoidable” swims. Starting with the first rappel, I ended up swimming with the frogs in some seriously stagnant canyon water. At the flute rappel further down-canyon, I dropped down the easy flute like a dummy, right into another neck deep pool of stale water. It’s entirely illogical, but swimming through deep black pools in the nether regions of the plateau really got my imagination going. I did not want to get off the rope. Fortunately, Michelle was able learn from my mistakes and negotiate the pools much better.

Just a few drops in, I realized that canyoneering isn’t just stamina and rope skills. The technicality, severity, and frequency of downclimbs in Spry really caught us off guard. And we struggled through them. Best case scenario, we opted for an ugly rappel to bypass. Worst case, it was steep and sustained like the exit through the boulderfield. This is where we really lost time, and what transformed the canyoneering day trip into the 13 hour “death march” it felt like by the time we reached the car.

I think it was about 6:30 by the time we hit the mouth of the canyon. The 12 or so liters of water we started out with were gone. The food was gone. And we were still way above than the car's elevation. Despite that, we’d just finished our very first canyon and felt proud and happy about it. It merited some kind of reward. We’d already polished off the extra food in the 10 essential bag and had to look pretty far down the list... to our only dry clothes - fleeces (and some gatorade powder which we went at like fun dip...) It was cooler now but still way too hot for insulation under normal circumstances. Even so, I can’t even begin to tell you how good it felt. Clean, dry, and comfortable - an earned comfort.

By the time we hit the Lambstongue rappel, I was really feeling it. I was exhausted, dehydrated, hungry, and thoroghly sunbaked.  I rigged the last rappel, but was so shaky I dropped my belay device a couple times. When I was finally rigged up, I’d done it backwards, i.e. on the low friction side of the ATC-XP. Normally no big deal, but right then I wanted all the help I could get. Michelle re-rigged me. The actual rappel was fantastic, 95’ or so and almost entirely freehanging. There were some twists in the lines and I remember deciding very simply just not to deal with them. No autoblock, no reaching around for gloves, just using the index finger of my brake hand to separate them and accepting the rope burn. It’s startling how quickly motor control and decision making abilities can deteriorate. Right then, I just wanted down and didn’t care.

We both descended safely and turned our focus to the remainder of the downclimb. I was better on the boulders than Michelle, so I’d scramble around looking for the best routes while she was downclimbing. On the more serious ones, I’d stick around lend a hand. We spent the last of daylight moving through the boulder field and into Pine Creek. We were about to break out the headlamps when we hit a flat sandy social trail, river right. We hiked to the car in near darkness, 9:45 or so. Showered by 10:45, proper parking lot dinner by 11, then one of the best night’s sleeps I can remember.

That was our introduction to technical canyoneering, and I've got say, we're hooked!
Thanks for reading,

Rory

P.S. Pine Creek the following day felt like a walk in the park.