THE CANYON

By the glow of my headlamp and to the incessant jingling of my newly-acquired bear bells, I set out from Windy Saddle into the early morning darkness.  The first stage of my trek was to reach Little Granite Creek—my route into Hells Canyon, the deepest gorge in North America—some 7 miles west along the Seven Devils Loop trail.   Rather than a deterrent for bears, I donned the bells with cougars in mind.  On my previous trip to the Little Granite Creek area, I had a five minute staring contest with the enormous eye-shine of a cougar.  On this trip, I wanted to look and sound like something decidedly *not* cougar food.  In retrospect, the bells probably completed my appearance as giant cat toy.  As unlikely the possibility of a repeat cougar encounter was, this was one of the numerous trepidations accompanying me early into my trek.  My primary goal was to travel from Windy Saddle (Idaho), thru Hells Canyon to Hat Point (Oregon) and then back to Windy Saddle in under 36 hours, which was the current fastest known time (FKT) set by Mike James and Steve Graepel.  In addition to their mark being the fastest known time, it’s the only known time, as there are no other documented completions of this mighty trek between the Idaho and Oregon rims at the deepest point of Hells Canyon.  I had set out to better their mark, and be the first to complete this route solo.  As prepared as I thought I was for this journey, I had little idea of what I was in for.

Dawn emerging from the Seven Devils

I reached the Little Granite Creek trail just as the dawning light was becoming more than merely a faint promise of morning.  This seldom used and infrequently maintained trail plunges ~6000 ft. in 6 miles to the Snake River. My route down to the Snake River was different than Mike and Steve’s line, which was a more direct path along the Bernard Creek Trail.  Using Little Granite added distance to my trek with the expectation of faster travel over better trail conditions.  That was my calculus.  However, it was immediately apparent that trail conditions along Little Granite Creek had significantly deteriorated during the intervening months of my last visit.   Near the rim, numerous pine trees long-since scorched from the 2005 Granite Complex fires found their final resting spots along the trail.  Deeper into the canyon, grasses and brush grew unchecked, further obscuring what was already a nebulous route between rim and river.  As I slowly made my way deeper into the Canyon, I was contemplating the potentiality of navigating back through this route in the dark.   Eventually, the mouth of Granite Creek Canyon opened, spilling its comparatively meager offering into the Snake River.  

Near the top on the Little Granite Creek trail. No trail

Approaching the bottom of Little Granite Creek

I made my way downriver towards my Snake River crossing. I entered this crossing with a healthy amount of intimidation of the powerful eddies and currents, but without the feelings of dread that accompanied my previous Snake River swims.  Having performed a number of Snake River crossings under trickier conditions—such as a February crossing in 40 degree water—I was feeling pretty confident.  I stuffed my gear into my dry sack, strapped on my swim fins and life vest, and eased myself into the surprisingly refreshing waters. Because the Snake is damn-fed through Hells Canyon, the water levels tend to run low in the morning hours.  Despite the reduced flow rate, I launched myself into the river well upstream of nearby rapids.  This swim across was the most pleasant of any of my crossings to date.  I easily kicked myself across the river well upstream of the intended landing zone.  I spent the next two minutes lazily kicking myself downstream, enjoying the brisk waters as the sun was cresting the Idaho rim of the canyon.  These two minutes comprised my favorite moment of the entire trip.   

Enjoying my Snake River crossing.

Safely on the Oregon side, I quickly geared myself back up for land travel and began sizing up the nearby Hat Creek Canyon, which was my intended route to the Oregon rim.  Near the canyon mouth, Hat Creek seemed to promise a relatively easy passage.  Although no trail was visible, the canyon featured flats rich with bunchgrasses flanking the overgrown creek bed.  As I worked my way up the drainage, the inviting drainage transformed into a gnarly bushwhack along the winding creek.   I have long suspected that I was insensitive to poison ivy.  My time in Hat Creek confirmed this as truth.  The creek-bed was thoroughly choked with the toxic plant, along with a variety of thornbush and thickets.  Staying above the thickening brush became increasingly more challenging, as the route continuously weaved back and forth across Hat Creek.  After my third face-plant into a grove of poison ivy, I started reconsidering this as a viable route.  Glancing back toward the Snake River, I concluded that going back was an equally unattractive option as continuing on.  The only direction to go was up.  This year, I did a number of off-trail climbs out of the Asotin Creek Canyon.  The canyon walls of the Hat Creek drainage looked equally negotiable.     So I made my way up, scrambling over the smaller basalt outcroppings and skirting the larger cliffs.  Although it was a steep route out of the canyon, it was far better than schlepping along the canyon bottom. 

Climbing out of the Hat Creek drainage

A look back toward the Snake River

Near the top of my climb to the Hat Creek Canyon ridgeline, I met back up with the Hat Creek Trail.  The route was etched into basalt cliffs nearly 2000 feet above the Snake River.  Eventually, the trail angled into Smooth Hollow, a sloping grassy benchland.   Again, the trail was faint at best, but the terrain was easily navigable, if not a little sluggish.  By this point, the heat of the day had begun to exert itself.  There is very little surface water along this section of the route, and the bottles I’d filled from Saddle Creek were empty.  I was feeling dehydrated and my stomach was starting to sour.  Fortunately, I stumbled upon a small spring at the base of the final climb to Hat Point.   I refilled my bottles and then tackled the first of 29 switchbacks that climb towards Hat Point and the Oregon rim—the literal halfway-point of my trek.   Although well-defined and adequately maintained, this is a tedious section of trail.  The Battle Creek Complex fire swept through this region in 2007.  Each switchback leads through a short section of brushy regrowth that overcrowds the trail.  Not a big deal for a day hiker in long pants, but my legs were feeling the sting from the endless bushwhacking. 

Smooth Hollow

Near Hat Point.  One of the best views in Hells Canyon

Upon reaching Hat Point, I took a few minutes to peer out across Hells Canyon, back towards the Seven Devils.  On the eastern horizon, the ridge on which the Heaven’s Gate lookout is perched is clearly visible.  Windy Saddle—my new destination—lies just south of that point.  It looked pretty far.  Mindful of the daylight I was burning, I set off back down the 29 switchbacks that descend into Smooth Hollow.  After taking a moment to refill my bottles from that blessed spring, I made my way toward the Snake River.  As much as I love Pearl Izumi trail shoes, the tread design is woefully inadequate in slick terrain.  The bunchgrasses and hardpack dirt might as well have been a sheet of ice, as my return descent into the Hat Creek Canyon transformed into a controlled slide.   Eventually I made my way back down to the canyon floor.   Wishing my line had deposited me a little closer to the mouth of Hat Creek, I slowly bushwhacked my way through the thickets, ivy and brush toward the Snake River. 

Once I reached the Snake, I geared myself for the return crossing.  A large group of rafters were eating dinner and enjoying the evening at the mouth of Saddle Creek.  We chatted, and I watched them fish for sturgeon (or some other big fish) as I was stuffing gear into my drysack.  Although the margin for error of the 2^nd crossing was smaller than the first—the Snake River exhibited its increased evening flow rate and my launch point was much closer to downstream hazards—my second crossing went smoothly.    After, preparing myself for the final ~18 mile push to Windy Saddle, I quickly scrambled up the bank to the Snake River Trail.  On my way back to Little Granite Creek, I met several more rafting camps.  Each had outdoor kitchens serving up elaborate dinners.  Although the food smelled great and that I was feeling pretty depleted, I wasn’t hungry.  My stomach had long since turned on me from the dehydration. 

I reached Granite Creek just as darkness was settling into the canyon.  I clicked on my headlamp and began following the faint trail up the drainage that would lead me back to Windy Saddle.   Having just come within 10 yards of a bear near Three Creek, my bear spray was in hand and the safety was off.  If you want to see black bears in the wild, it would be hard to top the Three-Creek/Granite-Creek area.  They are plentiful.

Early on my Little Granite Creek Climb

My climb up the Little Granite Creek drainage quickly devolved into a route-finding and bushwhacking slog in the dark.  Approximately halfway into my climb, both my primary headlamp and my backup headlamp were nearly spent.  With the absence of moonlight, it was extremely dark in the canyon.  I had to continually focus on the small dim spots of light on the ground in front of me.  I adopted a pattern of taking a few steps and then scanning my surroundings to see if I was still on the faint trail.  In the event that I was off trail, which was frequently the case, I had to decide whether to:  A. Continue climbing and try to hook back up with the trail above; or B. Backtrack and pick up the trail below.  Each time it was a toss-of-a-coin as to which was the better decision.  This was the most mentally and physically demanding hours of my life.  It would’ve been a huge luxury to be on a well-defined trail, such that my only focus would be putting one foot in front of the other.  This luxury was few and far in between on the Little Granite Creek trail.   

Late into my climb with a failing headlamp

Late into my climb, I was struggling mightily to stay awake.  Periodically, I would lie down for a quick break and doze off to the sounds of voices and random images flashing in my head.  Within minutes, I would wake with a start from the chill that had settled into the canyon.   The idea of pulling out my emergency bivy sack, sleeping through the night, and finishing up in the morning had vague appeal.  However, I desperately wanted to finish in a single push.  I knew Galina was waiting for me at Windy Saddle, just a few hours away if I could keep moving.  The thought of that would bounce me to my feet and impel me forward. During the final hour of my trek, the night yielded to morning, and I was able to navigate the final hour of my trek by the light.  Approaching the Windy Saddle campground was a surreal moment.   I didn’t feel elation of having successfully completed my trek or for setting a new FKT.  I didn’t even feel satisfaction.  I only felt relief that it was finally over. 

FINAL STATS:

Distance = 51.4 Miles

Elev. Gain = 17,500 ft.

Time = 26:04:56

https://www.strava.com/activities/693655172

The Route

Now that I’ve had a little distance from it, I’m able to feel some satisfaction from the accomplishment.  However, that satisfaction of completing the journey is tempered by the fact that I didn’t do it well.   I suspect Mike and Steve took a better line through the canyon than I did—particularly since the trail conditions on Little Granite Creek were poor.  Was theirs the “best” route through the canyon, or does a better line exist?  I intend to find out.