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.
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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.
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| Near the top on the Little Granite Creek trail. No trail |
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| 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.
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| 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.
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| Climbing out of the Hat Creek drainage |
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| 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.
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| Smooth Hollow |
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| 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 2nd 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.
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| 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.
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| 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
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| 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.
