Hiking White Canyon Country Utah

White Canyon

White Canyon runs through Utah’s Natural Bridges National Monument, draining a vast area southwest of the Bears Ears in a generally westerly direction. It empties into Lake Powell near Hite Marina. The White Canyon loop hike connects two major side canyons, Long and Gravel, which are separated by the prominent landmark known as Jacob’s Chair. The trail ranges from 3800 feet to 7500 feet in elevation, exiting via Gravel Canyon. It leads the hiker through a vast diversity in the geology and climate zones which contribute so much to southern Utah’s uniqueness.

I parked my car at the White Canyon trail head one sunny morning and took off. The first couple of miles are the only part of the loop which lies within White Canyon proper. The walking is as scenic as it is easy. Impressive stream bed "meanders" guide the way as the highway noise drones above on Utah 95, the Bicentennial Highway, which parallels White Canyon along its length. A brief digression up Short Canyon takes you to Indian rock art. The canyon ends at a waterfall. Digression is one of Steve Allen’s trademarks. He invites a canyoneer up many a side canyon to visit spots of special beauty, archeological or geological significance, or rock climbing challenge, and he often covers historical tidbits, enriching the experience. After backtracking to the confluence of White and Long Canyons, I begin my real hike, leaving White Canyon behind and heading north, up Long Canyon.

Long Canyon

Very quickly, Long Canyon leads to a waterfall (a misnomer since no water is actually flowing). You circumvent the fall by an old cattle trail, a testament to the time when cattle ranching was the big – in fact, the only – business in the region. Further up, the hiking becomes quite varied, even tricky at times. Fortunately, much of the customary stream bed mud has dried up, giving me good traction. Still, major water holes are full, more than waist deep. They cannot simply be waded without soaking your backpack.

Surprisingly, keeping gear dry in the desert can sometimes be a challenge, and people have developed several different solutions to the problem. I use a rafting-type dry sack big enough to hold my entire pack. When closed, it floats and it keeps my stuff dry as a bone. If needed, I can put the contraption on my back since it has regular shoulder straps like any other rucksack. Within ten minutes, I have put the water holes behind me, stowed the dry sack, and I’m on my way again.

Venturing up a side canyon, I scare up an owl, or more precisely, the owl scares me up as it swoops from a crevice just above my head. Another quarter mile, and the canyon tightens up to a very narrow passage, or "slot," before abruptly terminating at another "waterfall." The curved shapes of the tortured slick rock all around me speak to the occasional rush of water and of its creative yet destructive powers.

Late in the day, I reach a 10-foot high waterfall slot. The water in the pond at the foot of the fall is shoulder deep. I had to find a bypass. I neglected to dry-sack my pack, and as I climb past the waterfall, I manage to pull my pack into the water by accidentally tugging too much on a hauling line I have attached to my waist. Quickly, I gain the safe and dry high ground, and I pull up my pack. Although some of my gear got wet, it could have been a lot worse. Everything could have gotten drenched. Since it is late in the afternoon, I decide to make camp right there and dry out.

I discover wet maps, wet dollar bills, a damp sweater and a soaked sleeping bag. I spread my gear over the warm slick rock to dry, which took all of 45 minutes. I settle in for the night.

In keeping with my "travel light" philosophy, I have not included a stove or fuel in my pack. For the six days I will be on the trail, I have brought a mere six pemican bars, a big bag of gorp, and half a dozen string cheeses. That’s it. I figure that I will eat only around 1000 calories per day—a starvation diet, especially when combined with long hours of hiking in difficult terrain. I figure that a lack of food in the stomach is a small price to pay for the benefit of a small and lightweight pack. I know from past experience that an empty belly does not diminish my performance, at least not on a trip of six days or less. Dinner is going to be short and sweet.

The night was comfortable. I slept well. Early next morning, I cram the therma-rest and sleeping bag back into my pack and a pemican bar into my mouth. I am ready to go.

Yesterday, I had made it up Long Canyon almost all the way to where the route exits onto the rim. But before going up and out today, I explore the rest of the canyon until it ends at a couple of verdant springs near a plunge pool below a high vertical waterfall. This formidable red rock country always has little surprises in store like this refreshing alcove.

I wash up in one of the springs and pour a gallon of water into my "dromedary," a water bag that holds up to 2.5 gallons. So far, I have enjoyed cold, clear and pure water from little holes all through Long Canyon. I have not had to carry more than one quart of water at any time. The next stretch, however, from Long Canyon to Gravel Canyon, is going to be hot and dry. I must carry all the water I will need for a full day of solitary hiking.

I do not anticipate encountering another soul. So far, I have not seen a recent human foot print. Allen’s hikes are rarely truly remote, but they seem to be little visited. I relish the solitude.

The Neck

I climb up and out of the canyon floor seemingly traveling in the wrong direction. Following the route’s loops, I gain the rim, and as I traverse the Cedar Mesa slickrock, I finally turn into the right direction, to the east. Jacob’s Chair dominates the landscape, and the higher I get, the more the red rock formations reveal themselves. The Henry Mountains and the Little Rockies loom in the far distance. I scramble up the Organ Shale and climb through a thin layer of White Rim Sandstone to get on top of an exposed prow. I take a break, nibble on some gorp and relish the magnificent views.

Above the prow, I join a very rough four-wheel drive vehicle track which grows into a jeep road. It takes me to The Neck, the narrow watershed between Lost and Dark Canyons to the north and Gravel Canyon to the south. The sun and bright blue sky are beginning to have an impact. Up here, it is significantly warmer and windier than down in the canyon. I apply sunscreen, and I chug water. The guide book sends me down a boulder-choked gully to the benches that contain the uppermost reaches of the Gravel Canyon drainage.

The challenge now is to find the correct route into the head of Gravel Canyon. As I traverse the pinyon- and juniper-covered plain I come across a prehistoric Indian village midden, or trash heap, which has scores of centuries-old pot shards. I have a hard time envisioning pre-Columbian life in the southern Utah canyonlands. I move on.

I drop into a prominent drainage, but a precipitous escarpment convinces me that this is not where I want to be. Re-scaling the rim, I locate the actual head of Gravel Canyon a little further east, but I am above vertical cliffs which I do not want to climb down. Following the canyon’s west rim to the north for a mile, I eventually find a decent route. I descend safely to the canyon floor.

Gravel Canyon

The head of Gravel is as dry as powder. I listen happily to the good water sloshing in the bag on my back. Another hour down the dry bottom and I put up camp on a sand bar at a minor confluence. Given the weather of the last days and my location near the beginning of the drainage, I feel quite safe from any flash flood. A restful night under a vast starlit canopy is a wonderful reward for a long and hard day on the trail. The constellation Cassiopeia’s course through the dark sky gives me a measure of the passage of time as I wake up occasionally.

After a "big" breakfast containing all three of my food groups, I resume the hike down Gravel Canyon, exploring a couple of side canyons with their slots, water holes and distinctive desert flora. In the main canyon, I wind through boulder-strewn bottle necks. Awesome narrows are confined by unscalable walls and paved with soft, smooth gravel. At last, water holes reappear, containing delicious and perfectly clear water. I drink the water straight from the source, untreated and unpurified. It is a calculated act of defiance of the conventional backcountry wisdom to treat or boil all drinking water. Luckily, as it turns out, I suffer no ailments from giardia or other water-borne contaminants.

Late in the afternoon, I arrive at Gravel’s last major confluence, and I select a campsite high up on a ledge which led to a side canyon I would explore the following morning. Mosquitoes buzz around my ears all night. I regret not having brought a tent. I sleep miserably, incredulous that there are any bugs at all in this arid location.

As the sun rises, I try to figure out whether I had slept five minutes or five hours. Once I begin to explore the side canyon early next morning, however, I forget the mosquitoes. Great narrows, delicious spring water and a side slot capture my attention and fascination. I call one passage "The Gates of Eden" because of its lush vegetation and vertical symmetry. I continue down Gravel Canyon, at times walking on the canyon floor, at times avoiding treacherous sections by staying up on the benches.

The ruins of a prehistoric village up on a ledge adds excitement to my trip. I love to explore the remnants of ancient cultures, taking care not to disturb the structures or the artifacts. I admire the daring, craftsmanship and resourcefulness of those who made a living in this unforgiving country many centuries ago.

In late morning, I reach the first of several "rappels," as the guide book calls them. With the right equipment, groups can descend down a steep wall here, then complete a second rappel and continue on down Gravel Canyon. Since I did not bring any rappelling gear, I follow the book’s instructions to exit Gravel Canyon by scaling a section of steep slick rock that tops out at the rim, a challenge which I enjoy. I traverse the expansive bench lands between Gravel Canyon and Jacob’s Chair.

It’s hot in the open. I come to Cowboy Canyon, a tributary to Gravel Canyon. It cuts straight across my path. To cross, I climb down at the earliest opportunity, proceed up the canyon and soon find an easy way up the other side. Back on the benches, I follow a cattle trail west as I pass below mighty Jacob’s Chair.

The guide book mentions a long narrow pool at the very end of Gravel Canyon, and so I try to re-enter that canyon below the second rappel by descending down a side canyon. Unfortunately, the drop-offs are too severe and the topography too unforgiving for me to proceed. I regain the benches and resume plodding along the cattle trail. It eventually turns into a rough road that after another hour or so finally takes me back to my car.

My feet are hot. My mouth is parched. I am tired and happy. I drive ten miles to the store at Hite Marina. A little later, I quench my thirst with a progression of ice water, iced coke and iced beer. I cool my heels in the waters of Lake Powell. I let a few days pass by, and I begin to look ahead to a weekend in nearby Bluff, where they will play bluegrass music at the annual festival on Sand Island, on the banks of the San Juan River.

Epilogue

According to Steve Allen, the hike I have just completed should take a group of strong canyoneers six days, maybe as much as eight, especially if they explore the side canyons. I completed the hike, canyons and all, in four days, primarily because I hiked solo, I have rock climbing experience, and I carried a light backpack. I carried only the most essential gear, for instance, a first aid kit, rain gear and long johns in addition to the items I mentioned. This small load allowed me to maintain a very steady pace. Moreover, I did not have to back track down a canyon I had already explored.

The way I look at it, southern Utah’s canyon country has so much to offer that I can put conventional creature comforts and nutritional requirements on the back burner for a few days every once in a while.

Technical Information

You will find everything you need to know, including whether this kind of hike is for you, in Steve Allen’s Canyoneering 2 _ Technical Loop Hikes In Southern Utah, University of Utah Press, Salt Lake City, Utah, 1995. He also has written Canyoneering and Canyoneering 3.