Pit of Despair (No, Really)

Just came back from another incredible canyoneering trip to Death Valley. For the first canyon, we went to the "Prince's Bride" set of canyons near Stovepipe Wells (each canyon is named after something from the movie; last year we did Inconceivable Canyon). The area was explored by the redoubtable Scott Swaney who has more than 200 first descents to his name. He called this one Pit of Despair. It was actually kind of a mild trip. The pit of despair, I suppose, was a pair of potholes at the bottom of two rappels that were filled with water. Kind of unique for a Death Valley canyon.

Camping at Stovepipe Wells. Not what you would call a wilderness experience.

The start of the hike to the canyon. Annette, on the right, is stretching out her back. The mountains in the background is where we're headed.

We're hiking to the entrance to that wash in the left of the picture.

The dreaded Death Valley sticky ring plant. Come near that sucker and you're covered in needles. Really horrible if a rope gets in one.

Poor guy: a mountain sheep skull found in the wash.

Annette making her way through the wash.

Rich and Annette climbing out of the wash.

The group at the drop-in point. Rich is pointing to where we could go if we wanted to run the entire canyon. We were feeling lazy and decided not to get too wild. After all, we had a really hard, long canyon the next day.

The view from the drop-in point to, I believe, the Panamint Mountains.

Starting toward the drop-in.

Kevin leaping off the first big down-climb.

Jerri working her way off another down-climb. She's so casual, she even held an apple in her mouth while executing the climb.

Kevin rigging the rope at the first rappel.

Jerri on the first rappel.

Annette about step off the top of the first rappel.

Rich on the second rappel.

Jerri slipping midway down a rappel.

I love taking pictures of flying ropes and flying rope bags.

An anchor on the third or fourth rappel. Jerri is backing up the anchor in case it should fail (hasn't happened yet, but we don't like to take chances).

Rich finding his groove, so to speak.

Rich working his way past a pit of despair, aka, a pothole.

Another pothole at the bottom of the last rappel.

Revisiting An Old (Canyon) Friend

My friends and I revisited Rubio Canyon on Saturday, our first canyon (and you never forget your first one). We ran the entire length from above Leontine Falls (130' rappel), down to Thalehaha Falls, which was the first rappel we ever did back in 2010 and at that time it was a real gusher (90' rappel) and on through to the end. An excellent day with wonderful memories of the past. And we got to introduce a newbie named Alan to canyoneering at the same time.

I chose black and white just because I was a little bored with the color versions of the shots. Something about the light in the canyon that day that was truly unspectacular. I'm not sure if the conversion to black and white completely solved that issue but it seemed to help.

Rich rappeling above Leontine Falls.

Alan rappelling down Leontine Falls.

Alan on the wall, Leontine Falls.

Rich shouting up instructions to Kevin who didn't know the pull rope hadn't gone down all the way.

Kevin descending Leontine Falls.

Jerri working her way over a chock stone.

Jerri belaying Kevin.

It took three guys to help Jerri over a downclimb. . . And another to photograph it.

Jerri slipping on the gooey moss on Thalehaha Falls, the most slippery rappel in all of the San Gabriel Mountains.

Yours truly leaping down a rappel. Thanks to Rich for taking a great picture.

In Praise of Smaller Canyons

Sometimes, canyoneers just want to have fun. You know, plop down into a convenient, little canyon with a few rappels on a pleasantly warm winter day. Some gurgling water for atmosphere. A little breeze to remind you it's January. The undergrowth is a bit dormant and stamped down by previous rain and cold temperatures, so no bushwhacking to speak of.

This would describe Fall Canyon, a minor jewel in the San Gabriel Mountains near Los Angeles. The hike in is maybe two miles on an abandoned fire road that descends into Big Tujunga Canyon, crosses shallow Big Tujunga Creek and ascends a short distance where one can drop into Fall Canyon. Lickety-split, easy-peasy, you're at the first rappel of a mere four altogether. There's a log wedged across the rock above the rappel to remind you that this gentle canyon can get rough on occasion; after all, that log probably washed down in a flood. (There's another one below at the second rappel.)

There are reasonably solid bolted anchors at each rappel, so there's not much to do here but rig up a rope and head down the rugged rock face for 40 feet. Conveniently, the anchor was placed to avoid the water spilling down into a tiny pool.

The next two rappels are 45 and 25 feet. The morning sun is warm on the rock and you can't believe there's an El Nino threatening somewhere out there. The last rappel is 90 feet and mostly down through a waterfall. I swung from side-to-side to avoid splashing too much in the main stream, but I came out wet anyway. No big. By the time we got back to cars, I was dry. Just a pleasant day in a pleasant canyon. We'll grind out a big trip some other day.

Jerri crossing Big Tujunga Creek.

Winter trees, Big Tujunga Canyon.

Jerri taking the escalator down into the canyon while Rich uses the stairs.

Preparing the rope for the first rappel.

Rich rigging the rope for the first rappel.

A log that washed down the canyon.

Rich tossing the rope for the first rappel.

We make it a habit of watching each other set up on rappels just make sure no one goofs up, like forgetting to lock the carabiner.

Kevin starting down the first rappel.

Rich tossing the pull rope over the second rappel.

Jerri, the queen of canyons, on her throne.

Rich descending the second rappel.

Rich starting down the third rappel.

Jerri untangling her rope from some branches.

Rich headed down the last rappel.

Jerri swinging out to avoid the water on the last rappel. It didn't really work.

Kevin descending the last rappel.

Kevin on his toes.