Cruising the Subway
Amber Borowski

Venturing into the backcountry with a large gallimaufry of strangers has, in the past, instilled a deep sense of uneasiness within me. The ability level, pace and attitude of the individuals are of course wildcards, but even more frightening is the prospect that they share my ill-fated knack for getting into precarious situations.

So when my friend Ray (who, like the Queen Bee, only travels in swarms) suggested we plunge through the Subway with 10 of his friends, I was apprehensive. Exquisitely carved by the Left Fork of North Creek, this slot canyon in Zion National Park is a strenuous 9.5-mile hike—not a place to test the odds. While the lower canyon is a challenging but non-technical route, the upper canyon beyond the Subway is one of Zion's great adventures that requires route finding through young lava flows and ancient sedimentary rocks, swimming through pools and cascades, and rappelling down waterfalls. 

The Subway's popularity has started to rival its famous counterpart, the Narrows. Beginning at the town of Virgin, 15 miles west of the South Entrance, the road into Kolob Canyon climbs 4,400 feet in 16 miles past jutting rocks, stiletto cliffs and soaring plateaus.  The road winds past the Guardian Angel Peaks and eventually ends up at Lava Point, a fire lookout station at 7,900 feet.  The panorama takes in Cedar Breaks to the north, the Pink Cliffs to the northeast, Zion Canyon Narrows to the east, and the Sentinel to the southeast.

Keeping Watchman

At it turned out, it wasn't Ray's group I should have been wary about, but my own. I had solicited a few of my friends--Carol, Kevin and Corey--to tag along. Even though they could not join us in the Subway (Ray's permit was limited to 12 people) they still decided to join us at Watchman campground, just inside the park's south entrance. These friends were not my regular collection of backcountry fanatics so I did not know what to expect. My first warning should have been when Kevin brought out his mammoth powder-blue mattress that made my ThermaRest seem as cushioning as a pancake. Or maybe it should have been the year's supply of food that
spilled out of his truck.

But the final clincher was when I heard a distinct popping sound resonate off the canyon walls.  Kevin was popping popcorn—in a microwave oven. He proudly elucidated he had purchased a 1,000-watt power inverter for his truck that provided a continuous surge for more than 10 minutes. So much for roughing it.

After err...dinner, Corey and I explored our ebony environs. Night in the campground brought a sense of containment. The colossal temples of Zion, christened after celestial deities, cocooned us. Gradually my focus narrowed to a starlit expanse of sky and I watched the Big Dipper poke its handle from the horizon. Then the canyon sucked in some wind. Cool gusts snapped by, and the pliant cottonwood crowns brushed against the starlight.

Ray's group eventually filtered in, starting with Debbie and our technical climber, Doug. As the only one who had done the Subway, we were relying upon his expertise and guidance.  I asked him how he knew Ray. "I don't actually know him," he replied. "I'm on an e-mail list and I indirectly received an invite." A warning flag went off within me--our only experienced technical climber was an unknown quotidian? I joked that for all we knew, he could be an axe murderer. As it happens, he did produce an axe later to chop firewood—a coincidence?

Around midnight, the rest of the now-weary group drove in:  Ray, Tony, Stephanie, Telford, Joseph, Ray W., Jeff, Julie and Renée.  Our site’s two car and eight people limit had been exceeded by four cars and seven people. When the park host pointed this out the next morning, I sweetly explained I was never very good at math. Somehow the dumb blonde approach worked and he let us off the hook.

Sandwiched in the Subway

The Subway. The name alone conjures up a mosaic of puns. During our passage through this slick-rock funhouse, I heard several wordplays that revolved around paying tokens for access and cruising down the subway. But after bouldering, climbing, swimming and hiking through this sinuous canyon, I decided the best analogy of all was that it was a little like eating a Subway sandwich in your kitchen, only you're canyoneering down a murky slot canyon in Zion and you are the sandwich. The tufts of skin I left behind on a few rock ledges made a tasty snack for this circular, tube-like canyon.

Prior to setting out, we stopped at the Visitor's Center to obtain our permit. The Left Fork is limited to 50 people per day and is the only route in Zion for which you can reserve a permit in advance. Permits may be picked up one day prior to the trip. Ten of the 50 spaces are set aside for walk-ins, so though reservations are not required they are advised due to the increasing popularity of the hike.

The most popular way to hike the Subway is to begin at the Wildcat Canyon Trailhead and end at the Left Fork Trailhead off Kolob Terrace Road. I served as the shuttle and dropped my Jeep off at the Left Fork Trailhead. I then hopped in the car with Telford and Joseph and we proceeded to the Wildcat Canyon trailhead. Telford and Joseph were my first exposure to Ray's group and they warped me back to the 70s as they animatedly belted out the lyrics to Led Zeppelin. To their credit--they had a limited amount of sleep after driving all day so perhaps they were delirious. To their discredit--maybe that was really their normal condition.

Upon reaching the well-marked Wildcat Canyon trailhead, our group of 12 eased across the wooded, basalt-capped upland that was cloaked in a verdant woodland. Telford, a landscape architect in Arizona, assumed the role as tour guide extraordinaire.  I teased him about his qualifications.  A landscape architect in Arizona seemed like an oxymoron—what else is there to landscape besides rock and cacti in that barren desert?  I was quickly silenced as he pointed out the ponderosa pine, white fir, Douglas fir, quaking aspens and then the ferns that were located in damp niches along the Kolob Terrace.  The guy knew his flora and fauna.

We continued east 1.2 miles to the Northgate Peaks Trail Junction and then hiked 0.1 miles on the Northgate Peaks Trail until the forest began to open. Upon reaching the canyon rim, we gazed down into the sloping defile of Russell Gulch, with massive cliffs of Navajo sandstone rising beyond. Incessant winds had piled the grains into dunes that swept across the land.  Hiking with care, we descended the rhythmic diversity of swirling, tilted and angular beds on an eroded surface toward the canyon bottom. Numerous trails, some cairned by past hikers, threaded their way down the steep slope.

Playfully, Tony leapt out behind the rocks a couple of times, scaring the bejeeters out of me. I obligingly let out a blood-curling shriek that stimulated raucous chuckles from the guys and their subsequent attempts to traumatize me. It took a record 45 minutes on the trail for them to realize that I am an easy target for teasing and torture.

We eventually landed upon a lofty point that overlooked the confluence of Russell Gulch and the Left Fork.  From there, we made the crude, steep descent down a narrow gully of loose rocks and sand.  Upon reaching the bottom, we were greeted by a large pool in Russell Gulch, whose walls had been streaked by years of mineral-laden waters.  Twenty yards downstream marked the transit through the sculpted gorge of the Left Fork of North Creek. Sprawled between two somber monoliths, this cavernous, empty hallway wrapped us in an inescapable embrace.

 From there, we sought the path of least resistance and boulder hopped our way up the canyon from one side of the small stream to another. Most of us had worn Tevas and those who wore hiking boots weren’t too worried about getting them wet.  Except for Joseph.  I watched with great amusement as he leapt from ledge to ledge with Superman-like dexterity in an attempt to stay dry.  To his credit—he had some pretty spectacular jumps.  To his discredit—he actually had Tevas in his pack and didn’t bother to bring them out until the hike was almost over.  Oh, and he likes Led Zeppelin.

 The first obstacle was only 200 yards from the Russell Creek junction--a bulky boulder that choked the narrow canyon and formed a 15-foot drop.  A rope was positioned halfway down for hikers to rappel themselves to the canyon floor but there was a precipitous descent to reach it.  A couple of the guys climbed down the face without benefit of ropes.  The rest of us shimmied down the crack on the right side between the boulder and canyon wall.

  The canyon narrowed after this point and we arrived at two deep pools laden with frogs sunbathing on the rocks.  There was no way around it—Joseph’s feet would get wet, and we would have to swim.  We all took different waterproofing measures—Ray put the contents of his pack in garbage bags, and others tossed their packs to those on the other side.  But simplest of all was Jeff, whose waterproofing strategy was to keep his pack above water as he swam.  This worked for the first few pools, but the last deep pool sent him spiraling beneath the surface. Just when I thought I had lost sight of him, I noticed something…an arm.  Holding a pack above the water. I chuckled at his dogged determination and could almost hear him fervently chanting “Must…keep…pack…dry” underwater.

 As we swam through the frigid waters of the pools, an almost palpable shiver ran through the group.  The sun was our only reprieve as it bathed us and the surrounding monoliths in a golden light, its rays suffused with molten gold and pink shafts of light.  The scene was a magical mixture of vegetation and stone, waterfalls and rainbows, folding sandstone and swirling clouds. 

 At the 4.5-mile mark, we reached Keystone Falls where a 6-foot rappel is required to descend into a thigh-deep pool.   Tony and Jeff made a smooth descent without a rappel.  I was next.  I peeked over the edge and slowly eased down the rocks until I found myself perched on the notches of a log that leaned up against the falls.  From there, I didn’t know what path to take.  I could stay frozen like a grump on a log, I could jump, or I could wrap my arms and legs around the log and shimmy down.

   I decided upon the latter option--or at least tried to.  Not even one second after grabbing the log, I slipped and pummeled down its slivery surface. Tony looked at me and said, “Uh yeah, that’s one way to do it.”  Ray W. judiciously looped his rope around the runner bolted to the right side of the canyon and Renée, Stephanie, Debbie and Julie gracefully descended.  I consoled myself.  I may not have scored points on my flawless entry but I made up for it on my level of difficulty…or idiocy.  Mental note for next time:  when a log is under a waterfall, it is very, very slick. 

The rest of the hike is a blur, but what remains lucid is that I have never had so much fun in a slot canyon. We bouldered across the myriad of shapes and patterns in the sandstone and swam under chockstone boulders that were jammed midair above a watery labyrinth.  We passed through intricate galleries of whorled stone and frigid channels, ventured onto roofed ledges to avoid impassable drop-offs and slid down picturesque cascades. 

When we emerged from the Subway, we waded through the shining ribbon of water that curved around sandbars and between walls that rose in tiers like the layers of a wedding cake.  We stopped often the final few miles and examined plants and rocks, and watched jet-propelled lizards scurry out of our way.  The afternoon light was penetrating and incisive, and the air was particularly still and dry, allowing us to see astonishing details in the landscape at preposterous distances downstream.

The trail out of the canyon is easy to miss so we followed our guidebook and looked for two tributary streams that entered on the right.  Just beyond the second stream (approximately 8.3 miles), we spotted prominent black lava outcropping high above us on the right rim of the canyon, and soon thereafter, we found the trail that lead to the summit.  The final ascent was a grunt—the trail shot straight up shallow gully, finally reaching a plateau.  Once at the rim, I thought I was home free but was dismayed when I realized I had to trudge another 0.8 miles through the scrub brush on the plateau.

The final stop on this Subway was my Jeep. Exhausted yet exultant, I marveled in the final parting views of the ragged cliffs that were spread like tattered draperies to the south, and at the bald crimson summit of Tabernacle Dome--mere highlights in a landscape where the spectacular is commonplace and every curve is an adventure.