The Subway (Zion National Park, Utah); Part Two
One splash led to another. Which might explain why it took us five or six hours to hike to “The Subway” in Zion National Park…
The Subway (Zion National Park, Utah); Part One
The actual trail kind of meandered alongside the creek, but after our steep descent in surging heat, swimming and wading through the water seemed the preferable option. We had so much fun climbing the waterfalls and falling into the pools that we didn’t realize how slowly we were progressing until Zach wondered aloud why we weren’t anywhere near anything that resembled an enclosed canyon yet.
We decided to get a little more serious and regretfully returned to the sandy trail. After a mile or two, I quietly feared we had somehow taken a wrong turn. Completely illogical; we knew the trail followed the creek. But still… We’d encountered no other hikers and our brushy path reminded me a little of deer trails I’ve mistakenly followed in Ohio.
Settling onto a large boulder we took a water break, opened our rations and discussed our options. No one wanted to turn back, but there was the suggestion to follow a side stream instead of the creek we’d been trekking alongside. Good teaching moment, I decided. I explained that it was far too easy to get completely lost (as opposed to momentarily confused) by veering off on potential shortcuts. Our choices would be limited to continuing forward or going back the way we’d come. And, we would need to start rationing our drinking water…
At that critical moment, the Boy Scouts arrived! The group of teens had rappelled and hiked down from the top of the route and their leader assured us we were only “a couple of miles” from the dead-end Subway. This would prove to be an ironic and oft-repeated statement. As we began meeting occasional hikers along the increasingly difficult trail, Hannah was told “one more mile” at least three times at quite distant intervals. The final person she queried regressed to the “couple of miles” response at which point she quit asking altogether.
Our trail that day began on red sand, dropped down steep crumbling cliffs and then flowed on through a sandy creek bed. Rocks expanded into massive boulders as we edged up the creek/trail. We climbed and pulled ourselves up waterfalls and followed Zach’s lead around and over all kinds of obstacles. Eventually we picked our way up algae-coated slate waterfalls into the carved tunnel known as The Subway. At last…
The streaming water at our feet was even colder now, untouched by sunlight as it coursed across the canyon floor. Erosion had carved random pools for us to slip in and out of as we determinedly made our way to the “Waterfall Room” that would mark the end of our trail. The merest slivers of light slid in, giving life to algae and attracting the occasional bird or dragonfly. It was unlike anywhere we’d been before. An eerie sculpted passage that nudged all our senses into lively perceptions.
But our time was short… Our pact was to hike out as fast as safely possible, knowing that a canyon sunset is something best viewed from the rim.
I gained even more respect for my kids that day as we worked our way back. Zach was a selfless leader, and I played sheep dog at the rear. It was the hardest, best time we’ve had in a while. And, at the end of it all… After that brutal climb back up that 400 feet of heat-radiating red rock… We did it in two hours and fifteen minutes, with an hour to spare.
