Jim Akers not in Sandthrax (East Leprechaun Canyon, North Wash)
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“If you’re afraid, don’t do it. If you do it, don’t be afraid.” – Mongolian Proverb
The canyon that threatened us the most on our recent fall canyoneering trip is called Sandthrax, and there had been a lot of e-mail chatter before the trip about going for it despite its reputation. Don Reyes, from Tahoe, was the keenest, while the rest of us (Ken, Larry) were more jittery but maybe willing. I'd vacillated before the trip, but decided I’d go in if everyone else was game. We had experience, gear, and a rim crew (Jane, Jim) that could potentially save us if we got trapped.
The internet is rich with dramatic stories about Sandthrax, with titles like “The Chasm of Doom.” Climb-Utah.com warns that “Errors in technique or judgment will likely result in serious injury or death.” The canyon has an X rating, meaning that a screw-up can lead to, well: death. But other descriptions didn't sound that bad—moderate stemming high off the ground--mostly secure with a few tricky places and one distinct crux that could be at least partly aided with fat cams.
Tom Jones, founder of Canyoneering USA, and another canyon guide who happened to be in the North Wash while we were there had told us that the recent rain made the rock friable, and that it was best to stay out of Sandthrax for 4-6 days until it dried, giving us another piece of information to chew on. But as the weekend progressed under crisp, dry fall skies, the rains seemed less relevant.
Around the campfire we circled the idea, our numbers diminished by the last-minute absence of Steve Millard, who was recovering from a bad hip, and Mike Kehoe, who had cancelled because of unexpected business travel. This was relevant, because there is safety in numbers in technical canyons; three or four people are ideal for Sandthrax.
Maybe we have the technique and judgment went the campfire discussion (Don), as we sipped our margaritas. Or maybe good judgment means deciding not to go in (me and Larry)? Are our fears unfounded? Are we just chicken?
I’d even lost sleep before the trip worrying about whether to commit—not something that usually plagued me before canyoneering trips, which are mostly pure fun. One night while I did sleep, I’d dreamed that I was in Sandthrax, inexplicably wearing a snorkel and mask. What did that mean?? We joked about using the snorkel to aid the crux.
In the end, we didn’t make the descent, so this story won’t take its place in the heroic Sandthrax anthology. Sometimes challenges need to percolate for a while. By the end of the weekend we’d hiked up and down the Sandthrax rim, peering down into the darkness and rationalizing what we could see. Don in his enthusiasm even rappelled in and puzzled over the first challenging silo (deep hole), before climbing back out to report what he had seen, his ardor slightly (but not completely) dampened.
I suspect that one day we will descend Sandthrax, but on this trip we let it go and spent perfect fall days in fun, less intimidating canyons: Leprechaun, Boss Hog, and Woody. I always feel a little disappointed in myself when I back away from challenges, especially when it’s a battle between irrational fear and rational judgment. Was I being controlled or was I in control? We probably could have successfully descended the Chasm of Doom, but it will be there next year and the year after, waiting patiently.
Don Reyes, scouting Sandthrax from the rim.
Don, returning to camp from Sandthrax.
Jane Addis in Woody Canyon.
Jim Akers. Woody Canyon pothole.
Mud and feet, Woody Canyon.
Rappel anchor, Woody Canyon.
Larry Scritchfield near the end of Leprechaun Canyon.
My knee. You can tell I'm not in Sandthrax. The sharp focus means it isn't shaking.
Near the bottom of Leprechaun.
Jane in Boss Hog.
Don, stemming his way down Boss Hog.
The lower reaches of Sandthrax near the exit. Note that we aren't in there.