Before I get started, I should restate that the rhyme and reason behind our photo taking did not necessarily jive with a linear narrative flow or a convenient highlight reel. So be it.

I have no idea what I’m doing here. I do recall that it was both beautiful and cold. Trips to and picnics on top of Elephant Butte, the high point of Arches NP, never get old.

Above, looking northwest; below, looking south-southeast (towards Porc Rim and the La Sals).

It’s a fantastic little scramble of a route. Some hiking, some climbing, one rappel on the ascent, one of the descent. One of those bits of desert knowledge passed down (until some poltroon put it on the web) from person to person.

We learned it from this man:

Phillip Rhoades in desert-rat thrift store finery. He who forgets his shoes in the desert, repeatedly. Ever patient pro canyon guide, and now, biology student. That’s his Tacoma, and trailer/home. The small space and propane heater proved very handy on some cold and long nights.

We settled in to a routine, waking early to investigate canyons, returning early enough to put the gear out to dry in the sun and wind, then turning in for some reading, eating and tea drinking before evenings chatting whilst crammed into the trailer. We made a few trips into Moab to enjoy the fourth Harry Potter movie, Mondo coffee, and cheap hotel rooms. It seemed like much longer than it was, in a very good way.

Highlights include delicate ice hanging from seeps, radical stillness, very cold swims, and some excellent new canyons. Life was good, if cold at night.

Our college friend Ariel, whom we set up with Phillip, came out for Thanksgiving and had her birthday.

One canyon exploration stands out. Phillip and I headed off from camp to check a side canyon of a side canyon over the hill. A mundane wash built to a minor slot, which deepened and narrowed in a couple good downclimbs and an awkward rappel off a jammed rock. Then things got serious. A drop to the left signaled a confluence of erosion and faulting that created a slightly leaning slot with formidable girth. A rap off a wedged knot into a thin slot committed, and soon we faced a choice. Look forward, or back, because once you walk forward you won’t be able to change your mind.

We got through fine into known territory, a faced a 200 yard wade, max depth mid chest, in late November without wetsuits. Didn’t seem too bad to me in the lead, but Phillip was suffering, and when we got out of the water immediately pulled his pants off and cradled his junk in his hands, pacing back and forth with a pained look. I could not help, except to look for a way up into the sun. A fat flake on the left led us up and out, and back to camp. A fine 3 hour trip.

Then we had Thanksgiving. Dutch oven chicken and pie, beer, pecan pie, and friends from far away.

Good stuff.

Our friends Isaac, cozy in the van.

Things must come to an end, an we were off west, into the heart of winter. M cooking breakfast after sleeping in a pull out on HW 12, high on the Aquarius Plateau.

Driving into the Escalante, right at Calf Creek, Josey hit a milestone.

The desert is gorgeous, still, and cold in early December.

For weeks I lived in a capilene shirt and R.5 top.

To be continued. Next: Zion, the Grand Canyon, Death Valley, and Yosemite in winter with no photos.