Trying to find Babes Hole

Babes Hole spring... What a name for a place. Also what a misnomer, barely any water, no babes... This is a story about the first time that i tried to visit. I have since made the trip down "babes hole spring canyon" a technical canyoneering route with a few easy rappels. 
Sometimes you can tell how a trip is going to go just based on the first few hours in the morning. For this particular morning, we woke up a bit late, having stayed up too long teaching one of the team members, E, how to rappel (there may or may not have also been some drinking involved that might have delayed us a bit the night before, i mean hey, it was college after all). We set off from D's house in flagstaff for Babes hole canyon, a route that leads into the upper Sycamore canyon area southwest of Flagstaff, of course travelling in my BMW 3 series expecting to go some 35 miles down dirt roads. It was the best car for the job because it was the most functional car available to us, i definitely got that car into a lot of placces where may people were surprised to see it. After making the first turn and driving a few miles down a dirt road, i asked D for driving instructions. After a thorough search of the car, it turns out we didnt have the driving instructions (nor apparently a route description nor map but that will come in later). After a quick call to D's dad, we had the instructions relayed to us over the phone and were off again. 

Eventually we made it to what we throught was our parking area (in reality it was the area for the Dorsey Springs trailhead, our desired trailhead was a the other fork of the road, a couple miles away). Feeling confident as only college aged males can (when visiting a somewhat unknown canyon without a route description or map) we set off down the trail. The hike in was nice, if uneventful. I nearly stepped on a rattlesnake laying in the trail, but if you travel enough in Arizona you come to realize that this happens relatively often and you become attuned to their presence, your "lizard brain" picking up on their whereabouts before you conciously acknowledge they are there. We followed what seemed to match the route description we had read the night before, hike down from the canyon rim, cross the drainage a few times, then turn and start heading down when the trail leaves the drainage going left-down-canyon (south). We started our descent into the "canyon" really more of a water drainage gully, but this type of travel was familiar as many of the canyons in arizona begin with this type of gulley. We eventually crossed what seemed to be a trail traversing the gulley but didnt pay much attention to it, maybe it was just a well worn game trail. 

The descent seemed liek it was taking too long to get to the top of the technical canyon section, maybe it was jsut last night's beer and whiskey consumption that was slowing us, it was hard to tell. Then, unexpectedly, we popped out of the gully at the canyon bottom, at "sycamore creek" a jumble of large waterworn rocks covering the base of the dry waterway, the water having ducked underground for this section. Weird, we throught. We must have missed it. We lingered in the canyon bottom, enjoying the beauty of the Coconino sandstone and its white brush-stroked canyon walls, remnants of ancient dunes that are slowly becoming sand again. With the afternoon quickly approaching and the very real idea that water would be scarce (afterall, there was none in the creekbed that we could get to) we turned upcanyon and began looking for a way out, knowing full well now that we were not where we thought and the trail we had planned on using to re-ascend the canyon would not be available to us, but also not wanting to return up the steep gully we had come down. 

After some time, we found another gully that was not quite as steep as our way in, and had some good game trails that seemed to head up it, so up we went. Once again, the hiking was uneventful, until i looked back and realized that E had blown through his water and seemed to still be dehydrated. We stopped, i donated my water to him to keep him going, then continued up the hot and sunny game trail. A bit farther, i noticed that E was starting to have trouble walking. We all sat underneath a tree to try and recover a bit and get a game plan for what we would do. At this point we could see the canyon rim, somewhere up there would be our car and our way out of here. the difficulty- knowing where exactly it was, and how we would help E get there as he was becoming more dehydrated by the minute. 

"Hey D, where is the map, i want to take a look" i mentioned. We were currently on a bit of a bench, a lower angle feature that traverses the canyon below the rim proper. With so many springs in the area, surely there was something nearby that we could get to for water to re-hydrate, then continue on. 

"it just... blew away"

"Well where did it go???? I will go get it!"

"I dont know, over there?" d replied. 

I searched for a bit but new it was in vain, later i realized that there never was a map. We were quickly becoming a statistic and i knew it. 

What to do? We checked for cell service, not expecting to have any. On our ascent, once we hit the bench we had come across a well-traveled trail where we chose to stop and evaluate what to do next, so that was good. The question was, which way to go? Where could we find water?

We tried calling a friend, maybe someone could come out with a map (thinking the trail should be easy to find given the obvious terrain features) and ride that trail with some water for us. Not enough cell for a call, through. We sent a text instead but no response. 

We sent a message to D's dad, it was ~4pm at this point. We said that we were delayed and running out of water, and that if he didnt hear from us by 7pm he should call in SAR for help, we would try to get ourselves out until then. This message got out to its intended recipient, however was missread and we quickly got a text from SAR command saying that we should stay put and they were going to come find us. Shit. Well, i guess it was time to hunker down and get comfy as it would be a bit.

Trying to make oursevles visible, we layed out bright colored webbing, reflective space blankets, and our gear in clearings and across the trail to make it obvious where we were. A Helicopter flew overhead a few hours later after which we got a call saying they would send in the technical teams over the cliffside as we were not on a trail. We responded that we were most definitely on a well-traveled trail and no technical rappeling was needed to get to our location, we hadnt take the rope out all day. The helicopter air-dropped a package with water and gatorade, a radio, and some blankets. We were told to get comfortable, warm, and drink up. We lit a fire as the sun was setting. Arizona  always has amazing sunsets and is full of amazingly beautiful, if harsh at times, wild spaces. 

After an hour or two, we were told a command had been established at the trailhead and that they were thinking of waiting until morning to send in teams to get us out. Seeing as this was somewhat of an accidental call, and, after some Gatorade and water that E was back to normal, we radioed back that we would be happy to walk out that night. They sent in a team. The trip out was uneventful and we got back by midnight or so. As they had staged at the Kelsey trailhead (our intended location) we got a ride over to the Dorsey trailhead, where many of the members were quite surprised to see the good old bmw parked, in relative disbelief that someone could drive a car like that all the way back here without puncturing the oil-pan or some other car-destroying breakdown. 

The aftermath was interesting, it a bit humiliating. Having never been exposed to something like that, it was curious to see how wrong the media got the story- apparently we were three middle aged men and one had a heart condition causing the rescue? which required ropes and we were on the side of a cliff. Not exactly accurate but at least they got the date and the location mostly right!

This was also my first experience with Search and Rescue. We all felt really bad about the somewhat accidental call, as we really did want to try and self rescue first but to some extent were not given the chance, we were trying to build in safety into our plan that backfired a bit. In reality, D and I both felt like, if anything, we should be the ones helping out with the resuce, we new a few of the Coconino County SAR members and had both spent many years traveling together in the outdoors. We were definitely victims of the YAM mentality (young aggressive male, maybe not aggressive in the combative sense but aggressive in our decision making, we should have just turned around when we didnt have the info we needed, and D should ahve come clean about not having a map/route description). Lessons are learned, sometimes they are learned the hard way through, as was the case here. This event inspired me to look into joining SAR through, and ~8 years later i did just that. Now i help others when they make questionable decisions or things line up just right to result in a difficult situation, and i am happy to help knowing that i too was once in that situation. 

Gold Country and whats left behind- Packrafting in Fortymile Country

The trip ended as it began, damp, lightly raining under the grey early fall Alaksan sky. In between however, were several days of mentally trying travel, and several days of beautiful wild alaskan wilderness. 

The idea behind the trip- while talking with lindsay one night after looking at rivers that needed more water quality data, i said "you know, we arent getting any younger, not that we are old. We said we wanted to get to alaska but why not just go?" so we did.  After months of vague planning (there is only so much you can do on the internet, eventually you just need to hang it up and make some decisions in the field) we set out for yukon gold country - the Fortymile River. About as lame a name as a river can have but so named because the river joins the Yukon about 40 miles downstream of Fort Reliance. We were planning on putting in on champion creek, a little traveled tributary; names can be decieving.

Laden with 50 lb packs, (not terribly heavy considering, but nonetheless, unweildy to bushwhack/tossak hop with) we set off on game trails, aiming for a vaugely defined ridge that would hopefully lead us to our liquid trail. Our high route, we hoped, would help grant us passage through the heavy alaskan brush. Up High we were greeted with wet mountaintop bogs and tossacks, usually something one would think would be found at the flat bottom of a drainage. The views were outstanding, if a bit cold and wet. Berries galore, including some that we didnt identify until later, greeted us with nearly every step. This was the first time i had heard of, let alone tried, cloud berries, but who doesnt love a tropical smoothie tasting weird raspberry looking thing in the Alaskan tundra?

Day 1 Camp

Our first morning out met us with freezing temperatures, very light snow, changing leaves, and a hint that the sun might make a welcome appearance. Winter was clearly on the doorstep up high, but we were hoping to get off the alpine ridgelines quickly given the forecast of further dropping temperatures. Caribou frequent the area, and it was hunting season. The few people we saw on day 1 looked at us with slight concern as we were in a remote area with large packs and an intention to travel far from the roads, no guns or hunting involved. The caribou had clearly recently migrated through and their lovely trails through the bogs and brush were fresh and welcome. After finding a few racks intact (unfortunately that is all we would see of them besides their tracks) we stopped for some mid day bog-blueberry pancakes. 

Lindsay cooking up some fresh blueberry panakes

Lindsay's new rack

The first view of Champion Creek.

Taking a quick sample before finally getting on the water

Our intended route stayed on ridge tops which i hoped would be brush free and quick travel. Indeed the alpine ridge tops were brush free and a breeze to walk on, however i underestimated the brush between ridgelines. It started small, ankle to knee high bushwhacking. Slowly, however, we became engulfed in the brush until it was well overhead. In the brush we found hidden alpine streams and Dr. Seuss style tussocks of grass. After an alpine dinner to boost morale, we made the decision to head straight for champion creek in the hopes of minimizing bushwhacking, as the ridge route turned out to be just as brushy as anywhere else. Campsites were not easy to find so we settled for the flattest section of low brush we could find. It was the first time i have ever had fresh wild blueberries inside the tent vestibule!

I kept thinking in my head how poorly evolved we humans are to travel through this terrain when a large and seemingly unweildy moose can navigate the heavy brush and tussocks with ease. We eventually made it to the confluence of Champion and Little Champion creeks, our intended put in. Morale was high from the prospect of no longer bushwhacking, however the water levels were not. We would proceed to bump and grind our way down the creek, walking the boats every minute or so, for the next 15-20 miles. This type of "packrafting" is quite challenging for boats and the harsh conditions began to show, as both Jennifer and Lindsay were beginning to have seam delamination issues which could potentially lead to a complete boat failure.. Slap some tyvek on it and call it good! Luckily after a long, cold, rainy day and the gradual but continual addition of water from each small alpine stream as we counted the miles, the stream became a creek, then almost something that would be considered "floatable"!

Walking the boats, how we spent most of our time during the first few days of floating. Low volume creeks with lots of bottom grinding is tough on boats. A few side seams nearly ground away resulting in a rainy repair session. 

Generally when traveling in wild places, we forgo campfires as they are generally unnecessary and dont exactly comply with LNT policies, however jennifer lit one that night after a long, rainy, cold, and mentally taxing day on the river which was definitely welcome. There is something about the sight of campfire flames that does wonders to boost morale, plus it would allow for us to finally dry out a bit.

Lindsay roasting a bra over the fire (trying to dry out after a long wet day)

Day 4 came with the prospect of finally getting into waters that would actually be boatable, rather than having to get out and walk the boats every few minutes. The final few miles of champion creek were a blast of easy and beautifully clear splashy class 1/2 water and susnshine! At the confluence with the north fork, we took out our sampling equipment for a quick water check before continuing. On the main river we had the pleasure of watching the miles fly by with more beautiful scenery around each bend. Before long we hit the confluence with the Middle Fork of the Fortymile and soon thereafter "the Chute" a choke in the river where the river is squeezed by bedrock creating a class 3 line with some grabby eddy lines behind some rock fins. After some scouting, Davis ran first without issue. I ran next, then hopped out of my boat and ran it again in Lindsay's because she wasn't feeling it and we didnt want to have to carry the boats. 

Finally boating! the final few quick miles of Champion Creek.

Sampling on the North Fork

Floating the North Fork and the confluence of the North/Middle Forks

Interesting Rock Fins immediately after "The Chute"

Running the Chute

The sun was starting to get low, indicating we had a few hours of light left so we pulled over and cooked some dinner. While waiting for dinner to cook, Jennifer, with a surprised and slightly confused look on her face started crying "wolf? WOLF??" We all turned around to see a wolf trotting along the riverbank towards us about 50 feet away, only to see it look up at us with surprise and confusion as well! The wolf (and at least one more trailing behind it) quickly darted off into the forest.

Day 5 Camp

With the very real knowledge of wolves (and bears) in the area, we were a bit heasitent with campsite selection but in golden light we found a great gravel bar, possibly one of my favorites of the trip. 

Before long we found ourselves at the Kink, a class 4 or 5 rapid (we saw it in 4 conditions) that we would be portaging. The Fortymile river, as with much of the area around the Yukon, was (and still is) a major hotspot for gold mining in the early 1900s. Some miners saw an oxbow in the river with a low ridge separating about 2 miles of river meander. Rather than dredging the riverbed like so many others, they decided to blast a wedge through the mountain to de-water the oxbow. I was thinking they would simply have blasted through the ridge, but in reality they decided to continue blasting up river another quarter mile, lowering the river level by ~10 feet for that entire length! In the end, they didn't find much (or any) gold in the oxbow the river was diverted from and gave up mining the area. Its amazing what people will accomplish with the hope of striking it rich, and interesting to see some history and land that i had only heard about in school and textbooks. 

"The Kink" Geological feature, where miners blasted through the rocky ridge

As we continued to make our way down river, i was impressed with the beauty of the area. In the continuing sunshine, the scenery surpassed expectations as we slowly made our way out of the spruce forrest and into the deciduous riperian areas where fall was starting to make an appearance. As the miles drifted by, we were greeted with a Moose sighting, eagles, hawks, falcons, and many other birds, fish in the river, and surprisingly diverse scenery as the river changed character from the alpine area where we put in. Slowly, however, we began to see more and more signs of people. At first it was slow, some footprints from another river party, then a mining camp, then another. At the confluence with the south fork, the river began to change character dramatically. Mining claims began to line almost every part of the river, both banks. Gravel and sand bars in the river began disappearing, replaced by piles of gravel at unnatural intervals. The clear water slowly became darker, and the rocky clear bottom became coated with a heavy layer of silt, the remnants of active mining in the area, which is still ongoing. At least one sidestream offered an interesting view in fluid dynamics, as we got to see a heavily silt laden creek (obvious sign of active mining up that drainage) came into the clear water of the Fortymile and the two drastically different streams slowly mixed. Dredges floated in the water every mile or so. It was tough to find a site to camp and we ended up floating a few miles further than expected simply looking for a site that wasnt clearly a mining claim and had a somewhat flat spot to set up a tent. 

Heavily silt laden side stream coming into the main river, a clear sign of active mining up that drainage

Lindsay flyfishing on a slower bit of river

We finally did find something, a place that others had also recently used, one of the few sites open to river recreationalists in that strech. They had left some bullets, its likely they were hunting for caribou, a popular thing in the area. Lindsay and i wandered up a side canyon a bit and quickly found signs of others. I found what i am assuming was an exploratory shaft that had been filled in alongside what was likely an old camp, with a few trails in the area. The shaft, at least i am hoping it was that, was oddly human sized and had an odd air to it. I explored a bit up the trail to make sure we were not camped right next to an active camp, as i did not want to have an unpleasant run in with some locals, but didnt find anything other than berries in the brush after following the trail for a short distance. Lindsay found an old trapper camp, with some traps still hanging in trees. Thank god neither of us found one in the ground.

A wet last day on the river

Our final day on the river started wet and stayed that way. Davis and Jennifer roused us out of bed when their tent started to fall over in the wet sand due to rain. Had we not have been driving out that day, it would have been a tent day while waiting for weather. We donned our dry suits and packed up in the rain for our final few miles. The upside of the rainey weather was the whispy clouds that moved about the peaks, giving everything a mysterious feel. We ran through one last easy rapid and took out at the Taylor Highway bridge, having gone nearly a hundered miles in seven days over alpine ridges, through brush, and on an increasingly larger alpine waterway.

The trip wasn't quite what we had expected, simultaneously wetter and also sunnier. It was amazing seeing the beauty of a relatively untouched portion of interior Alaska, but the transition from Alaskan wild to industrial mining was abrupt and a reminder of how far reaching our impact on the land is. Sometimes this is obvious, when the side of a mountain is removed, or a new river channel is created in the search for gold, but also sometimes the impact is less obvious, as in the slow change in river character, from clear and clean alpine waters to red/brown silty mining tailings. Its easy as a recreational user of the area to get on a high horse and proclaim that we have minimal impact on the area, adhering to LNT principals and helping to maintain wilderness, which is increasingly scarce these days. The reality, however, is that a trip to the area probably would not have been possible without gold mining driving interest in developing access to the area, and, after indigenous peoples who may have frequented the area, the main draw for this area is gold mining. Despite my issue with wilderness and environemntal impact, it is also likely that mining the area for gold using dredges/sluice boxes likely results in simultaneously a more ethical and environmentally sound method of gold mining than other industrial methods that use toxic leaching chemicals and impact or deplete local water sources. As recreational users, we do have to accept that our habbits of travel, purchasing, and living in modern society have an impact on these wild areas and we should push for methods that have the least impact. I have to admit that, even though the character of the river changed dramatically, the area is known for heavily silted glaicial rivers and the ecosystem seemed to still be thriving, hopefullly it will continue to do so into the future.

Hiking in Denali NP

With a few days on the tail end of the trip open, we took some time to recover, dry out, and check out the Alaska range. The area definitely holds a lot more potential for stellar packrafting loops and definitely doesnt get the traffic that it would if access were a bit easier. I hope we can return someday, but for now I am looking forward to planning our next Alaskan packrafting trip, something in the Brooks Range perhaps?