I woke up Sunday morning with visions of an idyllic camp breakfast dancing in my brain. I had found a pancake mix that only required water and I’d measured out the right amount for our trip. I mixed up the batter, lit the fidgety little camp stove, and melted butter in the tiny frying pan. I poured the batter and watched in excitement as it bubbled up temptingly. Phil would wake up to a hot breakfast of delicious pancakes, he would hail me as the perfect little camp wife, and he would be forever hooked on overnight goat packing.

A powerful blast of wind shattered my reverie. A scream of rage leapt from my throat. Despite having placed the stove in a sheltered spot behind a rock, the wind had tossed a liberal amount of sand and grit into my beautiful breakfast! I picked out some of the larger pieces of debris, but the pancake no longer looked scrumptious. Breakfast proceeded quickly downhill from there. The camp stove was very fussy and seemed incapable of providing a steady medium flame. When I turned it up, it blazed like a rocket, scorching the food and threatening to set my socks on fire. I turned the flame down and it puffed out. I screamed in frustration! The first pancake came out ok. It was only a little scorched on one side and the other side was only a little raw. Phil ate it and told me it was good but I think he was probably being polite and only commenting on the syrup because I could hear the sand and charred bits of pancake crunching as he ate.

I poured a second pancake and it sat there refusing to cook as gusts of wind seasoned the batter with more sand. I carefully turned the stove up and realized it had gone out again. As soon as I relit the flame, it blasted the poor pancake into cinders just as another hurricane dumped more of the surrounding campsite into the batter. I tried to flip the pancake but it was stuck fast to the pan. I tried scraping it off with brute force and my spatula began to melt. At this point I had my own meltdown. I bellowed, raged, and stomped around camp like a maniac, shaking my fists at God and the Universe for sending all this hellacious, unnecessary wind. I was not to be appeased. My beautiful pancake breakfast was a shambles. I chiseled the ruined pancake out of the pan, dug a hole, and buried it in an unmarked grave along with the uncooked half of the batter which was mostly sand by that point anyway. I was too angry to be hungry and I felt like a useless failure. I’m not usually one to throw temper tantrums, but that morning I munched a granola bar and sulked while Phil graciously scrubbed the breakfast dishes in the creek.

On the plus side, my pants and the goat panniers had dried out nicely during the night. The camera, alas, had not. Phil tried turning it on and it made a horrible grinding noise. The viewfinder showed blackness with a few fuzzy white spots. There was nothing to be done about it. We packed camp, loaded the goats, and headed upstream. I was unsure of our route. I knew we needed to follow the river, but the river seemed to be coming from the wrong direction. We needed to head west and the canyon on our left went west along with a very clear path in the sand, but the canyon had no more than a trickle of water in it. We were supposed to be following the Escalante River and there was a strong creek flowing from the north so we followed the water. The trail did not appear to be quite as well-traveled in the north canyon but it was still well-defined and had recent footprints. The canyons are deceiving because they wander back and forth. The Escalante River canyon goes east and west in this section, but it does so by snaking north and south all along the way. I hoped that our north-pointing canyon would eventually take us west. I sorely regretted not remembering to bring a map and a trail description.

The canyon before us was lovely. There was no point trying to find a trail on the shore. The water was only shin-deep and the stream bed was level sandstone with good traction. Although the water was cold, the footing was very easy for us and the goats and we soon got used to the temperature. In fact, as the morning warmed up, the cool, splashing water felt very pleasant on our legs, battered as they were from walking through reeds and pricker bushes the day before. The canyon was narrow with very high walls and it got more and more beautiful as we hiked up it. For the most part the creek stayed easy to navigate. We kept the goats on leashes because they had a tendency to make for the shore and this didn’t usually work out well for them. We had to pay close attention to the creek bottom in places. There were plenty of potholes and deeper fissures and I didn’t want our goats falling into them. Sputnik seemed particularly prone to tripping in holes. I got in the habit of guiding him very carefully across narrow places between potholes and making sure I showed him the deep spots. He never tripped into any big holes, but the sudden slipping from ankle-deep to knee-deep water made him suspicious of the creek. Finn, on the other hand, navigated uneven underwater terrain very naturally.

We stopped for lunch on a sandy beach under a large alcove. We didn’t have much food left. We’d planned a light lunch in anticipation of eating a large dinner in Escalante that evening. We each ate a granola bar and some trail mix. The goats begged some trail mix off us as well but we managed to save a little for an afternoon snack. As we went on, the creek became more pitted and difficult to navigate. The canyon walls turned black and rose up impossibly high on either side. We came to a wider area strewn with huge boulders and there was no obvious path for the goats to follow. Phil held the goats while I scouted. A flash flood earlier in the season had wedged logs and other debris between the rocks, making them difficult to climb. I found a couple of possible routes, but decided it would be best to unpack the goats before attempting them. Phil tossed the panniers and goat packs over the rocks to me, then navigated his way over, around, and between the boulders. He found what he thought was a good route for Finn, but Finn had his own ideas about rock climbing. He watched Phil in bemusement, then nimble as a cat, he plotted his own course, leaping gracefully from boulder to boulder with perfect ease and precision. I was on the other side of a massive rock and unfortunately missed the display of athletic prowess, but the sheer beauty, power, and grace of Finn’s performance brought Phil to the brink of tears.

Sputnik, on the other hand, will never make it in the ballet. He is a strong, willing, and capable goat, but he is not an athlete. I took him through a narrow crack between boulders where he had to get wet up to his chest. We repacked the goats on the other side and continued our journey. I was starting to have a lot of doubts about our route. The Escalante River was not supposed to be this difficult to navigate, and the canyon was never described as being so narrow. I was also concerned that we still hadn’t turned west. We planned to reach the town of Escalante by late afternoon, and since we’d been down the other end of the trail on a previous trip, we should be in familiar territory by now. But nothing looked even close to familiar! Little did I know we were hiking up Death Hollow–a tributary to the Escalante River. The upper Escalante River is frequently almost dry this time of year, but since I didn’t have my trail description I didn’t know this. We were headed straight into the Box-Death Hollow Wilderness and miles away from our planned route and any civilization. But I can’t describe how beautiful it was. Over and over I lamented to Phil the loss of our camera.

Not far after the boulder field we came to a place we weren’t sure we could pass. The black canyon walls narrowed together until there was only a small rock ledge on one side. The creek ran swiftly down the middle in a deep chute interrupted by a series of even deeper pools. We walked along the narrow ledge, careful not to slip, but soon our luck ran out. The canyon walls pinched together above us and our shelf narrowed beside a swiftly-flowing flume of water. The only way to go through was to crouch down and crawl along the narrow shelf, clinging to the rock on our right. The tunnel wasn’t tall enough for the goats to walk under unless they went on their knees, and it was certainly too narrow for them to carry their packs through. If they could make it at all, they would have to go up the narrow, swiftly flowing channel and over a small waterfall. Sputnik had already slipped from the narrow shelf once before this point and had to be pulled out. Luckily the water in that place was only chest deep, but his packs were fairly well sodden. Both goats were getting tired.

Phil went back downstream to see if there was a place to go around this spot. The goats and I waited on our narrow perch for a long time until I started to get nervous. There was nowhere to tie the goats so I took them both and headed downstream in search of Phil. Sputnik fell in the water again at the same narrow place as before and this time Finn went in too. I eventually found Phil and we agreed that maybe it wasn’t a wise idea to get separated so long. He hadn’t found an alternate route, but I had studied the tunnel in his absence and I thought we could get the goats through if we unpacked them. We went back upstream and both goats fell in again at the narrow spot so now both packs were thoroughly sodden. We got to the tunnel and Phil held the goats while I crawled through. I told Phil I would explore a little way upstream to make sure it didn’t get worse. We didn’t want to unpack the goats and get them through this difficult and somewhat dangerous spot only to encounter an even nastier one further up.

I came out of the tunnel into the most beautiful canyon of all. Small silver cascades tumbled over smooth, sculpted sandstone into large, deep, and silent pools. Before the tourists came and scared them away, this was a Unicorn Canyon. I explored around a bend or two but shouted my progress back to Phil so he wouldn’t worry. When I came back I found a place where I could climb over the tunnel and back down within a short distance of where Phil was waiting with the goats. It would be much easier and safer to ferry the packs over the top than through the tunnel. Phil had to navigate the narrow ledge back and forth to bring me the panniers and packs one at a time while the goats waited on a wider ledge downstream. I had a nice perch about seven feet above the water where Phil could toss me the packs when I leaned down to grab them. I carried them over the top to the upstream side of the tunnel. Finally, I crawled back down the tunnel to help Phil with the goats.

Phil led Finn as far as he could go along the shelf before Finn slipped down into the rushing creek. Luckily the edge of the pothole was only a little over two feet high, but since the water was rushing over it, the force made it difficult to jump or climb over. Phil pulled Finn’s halter while Finn heaved himself out with a struggle. Phil let Finn loose at the other side and it was Sputnik’s turn. Sputnik plopped into the water without even trying to navigate the shelf and then he just stood there in the rushing stream and refused to even attempt climbing over the waterfall. Phil and I both pulled and were able to lift his front end over the ledge. After that it was easy, but I could tell Sputnik was exhausted and absolutely fed up with this miserable hike. Unlike us, Sputnik had no interest whatsoever in the scenery.

We re-saddled the goats and dumped water out of our panniers. Phil and I gave the goats a break and carried the panniers ourselves for a while. The day was wearing on. The sun touched only the tops of the canyon walls. Phil and I split an apple and gave the other to Finn and Sputnik. We were both starting to realize we would not make it out tonight so we saved the trail mix and trudged on, still clinging to the fast-failing hope that we were on the right track. At least we were still by the river.

The canyon soon widened and looked more like the familiar Escalante Canyon, raising my hopes for a bit. Unfortunately the stream bed got more difficult to navigate. It ran in deeper, narrower channels between steep, sandy banks and began to wind more. It was quicker to cut across the bends, but the trail was not usually very easy. A trail would look good for a while, but then it would peter out and we’d have to bushwhack to pick it up somewhere else. Our legs were sore and scabbed from the previous day’s bushwhacking through pricker bushes. Here there were no prickers, but the reeds were brutal. They ripped open the scabs from yesterday and tore new ones. The sand was hard to walk in, especially for the goats. Sputnik was starting to groan as he walked.

We came to a split in the canyon. One trail followed a small watercourse to the west (finally, a trail going west!) while the main watercourse continued north. We opted to keep going north along the stronger creek with the wider trail, but we had to cross the deep, narrow tributary to get there. Phil and Finn jumped across, but Sputnik and I were tired. The bank was steep and sandy and I didn’t think we could make it. I saw a log in the creek and decided to use it as a step. Bad idea! Although it had looked large and solid, it was merely floating on the surface! I sank immediately up to my armpits and burst out laughing as I clung to the reedy bank like a drowned rat. I couldn’t climb the bank. It was too steep, too high, and too sandy. There was nothing to grip. I turned back and grabbed onto Sputnik and used his horns to pull myself up. We bushwhacked our way to the place where the two creeks joined and were able to cross there. I later learned that I had fallen into Mamie Creek–a tributary to Death Hollow creek which is in turn a tributary to the Escalante River. It turns out it was a good thing we didn’t try following Mamie creek because it eventually dead-ends at a sheer wall with nowhere to go but back.

We trudged on in the gathering dusk, each bend in the river offering brief hope that the canyon would open up and we’d see something familiar. We started to see deserted campsites along the way which dampened my spirits. If we were on the proper trail, we would be close enough to the town of Escalante that no one would camp here. On the other hand, it was comforting to know we weren’t in a trackless, uncharted wilderness where we would never see human life again. The creek crossings were getting treacherous in the deepening twilight and I told Phil we’d better pitch camp at the next suitable spot. We rounded one more corner and suddenly we saw tents! Human life! Two men were sitting under a tree near the creek, talking and sipping wine from their camp mugs.

We were extremely relieved to finally see someone, and the first thing out of my mouth was, “Where the heck are we??”

One of the men broke out a map and showed me. They were crossing the Boulder Mail Trail that runs for about sixteen miles between Boulder and Escalante and intersects Death Hollow in the middle. They had descended into Death Hollow canyon that afternoon and pitched their campsite right at the intersection where the Mail Trail climbs back out of Death Hollow and continues up over the slickrock to Escalante. Luckily they had started in Boulder and were headed to Escalante as we were. We asked if we might follow them back to town next day and they very kindly agreed.

Their names were Bill and Adrian and they had never seen or heard of packgoats before. They were delighted with them. Unfortunately Phil and I crashed their party. The tree they’d been sitting under was perfect for hanging our wet things, and the spot next to it was ideal for tethering the goats so I’m afraid we took over the best part of their campsite, but they were good-natured about it. Darkness fell soon afterwards so we didn’t spend much time chatting with our “rescuers.” Phil and I quickly pitched our tent and got the goats settled. We opted to save the scanty remains of our trail mix for morning. We had an estimated eight-mile hike up and out of the canyon and across the desert to Escalante next day and we had no other food with us. Thankfully our warm clothes were packed at the top of Sputnik’s panniers and weren’t too wet. The sleeping bags had gotten wet but the synthetic materials hadn’t soaked up much water and they dried pretty quickly once we unrolled them and got in. Our bags were chilly but not freezing. We went to bed grateful to have found someone who knew where we were and better yet, how to get us out!

Since our camera was broken, I’ll attach some other people’s photos of death hollow and hope they don’t mind.

Photo taken from this blog: https://www.arieleeflang.com/?p=543
The spot where “Tim” is clinging is where Phil tossed the packs up to me. The spot to the lower left of the photo is where we had to crouch down and cling to the rock and the goats had to go for a dip.

Photo taken by “KyleP” from this message board:
https://backcountrypost.com/threads/lowe…pril.7548/
And here’s the view looking upstream. I would not want to crawl along this ledge with a pack on my own back, but that’s how most people do it!

We spent a very nice night in the B & B where we were very happy to be able to shower after three days of camping in San Rafael. But it was only one night because the B & B was booked on Saturday, so Phil and I took the opportunity to go on our first overnight goat packing trip together! I’d picked a very easy and straightforward trip for our first overnight–just something to dip our toes in. Clark, our host at the B & B, had offered to drop us off at the Escalante River trailhead about 15 miles outside of town. He would then drive our truck back to the B & B and park it there while we followed the river trail back to town. It was the perfect overnight hike with water all along the way, an excellent camping spot at the halfway mark, a clear and well-traveled trail, nice natural formations and Indian artifacts to see along the way, and almost no elevation changes. The weather was slated to be perfect. I was excited to embark on my first “real” goat packing experience with Phil, even if it was going to be a super easy one.

It was probably the ease and obviousness of the hike that put me off my guard. Phil and I had explored both ends of this trail on previous trips but had never hiked it through. I had read a trail description three weeks earlier when planning the trip, but the Swell vacation kind of obstructed my view of all that was to come after so I didn’t prepare. At the time I thought, “It’ll be fine… I’ll review the trail the night before at the B & B, I’ll ask Catherine (our hostess) for some details, and we can always pick up a trail map at the BLM office when we get our overnight camping permit.”

Phil had gone by himself to get the permit while I packed our panniers and I had forgotten to mention getting a map and trail description. Catherine is a wealth of excellent information about all the trails in the area, but she had a full house that morning and there was no time for me to ask questions over a leisurely breakfast like we usually do. Nonetheless, I was brimming with confidence as I struck off down the trail–in exactly the wrong direction. Phil expressed his doubts. The woman at the BLM office had mentioned something about hiking the trail upstream, which sounded familiar to the trail description I had read too. But the description had also mentioned going under the highway bridge and seeing the ruins of an Indian granary up on the cliff. We’d crossed under the bridge and there was the granary, so surely we were going the right way! Maybe the stream was going the wrong way? Phil and I argued back and forth a little bit until I said, “Well, better safe than sorry.” So we turned back toward the parking lot to look for a signpost. Good thing we did!

The sign was on the opposite side of the parking lot from where we’d unloaded so we hadn’t even seen it. I love Lake Powell, but I didn’t bring my water skis on this trip!
Phil found an amusing slogan written on the bridge. If you don’t get the reference, read this and be sure to watch the “Body Massage” video linked there.

Once we got going the trail looked very familiar. We had been here in 2012 with Cuzco and Nibbles on our first trip to Escalante. We had crossed under the bridge to view the Indian ruin on that trip too but had been advised to turn back and explore upstream, which was the essential part of the trail description I had forgotten. We crossed the creek many times. Finn and Sputnik were reluctant to get their feet wet at first. It had been a long time since they’d had to cross water, but it quickly became routine on this trip.

I loved this huge boulder with the crack down the middle, but I couldn’t persuade either of the goats to share my interest.

It’s difficult to see because it blends into the rock, but there is a huge natural bridge here. It looks like the entrance to a giant’s castle.
This is the view from beneath the bridge. It sits very close to the rock wall behind it.
There was a small jug handle type arch further on.
The varnish on the cliff walls was amazing.
The trail was often difficult to walk on. The sand was deep and lined with stickers. Phil had a particularly hard time with stickers getting under his sandal straps and we kept having to stop so he could remove them. We found it was generally easier to just walk up the river.

Sometimes when we didn’t hike in the river it felt like we were in the jungle.

I found a dinosaur footprint! 
And here we had our first major adventure. You can’t see it in the photo (and because of what ensued I neglected to take one later), but just beyond that alcove, Phil spotted a large donut hole in the rock that was just low enough for him to climb up and sit in it for a photo shoot. I thought Finn could probably jump up there and join him as well. Finn wasn’t so sure and walked over to the sandy spit of beach you can just see at the right edge of the photo. Sputnik followed Finn but he must have taken a slightly different path because all of a sudden he went down to his chest in quicksand. 
It happened in the blink of an eye. Phil jumped down from his perch while I raced across the creek to help our sinking buddy. I grabbed the leash attached to Sputnik’s halter, untied it from his saddle, and pulled. Phil grabbed Sputnik’s collar and also pulled. Sputnik didn’t budge. He was struggling a little but could hardly move. His pack weighed about 40 lbs. and probably more now that it was wet. Phil and I pulled a couple more times to no avail and I was starting to feel panicky.

“Phil, we need to unload him!” I said.

We both began fumbling with the straps when Sputnik gave a mighty heave and suddenly he was out! Sputnik and I rushed over to the beach where Finn had been standing and chewing his cud very unconcernedly. I quickly re-fastened the few straps on Sputnik’s pack that Phil and I had managed to unhook before he dislodged himself. Then I turned to look for Phil. He was still standing there in the spot where Sputnik had been and one foot was knee-deep in sand. Phil was stuck in the same quicksand that had trapped Sputnik!

Phil was stuck fast. The sand had created a suction and wouldn’t allow his foot to come out even when he pulled on the rope I handed him. He thought he could free his foot if he slipped it out of his sandal, but we didn’t want to lose that shoe at the bottom of a creek with miles to walk in either direction! I tried to break the suction by working a stick into the sand under his foot, but it didn’t help. The stick just threatened to break. So Phil and I used our hands to shovel sand out of the hole until eventually Phil was able to pass a rope through his sandal. I pulled the rope, hoping to release both Phil and his sandal, but the sandal broke! Phil had put the rope through one of the pull tabs instead of through the sandal straps. Phil dug down once more and after a lot of effort he finally managed to wiggle the rope under one of the big sandal straps. He pulled his foot out and then both of us pulled on the sandal but it wouldn’t budge. I could feel the strap stretching and I was afraid we would break it. So I got down on my hands and knees in the water and dug more sand out of the hole while Phil pulled on the rope. Suddenly the sandal popped out of the water! It was not broken. We were very relieved!
I left the stick in the quicksand hole to warn future hikers. What a scare! I’m glad we didn’t lose Phil, his shoe, or my goat down there!

I was wet, Sputnik’s saddle rigging was full of chafing sand, and his panniers were wet, but we were all ok and the camera had only gotten damp. I had remembered to remove my hip pouch before going into the water to help Phil, so nothing important got soaked. A short time later, just as I was beginning to dry off, I slipped on some moss and soaked my entire left side. I was laughing until I noticed my hip pouch was full of water and the camera was bobbing around. I fished it out and handed it sadly to Phil, then dumped my hip pouch out. Soggy goat treats plopped into the creek.

Thankfully we soon made it to our planned camping spot and since no one else was there it was a fairly relaxing evening. I had to wash all of Sputnik’s gear and hang it up to dry along with my pants. We pitched our tent on a comfortable piece of of sand and ate a delicious dinner of beef stew. I made Finn and Sputnik comfortable under a large cottonwood tree where they had plenty of fresh and dried leaves to eat and comfy sand to bed down in. As Phil and I were climbing into our tent, we looked around and noticed a lot of jewel-like things glittering in our headlamps. They were beautiful! On closer inspection they were cute, tiny little spiders. They were everywhere! It’s a good thing neither of us is afraid of spiders!

On Friday morning we broke camp early. Eldon and Debbie caravanned out with Taffy. Herb had left late on Thursday night since he had animals to take care of in the morning back home. Phil and I weren’t heading home but were on our way to Escalante for our own Utah “goat vacation” sequel. Robert and Connie had a little wiggle room in their schedule so they followed Phil and I to Little Wild Horse Canyon for a bonus hike that Herb had recommended. Phil and I had been to Little Wild horse four years earlier but we’d had to turn around because Cuzco couldn’t make it over some of the obstacles in the slot canyons. We thought we could complete it with Finn and Sputnik. 

Robert and Connie only made it a short way into the canyon before they encountered obstacles that their goats weren’t prepared to face. They were forced to turn back so we said our goodbyes in the canyon. 

Usually Finn steals the spotlight, but this was Sputnik’s day to shine. We generally kept Finn and Sputnik leashed since this is a popular canyon and we expected to encounter quite a few people. But since I had the camera, I let Sputnik go a few times to free up my hands. This meant Sputnik did all the exploring and wall-climbing. I’m sure Finn was very jealous.

I love it when goats peer up the canyon walls. I don’t know if they’re trying to see how high it is, or if they’re looking for a way out, or a ledge to play on, or just admiring the scenery like we humans do.

There’s more root here than bush!

The walls are so cool!

“How high is that?”

Little Wild Horse is a beautiful canyon, but I’m afraid I can’t recommend it for goat packing. It’s incredibly narrow in places to the point where panniers must be removed, and there is no place for traffic to pass. This can make it very stressful on goats and on people who are afraid of unfamiliar animals and/or animals with horns. Since half the tourists don’t speak English it can be difficult to communicate that the goats won’t hurt them and they should just squeeze by.

And this was the stopping point. This was the same obstacle that turned Cuzco back the last time we were here, only this time instead of being held up by an elderly goat we were held up by crowds of tourists. Phil had scrambled ahead of us over the rock. Finn measured the height, backed up, and was just winding up to leap onto the rock after Phil when a group of several tourists came down the canyon. The goats and I had to scrunch against the canyon wall to get out of their way. They passed and I climbed the rock and turned to call Finn when another group came up the canyon from behind us. I had to climb down and scooch Sputnik and then Finn out of their way so they could pass us. We started again for the third time when yet more tourists came. After that it was an unending flow. The place had turned into Disney World and my goats and I were holding up the lines! As soon as there was a momentary break in the crowd, I backed the goats up to a convenient turn-around place and headed straight back out of the canyon. If it weren’t for all the people, Finn could easily have cleared the obstacle, but Sputnik would have had a hard time.

Our original plan was to hike up Little Wild Horse and down Bell Canyon, forming a nice loop to avoid backtracking. Herb had never been up or down Bell Canyon but he thought it should be goat-friendly. At first we thought it would be too. For one thing, there were no crowds. Nearly everyone hiked up Little Wild Horse and back, skipping Bell Canyon entirely. 

But not far up the canyon we came to a narrow place with a good 5-6 foot jump/climb/scramble. It was very narrow and the killer was that there was no good take-off spot for the goats to leap from–just a pile of loose, rounded rocks that varied in size from softballs to beach balls. Finn assessed the climb and gave Phil a sad, pleading look. While I’m certain he would have tried to make the jump, there’s a good possibility he could have hurt himself in the attempt. So Phil and I gave up on Bell Canyon, ate our picnic lunch, and enjoyed the stunning views before heading back out and on to Escalante.

After Little Wild Horse and Bell Canyons, we packed up the boys and headed to Escalante. The drive along Highway 12 is always stunning. We were about fifteen miles outside of Escalante when I spotted a cyclist along one of the curves. I recognized the floppy white fisherman’s hat and white tank top immediately. It was Matt! Phil was riding shotgun and he rolled down the window, waved, and shouted “Hey, man! See you in Escalante!” Matt shouted, laughed, and waved back at us as we drove past.

Phil and I settled into our room at the familiar and wonderful Rainbow Country B & B where we have stayed on all our trips to Escalante. We unpacked and then walked into town with our goats so we could eat at our favorite little outdoor restaurant called Nemo’s. We were just crossing the street when we spotted a white shirt, tan skin, and black hair. A bike was leaning against the fence. It was Matt! We offered to buy him dinner, but he had already eaten so we treated him to ice cream. We all sat and chatted while Phil and I ate dinner. We were able to snag a quick photo before Matt headed out. He had to find public land before dark because, as he said, “If you sleep on public land you’re an adventurer, but if you sleep on a park bench you’re a vagrant.”

Thankfully Escalante is mostly public land, so I’m sure he didn’t have to ride far to find somewhere to sleep. He was headed for the most difficult portion of his trip across the Navajo Nation where water and food are scarce and very far between. We wish him all the best and we hope that by now he’s made it to Mexico.

Our hike down from Wild Horse Window was scattered. Eldon, Debbie, and Phil took off ahead of everybody else, then I came somewhere in-between with Finn and Sputnik, then the Losees and Herb, and finally Taffy. Herb went back to help Taffy down the last bit. Eldon struck off on his own path straight toward camp across the rock rather than winding through the wash where we’d come up.

Phil went back down the wash with Debbie, but Finn and Sputnik, who were with me, saw where Phil went. I tried to follow Eldon across the rock but Finn and Sputnik would have none of it. They wanted to follow Phil on the familiar way they’d come up! They stood between everyone and refused to budge until I climbed back up to get them.

“Stop it Finn! Stop being prettier than me!”

Once I dragged the boys away from the group, they finally reluctantly agreed to follow me… at a distance. I came upon an interesting rock formation with some small, strangely-shaped chunks lying around it. I wanted some nice photos of the goats standing among the odd rocks, but they weren’t in the mood for photos and kept wandering back the way we’d come, scanning the far horizon for Phil. This was the best I got before they wandered away.

“Lookie here guys! Over here!”

“Huh? We’re busy!” (And then they disappeared behind the rock.)

With a cool rock formation and an awesome dead tree, I hoped to get a lot more photos like this. It was the only one.

This one is ok… after I zoomed way in and cropped it. These goats wanted nothing to do with my little photo shoot!

If I stayed close to the rock formation, the boys disappeared behind it so they could look for Phil. I had to climb way up the next ridge before they agreed to follow, and by then I was too far away to get decent photos. Little stinkers! 

A little further on I found some other rock formations that were cool to photograph. These took a lot of effort. When Finn and Sputnik finally realized I was not going to follow Phil (and he was not going to follow us), they stuck to me like glue and wouldn’t stand far enough away for me to take pictures. I had to do a bit of shouting, dancing, stomping, waving my hands, and repeating the word “Whoa!” in a loud, commanding voice. It actually worked a couple of times!

Once we finished the Window hike, most of our group decided to take it easy. But Herb, Phil, and I were still itching for adventure so we unpacked our goats and took them exploring up a small canyon behind our camp, then up and across the rock hillside. There was no trail so we encountered a few tricky spots where we weren’t sure if we could cross some of the deep cuts in the rock, but we always found a way and so made a nice loop up and around without having to backtrack.

This poor fellow (or lady?–they can’t seem to decide!) looks a little worse for the wear.

We encountered some steep terrain on this hike. If the camera weren’t tilted this would look even steeper! 

Herb brought a rock portrait that Connie had painted of Bacchus to hide. “Make sure there are no scorpions or mousetraps in that hole, Herb!”

What a pretty portrait!

We had seen some neat-looking outcroppings of flashy red and bright yellow rock on our way up, but they were across a deep chasm or two so our goal was to find some way to get over or around the cracks so we could access those outcroppings. We eventually made it! Unfortunately the rock color didn’t come out so bright in the photos.

Herb and Shelby GT.

Herb’s crew: So boss!

As always, I like to dress for the occasion. Fashion being my greatest passion in life, it is no surprise that I carefully selected this t-shirt to perfectly compliment the rock outcropping we used for this photo shoot. Expect to see me on the cover of every chic magazine in the check-out aisle at Walmart and your local grocery store.

On Thursday morning our group hiked from camp to Wild Horse Window, which we had hiked to four years ago from a different camping spot.

We hiked almost exclusively on solid rock and we had an excellent view the whole way up.

“Knock it off Finn! No one’s allowed to look that good!”

Taffy had the brilliant idea of having each one of us paint some rocks to hide at the Window or along the way. She had collected the rocks, washed them, and brought a huge bag of paint pens so we could decorate them. We completed them in the days leading up to the Window hike and we didn’t forget to bring them!

I took a little detour to hide a couple of my rocks on a pockmarked ledge above the trail. Finn, Sputnik, and Phil all followed me.

And then showed me up.
“This is just too much you guys!”

Sputnik gets in on the posing action too sometimes, but as always, Finn steals the show.

Taffy was the last of our group and had to take a lot of breaks, but with her faithful friend Bourbon who never left her side, she made it all the way to the top.

I love this dead tree.  

And I love my Sputnik.

Wild Horse Window! We’re almost there!

Phil and Eldon’s goat, Elliot, were buddies.

I love the arch of the alcove’s rim overhead.

Last time I was here, I took photos of Cuzco and Sputnik’s heads framed against the Window, and this time I tried to replicate those old photos with Finn and Sputnik. Mostly I just made Taffy laugh as I rolled around on my back in the dust and tried to coax the goats into cooperating. They never really cooperated.

Cuteness overload!

Sputnik and I climbed up to view the cave paintings up close like we did last time.

This time I found a goat-headed man demon!

It even has horizontal pupils!

Finn always likes to explore to the outer reaches. I love how massive the rock looks from this angle.

The rock was slippery with powdery dirt, so Sputnik gave me an anchor while I climbed down.

We got back from Goblin Valley, had a little lunch, and then set off up the long and winding road to Crack Canyon. Elliot found a delicious tree at the entrance to the canyon.

While everyone else went around the long way, Finn and I took the shortcut.

And here he comes, in a flash of black and white!

It appears the walls are melting.

And this, ladies and gentlemen, is why it’s called “Crack Canyon.”

Walls made of cheese?

My husband is not one bit silly… nope, not silly at all!

Regal Finn.

On Wednesday morning we headed to Goblin Valley–one of my favorite spots in Utah.
The Losees and I descend with our goats into the Valley of Goblins.

Our group fanned out, and Phil and I ended up going our own way in search of good photo ops.

I just love packgoat shadows.

Great diving board… if only there was some water!

Sputnik is so boss.

Well, hot dog!

Is that a duck?

Story time with Nan!

Desert wanderers.

The Nomads

The support is almost gone from this one!

Onward to the next adventure!

After a restful night and a hot breakfast, Phil and I traveled back to The Wedge to rejoin our group. It was a hazy morning at the Little Grand Canyon

We all spent a great deal of time admiring the view, but Finn especially liked to get up-close and personal.

Finn and Sputnik performed daredevil cliffside walks.

“Helloooo down there!”

Since it’s Sputnik, I know he’s not quite as close to the edge as he looks. He’s a fairly cautious fellow.

Herb’s goat, Bacchus, commands center stage.

That afternoon we drove to the bottom of Buckhorn Draw and hiked a short ways up Calf Canyon. It took us a while to get going, and it was during the prep time that a cyclist came by that I’d seen the day before on top of The Wedge. He had been coming just as we had been going, but today he stopped because he was curious about our goats. We told him a little about ourselves and then he told us he was on an adventure to ride his bicycle from Canada to Mexico using almost exclusively dirt roads. So far he had been mostly successful at avoiding pavement. His name was Matt, he was about 30 years old, he had a broad, infectious smile, and he was a Coloradan like us! He had snuck across a rancher’s land so he could quickly touch foot on Canada, and now he was headed for the southern border. He was the epitome of the carefree, wandering spirit. He’d spent time in Montana teaching a marching band class to earn money for his trip. He’d spent time playing in a jazz band in New Orleans to earn money for a similar bike trip the year before. He traveled impossibly light and would camp in the open on public land, filtering water from creeks and stock tanks. What a marvelous young gypsy! I’ll never forget that great, toothy smile, deep tan, and dark eyes sparkling with the joy of adventure. We shook hands and wished him best of luck on his journey then packed our goats and set off on a much shorter journey of our own. 

I spent the first part of the hike with Taffy. We went slow, but that gave us plenty of time to visit.

We ate lunch in this little grove near a spring before heading back. It was a short hike but a merry one!

On Tuesday morning we stopped by the San Rafael Museum before heading out to the Goblin Valley area. We were greeted by a replica of a famous petroglyph in the area that Phil and I saw once before in person when we visited Ferron in 2018. I didn’t remember seeing this goat! Of course, the replica is somewhat more clearly etched than the original, and also there are a LOT of figures on this panel. But here is the goat now since I apparently missed it the first time…

Phil poses with one of Finn’s distant relatives.

Phil was highly amused by this old high school spanking paddle. The word PAIN is drilled into this “board of education”!

We found a wonderful campsite near Goblin Valley, and the best part was that there was a scenic little wash that went right by so we could explore or go for interesting walks right from camp. We did a little exploring that first night before dark.

Eldon and Hobbes share a moment. Hobbes is so like a miniature Pac-Man.

Phil and I headed back to one of our favorite goat packing destinations for our annual “goat vacation” this year: Utah! We started out near the town of Ferron, home of our friend Herb Flower who was the guide and host for the first week of our trip. In Ferron we met up with several other goat packing aficionados, including Taffy Mercer and Eldon and Debbie Otta from Washington state, and Robert and Connie Losee from Texas. All of us brought packgoats, so it was a quite nice-sized group!

For our first day, Herb took us out on the Morrison Formation. This is a barren, rocky area of open BLM land where very little vegetation grows, but it is rich with fossils and Indian artifacts. Everyone took away a few mineral specimens, and I even found a beautiful little white arrowhead!

Most of us avoided the steep terrain, but Phil and Eldon took a detour and of course their goats followed them. A climb like this is nothing to a nimble goat!

Ahh… the top at last!

Eldon and the boys taking in the view.

Eldon Otta is the man from Washington who met us in Utah to buy Pac-Man in 2015. Eldon loved Pac-Man, but sadly Pac-Man died untimely in December 2017 at only 4 years old. Eldon was heartbroken, but he regrouped and purchased a couple of little mini-Nubians with coloring similar to Pac-Man’s. He named them Elliot and Hobbes. They will never be large packgoats, but they are exactly suited to Eldon’s style of hiking.

And here are the rest of us who were not ambitious enough to climb the ridge.

Nan and Taffy examine their treasures. 

At some point, Robert and Connie’s young packgoats got confused. They didn’t like the two dogs that accompanied us, and they were also afraid of the big packgoats with horns. Phil and Eldon and their goats had gone one direction while the rest of the group went the other. I’m not sure Sprite and Blackie knew which way their own people had gone, so they set off on their own!

Sprite and Blackie disappeared up the ridge where Phil and Eldon had gone, but by then Phil and Eldon had circled back down and rejoined the rest of the group. No one was around, so Sprite and Blackie kept right on climbing! They disappeared over a high, distant ridge line so Phil and Herb went on a recovery mission. They found the two errant goats at the highest point they could reach, stopped at the edge of a cliff. Robert and Connie did not let them off-lead after that little adventure!

While up top, Phil and Herb found a partially exposed dinosaur skeleton. If you look carefully you can see traces of it in the soil. Herb plans to go back and do some more exploring. 

We ate lunch in the shade of some boulders.

Herb took us to the outcropping of purple and gold rocks that Phil and I had visited on our last trip to Ferron in 2018. Sputnik’s halter and my t-shirt were very appropriate for the scenery. It’s always good to dress for the occasion!

I liked this rainbow-like ridge of rock.

Mighty Warrior Woman Nan! With arms of steel, she splits rocks like pie crust!

Sometimes the rocks disguise themselves as dinosaur skeletons.

On closer inspection, maybe it’s a large desert caterpillar. See the dark eye and the antenna on the left? Phil and Finn better watch out!

Eldon and his crew enjoy the bright yellow rocks.

Taffy’s goat, Bourbon, enjoys the few sprigs of dry grass he can find.

A beautiful wash of colors.

Contrasted with the lovely starkness of this whitewashed boulder field.

It was obvious from the soil that there had been quite a bit of moisture earlier in the year. The top layer been washed over, leaving a fascinating micro-replica of the larger formation. There were tiny “goblins” and pinnacles formed from the soil and pebbles.

I loved this pinto-colored sandstone. It was fairly common in the dry river bottom. I brought home a couple of specimens, including one to decorate Jet’s grave.

There was a large culvert we had to pass through on our way in and out. The goats were a little suspicious. 

After exploring the Morrison Formation, Herb took us to The Wedge at Buckhorn Draw. It’s also known as the “Little Grand Canyon” and I can certainly see why!

Herb and the rest of the crew spent the night here while Phil and I traveled back to Castle Dale so we could enjoy a cozy bed and breakfast. Their view was better for sure, but Phil and I love a hot shower!

On Saturday we hiked to the arch again with some different folks who had never been there before. Once again we brought Finn and Sputnik as our faithful beasts of burden. None of these folks had hiked with goats before.

We picnicked under the arch as usual where the goats managed to politely finagle some food scraps off of our innocent and naive friends. This was Sputnik’s first experience with peanut butter. He liked it but he was bothered by the way it stuck to his lips and tongue. He’d eat a piece of PB&J, then rub his lips up and down along the log, then try another piece, then rub and rub some more. Janie eventually took her napkin and wiped his lips for him which was very amusing.

Finn wasn’t too interested in food but Alane really wanted to feed him something so she tempted him over with an almond butter biscuit. He didn’t end up tasting it, but he had to at least give it a token smell.

I love how Finn and Alane are making the same face here.

When we got home from our hike there was a mysterious package in the mail addressed to Buster Brown. I opened it up and found a small goat bell from Steve and Marianne! Buster Brown did not go on the hike with us, but we let him wear the bell for our daily walk that evening before putting it away for safekeeping. He looks very proud of it!