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Water, Rock and Sky

Hiking the Grand Canyon's Tapeats Creek

By Christa Sadler

Found in: | Outside | Hiking |

GETTING STARTED

WHERE One mile east of Fredonia, Ariz., on Highway 89A, take Forest Road (FR)22 south. The first 21.5 miles are paved, after which the road becomes well-maintained gravel and dirt. At mile 33, turn right onto FR 425 toward Crazy Jug Point and Monument Point. At mile 43 take FR 292 toward Monument Point. Continue 3.5 miles to the Monument Point parking area and trailhead. May, September and October are the best months for this hike; the road may be impassable when wet or snowy.

The first step is a little like falling off the edge of the world. Seventeen hundred feet below is the rumpled expanse of the Esplanade - Grand Canyon's answer to southern Utah's slickrock country. Beyond that, the Inner Gorge drops off into shadowy nothingness. Above, ravens wheel and call, as though daring you to take that first step.

The 25-mile Tapeats Creek to Deer Creek loop is one of the most diverse wilderness hikes in the Grand Canyon. Hikers leave the North Rim at either Indian Hollow or via the Bill Hall Trail from Monument Point, 4 miles to the east. Though 800 feet higher, the Bill Hall Trail offers the quickest drop to the juniper dotted plateau below, and to the canyon beyond. On this May hike, I'm opting for steeper but shorter.

The Bill Hall Trail was originally built by prospecting miners in 1876 but abandoned when rumors of gold thankfully proved to be false. The trail drops immediately and doesn't quit for about two and half miles, until it reaches the Thunder River Trail on the Esplanade. Here, the trail meanders easily between ancient agave roasting pits, pinyon and juniper trees, and muffin-shaped sandstone hoodoos - I'm finally able to look up while I walk. After a good rain, hundreds of potholes will shine like diamonds with fresh water, but they won't last long. I like to stash a few bottles behind a sandstone boulder for the way back up. And I never do this hike in the summer. The heat reaches triple digits, shade is at a premium and there is simply no water unless it rains.

This is a particularly fragile place, with archeological sites and cryptobiotic soil crusts that are easily damaged. In this landscape, even the old maxim "leave only footprints" is one to avoid, and staying on the trails and slickrock is critical. This fragile crust is a living organism; it holds water and binds soil together. Break it and the erosive cycle starts anew.

At the edge of the Esplanade, the bottom falls out of the world once more - far below is the broad desert expanse of Surprise Valley, so named because it looks out of place among the cliffs. The valley formed hundreds of thousands of years ago when a massive landslide gave way along a fault line. After dropping over the edge, the trail winds next to huge chunks of tilted cliff wall that slid and rotated along this fault line.

On the cactus-studded floor of Surprise Valley, I stop and listen to a silence so complete it makes the ears ring. To the east is the canyon of Tapeats Creek. Close to its edge, I hear the sound of flowing water. Thunder Spring hurtles out of the limestone cliff below, and cascades down a wall festooned with enough greenery that it could be Hawaii. This is the birth of Thunder River, and a miraculous place.

Water in the desert is always a miracle, and the rest of this hike boasts a lot of it. Springs such as this are the source for the perennial streams within the canyon, and they harbor precious ecosystems. Thunder Spring is a blessing of cool mist and roaring water and it demands a rest in the shade of cottonwood trees.

A thousand feet below Thunder Spring is Tapeats Creek, a lively bustle of energy, leaping over rocks and swirling into clear pools. The trail edges the creek, crossing here and there, up and down desert slopes and through massive Opuntia gardens for three and a half miles until it reaches the Colorado River, and Tapeats Rapid. From camp here, envious hikers can watch boats navigate the rapid, passengers shrieking in glee as the cold water hits them. The hikers' way downstream will be neither as easy, nor as quick.

Created by backpackers and river runners, the River Trail lurches and stumbles over boulders before climbing steeply away from the river and toward Deer Creek, a ribbon of green in a sere yellow landscape. At Deer Creek's Patio I take my shoes off and lie down on the cool sandstone ledges. Overhead, 500 million year old worm burrows and tracks from trilobites writhe through the ancient sediments of a shallow sea - life in stone.

There is a lot to do here, and many hikers spend two nights - at least. Wander along the dark abyss of the Narrows past Paiute Indian handprints on the walls and out to the Overlook, then follow the trail down to the river and splash under Deer Creek Falls as it cascades 140 feet out of a cleft in the sandstone. If you're patient, a passing river trip might give you a beer. It's worth the wait.

Upstream of the backpacker's campground is Dutton Spring, where the main source of Deer Creek spills out of a mossy crevice. You can climb around the falls and sit behind a curtain of water, and then visit the Throne Room, a massive overhang where slabs of fallen limestone have been pried and propped and balanced into chairs and tables.

Rest up and cool your feet in the clear water. Fill up your stomach and your water bottles, because tomorrow you climb - out of the creek, back to the dry desert of Surprise Valley, up the red cliffs to the Esplanade, and back through time to the rim and the ravens, still playing the currents overhead.

Christa Sadler is a writer, geologist, river and wilderness guide from Flagstaff, Ariz. Between the Grand Canyon, Colorado Plateau and Alaska, she's pretty certain she has the best office in the world.