In 1982, a stunning slot canyon was given the name Kaleidoscope by Mike Bogart and me (aka Jenny Hall).

The word Kaleidoscope originates from the Greek ‘kalos’ = beautiful, and ‘eidos’ = form or shape.

A close synonym is phantasmagoria. Both can be defined as ‘a constantly shifting complex succession of things seen that constantly change.’

Admittedly, the chosen name is often difficult to spell. Luckily we didn’t name it Phantasmagoria, right? That one is a name in search of a canyon. Help yourself!

This beautiful technical slot canyon joins another fork to then flow into the Escalante River. This canyon is now well known, often visited and well loved by many. The canyon cuts through a benchland named by the cowboys for a stock trail chopped into the rock. Thus, in modern times this stunning canyon is most often called Choprock or the South Fork of Choprock. A few of us continue to refer to it as Kaleidoscope. I think you’ll soon understand why we gave it the name we did.

Mike and I were the first to descend this canyon. We make that claim but were we truly the first? Deep into a narrow section of the canyon at a short waterfall rappel, we found cut moki steps! The steps were well worn by the water flow but clearly exposes an access route for the Ancient Ones, likely to access water (or driven by exploratory curiosity like ours). This is factual evidence that we were NOT the first of our species in this place. Awe inspiring, it was, and humbling.

Topographic maps were carefully studied and some preliminary scouting was done. One winter Mike and I schlepped ice axes, crampons and ice skates to the top of the canyon with the notion of making the descent with those tools. ‘Twas a fun idea but was abandoned.

In the cool June morning, we left camp in the Moody Creek drainage to ascend the cliff overlooking the vast vista of the Escalante River drainage to the west. The pure nature of exploration began here with a sense of standing in the spot where the carving of the canyon began, the birthplace of this incredible rock sculpture. This was the first image of the twists of the journey ahead.

Quickly the scene changed to a knee–deep riparian section of lush native plants and aquatic life. Traveling through the shallow watercourse it again soon changed. Abruptly we were descending into stunning tunnels and womb–like caverns. Photos were taken as the sunlight danced on the sculpted walls and changed with every turn of the canyon. The excitement grew at the expectation of what would be around the next bend. Ultimately the warmth of the summer day left the canyon as the walls continued to constrict blocking out the light. In the deepening shadows a bolt was placed for a rappel. The rope was pulled representing a final commitment to downward progress in this unknown canyon. No easy retreat now,

The previous year in August, Mike and I had descended a beauty of a canyon we named Poe. Our sleeveless Farmer John kayak neoprene bibs offered plenty of warmth on that trip, even with a late start. In stark contrast, on this day what began as a warm June morning jaunt turned into a cold scramble with growing concern for the unknown ahead. The canyon changed faster than my mood. Numerous cold swims and technical drops began to compound the sense of urgency as the cold became relentless. In a desperate attempt to gain warmth one of us would sit beside a small fire as the other would probe forward in a leap–frog fashion.

Continuing downward through the myriad of challenges and jaw–dropping beauty, the canyon eventually twisted and narrowed to halt our progress at the edge of a drop into a dark cold pool. Here the canyon made a sharp downcanyon dog–leg left turn offering no clue as to what lay ahead. I drew the short straw to drop into the water and scout ahead. Full of hope and horribly chilled I swam the first section to be stopped at another 90 degree bend. Blocking my progress the corner was choked with a thick flood debris soup of logs and juniper berries. Treading the frigid water, I struggled to clear a path forward.

Finally able to proceed through the right turn, my cold heart sank to see that this long narrow, water–filled corridor continued for quite a distance ending at a tower of logs. There was no view available beyond that. Fighting panic and now deeply cold, I retreated to swim back to Mike where he waited to haul me out to share my report. I was so near hypothermia that I could not tie into my harness. While I can truly tie most knots with my eyes closed, the knowledge and ability to do so had left me. Seeing my dilemma Mike tied a knot, dropped the rope and instructed me as to how to clip the carabiner into my harness.

My scouting report brought grim news. There was no clear end in sight to the cold or the long swims. The day was soon to turn to night. Warmth was now nearly impossible to gain. The situation turned serious. We were climbers. As is often the case, we looked to the rock for a solution. It became clear that we needed to exit the canyon, seek some sort of warmth and consider a bivouac to finish the canyon in the morning. An unlikely slanted crack seemed like our best option for an exit. Mike drew the straw on leading this unprotected, 5.9ish desperation crack. Actually, there was no straw drawn. He was the man for the job. I couldn’t even tie a knot! His successful climb out put us on the southern rim and into the welcome warmth of a waning summer day.

I have a framed photo of the two of us in shorts and cotton tees in a grateful embrace after the successful exit. In the background the deep cleft of the junction where my swim was stalled with the flood debris, cold, exhaustion and defeat was clearly visible. It looked like the long, dark tentacle of a rock born monster. We will meet it tomorrow. We had escaped, for now.

The night slowly passed with us huddled together in our neoprene, backpacks as pillows, sharing a single can of tuna (fortunate to have a Swiss Army knife opener), beside a tiny pool of rancid water full of tiny critters. I can’t say it was a pleasant bivouac but what unplanned bivouac is? Still, we were dry, warmed for a time by the heat of the rock that lingered and dreamed of what twists the canyon would reveal in the morning.

Grateful for the wee pothole of water and the warm summer morning we drink our fill and don our canyon gear. Perhaps after licking the tuna tin dry and swallowing a bit of insect protein? A rappel was set at the edge of the canyon above the spot where I’d seen the long corridor. Not wanting to miss any part of the canyon we rappel back into the canyon here. I walked up stream the short distance to where I could see the log tower from the opposite side. On a future trip to this spot I would recognize this log jam as I ducked my head and swam beneath the log jam warmly outfitted in proper neoprene layers. But that is a different story.

We finished the canyon midday with the spectacular final rappel. With relief and elation at the accomplishment we began our planned journey back to the camp on Moody Creek. Another twist in the adventure found us in the hot June heat walking downstream on the Escalante River. The deer flies were so voracious that I was aware of the streaks of blood running down the backs of my arms and knees. I ripped a willow branch and attempted to swat them away. This was ineffective. Rather than succumb to blood sucking madness, I slipped back into the protection of my neoprene suit. Midday in June with temperatures well over 90–degrees. Yikes! We chose heat stroke over blood letting.

Leaving the river and the persistent flies, we strolled along the Wingate Sidewalk on the south rim of the Edge of The Earth Canyon (aka Neon Canyon). The rock was so smooth we wished we had our mountain bikes.

Two more twists and this tale comes to an end.

Finally back at our camp along the Moody Creek, we were swarmed by clouds of cedar gnats (aka no–see–ums). You would know what a nuisance these mini devils are. Really? Does the bug torture never end? We gratefully filled our empty bellies and swatted away the gnats when we could feel or see–um.

However, Mama Lahonee (aka Mother Nature) had one more surprise for us. A storm miles to the south had dropped a load of water into the Moody Creek drainage. We watched in awe–struck wonder as the drainage below our camp swelled with flood debris and surging water. As the road north shared much of the distance with the creek bottom, our departure was delayed. Nothing to do but wait it out.

The entertainment was priceless; the throbbing sound of surging water, chocolate and caramel colors dancing in the current, the sulphur–like smell, the electricity in the air and the satisfaction of having successfully worked together through a new place on the planet.

While waiting, we were left to ponder what to call this canyon?

The name became quite obvious. The day and a half in this truly stunning canyon was clearly a kaleidoscopic experience with its ever changing images, sounds, moods, challenges, surprises, successes, geological diversity, sculpted walls, its myriad of colors and the many turns and twists.

Thus the name Kaleidoscope.

The first kaleidoscope device was invented in 1816 by a Scotsman, Sir David Brewster.

When I was a child I had a toy kaleidoscope. I spent hours turning the cylinder to view the shift of images of colors and shapes. Many years later I experienced a much grander kaleidoscope in a beautiful slot canyon in a remote desert wilderness.


Jenny

© 2024 Jenny West