I felt like Davy Crockett. The Trans Zion—a wonderful run that traverses Zion National Park from one end to the other—was getting too crowded. Once an uncommon adventure, it seemed like someone was now doing it every spring weekend.
So in May 2011 when Jared Campbell shoots me an email with a Google Earth file attached and the entire text of the message is “Call me. :)” ... well, I examined the file then called immediately. Turns out he had devised a new route through Zion National Park, a very clever one going from west to east over the best summits, through the best canyons, crossing some unknown territory, and with minimal time on actual trails. The Google Earth file showed a technical route climbing up to and then descending Icebox Canyon, running up the Hop Valley Trail to Wildcat TH, climbing the two Guardian Angels, then launching across unknown terrain hoping to connect with the West Rim Trail. From there the idea was to descend Imlay Canyon to the Narrows, then complete the Traverse by scrambling up Orderville Canyon. I loaded my Utah Topo! DVD, carefully studied the contours, and was somewhat surprised: this route actually seemed possible. This looked great.
Game on.
The logistics for Zironman are daunting: The most difficult canyon in the park, a long run in 100+°F temps, technical summits, and a march across ‘No Man’s Land’—an interesting sub–plateau so remote there was no record of anyone being in it. And the weather is definitely sub–optimal.
Paradox abounds in the desert: while by mid–June it had become virtually too hot to do this route, the Narrows of the Virgin River is still running at flood stage. Desert trips can have just as narrow of a window as mountaineering trips: one has to pull the trigger after the snow has melted but before it gets too hot. This year the window never opened—the snow was still melting by the time it was already too hot. Ah well. This route really grabbed our attention. We didn’t want to wait until next year.
I fly into SLC (the flight was delayed two hours, which proved significant). Jared picks me up at the airport in his Prius, and we head down to Zion NP, where we’ll meet Ryan McDermott, our partner in numerous other Zioneering Projects.
— Afternoon —
We buy supplies, including 30′ of webbing (which we hadn’t brought but would save the trip), shuttle a car all the way out of the east side of the park, and then drive all the way up the Kolob Terrace Road to hike five miles in to drop a gear cache at the put–in for Imlay Canyon.
Like I said, logistics were tricky: Imlay is one of the most technical canyons in the park, and our route would have us reach it after bushwhacking across the desert in 102°F temperatures. So it was necessary to schlep in and stash heavy packs containing a full set of ropes and full wetsuits including neoprene booties and gloves, for the cold pools of Imlay.
I climb a tree and stash our packs where they wouldn’t be disturbed, and we start the five–mile run back out to the car. Due to my plane being delayed, we didn’t get around to doing this until after dark. I started feeling uneasy about our project for the first time ... we were running uphill, at 11 PM the night before a 24–hour effort, after getting up at 4 AM that morning to catch the plane, and knowing we wouldn’t get to our campsite until 1:30 AM, with a 3 AM start planned.
Back in the car and driving out to the start at the far east end of the park, Ryan starts lobbying for starting at Wildcat TH instead of the full deal from the west boundary. Jared was psyched for the full route, but he is always totally psyched for doing anything, so this isn’t a big help for decision–making for mortals. I realized Ryan had a darn good idea; Wildcat was on the way just a few minutes ahead; we could save ourselves hours of driving, catch up on sleep, and still do all the hard parts, most of the good parts, and all the unknown sections of the route. I apologized to Jared—he is so strong, he could have done the full deal—but I didn’t think I could speed descend Imlay at night safely on 1 ½ hours of sleep, so at Midnight we pulled over and beached ourselves at Wildcat. I fall asleep off in the bushes while listening to Ryan and Jared happily talking and drinking beer in the parking lot.
I wake up to a glow of light in the east instead of an alarm at 3 AM—I’m already feeling great about this decision!
The opening section is a delight: we run down the trail at dawn, temperatures still cool, and scramble up North Guardian Angel. These are great peaks: each a singular massive rock, at an easy angle, in stunning locations. South Guardian Angel (SGA) is one of the finest summits in the hemisphere, and is probably climbed a mere 2–3 times a year. We joke that half the names in the summit register are ours. The crossing of the Subway (Left Fork of North Creek) is what keeps people away, but if you don’t mind filling your shoes with dirt and prickers and getting your body all scratched up, it goes fine. Jared and Ry even know of a freshwater spring down there, which helps a lot, as it’s hard to carry enough water for 12 hours.
From atop SGA we take a good look at No Man’s Land—it is important to plot a good route through the ultra complex hoodoos below us—after that, an upper valley in the distance looks fine. Out of sight is the crux of the whole route, getting down an uninterrupted cliff band to the Right Fork of Left Creek. We examined this spot on Google Earth and TOPO!, but there’s no way to tell if it’s doable or not except by trying it.
The hoodoos are quite complex: a series of disorganized and discontinuous ridges and rifts, filled with brush, loose sand, and cheat grass. We navigate a good route, while the dry grass seeds turn out to be surprisingly annoying—a hundred little prickers embedded in our shoes and socks—we want to stop and pluck them out but, since they’d be instantly replaced with more, better to mush on.
At last we’re out of all that and cruising through amazing country: a deep, dramatic, and unknown canyon on our right, assorted almost–never–climbed–peaks all around us. Normally we’d power up this but we take it easy conserving water, because it’s quite possible we could thrash for hours all the way to where we can almost see people up on the West Rim Trail but would be unable to get there—and thus be required to retrace our entire route back to Wildcat TH in the afternoon heat with no more water. Jared powers ahead eager to see if the route we’ve planned for a month will actually go.
It does!
The cliff band is no prob, and soon after we drop into and cross the Right Fork, knowing the West Rim Trail is directly above us. All it takes to get up is 1,500 vertical feet of 5.4 dirt, scrambling hand–over–hand up steep unconsolidated sand tenuously held in place by thorny bushes and loose rocks, and we’re back to the known world. Once up on the trail I run ahead to retrieve our packs from the tree, and find 15 boy scouts napping at the base of it. I run up, and without breaking stride, jump up and grab the lowest branch, swing up, and with loud thuds, toss down three packs amidst the scouts. My two companions run up, shoulder their packs, and hike off into the hinterland without a word. This scene was probably so weird, none of the scouts said anything.
We start down Imlay at 2:30 PM. Good—I have no desire to do a technical canyon with headlamps—this will probably give us enough time to pull the exit rappels in daylight.
We feel we have Imlay dialed, and it is very likely we have done it faster than anyone. This feels good. Zironman is the type of route one doesn’t just go for; one works up to it.
Nonetheless, a few curveballs are coming our way, as we are the first party down Imlay this year. It is choked with brush from massive spring floods. Some anchors are gone and have to be re–worked. Real good thing we brought that 30′ of webbing ... but 30′ is puny ... will it be enough? We motor through the Crossroads ... some people spend the night here; we eat a bar without stopping and enter the extreme narrows section.
The water is cold and the light is fading. We’ve had to set a few anchors and are almost out of webbing. Wearing everything, I pull my hood up and, with a shiver from more than just the temperature, turn on my headlamp for this dark and tight section. This is no longer a romp. One realizes we are really out there, with no possibility of rescue.
I look at Jared and Ryan.
“No mistakes guys!” says Ryan.
“No mistakes.” I emphasize.
I look Jared in the eye. He quickly nods affirmation.
There will be no mistakes. We are a great team, we trust each other totally, we have done this before, and we know how to do this now.
Two hours later, we pull the ropes after the long exit rap into the Narrows. The technical crux is done. We’ve exited the bowels of the earth.
Standing in the swiftly flowing Virgin River in the heart of the Narrows, where nobody has set foot for seven months, it nonetheless feels sort of comforting ... we know this place, and could bail here if needed by just heading downstream. But no thought of that: we load the wet ropes and gear into our packs, and with wetsuits still on, simply lay down in the current, and off we go. This works really well; butt down, we keep our feet pointed forward to bounce off rocks, and scoot down to the mouth of Orderville, an unassuming 25′ wide cleft in the 300′ high dark sandstone walls.
Perfect timing—it just got totally dark—wetsuits come off, headlamps come on.
We’ll hike up Orderville in the dark for the next few hours. It’s unusual to be going up a canyon instead of down, but is sort of pleasant: headlamps at the bottom of a deep slot canyon cast surreal shadows and shafts of light up the walls, with the sound, smell, and glimmer of flowing water at our feet. It sure has been a wet season; I’ve never seen Orderville with any water in it before. There are three falls or chockstones that require ropes when descending; at the first I scout a possible means of ascent, but then realize it’s much easier to just fake like I’m trying, and instead stall for a few seconds while Jared quickly fires it and then accept his helping hand.
We march on. Ryan got a bug in his ear. Literally—a bug flew in his ear and wouldn’t come out. Odd to have a totally random and seemingly innocuous event become somewhat cataclysmic, substituting high anxiety for an otherwise peaceful night hike, but such are the vicissitudes of life; one can do a great job avoiding travails, until one flies up your ear.
We are careful in the dark to look for the sidecanyon exit, not wanting to add miles to this journey, then find it, and are on an old jeep track heading back up to where we’ve stashed the car, which we reached at 3:15 AM after 21 hours. Not bad. We were a little wet and cold and still sort of revved, so we drive for an hour back down toward the valley where its warmer and we can flop out in the dirt for a couple hours of sleep before the drive back to SLC later that morning.
Everything went well. It’s a fabulous route ... depending on what turns you on. We shortened it with our revised start, but did the trickiest and all the unknown sections, so it’s clear the complete Zironman, a technical traverse from the western to the eastern boundary of Zion National Park, is doable.
Many things undone. One thing in particular.
At 8:39 PM on May 26, 2013 after 28 hours and 2 minutes,
Buzz, Ryan, and I finished a route we call ‘Zironman.’
Zion National Park has held a tight grip on my soul for most of my life and in the recent decade has lured me in to experience her multi–faceted beauty. This route embodies the type of excitement, adventure, effort, teamwork, and requisite planning that I have come to look for. The idea of this route sprouted out of past adventures the three of us have had together, which adds to my satisfaction with the fact that it was the three of us that executed it almost perfectly.
Buzz wrote a great account of the adventure, so if you’d like to learn more check it out! In an effort to not repeat the details Buzz captured so well, I’ll simply focus on several of the aspects of the adventure that stand out to me.
Ryan McDermott, Buzz Burrell, and I make a good team because we’re all pretty different and consequently bring different things to the table. Buzz has a resume of outdoor experiences rivaled by few, if anyone. He is brilliant at dissecting an objective, regardless of size or required skills, and is quick and intuitive with his planning. I always learn from Buzz. Once Ryan sinks his teeth into a project, any project, you know no detail will be overlooked. A master of identifying and mitigating risks, Ryan excels at planning and allocating sufficient time, effort, and resources to guarantee success. I bring enthusiasm and optimism to the table, and in the case of Zion National Park, experience with the nuanced geography and tricky route finding. We all have enough experience scrambling/rock–climbing and have all pounded plenty of dirt from years of trail running. Most importantly we’re great friends and have pushed through the best of times and also some really hard times together. We declared right from the get–go that there would be no pride, we would diligently double–check each other during the technical canyoneering sections and there would be no stupid mistakes as the consequences could be dire.
— The Night —I’ll never forget the night section. Zion by moonlight is hard to beat. The middle of the night Guardian Angel linkup with a crossing of the Left Fork of North Creek (Subway) was simply magical. Scrambling up South Guarding Angel (SGA) by moonlight was one of those moments I’ll keep with me forever. It was perfect. I had run this about a month earlier so the winding contours of the drainages, the sandstone canyons, house–sized hoodos, and perfect eastern ridge were fresh on my mind. I felt so connected with the route and that I didn’t need to think about where to go, my body simply knew where to take us. We paused on top, just long enough to get chilled and scope the daunting ‘No Man’s Land’ route to our east, softly illuminated by moonlight.
— Twilight —
Once past the bushwhack and into the upper portion of No Man’s Land, the earth and sun had danced through astronomical dawn and the stars began to dim as the atmosphere glowed its faint terrestrial blue. Both Ryan and I were paying close attention to the path of solar rays and their rate of change. Based on where we were at, we’d likely outrun the rising sun as we made our way to the right fork of North Creek and clambered up the steep west side of the West Rim plateau. The sun kissed the top of South Guardian Angel in glorious fashion, illuminating only the top white sandstone cap, and then moving quickly down to the pinkish rock below. I vowed to come back someday soon with the sole focus of documenting what we were seeing in high resolution time–lapse fashion.
Jared Campbell
Jared conceived of Zironman two years ago while studying Google Earth during one of his typical four–hours–of–sleep nights; it was an ingenious route, going from the west boundary of Zion National Park to past the east boundary via the most ‘interesting’ terrain. ‘Zironman’ was a fun way of saying the route involved climbing, running, and canyoneering, and it consisted of some iconic technical canyons as well as virgin country where apparently no one had been before. Now that the Trans Zion route seems crowded every weekend in May, these are the types of projects one dreams up.
We geared up for it on a hot day in back in June of 2011, but after spending 8 annoying hours shuttling a car in 100 °F temperatures, we wisely scaled our initial attempt back to ¾ of the distance. That Zironman ‘fun run’ went really well—we figured out that ‘No Man’s Land’ had a viable route through it, we did all the hard parts, and were really keen to come back the next year and knock it off.
The following year I was injured, but Jared and his best friend Ryan very graciously offered to wait until I recovered, a relative term though that may be, so we were quite keen this year. But mere hours before we were to start, the project was in jeopardy.
Our plan was to start at 5:30 PM in the afternoon, knock off Icebox, the first technical canyon while it was still light, then do the entire middle section—which is normally exposed to the blazing sun—during the night, arriving at the start of Imlay, the most technical canyon in the park, when the sun came up. An excellent plan. Except 5:30 PM wouldn’t come for another four hours. We were sitting around with nothing to do.
Could Jared handle doing nothing? I had seen him accomplish incredible projects, but never this. This might be the crux of the whole route.
After a few hours of sitting around we couldn’t handle it any longer, so decided to pull the trigger—let’s get this done.
Icebox was fun—a few big wall rappels took us down into the fun canyon with cold pools, big blocks of sandstone, and finally a path down to the junction of the La Verkin Creek Trail, which we reached with plenty of light left. I was pleased and relieved, as I had been very concerned about my knees, which 45 years after running my first ultra, weren’t quite as springy as days gone by. I had felt this first few hours would be my crux, and since my joints were holding up I felt we had this—we had the skills, the strength, the endurance, and knew the route.
We marched up the trail to where Jared’s angelic wife Mindy was car–camping at the Hop Valley Trailhead. That one aid station allowed us to drop our technical gear and go light for the run across the heart of Zion. I had been using the PB Adventure Vest which carried a small rope and tiny harness, and yet easily allowed running down the technical canyon because it didn’t bounce at all—excellent! Then dropping the technical gear allowed me to switch to the AK Race Vest, which is uber–light and comfortable while still carrying the water, food, and clothes I’d need for the rest of the night. The night would be long enough without having to endure bouncing, chafing, and extra weight.
The next highlight was North Guardian Angel, a moderate scramble up an absolutely beautiful desert summit, made even more so by climbing it by the light of the Full Moon. The bare desert sandstone was so clean and pure, it was almost as though we could see the millions of stars reflected in the rock.
Jared was doing all the navigating, and nailed the tricky bushwhack down into the Subway—the summits are almost the easiest part of backcountry travel in Zion, as steep little cliffs and gorges, packed with bristly Manzanita and Prickly Pear cactus are the norm. We filled bottles from our little spring in the Subway, and scrambled out of the gorge for North’s twin, the South Guardian Angel.
I dropped my pack at the base of SGA, turned off my headlamp, and did the whole thing by the light of the moon, with nothing but my great partners, the sky and the rock. SGA was one of the most amazing summits of my life.
Fun and games were soon over however, as we came off SGA and launched into No Man’s Land, our name for the trail–less, route–less connection between the known and the unknown. Jared again did an excellent job of night navigation—at least I think he did—it’s sort of hard to tell, as an hour and half of mashing through manzanita thickets in the wee hours of the morning leaves one too dazed to discern whether things are going great or horribly wrong. Ryan spent his time trying to decide which was more bristly: live manzanita or dead manzanita? I couldn’t tell the live ones from the dead ones, being occupied avoiding embedding a cactus spine in my foot.
At dawn we made another big drop down into the Right Fork of North Creek, then started the long grind up to the West Rim Trail; our previous ‘fun run’ proved very helpful, as we avoided the 5.4 vertical dirt pitch of 2011, instead reaching the sanctity of the Trail relatively unscathed, and before the sun rose to hit us.
The line of our route was very efficient, because after only a mile on the trail, we left it for the put–in for Imlay. The previous day Ryan and Jared had stashed a complete second set of technical gear here, plus food and water, ingeniously using a hunters cart to haul it all in.
The start of Imlay is always a sobering experience for me. Once you pull the rope after the first (of about 30) rappels, there is no way out except to keep going—canyoneering is very different than climbing in that respect—since what you are descending is impossible to ascend, there is no such thing as retreat. A mistake would not be good—I’m not sure how a rescue would be possible. It’s extremely confining, technical, and the water is shockingly cold.
As we put on our full wetsuits and harnesses, Jared asked me how I felt—a good question to ask. I felt tired. We started 15 hours ago and had just marched through the night, so being tired made sense. I asked Ryan the same question—everyone on the team has to be good to go—one cannot try or hope to do Imlay Canyon—you gotta do it. Fortunately we know how to do this—the three times our team has done this canyon are almost certainly the three fastest times it’s ever been done—and we’re all ultrarunners, so we also know that being tired doesn’t mean you’re anywhere close to being finished. But it had been a dry spring so the water in the potholes was very low—the two parties that had gone through the previous week reported difficult conditions, taking over 12 hours. We planned on seven.
Upper Imlay went fine, and then we entered the extreme narrows. Even though the only time I canyoneer is during these big projects, our system was working well—we alternate rapping off our 50′ and the 100′ ropes, moving them forward as fast as possible, plus using a 25′ length of bright yellow polypropylene tow rope to batman down the shorter drops, which is quicker than setting a rappel. The deepest pots require hooking out—placing a Black Diamond Talon (3–pronged hook) that’s attached to an etrier (stirrup) into a small hole drilled into the smooth, vertical, wet, unclimbable wall of the pothole—often while treading water.
We heard voices echoing in front, and soon came upon a group negotiating a tricky pothole escape. We wondered how to get around them, but only had to wait 10 minutes; at that point, with them safely out, Jared jumped in, swam to the other side of the pool, and with one leap grabbed a good hold and mantled out. The other party, who were really competent and nice people, witnessed this maneuver and gladly let us go by.
Jared pulled the mantle so fast a member of their group wasn’t quite sure what she saw and exclaimed, “What kind of tool was that?”
To which Jared replied, “My hand.”
After only six hours in Imlay, I started down the Exit Rappel, a 130′ free rappel into the popular and famous Virgin River Narrows. This is always a splendid moment, as the sense of escaping from the bowels of the earth into the delightfully vibrant and friendly Virgin River provides a palpable feeling of relaxation, of going into cruise mode for the rest of the route. I had about 20 spectators, stopping their hike to look up at some strange guy dressed head to foot in black neoprene, with a big pack and strange looking equipment draped all over, spinning slowly in the air above the River, emerging seemingly from nowhere. I smiled at the thought of being in someone’s slide show the next day.
We hiked down the Narrows, then turned up Orderville Canyon, a sidecanyon coming into the Narrows, to complete our trip. Orderville of course is normally descended, but Zironman is an inventive route and a linear one, so ascending the last canyon is how we were going to get to the east end of the park. Going up rappels can be problematic, but our technique is simple: Jared just fires it, then extends a hand down to help Ryan and I up.
We marched up and out of Orderville, where Mindy was again waiting for us, and with the last remaining light of the day—perfect timing!—drove us out the dirt road to a motel, 28 hrs and 2 mins after starting. Jared is extraordinarily strong and technically proficient, and in reality, he is how we were able to do Zironman, at least in this time frame. Jared could have done this route in less than 24 hours, so I am very glad and grateful he took the time to do it with me. And I am very happy that my body hung in there one more time and I was still able to do such a grand route, and equally grateful for such great friends.
0:00 – Start (4:37 PM)
1:13 – Top of raps in Icebox
3:45 – La Verkin Creek
6:02 – Hop Valley TH
8:45 – North Guardian Angel
9:45 – Subway
11:24 – South Guardian Angel
14:39 – Right Fork of North Creek
15:39 – West Rim Trail
16:32 – Imlay – Start
23:23 – Orderville – Start
27:12 – 4x4 Park
28:02 – Finish
I hope someone else tries Zironman—it requires not only fitness, but skill, knowledge and excellent partners—so it’s a worthy challenge. But no one else has tried to repeat our Zion Trifecta yet, which is sort of disappointing. I would hope these two grand routes become like Trans Zion—done by only a few pioneers early on then, once figured out, many others have a go so they may discover the stunning hidden worlds of Zion National Park.
For a project like this, develop your skills first. Consequences are high and a rescue is unlikely. Training and preparation is far more important than boldness and enthusiasm.
Buzz Burrell
• Zironman Topo Map
Ambitious Adventures in Zion:
Kolob Creek out the Narrows • Kip Marshall
Just Imlay & Heaps in a Day • Tom Jones
Zion Trifecta • Jared Campbell & Buzz Burrell
Zironman • Jared Campbell & Buzz Burrell
© 2013 Buzz Burrell & Jared Campbell