Hiking & Backpacking the Black Ridge Canyons Wilderness
It rained, and then it rained some more, and then it snowed. And then it began raining again. It was the first week in May in Boulder, a time when hikers start looking to the hills, and begin hanging up snowshoes and getting out the trail runners. It would be a month or more before the high country was open, of course, but some lower-elevation hikes – Lost Creek Wilderness, the first sections of the Colorado Trail – would be feasible with 3-season gear. Usually.
But not this year. 3 weeks of almost-daily rain and low temperatures ensured that the local trails would be no better than mud and slush, and there was no letup in sight. The hiking itch would have to be scratched elsewhere. Coloradans usually make the pilgrimage to southeastern Utah when we want to get out in the spring, and we buzz right past the canyon country of western Colorado. The Black Ridge Canyons Wilderness, though less well-known than Canyonlands or Arches National Parks, is an area of deeply carved redrock sandstone canyons leading down from the Black Ridge west of Grand Junction to the Ruby and Horsethief Canyons of the Colorado River. It's an area more known for rafting than for hiking, and there are few established trails. It is wild and scenic, and – I hoped – a good deal drier than the Front Range.
A look at the map and the Non-technical Canyon Hiking Guide to the Colorado Plateau suggested a couple of possible loops. Of course even the most detailed topo maps are of limited use in planning a feasible route through canyon country. 20-foot cliffs don't show up on any map and they could leave me boxed in or cliffed out with little recourse but to retrace my steps.
Boulder was cold and rainy, and the mountain passes were snowy on the drive west, but the sun finally appeared near Rifle. I stopped in at my cousin's house in Grand Junction, and we eyed Black Ridge from her back yard. Clouds were rolling in, but there was a patch of blue over the ridge itself. Good enough.
A Black Ridge Canyons Wilderness Backpacking Trip Begins
I made it to the trailhead by 5 PM, driving over miles of primitive dirt roads that would become impassable mud troughs if it rained. I didn't care. I was at the trail and ready to roll. I slung my pack over my shoulders and enjoyed that instant feeling of transformation from civilian to hiker, city-dweller to rambler, home on my back, feeling free and wild as I began stepping down the trail.
The first miles were an easy cruise through the pinyon-juniper woodlands of Glade Park on established trails and jeep roads. I hit the head of a canyon and got my first canyon views, creamy Wanaka sandstone layered on top of the red Entrada formation. The trail looped around to the west side of the canyon and then clambered steeply down the Entrada and wound around some buttes on an outer plateau of the Kayenta formation. The low sun lit up the buttes, but clouds soon rolled in just as I reached the downclimb to the inner canyon. It was a good place to stop – not too exposed to the coming storm, and avoided a steep scramble in the cold and the wet.
I pitched my poncho tarp, taking care to pile big rocks on the stakes that were driven into the soft sandy soil. I scrambled inside just as the wind picked up and the rain pelted down, and began preparing dinner: tortilla soup, a favorite for wet, cold, windy evenings.
The morning was cloudy and damp, but I was eager to get down into the canyon. After a quick breakfast of coffee and a high-calorie breakfast mix I was soon down at the canyon bottom. The recent rains had left it lush and overgrown, making for slow going as I pushed through willows, sedges, reeds, cottonwoods, and horsetails. But water in desert canyons is a good and lovely thing, an opinion that was heartily endorsed by the many canyon wrens (and other small melodious brown birds) who sang me down the little stream.
After a couple of miles and a thorough soaking in the wet brush the canyon dried out and opened up and the skies cleared and I began enjoying a good dose of what I had come for. Towering red sandstone walls, pillars, and alcoves were set off by blue skies above and wildflowers below. The junipers seemed especially to revel in the abundant moisture, their branches drooping with heavy bunches of sky-blue berries. I encountered fresh bear scat every few hundred yards. It appeared that I had come at fat time in a lean land.
Another half-dozen miles of striding and scrambling brought me to the canyon mouth. A couple of rafters swooped by on the Colorado, at what seemed to be an unreasonable rate of speed. The river was high and muddy, covering the streamside willows. I crossed the canyon bottom to the riverside cliffs that I would have to traverse, and began the climb, following the use trail and a reassuring series of cairns. The cairns kept leading me higher along the bluff, approaching the base of a truly vertical cliff.
The first rule of cairn navigation is to stop at each cairn and find the next one before proceeding. I was high up on the bluff, with a promisingly wide ledge to my left, and another, perhaps wider, ledge above me at the base of the cliff. Despite decades of backcountry travel, I have never developed a good eye for spotting cairns and I find it especially hard to pick out a man-made pile of rocks from the natural piles of rocks in canyon country. I was on the inside curve of the river, and the convexity of the bluff precluded an assessment of either route for more than a couple dozen yards. I stood there for a good 10 minutes looking up, looking across, looking back, shifting a few feet from my perch in one direction, and then in the other. No luck. I could not spot the next cairn. But eventually I found a route through although it was difficult and on the technical side.
After this section, I soon found a pleasant camp back a bit from the reserved rafter campsites along the river and set up my tarp in a light rain. The rain passed, I ate my dinner, enjoyed the fading sunlight on the cliffs and retired for a deep and peaceful sleep. The next morning dawned clear and brilliant, with sky, sun, birds, and breeze all inviting me for a hike.
The bluffs were hard. There was a use trail, but the only tracks on it were those of a bighorn sheep, not the sort of thing that boosts your confidence. There were a lot of up and downs on soft dirt slopes in order to circumvent various outcrops, gullies and thickets. It took 3 hard hours to cover less than 2 miles, with a stop in a mini slot canyon to pour out murky river water and fill from a dripping spring. The sun on the river made for some glorious views in the middle distance, and a profusion of flowers decorated my route at close hand.
At the mouth of the canyon I was rewarded by a trail, a real trail, leading up from the rafter campsites into the broad bottom of the canyon. I could stretch my legs and actually walk and look around, reveling in the beauty of the spires and pillars that line the canyon, admiring the bold red rock thrusting against the solid blue sky. There was much to see and much to be thankful for.
I joined the wildlife of the canyon in enjoying the day's offering. Green-collared lizards and bighorn sheep seemed to not much mind my presence, keeping only half an eye on me as I slipped past into the heart of the canyon. Fresh lion tracks were a bit of a concern, and I stopped often to look above and behind as the canyon narrowed. The trail soon ended, but the going was not hard. I hiked to about a mile below an alcove and found a high bench on which to make my cowboy camp, enjoying frog song and starlight.
As always, the morning sun found its way late to the canyon bottom, and was just hitting the rim above the alcove as I arrived. It was very deep, perhaps 60 yards, and was formed by a transverse dike that diverts the creek and sends it rushing against the canyon wall to undermine it. It faces east and is just high enough to admit the morning sun for a short while after it rises above the canyon rim. Then it creates a brilliant light which diffracts by successive waves into a diffuse and mellow glow at its back. I got there at just the right time to experience this effect, walking from one mouth of the alcove to the other to enjoy the different glows and textures of the weathered sandstone as the angle of the sun increased.
An Alcove in the Black Ridge Canyons Wilderness
A Hike Out of the Black Ridge Canyons Wilderness
I ended my worship of sun and stone and proceeded up canyon hoping to find a shortcut exit and a quick and easy return to the trailhead. This was not to be. The most likely looking route out was a sandstone face more suited for rock climbing, and the rains had left it covered with a sheet of water. I returned back down canyon to the marked trail via some more technical and difficult travel.
As I worked my way up to the rim, I increasingly felt that I was working my way to freedom. My sense of relief and release when I finally gained the canyon edge was a surprise, but it was real. It appears that I am a walker. Not a scrambler, and certainly not a climber. I feel most at home, most connected, when I have an open route in front of me and sky all around. I don't want to press my face against a rock, I want to walk toward the horizon. I hoofed it back to Glade Park, stretching out each stride, racing the building thunderstorms that could mire me in deep slick mud, back through rolling hills and parks dotted with juniper and sage.
Need to Know
Information
Black Ridge Canyons Wilderness is part of the McInnis Canyon National Conservation Area, administered by the BLM. The area offers everything from easier day hikes to multi-day technical scrambles depending on the route you choose. No fees or permits are required, except to occupy one of the rafter campsites along the Colorado River.
Getting There
From Grand Junction, drive SW on CO 340 through Colorado NM (entrance fee waived if you are passing through). Follow signs to Glade Park. Drive 6 miles west on DS road past the Glade Park store to S 11 1/2 road, and turn right and follow it for a couple of miles to B South road. Turn left (west) and follow it some 8 or 10 miles to the Knowles Canyon TH. This road is probably impassable when wet.
Best Time to Go
Spring and fall.
Maps
National Geographic Trails Illustrated #208 Colorado National Monument/McInnis Canyons NCA.
Books
Non-technical Canyon Hiking Guide to the Colorado Plateau, 6th Edition, by Michael R. Kelsey.
Editor's Note: This article by Drew "HappyHour" Smith originally appeared in Issue 24 of TrailGroove Magazine. You can find the high definition Premium PDF download here with additional photos and more (included with a TrailGroove Premium Subscription).
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