First weekend of March 2007

[jeffblaylock]

Got back from Big Bend last night. It was a "mad dash" weekend. I left work around 2 o'clock Friday, raced out to the park, did most of what I "planned," and high-tailed it back to Austin so I could return to work Monday.

I'll post an actual report soon, but, for now, here are two teaser pics:


Bluebonnets near Tornillo Creek


Me on the crown of Casa Grande

[tinneyr]

So, it looks like there was a horned frog atop Casa Grande.  Did you find the register?

[jeffblaylock]

So, it looks like there was a horned frog atop Casa Grande. Did you find the register?

Actually, there were three Horned Frogs up there, as I met two others (a son and father), and a Longhorn who had passed me on the way up. We found the register. It is located on the northernmost portion of the crown, under a small pile of rocks about 6 feet from the cliff edge. It is in a small glass mason jar that desperately needs to be replaced with a larger container.

[jeffblaylock]

For those of you who remember those old ABC Wide World of Sports intros, this first portion of my trip report is akin to "the thrill of victory."

FRIDAY, MARCH 2

My executive assistant is a wonderful guy, and he kept an eye on my emails and other work-tethers so I could leave Austin by 1:45 p.m. An hour later, I had purchased a 2-day supply of jerky from Whittington's General Store in Johnson City, and had sailed past Sonora three hours later. I reached Fort Stockton at 7:20, ending the 80 mph stretch of I-10. I saw 12 deer and 6 rabbits between Fort Stockton and Marathon.  The rabbits went on a tear, winning the Marathon to Persimmon Gap leg, 15-0. I saw three more rabbits, an owl, a javelina, and something that moved too fast to identify (probably a coyote) before reaching the Basin campground at 10:15. It was 48 degrees, probably the warmest it would be all weekend.

I wandered around the campground loops looking for any available space and found the worst one, Number 36, the vestibule to the men's room. But it was as good a place as any to stake out a tent. I fell asleep under a nearly full moon, but woke up in the early morning shivering. It was cold that night, alternately still and breezy. It had dropped into the 20s I found out later.

SATURDAY, MARCH 3

Today's goal was simple: summit Casa Grande.

After dismantling my makeshift camp, I headed down to Panther Junction to get a permit for the night. I selected the backcountry site at Croton Springs, the one I wanted, although I was disheartened that the adjacent site was occupied by a group. I was at the Lost Mine trailhead right at 9:00, and it was a brisk 33 degrees. My destination was 1,600 feet directly above me.



There was one other vehicle at the trailhead, and I quickly overtook two men hiking the Lost Mine Trail. They caught up to me at the saddle overlooking Juniper Canyon. We chatted a bit. They had driven to the park from Tallahasse, Fla., and were headed to the rim the next day. They continued up toward the trail's end, and I turned back to the west to begin the climb up the peak.



I was aiming for that lonely rock spire to the left of the hulking cliffs which comprise Casa Grande's crown. The route was easy to follow at first as it traced the spine of rocks dividing Juniper Canyon from Green Gulch. Quickly it steepened, narrowed, and became hemmed in by vegetation.



It's very important to realize that the path up Casa Grande is NOT A TRAIL. It is not maintained by the park service. It is, in fact, little more than a deer trail. It is steep, overgrown, loose, and treacherous. At times it is loose rock. Other times, it's rapidly eroding soil. Sometimes it is steep, bare rock. It's not hard to follow, but it's a hard path. I found myself on all fours at times, crawling up loose rocks or under branches, grabbing onto roots and rocks to gain leverage on the shifting soil and rocks.

Occasionally, a great view would open up through the trees and brush.





After passing a rock window, the route temporarily leveled off, providing some much needed relief to my legs and lungs. It also gave me a chance to eyeball the final path up the last pitch to the mountain's crown of cliffs. I had heard and read about the scree slope which stands as the final obstacle. A wrong path delayed my ascent and permitted a group of three climbers -- a father and his two college graduate sons -- to pass me. They scrambled up the scree slope like mountain goats. I crawled up it as though I was climbing a steep roof of spanish tiles, none of which were actually attached to the pitch.

Nonetheless, I managed to scramble up to the top.

From the ground, one imagines Casa Grande's imposing summit as a barren rock, lifeless except for the tiniest plants whose seeds were left here by peregrines and other soaring birds. Instead, it is a bowl-shaped grassland dotted with numerous pinyon pine trees surrounded by the rocky ledges that form the mountain's immense cliffs. This is a seldom-seen place, owing to the treacherous route, but I was immediately captivated.



However, my attention was quickly drawn to the high point (though technically not the mountain's summit, which was behind me), where it appeared that someone was holding a TCU flag in the stiff wind. I hollered out, "GO HORNED FROGS!" The distant man waved his flag emphatically. A party of three had passed me beneath the scree slope, where I had climbed to a dead end, and had already reached their destination. Never expecting to see the banner of my alma mater all the way out here, I hurried to their location to meet two fellow Frogs on top of Casa Grande.



The Congers had brought a bottle of champagne to celebrate their ascent of Casa Grande. Dad Jim had been up there before, and he showed us the photo he'd left there of his first summit party. Son James was also a Horned Frog, and his other son Brent took a photo of the three of us holding the Horned Frog flag. We swapped stories, peanut butter crackers, animal cookies, and, of course, champagne toasts. We also each left a note in the tiny mason jar holding the summit posts. It is located on the northern lip of the mountain, under a small pile of rocks less than 6 feet from the edge. My summit note read:

MARCH 3, 2007
JEFF BLAYLOCK
of Austin, Texas
waved a flag of his alma mater
TCU
on this spot!
And met 2 fellow Horned Frogs and a Longhorn

The Congers headed down shortly thereafter, but I roamed around the bowl atop the peak. It appears as though a lightning-caused fire claimed a great many of the pinyon pines, but the grasses had returned. The dry winter had turned them a golden hue, but they seemed nonetheless vibrant. The views were incredible:











After about an hour and 45 minutes on top, I started my descent from the summit of Casa Grande. The first obstacle was the wicked steep scree slope I had struggled up earlier in the day. I have read accounts of this portion of the hike which described it, at best, as a "controlled slide."



I said a prayer before taking the first step, concerned as I was that my surgically repaired knee might not enjoy the first few steps.

A few steps is all I got to take ....

[SHANEA]

and...

[bdann]

anxiously awaiting the rest of the story...
Casa Grande is an awesome climb, after I did it, I said, "never again".....but since I've changed my mind.  I busted my @ss so many times coming down that scree slope....but as they say, time heals all wounds.   :lol:

We just missed you at Croton Springs.  We left the Saturday you climbed CG.

[jeffblaylock]

and...

My descent of the scree slope began innocently enough with several firm steps, though the rocks slid around a bit. Another step resulted in a bit more sliding, and I fell onto my rear with a bit of a chuckle. After a few more steps, I slid a few feet, falling again to my rear. The next step began a slide that simply did not stop.

I had read from others who had made this climb that the scree slope descent was, at best, a "controlled slide." At first, I thought it was under control, as it was a slow roll, with the rocks only moving a little bit as I passed over them. My attempts to stop and get upright only seemed to make it worse. Before long, the rocks were sliding down the steep slope with me, and the natural contour of the mountain was taking me to the left, away from the "trail" I had followed to the summit.

The slide began to pick up speed, and I was sliding farther from my intended route. What's more, I couldn't see the end of the slope from the low angle I had to view it from. I concluded I needed to stop and tried, vainly, to dig my heels and trekking pole into the ground. I dragged by left hand through the rocks, but none of this was working. As the rockslide continued to pick up speed, I could see the route the rocks were following was going to get steeper.

It didn't appear as steep to the left, and there were a handful of pinyon pines growing along the margins of the slope and on what appeared to be the brink of a fast-approaching drop off. I rolled hard to the left, hoping to reach the margins of the scree slope. This action started those rocks sliding, and I was now sliding feet first on my stomach, but I was lined up toward the trees. I caught hold of a branch of a dead tree; the branch snapped off and became part of the slide. Looking over my shoulder, I could see the trees coming fast, and my ears were picking up the unmistakable sound made by rocks that have fallen some distance and struck rocks below.

With desperate effort, I caught hold of the roots of a tree with my right foot and snagged a branch with my right hand. The rest of my body swung around this pivot point, and I realized how close I had gotten to the brink of some kind of pour-off. Rocks continued to tumble down the slope and move underneath me. I was able to secure my left foot against another root and had, for the moment, brought myself to a stop. In a minute or so, the rocks ceased moving, though they shifted any time I moved. My first attempt to move upslope from the tree started the rockslide anew, and more rocks tumbled off the pour-off's unknown depths.

I grabbed hold of an adjacent tree and was able, after several moments of struggle, to climb out of harm's way ... and onto an adjacent scree slope. I got to my feet and leaned onto my battered trekking pole, standing as upright as I could on the steep slope, and I took an inventory of my situation.

I had slid far below the point where the summit route would have left the slope, and I immediately ruled out trying to climb back up to reach it. I thought I could reach the "trail" after descending beyond the drop-off, if a way could be found, but I might end up under the route and cut off. At least the slope I was now standing on ended -- or at least appeared to end -- in a group of trees and -- great -- a huge agave, so any subsequent slide would not be so perilous.

I decided to descend the slope I was precariously standing on, and I got down without much slipping and sliding. The last portion was very steep, and I slid down the final 10 feet or so on my rear. Standing on firm ground, I took a more careful inventory and made sure I was not injured. I spent about 15 minutes plucking cactus spines out of my left hand and arm. There must've been cactus pads in the rocks. My pants were torn to ribbons. My shoulder was already sore from my grasping those branches. My trekking pole was battered but functional. My camera was fine, but the zoom lens I was carrying took the brunt of my weight when I rolled over (It's fine.).

My GPS disappeared in the rockslide. It had been clipped to my belt, but we got separated during my slide. There would be no going back for it, and its stored coordinates and tracks, including my summit route and exploration, are lost. As I alluded to in the previous post, this is that ABC Sports "agony of defeat" moment.

I looked to the east and south, but the brush and trees (and more rocky slopes) stood between me and the route I had taken. I could not see through them far enough to tell if I could even reach the route. I thought I could make out the drop-off I had avoided tumbling over, and it is probably a good thing I did stay above it. It appeared to drop about 10 feet, give or take a couple, though I couldn't see the bottom from my angle. I'm sure there was already a pile of rocks there, and now it was larger.

Looking back to the north, I could see a path of least resistance which appeared to head right for a distinct trail-looking path, most likely a deer trail. I made my way toward it.



I followed this deer trail down -- more or less straight down -- the northern slope of Casa Grande. Deer are not particularly good trail engineers. Then again, they are designed to travel steep, narrow, overgrown paths such as this one. The above photo was taken in one of the few sections which offered a view of my destination: the Lost Mine Trail.

The trail alternated between steep crumbling soils and steep rock-strewn crumbling soils. I slid and fell numerous times, but made steady progress down. I reached the Lost Mine Trail nearly three hours after a rockslide swept me off the rough route down from the summit of Casa Grande and forced me to use a steep deer trail to descend the northern shoulder of the peak. I slid numerous times on this ad hoc route, as my two legs and boots are no match to a deer's four legs and hooves when it comes to traversing loose rocks and soil. My quads were so strained from the steep descent, I could hardly walk upright on the level trail.



I reached the trailhead about 10 minutes of hobbled walking later. I had last seen my Land Rover from 1,600 feet above it, and now it was right in front of me. As I slid into the driver's seat, the bruises on my backside began to ache. I drove down to Panther Junction to check in with the ranger and chat with a couple of folks. Then it was on to a desert locale to check out some interesting geology.

I hiked off-trail for a couple of miles, and it was much easier than the steep up and down of Casa Grande. On the other hand, every muscle ached and each step was a hard one. Still, I found some fascinating geologic features and one particularly beautiful stand of bluebonnets.



I was tracked by a couple of coyotes for awhile on my hike. They were elusive in the fading sunlight, and I had trouble getting any kind of a photo of either of them.



From the desert, I watched the sun set through the clouds and a partially eclipsed moon rise over the Deadhorse Mountains.





Shortly thereafter, I settled in for what was to be a cold night.

[BigBendHiker]

Wow, Jeff!  That descent sounded like no fun at all.  Makes me want to rethink going up to Casa Grande.    As you said, good thing you did not get to the drop off.  10' is more than enough to result in a serious injury or fatality.  Glad you made it OK, albeit skinned up and losing your GPS.


BBH

[SA Bill]

What an adventure Jeff! Glad you survived. Wonderful pics...especially the partial eclipse!!
   Bill

[Al]

That sounds like it got pretty serious. A potential serious downside of hiking in such rugged country alone.  Great job stopping your slide in time.  Hope you didn't get any cactus thorns in your leather seats!

Al

[Picacho]

I guess you could call that a rock glissade.  Glad you ended up in one piece.  Great pics!

[Boot Canyon 1 Cougar]

Jeff, what a scare!

I'm so glad everything ended up OK.  

Great photo of the Moon.

Thanks for sharing your story.

[Voni]

Great writing!  Couldn't stop reading!

Thanks for sharing your adventure!  And grand pictures.

Voni
  sMiling

[chisos_muse]

That moon shot is killer! :D  I can't stop looking at it....

[RichardM]

Glad you made it back!  Great pics.  My Dad also ripped up a pair of pants coming down Casa Grande, so you aren't alone.  He voluntarily slid down the scree slope on his butt, but fell a few times later on the deer trail.  I took a pocket knife to them and converted them to shorts for use in the hot springs that night. :)