Angel episode:Are You Now or Have You Ever Been?
The title of this episode suggests the time in which this episode takes place, the 1950s, specifically making reference to the question posed to many witnesses testifying in the McCarthy hearings on Communism. The title hints to the main idea or plot of this story, which is, I believe, how easily people are manipulated when they are fearful and paranoia infiltrates the environment they are in.
In this episode Angel asks his investigative team to look into the history of The Hyperion Hotel in Los Angeles. In the flashback scenes we learned that he(Angel) was once a resident at this hotel and that his presents was not exactly welcome. We learn further that there is a demon that inhabits the hotel, he feeds on the negative emotions of the hotels occupants, specifically fear and hate. I felt that in the period of time Angel was living in this hotel he was very much in the midst of a personal struggle, in transition from the vampire he was to the being what he is at present and perhaps this was the reason behind his less than forthcoming attitude toward this particular investigation. Possibly he was embarrassed or ashamed of this period in his life.
Angel, eventually leaves the hotel and its occupants to the Demon. This was the part that puzzled me the most. Angel knew that the Demon was highly manipulative and he even told Judy that "There's something in this Hotel, something that's making people crazy." So, it seems somewhat strange to me that Angel is surprised when Judy betrays him as being guilty of the murder of the candle salesman, after all he must have had some idea that the suicide was provoked by this presence, especially given the fact that there had been two other suicides at the hotel in the past 3 months. a If this Demon could drive someone to kill himself it could certainly be the primary reason Judy betrays Him in the end. Also, while consoling Judy when she is recanting the reasons she was fired from her position at the bank in Kansas, Angel stated "Fear makes people do stupid things." in reference to Judy's supervisors. This also seemed a little out of place given how Angel behaves during his first interaction with the Demon after his attempted hanging. Is Angel manipulated by the Demon? I would say not in the scents that the Hotel guests are. Watching the first exchange between the Demon and Angel it would certainly seem, by the look on Angels face that he did feel let down by his new friend. I would say that most certainly the Demon was manipulating Angel but I would also say that Angel allowed himself to be manipulated, because the Demon certainly didn't have the same power over Angel as he did over the Hotel residents. Maybe this is going out on a limb here but for one moment consider what the life of a vampire must be like, I wonder how many unpleasant encounters with people Angel has had up to that point in his life, probably quite a few. I would guess that his unpleasant dealings with people were the reason he was portrayed as so reclusive at the beginning of the episode.
I believe that Angel was patially if not fully aware of the Demon's intentions to manipulate him. After all he was returning to the Hotel(1952 Angel)with implements to kill the Demon, clearly the Demon was aware of this and I would suspect that Angel would have known that the Demon would try and resist his own destruction, by using his stongest weapon, his influence on the people surrouning Angel. Given the above sited points I found it strange Angel would have given up so easily. The conclusion that I came to was that he left the hotel and its occupants to the Demon because he just didn't care about people enough at this point in his life to stick around and defend them, especially,one could assume, after a lifetime of being persecuted by people. Wanting to correct this wrong, and I believe having changed over time, led Angel back to this hotel to confront this demon and possibly his own demons.
There is, however, another way of looking at this. If you believe that the power of manipulation the Demon had over Angel was complete than it would stand that the majority of Angel's actions in this episode are influenced by the Demon. From Angel's initial defence of Judy to his purchasing of items to kill the Demon. One thing that Angel said that may support this idea was in response to the bookstore owner's question So why does a vampire want to help a bunch of humans? Angel responds that he wasn't sure. It could be that the Demon would benefit from equally or possibly more to Angel's fear,paranoia and, eventually hatred even though his fears and paranoia were based in reality. If you think about it Angel's behavior could be compared to the behavior of the other hotel residence. The difference being that he was somewhat aware of what was taking place and the occupants of the hotel were not.
If I had to guess I would say it's more the former rather than the latter but it is impossible to say with any type of accuracy due to the fact that we are not vampires or demon nor do we live in 1952. So our analysis is only as good as our own personal experiences and while I feel this episode is a metaphor and obviously not based on events that could take place, one could still place yourself in the shoes of the characters and try and think like they think or might think if they weren't fictional.
Saturday, October 24, 2009
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
Analysis #1
Angel episode:Are You Now or Have You Ever Been?
The title of this episode suggests the time in which this episode takes place, the 1950s, specifically making reference to the question posed to many witnesses testifying in the McCarthy hearings on Communism. In this episode Angel asks his investigative team to look into the history of a Hotel in Los Angeles. Angel is very cryptic in the way he asks them to do so, he did not elaborate at all as to the reasoning behind his request suggesting that there is a personal connection in this particular instance. Through out this episode there are many flashbacks that shed light on his(Angel)reasons behind his investigation. Further more the way in which he asked his team to investigate the history of this hotel was very kirt, and I got the impression that he was hiding something or that there were certain things he did not want his team to know. Perhaps he was embarrassed or felt some amount of same for something that took place. In the flashback scenes we learned that he was once a resident at this hotel and that his presents was not exactly welcome. This conclusion was drawn due to the way the bell hop was less than enthusiastic when he was asked to deliver the bill to Angel's room. I am not familiar with the premise of the television series but I surmised that he is a vampire trying to do good or right some wrongs that he had committed in the past. I felt that in the period of time Angel was living in this hotel he was very much in the midst of this personal struggle, and perhaps this was the reason behind his less than forthcoming attitude toward this particular investigation. Possibly he was embarrassed or ashamed of this period in his life.
As this episode progresses we see a glimpse into American culture in the 1950's, for example how the homosexual lifestyle was totally unacceptable. In one of the flashbacks a gay couple is seen interacting, once the realize they are being watched the quickly change their demeanor and begin to act as two heterosexual males in conversation. It seems in this episode one of the ideas the writers are trying to convey is the paranoia that had infiltrated society at this time in our countries history.
After a few untimely deaths that take place we learn that a "Demon" was feeding off, and amplifying this sentiment of paranoia. Angel had befriended a young girl who was running from something and ultimately betrayed Angel, after being betrayed the residents and employees of this hotel hang Angel from a balcony, their paranoia and fear being fed by the demon. I would assume that Angel at this time had the power to stop this demon but instead gives the residents of this hotel to him, I would imagine because of what they tried to do to him. One can assume that Angel ultimately felt ashamed of this action and this would be the reason he was less than forthcoming with his initial request to his investigation team.
Wanting to correct this wrong, and I believe having changed over time, led Angel back to this hotel to confront this demon and possibly his own demons.
The title of this episode suggests the time in which this episode takes place, the 1950s, specifically making reference to the question posed to many witnesses testifying in the McCarthy hearings on Communism. In this episode Angel asks his investigative team to look into the history of a Hotel in Los Angeles. Angel is very cryptic in the way he asks them to do so, he did not elaborate at all as to the reasoning behind his request suggesting that there is a personal connection in this particular instance. Through out this episode there are many flashbacks that shed light on his(Angel)reasons behind his investigation. Further more the way in which he asked his team to investigate the history of this hotel was very kirt, and I got the impression that he was hiding something or that there were certain things he did not want his team to know. Perhaps he was embarrassed or felt some amount of same for something that took place. In the flashback scenes we learned that he was once a resident at this hotel and that his presents was not exactly welcome. This conclusion was drawn due to the way the bell hop was less than enthusiastic when he was asked to deliver the bill to Angel's room. I am not familiar with the premise of the television series but I surmised that he is a vampire trying to do good or right some wrongs that he had committed in the past. I felt that in the period of time Angel was living in this hotel he was very much in the midst of this personal struggle, and perhaps this was the reason behind his less than forthcoming attitude toward this particular investigation. Possibly he was embarrassed or ashamed of this period in his life.
As this episode progresses we see a glimpse into American culture in the 1950's, for example how the homosexual lifestyle was totally unacceptable. In one of the flashbacks a gay couple is seen interacting, once the realize they are being watched the quickly change their demeanor and begin to act as two heterosexual males in conversation. It seems in this episode one of the ideas the writers are trying to convey is the paranoia that had infiltrated society at this time in our countries history.
After a few untimely deaths that take place we learn that a "Demon" was feeding off, and amplifying this sentiment of paranoia. Angel had befriended a young girl who was running from something and ultimately betrayed Angel, after being betrayed the residents and employees of this hotel hang Angel from a balcony, their paranoia and fear being fed by the demon. I would assume that Angel at this time had the power to stop this demon but instead gives the residents of this hotel to him, I would imagine because of what they tried to do to him. One can assume that Angel ultimately felt ashamed of this action and this would be the reason he was less than forthcoming with his initial request to his investigation team.
Wanting to correct this wrong, and I believe having changed over time, led Angel back to this hotel to confront this demon and possibly his own demons.
Thursday, October 15, 2009
Reflection #2
The crux of our journey was fighting our travel fatigue and crossing the border into Ecuador at a small town called Tumbes. Tumbes is like many other border towns in that it seemed lawless, remote, and dangerous. This town is not without significance, it is the location where Pizarro and his Conquistadores first landed in South America in 1532, marking the beginning of the end for indigenous people living on the continent. It was hard for me to imagine, as our bus crossed the vast lifeless desert that comprises most of the northern coast of Peru, how Pizarro was able to traverse this area with relatively few men and go on to determine the fate of millions upon millions of people. It took us nearly 8 hours to cross the most hostile landscape that I had ever seen, almost completely void of anything but rocks, sand and the Pacific Ocean.
I had crossed the border at Tumbes several times before and it was never a pleasant experience. This time it would be worse. After a total of 16 hours on a bus we reached Tumbes early in the morning. The bus station had high walls and no one dared leave the safety of the bus terminal. After an hour we were able to arrange transportation to the actual boarder crossing which is a few miles away from the town. Once we reached the customs office we got our exit stamps from the Peruvian side and made our way to the Ecuadorian customs office. It was here that we learned there was a transportation strike in Ecuador and the whole area was paralyzed. At this point we had two options, either wait in Tumbes for the strike to resolve itself, which could take days, or try and make our way through the area inspite of the strike. I was less than enthusiastic about our choices but that is the reality of travel in developing nations. I had a reoccurring fantasy of lying on a beach in the sun sipping a LARGE cocktail. We would have to run through the strike in order to make this come to fruition.
Outside the Ecuadorian border office we ran into two somewhat pushy and possible shady guys who offered to take us through the strike and into a town called Machala. It was against both of our better judgments but what choice did we have, so off we went on foot. In the distance we could see the smoke rising from burning tires and large mounds of dirt and rocks piled on the road in order to barricade traffic. As we walked my brother and I discussed strategies in the event the situation went south. We have both been the victims of violent muggings and we were not excited at the possibility of repeating those experiences. In reality, if they had decided to rob us there was very little that we could have done, I suppose we only talked about what we would do to make ourselves feel better about the potentially perilous situation we were entering. We crossed the first barricade to find several trucks waiting, shuttling people between obstacles set up by the strikers or in some cases taking dirt roads into banana fields or the scrubby tropical growth that had replaced the bleak desert. We repeated the process of jumping in and out of the backs of trucks, bouncing along back roads,and walking at times for a few hundred meters in between the earthen barriers topped with burning tires. Through the entire process we were hypersensitive, to the point of being paranoid, to changes in the body language of our companions, trying our best to predict any trouble that might be awaiting us around the next bend. It was cloudy, very humid and at times raining and it wasn't long before we were soaked. At this point we had not slept for more than 24 hours and the environment that we found ourselves in was made even more surreal by our sleep deprivation. I recall as we walked seeing the enormous carcasses of snakes that had been hit by passing vehicles,the largest as I seem to recall was 10' in length. Our companions informed us that these snakes are very common in the banana fields that surrounded us.
The rain set in as we crossed yet another barricade, I notice small stones littering the area around the earthen mound from what I can only assume were from clashes between the protesters and police or possibly the strike runners such as ourselves or our new friends. It has been my experience in Latin America that small stones were the preferred weapon of unruly mobs of protesters. It began to rain with more force now, the rain drops stinging slightly as they hit my face. There were no trucks to give us a lift so we continued to walk, soaked to the bone. I observed Semi trucks with loads of gasoline waiting for the strike to break so they could deliver their cargo. Apparently, the strike had persisted for days and gas stations tanks had run dry in the effected areas. After walking for approximately 3 or 4 miles we reach a round about in the road and a few waiting pick up trucks, after debating price for a bit we found a driver that would do it for a reasonable price considering the circumstances. After a bit of time in the back of the truck the green countryside started to give way to more buildings and houses, soon we were at the edge of the city, Macala. The truck driver dropped us off and, we walk around for a bit looking for suitable accommodations. Once we found someplace that was to our liking and had been shown to our room we called the front desk and had them bring a few Clubs up, the Ecuadorian beer of choice, for ourselves and our companions. Cheers! here's to earning it. I'm not even sure it was much past noon but hey we were on vacation right.
I had crossed the border at Tumbes several times before and it was never a pleasant experience. This time it would be worse. After a total of 16 hours on a bus we reached Tumbes early in the morning. The bus station had high walls and no one dared leave the safety of the bus terminal. After an hour we were able to arrange transportation to the actual boarder crossing which is a few miles away from the town. Once we reached the customs office we got our exit stamps from the Peruvian side and made our way to the Ecuadorian customs office. It was here that we learned there was a transportation strike in Ecuador and the whole area was paralyzed. At this point we had two options, either wait in Tumbes for the strike to resolve itself, which could take days, or try and make our way through the area inspite of the strike. I was less than enthusiastic about our choices but that is the reality of travel in developing nations. I had a reoccurring fantasy of lying on a beach in the sun sipping a LARGE cocktail. We would have to run through the strike in order to make this come to fruition.
Outside the Ecuadorian border office we ran into two somewhat pushy and possible shady guys who offered to take us through the strike and into a town called Machala. It was against both of our better judgments but what choice did we have, so off we went on foot. In the distance we could see the smoke rising from burning tires and large mounds of dirt and rocks piled on the road in order to barricade traffic. As we walked my brother and I discussed strategies in the event the situation went south. We have both been the victims of violent muggings and we were not excited at the possibility of repeating those experiences. In reality, if they had decided to rob us there was very little that we could have done, I suppose we only talked about what we would do to make ourselves feel better about the potentially perilous situation we were entering. We crossed the first barricade to find several trucks waiting, shuttling people between obstacles set up by the strikers or in some cases taking dirt roads into banana fields or the scrubby tropical growth that had replaced the bleak desert. We repeated the process of jumping in and out of the backs of trucks, bouncing along back roads,and walking at times for a few hundred meters in between the earthen barriers topped with burning tires. Through the entire process we were hypersensitive, to the point of being paranoid, to changes in the body language of our companions, trying our best to predict any trouble that might be awaiting us around the next bend. It was cloudy, very humid and at times raining and it wasn't long before we were soaked. At this point we had not slept for more than 24 hours and the environment that we found ourselves in was made even more surreal by our sleep deprivation. I recall as we walked seeing the enormous carcasses of snakes that had been hit by passing vehicles,the largest as I seem to recall was 10' in length. Our companions informed us that these snakes are very common in the banana fields that surrounded us.
The rain set in as we crossed yet another barricade, I notice small stones littering the area around the earthen mound from what I can only assume were from clashes between the protesters and police or possibly the strike runners such as ourselves or our new friends. It has been my experience in Latin America that small stones were the preferred weapon of unruly mobs of protesters. It began to rain with more force now, the rain drops stinging slightly as they hit my face. There were no trucks to give us a lift so we continued to walk, soaked to the bone. I observed Semi trucks with loads of gasoline waiting for the strike to break so they could deliver their cargo. Apparently, the strike had persisted for days and gas stations tanks had run dry in the effected areas. After walking for approximately 3 or 4 miles we reach a round about in the road and a few waiting pick up trucks, after debating price for a bit we found a driver that would do it for a reasonable price considering the circumstances. After a bit of time in the back of the truck the green countryside started to give way to more buildings and houses, soon we were at the edge of the city, Macala. The truck driver dropped us off and, we walk around for a bit looking for suitable accommodations. Once we found someplace that was to our liking and had been shown to our room we called the front desk and had them bring a few Clubs up, the Ecuadorian beer of choice, for ourselves and our companions. Cheers! here's to earning it. I'm not even sure it was much past noon but hey we were on vacation right.
Sunday, October 11, 2009
Observation #2
This past Friday I came to the conclusion that a bit of exploration was in order, I had decided to try and hike up a drainage called Hogum Fork. This canyon cuts a deep gash in the south facing aspect of Little Cottonwood Canyon. Its most impressive feature is the canyons west slope, a massive buttress of white granite shooting, what seems almost vertically, from the “u” shaped canyon bottom, “u” shaped from tens of thousands of years of glacial abrasion. I was aware of the canyons location but had no idea were the actual trail head began. I parked at a pull off a bit down canyon from the mouth of Hogum Fork. I knew that there were quite a few trails running up and down Little Cottonwood Creek, my plan, if you can call it that, was to simply make my way up the initial steep slope at the canyons entrance, then once I reached the upper valley the actual trail would become apparent and I would have an easier time getting back down, a fairly sound plan by my measure.
I got out of the car, threw my pack on my shoulders and began walking down a wide trail that lead from the road toward Little Cottonwood Creek. After about a hundred yards this trail joins another trail, this one is also nice and wide and almost runs the entire length of the canyon. This trail is popular with mountain bikes so it is important to keep an ear out for riders charging down the trail, at ridiculous speeds I might add. I didn’t really feel like becoming road kill to a mountain biker so I quickly took the first exit. The small trail I chose meandered its way through a forest of towering Douglas Fir and White pine interspersed with smaller Quaken Aspen. The trail was headed in the direction I wanted to go… sort of, so I continued on for 15 or 20 minutes until it reached the creek’s edge. I sat there a bit and looked at the water. It seemed an unreal blue, almost turquoise. This time of year the majority of the water in the creek is spring fed as opposed to run off from melting snow. In the spring the creek is difficult and dangerous to cross, but being late summer I was easily able to find a spot where I could leap from boulder to boulder, crossing in just a few bounds. The smooth granite is slippery and crossing wasn’t completely uneventful, but for the sake of my pride I won’t elaborate. Once reaching the other side the trail greatly diminished, fortunately I was able to hear the stream that ran out of Hogum Fork. I followed the sound now on what could only be game trails. As I followed these slight trails cutting through the under brush I began to see more wild life and signs they had left behind. I startled a small fawn or rather it startled me or I guess you could say we scared the shit out of each other if we’re going to be honest.
Upon reaching Hogum Creek, I followed it for a time as it rose ever steeper to the mouth of its origins. I saw a garter snake along its banks. I stopped for a quick break to graze on some wild raspberries. Soon the creek became too steep to follow almost becoming a low angle waterfall. From the crest of the canyon's steep entrance to the confluence of Little Cottonwood creek, Hogum creek must drop, I’m estimating of course, a solid 1000 vertical feet or more. At this point the going got a lot tougher. The under growth was extremely thick and it all seemed to be consciously conspiring against my forward progress, its branches grabbing at my clothing and Prime Rose thorns clawing at my face. The only viable route through this jumble were the faint paths blazed before me by what seemed to be deer, elk and possibly mountain goats, although mountain goats usually leave a little bit of white fur here and there, of which I saw none. These paths at times were nothing more than tunnels through the dense brush. I heard thunder overhead. I could also feel the humidity rise. I began to sweat profusely as I struggled onward and upward. Any time now I felt certain that the angle would relent and I would come to the crest of this steep treacherous incline, No…not even a bit. In fact the terrain became even steeper and the thick brush started to give way to bands of coarse granite cliff and long talus fields. My progress slowed even further as I picked my way through large boulders and loose rock, stopping frequently to scout the best route. I flushed a snowshoe rabbit from its hiding place. This time of year their fur is a modeled brown and gray but with the arrival of winter it will soon turn white. After a few hundred yards I could tell by looking at the tops of the pine trees that finally the angle of the slope was relaxing, still no sign of the trail.
I struggled over the long sought after crest there were large talus fields of granite boulders red with oxidation. These fields of stone were surrounded by thick old pine and Quaken Aspen. I sat down on one of the larger boulders, thoroughly soaked with sweat. There was a cool breeze and it felt good to take off my pack. My heart was still pounding in my chest I could clearly feel my carotid arteries in my neck pulsating to the extent that it felt as though they may burst at any moment. After catching my breath I took out my binoculars to see if I could spot the trail from where I was. The canyon was narrow at this point and if there was a trail I should be able to see it. I could not even see a hint. It was getting late and I wouldn’t have time to get down before dark if I went much higher. I could see just a hint of the beautiful valley that lay just a short distance ahead but the majority of my view was obstructed by trees. It was looking like I would have to go back down what I just came up. The area was, needless to say, very rugged and riddled with jagged towering cliff. If I tried to find an alternative descent the danger was that the slope in some areas may have continued to steepen until it rolled off a large cliff, in that case one would have to back track up the steep slope of loose debris above a cliff, not a fun place to be. I decided I would try and descend areas with less vegetation trying to stick close to the assent route, using the trees as a gauge for the slope in front of me. I again found numerous game trails that I followed although at times they ended at the edges of small cliffs or zigzagged in strenuously tight switch backs.
At certain points the vegetation was so thick it was hard to even see the ground, there were several occasions where I started to walk off the edge of car sized boulders before realizing the ground had dropped away beneath my feet. I had made good time on the descent half walking and half sliding down game trails. I was hopping from one boulder to another when I felt my leading leg give way and a warm searing pain shot through my lower right leg. I fell to my side and just lay there for a few seconds assessing the seriousness of my injury. My ankle had rolled to the outside and I could feel blood rushing to it as it began to swell. Although initially painful and requiring a minute or two to recover I began to limp slowly down this treacherous terrain I had gotten myself into. Luckily I was more than half way down. Even given my somewhat injured state my descent was still much faster than the assent and I soon reached the wild raspberry patch and relatively flat ground. This time I found a stout dead branch to aid my crossing of Little Cottonwood Creek, no wet feet on this crossing. I took a seat on a boulder near the bank, once again taking time to reflect on the surreal hue of the water and the adventure that had just taken place.
I stood once again and made my way back to the car. I reached the car at about 5:30, took of my sweat soaked pack and drove home. Before I went in the house I emptied my shoes of debris that I had picked up on my little adventure, a surprising amount of dirt, rocks, pine needles and small sticks came tumbling out. I sat down in the most comfortable chair in the house, yet I did not feel complete, something was missing, a frosty cold adult beverage. After retrieving such a beverage from the fridge I thought now my adventure is complete.
I got out of the car, threw my pack on my shoulders and began walking down a wide trail that lead from the road toward Little Cottonwood Creek. After about a hundred yards this trail joins another trail, this one is also nice and wide and almost runs the entire length of the canyon. This trail is popular with mountain bikes so it is important to keep an ear out for riders charging down the trail, at ridiculous speeds I might add. I didn’t really feel like becoming road kill to a mountain biker so I quickly took the first exit. The small trail I chose meandered its way through a forest of towering Douglas Fir and White pine interspersed with smaller Quaken Aspen. The trail was headed in the direction I wanted to go… sort of, so I continued on for 15 or 20 minutes until it reached the creek’s edge. I sat there a bit and looked at the water. It seemed an unreal blue, almost turquoise. This time of year the majority of the water in the creek is spring fed as opposed to run off from melting snow. In the spring the creek is difficult and dangerous to cross, but being late summer I was easily able to find a spot where I could leap from boulder to boulder, crossing in just a few bounds. The smooth granite is slippery and crossing wasn’t completely uneventful, but for the sake of my pride I won’t elaborate. Once reaching the other side the trail greatly diminished, fortunately I was able to hear the stream that ran out of Hogum Fork. I followed the sound now on what could only be game trails. As I followed these slight trails cutting through the under brush I began to see more wild life and signs they had left behind. I startled a small fawn or rather it startled me or I guess you could say we scared the shit out of each other if we’re going to be honest.
Upon reaching Hogum Creek, I followed it for a time as it rose ever steeper to the mouth of its origins. I saw a garter snake along its banks. I stopped for a quick break to graze on some wild raspberries. Soon the creek became too steep to follow almost becoming a low angle waterfall. From the crest of the canyon's steep entrance to the confluence of Little Cottonwood creek, Hogum creek must drop, I’m estimating of course, a solid 1000 vertical feet or more. At this point the going got a lot tougher. The under growth was extremely thick and it all seemed to be consciously conspiring against my forward progress, its branches grabbing at my clothing and Prime Rose thorns clawing at my face. The only viable route through this jumble were the faint paths blazed before me by what seemed to be deer, elk and possibly mountain goats, although mountain goats usually leave a little bit of white fur here and there, of which I saw none. These paths at times were nothing more than tunnels through the dense brush. I heard thunder overhead. I could also feel the humidity rise. I began to sweat profusely as I struggled onward and upward. Any time now I felt certain that the angle would relent and I would come to the crest of this steep treacherous incline, No…not even a bit. In fact the terrain became even steeper and the thick brush started to give way to bands of coarse granite cliff and long talus fields. My progress slowed even further as I picked my way through large boulders and loose rock, stopping frequently to scout the best route. I flushed a snowshoe rabbit from its hiding place. This time of year their fur is a modeled brown and gray but with the arrival of winter it will soon turn white. After a few hundred yards I could tell by looking at the tops of the pine trees that finally the angle of the slope was relaxing, still no sign of the trail.
I struggled over the long sought after crest there were large talus fields of granite boulders red with oxidation. These fields of stone were surrounded by thick old pine and Quaken Aspen. I sat down on one of the larger boulders, thoroughly soaked with sweat. There was a cool breeze and it felt good to take off my pack. My heart was still pounding in my chest I could clearly feel my carotid arteries in my neck pulsating to the extent that it felt as though they may burst at any moment. After catching my breath I took out my binoculars to see if I could spot the trail from where I was. The canyon was narrow at this point and if there was a trail I should be able to see it. I could not even see a hint. It was getting late and I wouldn’t have time to get down before dark if I went much higher. I could see just a hint of the beautiful valley that lay just a short distance ahead but the majority of my view was obstructed by trees. It was looking like I would have to go back down what I just came up. The area was, needless to say, very rugged and riddled with jagged towering cliff. If I tried to find an alternative descent the danger was that the slope in some areas may have continued to steepen until it rolled off a large cliff, in that case one would have to back track up the steep slope of loose debris above a cliff, not a fun place to be. I decided I would try and descend areas with less vegetation trying to stick close to the assent route, using the trees as a gauge for the slope in front of me. I again found numerous game trails that I followed although at times they ended at the edges of small cliffs or zigzagged in strenuously tight switch backs.
At certain points the vegetation was so thick it was hard to even see the ground, there were several occasions where I started to walk off the edge of car sized boulders before realizing the ground had dropped away beneath my feet. I had made good time on the descent half walking and half sliding down game trails. I was hopping from one boulder to another when I felt my leading leg give way and a warm searing pain shot through my lower right leg. I fell to my side and just lay there for a few seconds assessing the seriousness of my injury. My ankle had rolled to the outside and I could feel blood rushing to it as it began to swell. Although initially painful and requiring a minute or two to recover I began to limp slowly down this treacherous terrain I had gotten myself into. Luckily I was more than half way down. Even given my somewhat injured state my descent was still much faster than the assent and I soon reached the wild raspberry patch and relatively flat ground. This time I found a stout dead branch to aid my crossing of Little Cottonwood Creek, no wet feet on this crossing. I took a seat on a boulder near the bank, once again taking time to reflect on the surreal hue of the water and the adventure that had just taken place.
I stood once again and made my way back to the car. I reached the car at about 5:30, took of my sweat soaked pack and drove home. Before I went in the house I emptied my shoes of debris that I had picked up on my little adventure, a surprising amount of dirt, rocks, pine needles and small sticks came tumbling out. I sat down in the most comfortable chair in the house, yet I did not feel complete, something was missing, a frosty cold adult beverage. After retrieving such a beverage from the fridge I thought now my adventure is complete.
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