LCR Day 1: The Salt Trail Canyon and Why You Shouldn't Hike It

The confluence of the Little Colorado (left) and Colorado (right) Rivers in Grand Canyon National Park.
We almost died getting here but we did it.

About 3,000 feet down into a remote canyon on Navajo Nation in northern Arizona lies a hidden oasis. At certain times of the year, the river water here is so blue that you could bottle it and pass it as Glacier Freeze Gatorade. If you've had the rare opportunity to witness the Little Colorado River in it's pure blue form, you may have done so by raft. If you're one of the insane brave few to make the trek in by foot, you may be familiar with the Salt Trail.

I first learned of the Little Colorado River in 2015-2016 when I came across a news article about the proposed Escalade Project in Grand Canyon National Park. Being ever-so-curious, I popped "grand canyon gondola" into my search bar to see what all the fuss was about. I got my first glimpse of the turquoise blue Little Colorado clashing into the emerald Colorado River and was blown away.

The Confluence. I needed to go there.

Fast forward to March 2018 when my good friend, Kellie was recovering from shoulder surgery. She hadn't been able to do much backpacking since injuring her shoulder in a car accident a few years prior but she was supposed to be cleared by her doctors in mid-April. We decided that Memorial Day Weekend we would go on an adventure and after some deliberation, we decided that The Little Colorado River, aka the LCR, was where we wanted to be.

This is when planning really started. 

After thorough research, we decided that the best way in for us was via the Salt Trail Canyon. There were a few other routes that we could have taken but this one was perfect for our skill levels and expertise. We knew we had to secure backcountry permits through Navajo Nation and we knew that we wanted the water to be blue (it's sometimes brown, depending when you go) but before we could finalize any of that, we had to recruit able-bodied people to go with us.

Harriet enjoying the beautiful water of the Little Colorado River or "LCR"
The hardest part of planning was finding people to make the hike to this beautiful spot... probably because all of our other friends are smart.

THE TEAM

It takes a certain type of person to give up a weekend of sleeping in, BBQing, and drinking to throw 35+lbs on their back at 5am to hike ~3 miles down ~2,700 feet into a remote canyon in the Arizona desert. Luckily for us, we found three other people crazy enough to commit and we didn't even have to bribe them (don't take my word on that).

Our group of five consisted of the following:
Me/Shannon- 30's female who peaked playing division II college lacrosse before it actually became competitive. Occasionally hikes carrying a small toddler. Walks dog in hilly neighborhood sometimes.
Kellie- 20's female who hikes often but hasn't carried a backpack in years because of a shoulder injury. Just had shoulder surgery in January, first backpacking trip since.
Peter- 30's male who is very athletic but only really hikes because he gets to stare at Kellie's ass while doing so. May have been bribed by Kellie. Gave up Comicon for this trip. Was definitely bribed by Kellie.
Harriet- 20's female, nature photographer, recently started getting into backpacking. British but can do one hell of an American accent. 
Kyle- 30's male, recently started hiking when he moved to Arizona for work, knows Peter through a mutual friend and no one else in the group. Wildcard. May be the craziest of us all.

After securing permits, doing an incredible amount of research, and some additional planning via group text message, we were ready for our three day, two night trip down the Salt Trail to the Little Colorado River, onto the confluence, and back to the trail head. Memorial Day Weekend 2018 was going to be epic... (and it was, it totally was.)


THE HIKE

The team approaching the start of the Salt Trail.
In order: Kellie, Peter, Harriet, Kyle

We departed from Prescott and drove through the night to arrive at the parking lot of the trailhead on Saturday morning, just after sunrise. The first thing I noticed upon arrival was that there were several other cars in the parking lot and at little more than a dozen other people in various groups preparing for their hikes. I totally wasn't expecting that. We thought we might see one or two other small groups but definitely no more than that. "Well," I thought to myself, "at least if something happens, we won't be alone."
We locked down the truck, leaving a packed cooler with snacks, Pedialyte, water, and Powerade to reward us after the hike out. I stuck a copy of our backcountry permit on the dashboard, locked up, and we headed for the trailhead.

The Salt Trail Canyon trailhead

The path to the actual trailhead is only a couple hundred yards long and is relatively flat and easy. I remember thinking to myself, "if this is what this hike is going to be like, this is gonna be a breeze!" (I look back on this now and laugh/cringe.) 
A large cairn marks the trailhead on the northern most edge of Salt Trail Canyon. We were all pretty stoked to be able to see a hint of blue curving the furthest canyon walls; it was the Little Colorado River and it looked way closer than it actually was.
The initial descent into the canyon is a ~500 foot, ~140 degree vertical drop of large boulders, small rocks, and a ton of gravel. We quickly came to find that the gravel on this trail was super loose and and we needed to keep our distance to avoid knocking out the person below us with falling rocks. Given that I am all of 5'1" and my pack was nearly half my size, I had an exceptionally difficult time on this portion of the trail. As I descended, the bottom of my pack would lift as it hit the top of each boulder, making it difficult to keep my footing while also throwing my center of gravity forward and into the canyon. Thankfully, Peter and Kyle were able to help keep me steady until the boulders got small enough that I didn't have a problem. I knew if I was ever going to come back here, I needed a smaller pack next time.

Prominent spire along the the Salt Trail.
The trail continues to the left of the spire and down.

Once we completed the initial drop in, it was fairly easy to find the trail, which veered off to the left and crossed paths with a large spire. Continuing on, the trail hugged the left side of the canyon, which was littered with cairns. We never went a few feet after a cairn without spotting the next one. I imagine this may not be the case after monsoon season, as some of the cairns and even parts of the trail could be washed out by flash floods. Without the cairns, the trail would have been very difficult to find. Eventually, we were led to a series of red walls that provided a flat, hard surface for our feet. This was one of the only parts of the 3+ mile trail that was relatively flat and where we didn't have to worry about loose gravel; it was short-lived but welcome relief. After the ledges, we found a nice spot to take our packs off, sit, and have a snack. At least 3 other people passed us during this short time, each taking the time to briefly talk with us. One pair of young men told us that they were doing a day hike.

A DAY HIKE?!  

Wild, I know. Maybe even crazier, another woman, just her and her two small dogs, were blazing the trail. Wow, good for them! Definitely not something I would try or ever recommend but good for them (we would cross paths again and find that she wasn't as prepared for the intensity of the hike as she thought... but more on that later). We didn't take much time to think about any of the other trailblazers since the canyon walls were only going to provide shade for so long. We had to trek on. We continued following the cairns to the crossover. At this point, we went from the left side of the canyon to the right side. We must have been getting close at this point, right? Ha. Definitely not.  
Almost immediately after crossing, we came up on a hill of gravel. It hadn't crossed any of our minds that after descending into the center of the canyon, we had to hike back UP the other side to continue on the trail.  And even though we had stopped to rest not long before, climbing up took an incredible amount of energy since with each step, the ground basically disintegrated under our feet. This side of the trail definitely wasn't as flat as what I'd read in other blogs. Oh well, I took a deep breath, took a step, and the ground gives out from under me. OH SHIT. 

Who TF is uncoordinated enough to fall into a cactus?
Me.

Picture it: a 5-foot-nothing, 120lb chick with a pack half the length of her body loses her footing by slipping on gravel, which happens to be on a cliff edge with a 1000+ foot drop. She regains balance for a split second except for the fact that... SLOW MOTION... her pack doesn't catch up with her center of gravity and keeps moving forward, thrusting her toward the cliff edge. Suddenly, she grabs something to break her fall and keep her from sliding the gravel waterfall down the canyon edge. Death averted.
Wait. She just grabbed/fell into a 5ft long prickly pear cactus.

Have you ever fallen into a cactus?
First emotion is shock. Then is realization. Next comes the burn. Then straight up panic. Finally, relief because you didn't fall off the edge of a cliff to your death. 
Thankfully, my wonderful friends rushed to the rescue. It was really easy in that moment to laugh at what a klutz I am... but it was in that moment that I knew for sure that none of these people were trying to kill me out in this remote canyon. Even Kyle, who barely knew any of us and hadn't said more than four words the entire trip, seemed genuinely happy and relieved that I was alive. 

My left leg after returning home.
Spoiler alert: I don't die on this trip.

Oh, and have you heard that duct tape works well for pulling out cactus spines? It doesn't. Don't try it. By doing so, we pushed the spines farther in and it wasn't fun. Instead, for the next 30-45 minutes, everyone took turns using pliers and tweezers to pick what they could out of my legs (which, thankfully, were freshly shaven), while I used my right hand to get the spines out of my left hand and vice-versa. The result wasn't perfect but at least we tried... and in the process lost some really valuable time. The clock was ticking and we were about to lose what little shade we had left in that canyon. Next time I hike in the desert, I'm bringing glue. I hear that shit gets all the needles out. 

Trekking on, we passed a beautiful emerald pool deep down in the center of the canyon before finally coming up on a large cairn comprised of hundreds of rocks piled on top of a huge boulder. Rumor has it that this is an ancient trail marker that the Hopi created and visitors continue to use to this day. We were definitely getting closer.

About four hours after leaving the parking lot, we finally saw it: the helipad. The sun was beating down on us by now and all we had to do was navigate down a couple hundred feet of loose gravel to the beautiful blue water. We approached the river no less than four and a half hours after beginning and ran into the two men who had hiked past us earlier in the day, the day hikers. It turned out, they weren't exactly prepared for the difficulty of the trail and decided that they were going to sleep by the river overnight and hike out early the next morning. No sleeping bags, no tents or pads, just them under the stars with what I only prayed was enough water. They said they'd be fine and after cooling our throbbing feet in the river and changing into our water shoes, we wished them well and told them to find our camp if they needed anything. (We never saw them again after that exchange and never heard otherwise, so my best guess is that they made it back safely.)

Harriet (left) and Kyle (right) head down toward the helipad (center)

The sun was only continuing to rise and we would now be hiking along a north-to-south facing canyon that didn't provide any cover from the sun. Luckily, we found a trail with thick bush that paralleled the river and provided us with some shade. Bushwhacking>heat exhaustion. Besides trudging the mud and dealing with thick bush, there were couple of spots that we had to walk thigh/waist-deep through the water but nothing that got our packs wet. Yet after only .5mi or so, we hit a road block (or should i say "trail block") when the trail seemed to come to an end at a large boulder. After what seemed like forever of looking around and debating our next move, someone spotted a cairn perched up on the rocks, high above the boulder, closer to the canyon wall. We decided to follow the cairns and quickly found ourselves completely exposed 100 or so feet up on a non-trail of loose rocks and gravel, littered with cairns. This must be the trail. This can't be the trail. Why the fuck would anyone hike this trail?! I'm hiking this trail. Fuck this trail.
Don't mess with the Arizona sun. I can't stress that enough. People tend to forget that the temperatures at the bottom of the grand canyon can be similar to those in the death trap Phoenix and peaked in the 90's during our trip. I'm not sure what the temperature was during this part of the hike but it felt like it was a million degrees. 

Finding a place to set up camp was such a relief after almost 6 hours of hiking

Each one of us were severely overheated and we desperately needed a break but the only shade to be found was about a hundred feet down in thick bush along the river and no trail to get there. We needed to get to a shady spot and fast. As we continued on, my chest began to tighten up and I literally thought I was going to die of heat exhaustion. I started getting dizzy, which scared me shitless, but I knew I needed to sit down and try to get my heart rate down. I drank as much water as my body could handle but the rest of the group couldn't wait for me. They needed to keep going or risk passing out themselves. I signaled them on and Peter hung back with me, utilizing the buddy system. After a couple of short minutes, I finally found the strength to get going again but now it was Peter that was fading fast. We observed the others descend onto a good sized beach and I knew we were close to making it without dying. I unhooked my pack as I approached the beach and let it drop to the ground as I approached the river. I didn't stop until I was waist deep. Instant relief. 

The river at this time of year hovers around 70-75 degrees Fahrenheit (that's around 22 degrees for Harriet) but can reach as high as the low 80's during mid-summer and as low as the mid 50's during winter. It is generally blue unless except after heavy rain or snow melt. We were confident that it would be blue and 70's after triple-checking the river conditions on the USGS website. We were rewarded.

Lying in the tent to escape the sun.
Hot dogs or legs?

The sun took an incredible toll on each of our bodies and from what I could tell, Kellie was suffering the worst. Not more than 10 minutes after getting to the beach, the clock was on to get a tent set up and get Kellie in it. As Kellie and Peter pitched their tent, Harriet got the snacks, I soaked my tank top, and Kyle was doing something helpful but I don't remember what it was. (Sorry, Kyle.) 

I put my wet tank top on Kellie's head as she laid in the tent but she didn't look good. Most of the color was gone from her face and she was definitely not her normal self. I was worried about her but there was nothing more we could do for her in that moment and for someone who has done some relatively extreme hiking, she was the one I was supposed to be least worried about. One of the scariest parts of hiking to a place like this, as any backpacker will tell you, is the lack of emergency resources. As Americans, we are so accustomed to having 9-1-1 on standby but in the backcountry, you are on Mother Nature's good will. It's safe to say we didn't have a two-way-radio or other way to communicate with anyone farther than within earshot. 

That evening, we discussed not hiking to the confluence the next day and, instead, hiking out the next morning. Our water supply was almost cut in half already and we didn't know if we had it in us to hike the 12 miles round-trip to the Colorado River to fill back up, especially if the trail was anything like what we had experienced on the hike in. We didn't want to filter the LCR water for fear of falling ill (even filtered, the water of the LCR can make you sick) but it was looking like we would have to just to have enough water for the hike out. I was still pretty determined to get to the confluence but the rest of the group was not feeling it. Suddenly, a small dog ran up on our camp. It was one of the two dogs hiking with the solo woman who we briefly spoke with on our hike in, and right behind the first dog was another small dog, the woman, and a man whom we had seen earlier in the parking lot with a different group. They approached me and Harriet, and told us that the woman (who we'll call "Jen") had not planned to go through as much water as she did on day one and, like us, was unsure if she would make it to the Colorado the next day. The man with her was a native from northwestern Arizona and had been there with another group that does this trip annually; I believe he said this was his 11th time hiking to the Little Colorado River. He was helping Jen search for water.

Kellie in a brief moment of wellness on day 1, modeling her swimwear.

We told them that we were in the same predicament and were worried about our water supply. We mentioned that we had filters and might have to filter the LCR water as a last resort. Surprisingly, Jen had no idea what we were talking about. I showed her my Sawyer filter and told her how it worked. I realized that she probably didn't have a filter if she didn't know what it was and offered to give her mine since our group had a back up filter and tablets. She graciously accepted and we were glad to have been able to help her and her pups. The man with her encouraged us to hike to the confluence. I was already the lone soldier in the group who still wanted to go but he seemed to convince Harriet. He told us that the trail is flat and easy the entire way from where we stood and there are only two places that you need to cross the river. He ensured us that the experience is worth it a million times over. Done. Sold. 
We just had to sell the others. 
We thanked them for the information, they thanked us for the water filter and headed back to their camps. Harriet and I started scheming on how we were going to hard sell the rest of the group to go the extra 12 miles round trip to the mouth of the LCR where it meets the Colorado River. 

The moon rising over the Little Colorado River after a grueling day 1
of our three day adventure.

Kyle was the easiest to convince. He was on the fence anyway but easygoing in nature, just went with the flow and said he would go. That was clutch... we had numbers. We knew Kellie and Peter would be harder to convince, especially due to how ill Kellie had been feeling but were prepared for them to tell us they would stay behind while we went and that's exactly what they told us. Three out of five ain't bad. I was okay with leaving Kellie and Peter behind, especially having known Kellie for so long, I knew she was more than capable of caring for herself; not to mention, Peter would be with her and he had helped me so much during the hike in, I knew she would be in good hands. I felt really optimistic about the next day and since we planned on waking up at the butt crack of dawn to make the trek, it was about time to get some sleep. After all, we all had a near-death-experience on day one, we needed our rest and time to thank God for keeping us alive. 

I wouldn't recommend this trail to anyone less than an experienced backpacker, however, if this is something you're set on doing, please do your research and, as always, leave no trace. It is definitely a worthwhile adventure, as I'll get to when I write more about our epic second day.

(To be continued...)