Backpacking Buckskin Gulch & Paria Canyon: 15 Trips Through the Ultimate Slot Canyon
“I don’t even know what you do…”
That was the comment that floated up on our last night in Paria Canyon, and it might be the best compliment I’ve heard in a long time.
This was my 15th trip down Buckskin Gulch and Paria Canyon, which is odd for me. With so many incredible places to explore, I’m generally not a fan of repeats. But this canyon, and the people I get to share it with, keep pulling me back.
First, Buckskin is different every year. Winter storms rearrange things as they careen down what may be the longest hikeable slot canyon in the world. Looking at the towering walls, it’s easy to think they were created by thousands of years of erosion and forget that the process is still happening today.
There’s a spot right after Wire Pass where you now climb down a sturdy log ladder. The first time I came through, in 2014, it was a 10-inch step.
The second reason I keep coming back is that it’s such a unique hike, and a big part of the fun for me is introducing the canyon to others. I do this through something I call The List. It’s a collection of a little over 100 people I’ve crossed paths with who, in my judgment, meet three criteria:
- They are good company on the trail. Trips can be hard, so you don’t want to be stuck with whiners or people who are difficult in tough situations. My shorthand is “People with something to say but nothing to prove.” They’re interesting themselves, but also interested in others.
- They are experienced backpackers. They need to have their backpacking kit pretty dialed in. I’m not a gifted teacher for someone just starting out. Now, if you’re trying to shave the last couple ounces off your base weight, I can definitely help with that.
- They have some level of fitness. The hikes can be strenuous, so everyone has a better time if they’re somewhat fit and used to walking all day. This includes mental toughness as much as physical fitness.
Conditions in the canyon change from year to year. Permits for April release on January 1, so once you get them, you’re locked into your dates. Over the years, I’ve settled on the last week of April as generally having good weather, but there’s always variation.
I’ve been rained on in the canyon, and this year we even got sprinkles for several days. I’ve walked through Buckskin with dry feet, and I’ve waded through icy water up to my chest, and I’m 6’4”.
I’ve slid down rocks past a dead mountain goat and hiked through a pool where you stepped on the body and watched the head bob as you crossed it. I’ve seen baby rattlesnakes and tarantulas down there, and I’ve been stuck in quicksand.
The quicksand is actually another reason I keep going back.
Most people have never experienced quicksand outside old western movies or Lassie episodes. Being able to show people actual quicksand and let them fool around with it is a treat. Many people have never drunk unfiltered water straight from a gushing spring either, so that’s another small gift this trip provides.
This year, one of the guys peeled off toward the edge of the canyon to take a pee. As I passed by him, I noticed he was standing on quicksand. It takes a few seconds to manifest, so I advised him not to take too long. As he looked down and saw the “ground” turning to jelly, he made a hasty retreat and went looking for firmer terrain.
One benefit for participants is that they can borrow gear from my, uh, extensive loaner library.
We had people trying out The One, The Two (older versions, not the updated models on the way), and the Whisper. The wind and sandy ground made setup challenging, but we had some experienced Gossamer Gear owners who helped. In the gusts funneling down the canyon that first night, people got to see firsthand how a shelter that looks fragile on paper can shrug off real-world wind once it’s pitched correctly.
I’m accustomed to wading through icy pools in Buckskin with muddy water you can’t see through. Light but sturdy trekking poles like the LT5 trekking poles are essential for feeling your way through these sumps, tapping ahead for rocks and sudden drops you’d never spot with your eyes.
The way I do the trip, the second day is a long one. Miles tend to lose meaning in the canyon, but we’re often hiking for at least 12 hours to get from the Wire Pass confluence all the way to Big Spring. Light gear is a huge advantage on days like that.
This year I was excited to have the new Aluula Murmur, since preliminary reports suggested we were in for some serious water crossings. It turned out there was nothing above waist deep, so I didn’t get to fully test the welded seams, but it was reassuring to know that if I slipped and went under, as happened a couple times to others in the group, my gear would still be protected.
While I’m familiar with muddy water, this year I encountered watery mud.
Imagine the consistency of chocolate in one of those chocolate fountains at a wedding. Except while the color was definitely milk chocolate, the smell was faintly reminiscent of a small rodent having died somewhere in the pool.
This mud caked our clothes, and once it dried, it hardened with the consistency of concrete. Luckily, once we made it into the Paria, we could wash most of it off.
The watery mud was a first for me, but it was even more fun seeing the firsts for others, especially cowboy camping.
The sandy soil is perfect for contouring a GVP Divot and pairing it with a torso foam pad and a GVP foam donut. There’s something magical about opening your eyes in the middle of the night and seeing a slash of the Milky Way above the canyon walls.
I’m convinced that time unplugged, walking all day with other people, creates its own kind of quiet magic.
On our final night, as we sat in the sand sharing reflections, “Fun-sized” summed it up perfectly:
“I’ve spent the last four days walking with you guys, and I have no idea what most of you do for work… which is awesome.”
In a world obsessed with job titles and LinkedIn summaries, four days where none of that even comes up feels like a reset.
Besides the sandy silt that works its way into every gear crevice, that’s the piece I want to keep carrying out of the canyon: meeting people as they are, right where our headlamps and laughter bounce off the sandstone walls.