Paddling Utah’s Black Box Canyon

You should know right away that I don’t like paddling much. I mean, it looks pretty cool and all, but I don’t have opposable thumbs, which means I can’t hold a paddle, which means “going paddling” for me and other dogs translates to “going swimming,” which, as any beginning kayaker will tell you, is another sport entirely.

Not that I’m a bad swimmer. I’m actually pretty good what with these webbed feet I got. But a dog’s brain (mine, at least) never seems quite able to grasp the idea of “running along the bank.” My owner likes to say I’ll do it while he paddles downstream but it usually doesn’t work out that way. In fact, seems like the whole “what to do with the dog” thing is about the only bad part about paddling. ‘Cause when we’re going somewhere and I hear Tom planning on running a certain section of river, I know it means I get to sit in the truck and wait. Which pretty much sucks.

But we found a place this spring that’s a good paddle for humans–’specially humans who aren’t all that good–and I could keep up just by running or swimming alongside. I’d like to tell you ‘zactly where it is because it’d prolly be a cool place for you to go but Tom says finding places is half the fun and that the desert can’t handle too many dogs and people at once anyway and that it wasn’t easy for us to find so why should he just hand directions over to somebody else and besides I can’t read a map anyway so I’d prolly get it all wrong.

All I know is that we were in the bottom half of some state starting with a “U” and there were more rabbits to chase than there was water to drink. And I also know that we drove really nice cars (which I hate, because I like to be dirty) to the edge of something called a “Willerness Area.” I’m not too sure what that means, except that we (finally) got to get out and walk and Tom had to carry his kayak a long ways on his head–ha, ha!

(Side note to humans: When playing in the desert, make sure your dog stays away from sharp, spiny things called cactuses. I got pretty good at avoiding them but I got one in my paw after chasing a rabbit and I was bummin’ for a while.)

When we finally got to the water it was low and perfect. The humans were saying it was flowing at “just under a hundert,” whatever that means. You might not think it was perfect if you only like to run really big, scary stuff, but a ranger-type person told us that the canyon where we were would be really high and scary in June, which is a couple months after we were there. But hopefully you wouldn’t have a dog and an inflatable kayak with you then.

We went during something humans call “spring break” and it was perfect timing for me. If you want to bring your dog, it would also be good to go in September or October (assuming your dog isn’t hunting birds then, which is what I’ll be doing.) We spent the first night in a place that sounds kinda like “lab,” only with an “m” and an “o” at the beginning of it. And, like I said, it was spring break so there were lots of motorcycles and jeeps and other noisy things there that I don’t think I could keep up with and that looked like they might run me over even if I tried. But the cool thing is, where we went, where this canyon is, with the water and the rabbits, there was nobody else–no other humans, no cats, no nothin’.

Not very far into the float, we came across something pretty-scary-something called a rockfall–that blocked our way. Now, I’m pretty tough, but I just couldn’t hurl myself into the pool below like the humans did. First of all, I’m a dog so I’m not very tall. Second, we were in this thing called a “slot canyon” and I didn’t see another way out if I got down there and couldn’t get back out. They were all calling my name and shouting “C’mon, you can do it!” But I was thinking, “You’re the humans. You dragged me down here and if you want to continue this little hike you call a paddling trip you better figure out a way to get me down there because I ain’t jumping!” Finally, Tom came up and dragged me around by my collar so we could keep going.

(Side note to humans: It would be a good idea to have a life jacket for your dog when doing this sort of thing–not just to prevent drowning but also to provide warmth. Like I said, I’m pretty tough (and big and strong and rather good looking) but even I would have liked a doggie PFD on this trip. Luckily, Kathy and Hatalie didn’t mind me hopping in their inflatable kayak when I got tired of swimming.)

The humans got to paddle quite a bit considering how many times I was able to just walk along next to them in paw deep water. And all the rockfalls helped me catch up to them when they were getting ahead–which is good, because sometimes I had to swim so long I thought I was gonna boot. I’ve never been very good at math but I’d say you can figure about a mile an hour in the slot canyon if you go when we went or in the fall.

(Side note to humans: In July and August, in addition to being too hot for anybody with a brain to be in the desert, there are also sometimes these things called thunderstorms, which sometimes cause these other things called flash floods. And though they are often less “flashy” than some humans make ‘em sound, even my lil’ dog brain can figure out that a slot canyon is not the place you want to experience one.)

The sun was going down when we got out and I was really tired. But it was still the best paddling trip I ever went on. (Well, ‘cept for that one when I got to ride on the raft the whole time.) So I say you should take your dog to one of these slot canyon places this fall. And if you need someone to show you the way…I’m available.