Doubts surfaced while packing the ropes. A 165-footer and a 60-footer, would that be enough? It had been 18 years since I descended Illusions Canyon. I didn’t remember any really big rappels, but were they all under 82.5 feet? We hoped so, because that’s all we were really prepared for.

“Well, the canyon register will tell us. We can bail if we have to.” Putting my faith in a backcountry register was pure folly. We never saw one. “But it was here in 2007,” I assured pointlessly. Naturally, we pressed on.

At least Kent had found another 50-foot rope in his car, bringing our grand total to 275-feet. If we were willing to pass knots, that gave us 137′ of retrievable rope. What could possibly go wrong?

#1) A poor approach route, requiring 2 rappels and costly time

#2) A rolled ankle before even reaching the first narrows

Technically, this all adds up to at least 3 mistakes, not counting the poor planning that led to them. This surely equals some sort of analytics that requires immediate retreat. We scanned escape routes, of which there were several. None were appealing. Finally, there came a point of commitment. Without discussion, we dropped in, navigating a series of irreversible watery slots.

The pour-off went out of sight. The rope, the long rope, continued to unravel. “Better get our prusiks ready.” I crowed with joking confidence, but I was hardly relaxed. Cold in the wet shade, uncertain of the cliff descent before us, deliverance from this beautiful inhospitable place was radically desired.

The drop wasn’t as far as feared. Less than 100-feet, we pulled the ropes and continued. The last big drop and its feared pothole came next. After a few grunts, I heard Kent’s good news, “I’m across the pothole. Come on down.” They say adrenaline is a drug. So is relief.