This day ended up being an epic failure in terms of intention versus fruition.

The plan was to hike part of Buckskin Gulch, so we parked at the (oddly empty) trail head and started on our way through the wash. We walked, and we walked. My fancy $35 watch told me we walked nearly three miles, and still there was nothing that could be mistaken for a slot canyon. It was beautiful, don’t get me wrong, but it was not as advertised in my research. If there had been more people Mom would have let me go ahead while she stayed with a miserably hot Norman in the shade, but there was literally no one out there.

I later discovered that if we had gone only a half a mile further we would have found the entrance to the slot. I also discovered that despite our trail head being labeled Buckskin Gulch, the best access was the next trail head, not labeled Buckskin Gulch, four more miles up the road.

What a waste of a day, and we both felt mislead by the information at the trail head. We left Norman in the hotel room with my phone on Facetime in case he was naughty (an unnecessary precaution given he remained nearly comatose with exhaustion from the hike) and had a nice dinner out at the Lake Powell Resort.