Riding Ol' Johnson To The Bottom of Bryce Canyon.

Around 1960, when I was 10 years old, my grandmother’s two sisters took a trip to Grand Canyon.  One of the highlights of their trip was a mule ride to the bottom of the canyon and back.  It’s something I’ve always wanted to do.  Now I may have made the second best mule trip to the bottom of a canyon, only this time it’s Bryce Canyon National Park in Utah.

Sheryl and I headed out to this rough and wild country in a RV we rented in Las Vegas.  Bryce Canyon was one of our stops.  Our first view of the canyon was late afternoon when we took a guided ATV tour on ranch land that is adjacent to the park.  The tour is operated by Ruby’s, an old pioneer family concern that has had land here since before Bryce Canyon was a national park.  However, the ATV tour only goes the edge of a small remote section of the park and not actually into it.  This just whetted our appetite for the mule ride to the bottom that we planned for the next day.

This is the link to Ruby’s website: https://www.rubysinn.com/activities-in-bryce-canyon/guided-atv-tours/

Bryce Canyon is impressive when you walk up to the rim and stare across centuries of erosion that have left a surreal landscape of spires the Indians called hoodoos.  The colors are muted shades of red, brown, beige, grey and white.  Hoodoos are created when the harder layer of rocks on the surface form cracks that let the lower level of softer sand stone erode away.  What is left is a spire that may vaguely resemble a human body and head in which Indians believed spirits resided.

We checked at the lodge and were sent to the corral.  There were about 20 mules saddled and raring to go.  Well, maybe not raring.  More like standing there in a trance.  There were only six riders this afternoon guided by a true to life cowboy named Joe.

We were introduced to our mules and quite by happenstance Sheryl was assigned a black beauty name Paris and I got a white mule named Johnson.  Since we are both from Paris, Texas we thought this very coincidental.

We got a short lesson on mule driving.  Pull back for whoa, pull left for left, pull right for right, and sit straight in the saddle.  Later on I found out why this last bit of information is important.  I was putting my life into the hands of a mule named Johnson that I had never met before who was clopping along on a trail just a few inches from a 50 foot drop or more!  He and I were supposed to bond over the next 2 hours.

It turned out that Joe guided our group and Paris (Sheryl) and I (Johnson) were #2 and #3 on the trail ride.  Joe instructed us to stay about 3 feet behind the horse in front of us.  And off we went down to the bottom of the canyon.

The canyon is absolutely beautiful from the rim looking across and down but it’s even more impressive on the way to the bottom.  That is, after I got over the fear of Johnson wanting to dump his load.  Johnson was a bit on the lazy side and the gap between him and Paris was more like 30 feet than 3.  Joe kept yelling at Johnson to pick up the pace.  I finally figured out Joe was talking to me but calling me Johnson and he told me to kick him in the sides.  That’s when I thought Joe might be a bit loco but he proved it when he gave me about a 2 foot length of garden hose and told me to keep hitting Johnson on the flank to spur him on.  Later Sheryl made fun of me saying I wasn’t encouraging Johnson hard enough.  That’s bunk.  I made up my mind I wasn’t going to make poor ol’ Johnson miserable for two hours of his life as long as he kept me alive just inches away from what could be both of our demise.

The canyon itself is a maze of miles of trails.  Some you think lead up only slope back down after a turn.  Our ride ran into a couple about 50-60 years old that had become lost.  They could see where they wanted to go up on the rim but there was no straight trail there.  They had taken several mis-turns and were bewildered.  So Joe told them to follow us.  Now that should give you an indication of how fast our mules were plodding along.

Joe would stop and spin a yarn every now and then along the trail.  He’d point out some natural outcrop and even had a few good jokes.  But Johnson would have much preferred to be home.  When we started back up to the corral I thought he might get excited.  He did have moments of energy that encouraged me to hold on to my saddle horn for dear life but mostly he ignored me slapping him on the butt and had his own pace.

All told the ride was basically uneventful.  Ol’ Johnson was a rough ride, though.  He’d jostle me when he was just walking and bounce me when he felt like closing ground on Paris in front of him.  But mostly he just figured I was another day’s work and he never expected to see me again.  I can’t say I felt any different.  But thanks, Johnson, for the ride.

This is the link to Bryce Canyon Trail Rides:  https://www.canyonrides.com/bryce-canyon-horseback-riding/