The Canyon Country Zephyr page 16

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My Friend, Edna Fridley

Forty Years Down the River & Along the Trail

By Ken Sleight

This is the story—a sort of historical sketch—of one of my most adventurous friends. Though she would join me on many trips—about 40 of them—from 1962 to 1979, I had never heard of Edna Fridley when Harry Aleson met me for dinner in 1962. Harry and I met in Salt Lake City for food and good old river talk. His pending Yukon River trip took top billing. I planned such a trip in a few weeks too. While chatting, Harry said he wanted to go to Brigham City to see a client of his who had taken a number of trips with him in Glen Canyon. He asked if I wanted to go along. Thank goodness I said yes. I jumped into his Dodge power wagon and off we went to Brigham.

there and at the other rustic-looking motels in Escalante when coming on trips.

Edna loved Escalante Canyon and became intimately familiar with its features. We frequented Coyote Gulch more than any other canyon. It contains Jacob Hamblin and Coyote natural bridges and Jug Handle Arch. At its mouth and across the river, Stevens Arch looms high on the skyline. Negotiating this country often came hard. Going down Coyote Gulch on one trip, a giant part of the wall broke away and crashed into the creek bottom below, forming a natural dam. My old intrepid friend Vaughn Short, who helped me a lot through those years, aided me in fashioning a detour around the slide and I got

As we drove, Harry told me a little about Edna Fridley, a woman who loved Glen Canyon as much as we did. Edna and her husband Charles made their home in Brigham City. Their daughter Martha attended school and Charles worked for Hercules. A whiz at computers, Charles seemed to enjoy his job. I don’t know if they knew then that they would stay so long in Utah.

Edna, inviting us into their well-kept trailer-court home, seemed glad to see us. Harry introduced me and she and I talked for quite some time about the canyons. Charles supported Edna’s sense of adventure. His wry sense of humor matched Edna’s. It certainly attracted friends to them, and I enjoyed talking with them.

I had known Harry for some time. At his invitation, I often camped with his small groups in Glen Canyon. Often, because of Harry’s failing health, we joined together for conjoint trips in Glen. We both benefted from the ar-

our horses and mules around the long pool of water. Edna followed that trail on numerous occasions, as it led to Indian wall writings.

Also, we often visited the wondrous Broken Bow Arch in Willow Gulch, one of her favorites. Downstream, we’d hike and climb into the narrow confnes of 40-mile Creek.

When I frst went overland into Davis Gulch, Lloyd Gates drew me a crude map. With pencil in hand, he directed me to a point on a mesa where the stock trail quickly dropped into the canyon. Edna loved following old trails like that. She joined an April 1963 trip into Es-calante Canyon and she followed it up with another in a different part of the canyon. She loved exploration. We chatted about Everett Reuss by the hours. Everett Ruess, the young, wandering poet, left several ‘Nemo’ in Davis Gulch, and his graffti became a destination favorite because he vanished there in 1934. He left his traces in the ruins and writings on the

rangement. Harry met a lady named Dottie on one of his trips, and, before long, they set a marriage date and a wedding site at Lost Eden Canyon. They wanted one last and marvelous trip before the reservoir encroached behind Glen Canyon dam. Edna Fridley and I were both members of the wedding party. I came late, having taken my own boat to meet our friend Bill Wells, the Flying Bishop of Hanksville, and carry him across river to the wedding site. He was to marry the couple.

walls and so the “Everett Ruess Natural Window” became a testament to his memory.

During the next couple years, she took a Green River trip through Desolation Canyon and a Cataract Canyon trip. Then she signed up for hiking trips into Escalante Canyon, The Standing Rocks, and the Kaiparowits Plateau.

We were fghting the progression of time and the rising of the dam waters. Soon, the waters covered the lower part of the Hole-in-the-Rock and the Register Rock where a few of my own kin scratched their names onto the walls. Prior to the inundation, Edna took careful note of the inscriptions.

Then the reservoir waters drowned out the enchanting Cathedral in the Desert. It devastated the beautiful Gregory Natural Bridge and destroyed thousands of ancient Indian ruins and sites. It killed beaver and many other animals; their carcasses found at the end of numerous canyons. This upset Edna very much.

When I met her, Edna was a good looking and charming person of middle age, and from Hungarian stock. Her attractiveness came largely from her energy and her interest in searching the canyons. She relished history and archeology. And Edna loved Grand Gulch.

This is the story—a sort of historical sketch—

of one of my most adventurous friends.

Though she would join me on many trips

—about 40 of them—

from 1962 to 1979, I had never heard of Edna Fridley

when Harry Aleson met me for dinner in 1962.

And she was a great companion on the trips. Though all of us had different occupations, we had great camaraderie among us all as we all pretty much shared the same interests and activities.

We all hiked up to the ceremonial site in Lost Eden in front of a beautiful pool of water. The wedding proceeded without a hitch. After the jovialities and best wishes, I chatted with Edna Fridley for some time, and she gave me a rundown on things. She’d be with Harry and Dottie for the remainder of their trip. It was the last trip for her before the fll-ing of Glen Canyon by the reservoir behind the dam. The reservoir would destroy the canyon as she knew it. I told Edna that I’d be taking Escalante “hiking with pack stock” trips the following year to explore areas not yet desecrated. Later, I sent Edna some homespun brochures, and she excitedly signed up for an Escalante trip.

The dam’s effects thrust my mind into an upsetting quandary. The reservoir rose at such a rapid rate that God-given treasures faced destruction each day. The reservoir fooded and destroyed many beautiful side canyons and grottos, thousands of ancient Indian ruins and writings, and even the majestic Music Temple and Hidden Passage. For a brief spell, I had thought of escaping north to the peaceful and quiet country of the Yukon. But, as I camped on the river sands, I concluded that I needed to continue to be close to the land I treasured, in spite of the dam.

Once, in Grand Gulch, we got hit with a heavy rain and flood. Edna had gone a couple of days before and awaited our party downstream. Vaughn made his way down to her and walked her back to our camp. For the next three days we sat in an Indian dwelling watching the constant flooding. The floods kept coming and we drank the last of our libations. The fourth day we walked out of the canyon.

At this point, I moved my family to the town of Escalante, one of the most out-of-the-way places in Utah, to be closer to an incredible river canyon system. Abandoning my former transport of river rafts, I climbed astride my horse to see the remaining enchanting canyons not yet affected by the rising waters. I carried the food, gear and personal duffel by horse and mule pack.

Escalante had been very young village when the legendary Hole-in-the-Rock colonizing party passed through in 1879 on its way to the San Juan River country. The large party, some of its members my own distant relatives, made the trip in six months, a trip they foolishly thought would last only six weeks.

Edna soon came to Escalante and met many of the town folk. Coming and going from trips, we spent a lot of time at cousin Mohr Christensen’s Moqui Motel. My clients met

One day, down in Grand Gulch, while riding my hose and leading a couple of pack horses, I saw Edna sitting on the creek bank some distance below, intently looking up at the canyon wall. She hadn’t noticed me yet. I quietly pulled Knothead to a still, and watched her. “What is she looking at?” I thought. “A bird?” It seemed that she had gazed at the wall for many minutes. Curiously, I looked up on the same wall in the direction she was looking, but I didn’t discern what she aimed her eyes at. I urged my horse forward for a closer look.

On my dismounting, Edna noticed me and took her eyes from the wall. “What you lookin’ at Edna,” I inquired with much interest.

“I found another Kokopelli!”

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	My Friend, Edna Fridley Forty Years Down the River & Along the Trail By Ken Sleight This is the story—a sort of historical sketch—of one of my most adventurous friends. Though she would join me on many trips—about 40 of them—from 1962 to 1979, I had never heard of Edna Fridley when Harry Aleson met me for dinner in 1962. Harry and I met in Salt Lake City for food and good old river talk. His pending Yukon River trip took top billing. I planned such a trip in a few weeks too. While chatting, Harry said he wanted to go to Brigham City to see a client of his who had taken a number of trips with him in Glen Canyon. He asked if I wanted to go along. Thank goodness I said yes. I jumped into his Dodge power wagon and off we went to Brigham. there and at the other rustic-looking motels in Escalante when coming on trips. Edna loved Escalante Canyon and became intimately familiar with its features. We frequented Coyote Gulch more than any other canyon. It contains Jacob Hamblin and Coyote natural bridges and Jug Handle Arch. At its mouth and across the river, Stevens Arch looms high on the skyline. Negotiating this country often came hard. Going down Coyote Gulch on one trip, a giant part of the wall broke away and crashed into the creek bottom below, forming a natural dam. My old intrepid friend Vaughn Short, who helped me a lot through those years, aided me in fashioning a detour around the slide and I got As we drove, Harry told me a little about Edna Fridley, a woman who loved Glen Canyon as much as we did. Edna and her husband Charles made their home in Brigham City. Their daughter Martha attended school and Charles worked for Hercules. A whiz at computers, Charles seemed to enjoy his job. I don’t know if they knew then that they would stay so long in Utah. Edna, inviting us into their well-kept trailer-court home, seemed glad to see us. Harry introduced me and she and I talked for quite some time about the canyons. Charles supported Edna’s sense of adventure. His wry sense of humor matched Edna’s. It certainly attracted friends to them, and I enjoyed talking with them. I had known Harry for some time. At his invitation, I often camped with his small groups in Glen Canyon. Often, because of Harry’s failing health, we joined together for conjoint trips in Glen. We both benefted from the ar- our horses and mules around the long pool of water. Edna followed that trail on numerous occasions, as it led to Indian wall writings. Also, we often visited the wondrous Broken Bow Arch in Willow Gulch, one of her favorites. Downstream, we’d hike and climb into the narrow confnes of 40-mile Creek. When I frst went overland into Davis Gulch, Lloyd Gates drew me a crude map. With pencil in hand, he directed me to a point on a mesa where the stock trail quickly dropped into the canyon. Edna loved following old trails like that. She joined an April 1963 trip into Es-calante Canyon and she followed it up with another in a different part of the canyon. She loved exploration. We chatted about Everett Reuss by the hours. Everett Ruess, the young, wandering poet, left several ‘Nemo’ in Davis Gulch, and his graffti became a destination favorite because he vanished there in 1934. He left his traces in the ruins and writings on the rangement. Harry met a lady named Dottie on one of his trips, and, before long, they set a marriage date and a wedding site at Lost Eden Canyon. They wanted one last and marvelous trip before the reservoir encroached behind Glen Canyon dam. Edna Fridley and I were both members of the wedding party. I came late, having taken my own boat to meet our friend Bill Wells, the Flying Bishop of Hanksville, and carry him across river to the wedding site. He was to marry the couple. walls and so the “Everett Ruess Natural Window” became a testament to his memory. During the next couple years, she took a Green River trip through Desolation Canyon and a Cataract Canyon trip. Then she signed up for hiking trips into Escalante Canyon, The Standing Rocks, and the Kaiparowits Plateau. We were fghting the progression of time and the rising of the dam waters. Soon, the waters covered the lower part of the Hole-in-the-Rock and the Register Rock where a few of my own kin scratched their names onto the walls. Prior to the inundation, Edna took careful note of the inscriptions. Then the reservoir waters drowned out the enchanting Cathedral in the Desert. It devastated the beautiful Gregory Natural Bridge and destroyed thousands of ancient Indian ruins and sites. It killed beaver and many other animals; their carcasses found at the end of numerous canyons. This upset Edna very much. When I met her, Edna was a good looking and charming person of middle age, and from Hungarian stock. Her attractiveness came largely from her energy and her interest in searching the canyons. She relished history and archeology. And Edna loved Grand Gulch. This is the story—a sort of historical sketch— of one of my most adventurous friends. Though she would join me on many trips —about 40 of them— from 1962 to 1979, I had never heard of Edna Fridley when Harry Aleson met me for dinner in 1962. And she was a great companion on the trips. Though all of us had different occupations, we had great camaraderie among us all as we all pretty much shared the same interests and activities. We all hiked up to the ceremonial site in Lost Eden in front of a beautiful pool of water. The wedding proceeded without a hitch. After the jovialities and best wishes, I chatted with Edna Fridley for some time, and she gave me a rundown on things. She’d be with Harry and Dottie for the remainder of their trip. It was the last trip for her before the fll-ing of Glen Canyon by the reservoir behind the dam. The reservoir would destroy the canyon as she knew it. I told Edna that I’d be taking Escalante “hiking with pack stock” trips the following year to explore areas not yet desecrated. Later, I sent Edna some homespun brochures, and she excitedly signed up for an Escalante trip. The dam’s effects thrust my mind into an upsetting quandary. The reservoir rose at such a rapid rate that God-given treasures faced destruction each day. The reservoir fooded and destroyed many beautiful side canyons and grottos, thousands of ancient Indian ruins and writings, and even the majestic Music Temple and Hidden Passage. For a brief spell, I had thought of escaping north to the peaceful and quiet country of the Yukon. But, as I camped on the river sands, I concluded that I needed to continue to be close to the land I treasured, in spite of the dam. Once, in Grand Gulch, we got hit with a heavy rain and flood. Edna had gone a couple of days before and awaited our party downstream. Vaughn made his way down to her and walked her back to our camp. For the next three days we sat in an Indian dwelling watching the constant flooding. The floods kept coming and we drank the last of our libations. The fourth day we walked out of the canyon. At this point, I moved my family to the town of Escalante, one of the most out-of-the-way places in Utah, to be closer to an incredible river canyon system. Abandoning my former transport of river rafts, I climbed astride my horse to see the remaining enchanting canyons not yet affected by the rising waters. I carried the food, gear and personal duffel by horse and mule pack. Escalante had been very young village when the legendary Hole-in-the-Rock colonizing party passed through in 1879 on its way to the San Juan River country. The large party, some of its members my own distant relatives, made the trip in six months, a trip they foolishly thought would last only six weeks. Edna soon came to Escalante and met many of the town folk. Coming and going from trips, we spent a lot of time at cousin Mohr Christensen’s Moqui Motel. My clients met One day, down in Grand Gulch, while riding my hose and leading a couple of pack horses, I saw Edna sitting on the creek bank some distance below, intently looking up at the canyon wall. She hadn’t noticed me yet. I quietly pulled Knothead to a still, and watched her. “What is she looking at?” I thought. “A bird?” It seemed that she had gazed at the wall for many minutes. Curiously, I looked up on the same wall in the direction she was looking, but I didn’t discern what she aimed her eyes at. I urged my horse forward for a closer look. On my dismounting, Edna noticed me and took her eyes from the wall. “What you lookin’ at Edna,” I inquired with much interest. “I found another Kokopelli!”

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