Canyoneering at Morning Glory / Ephedra’s Grotto
I’d spent just one day in Moab back in 2008, so this time I wanted to push myself beyond the typical scenic overlooks—especially since I was making the trip out here anyway. When my college friend said she’d join me, it felt like the perfect opportunity to try something we’d never do back home. We signed up with Red River Adventures for a canyoneering expedition through Morning Glory and Ephedra’s Grotto.
The thought of rappelling terrified me. My only experience was a single indoor rock climbing session five years earlier, where the first ascent left me shaking and second-guessing everything. By the end of that session I’d gotten comfortable enough to enjoy it, but this felt fundamentally different—going down instead of up, trusting gravity and a rope to lower you into a canyon. At least with climbing, you’re fighting your way up with some sense of control.
Naturally, I panicked.
The First Rappel: 85 Feet
We started the morning hiking across petrified sand dunes, the Navajo sandstone rolling beneath our feet like frozen ocean waves. The texture underfoot was surprisingly grippy, worn smooth by millennia of wind. My friend and I chatted nervously, making jokes to distract ourselves from what was coming.
Our first drop waited ahead—90 feet through a water-carved slot canyon that pinched tight at the top before opening into a cathedral-like chamber below. Our guide, a lean guy named Marcus who’d clearly done this a thousand times, rigged the ropes with practiced efficiency and positioned himself to belay from above. He demonstrated the hand positions that would control our descent, emphasizing how a simple shift of the brake hand could stop us completely.
“Who wants to go first?” he asked. We watched a few other people go first, they made it look so easy. We ended up in the middle of the group.
Walking backward over the edge, my heart hammered against my ribs. Marcus’s voice came from above: “Trust the rope. Small steps. You’ve got this.” I didn’t look down—just focused on my feet against the sandstone, breathing deeply while feeding rope through my trembling hands. Walking backwards but horizonal seemed unnatural and hard. The rope was strong, I wasn’t worried I’d fall, but I didn’t like the initial sensation of getting into that position. The slot was so narrow at the top then the walls opened up, and I was dangling in open space; this wasn’t so bad – breathe, concentrate, you are doing it.
Then, suddenly, I was on the ground. My hands were still shaking, but I felt proud. This was exactly why I’d signed up.
Watching my friend come down, I could see the exact moment she stopped being scared and started enjoying it—her face changed from concentration to this huge grin. When she landed, we both just stood there laughing, that giddy relief of having done something that scared us.
We squeezed through a narrow slot exit and scrambled over rocks to reach a more open area while our guide prepared the second station. We had a few minutes to explore a hidden grotto, but I was still nervous we still had another rappel.
Second Rappel: 120 Feet of Free Hanging
The second descent was adjacent to Morning Glory Bridge—a 243-foot natural arch—and dropped 120 feet. The first 20 feet hugged the wall, then nothing but air. Our ropes were anchored to a cairn and a tree rather than bolted into rock like before.
Going over the side, I slipped and dangled until I was able to readjust my feet against the wall. This area was more open and having just did the first one, I was slightly more comfortable, but yet a little worried what the free hanging part was going to be like. Within moments the wall slipped back and very slowly I maneuvered down. Sadly, I didn’t really take the time to enjoy the view behind me, which many say is pretty, but focused on the fear and adrenaline and my accomplishment of having done this.
As the first one down, I became the unofficial photographer, helping the others release their ropes and capturing their triumphant faces.
The Hike Out
The two-mile return followed Negro Bill Canyon Trail, crossing a small stream multiple times under the shade of cottonwoods and willows, sandstone cliffs rising on both sides. The temperature dropped noticeably in the canyon bottom, the air cool and damp. Marcus pointed out poison ivy patches lurking near the water, explained how differential erosion created the layered cliffs, and identified fossilized ripple marks in the stone—evidence of ancient beaches.
We walked mostly in comfortable silence, occasionally exclaiming over a particularly beautiful spot or comparing our shaky-hands moments from the rappels.
Would I do it again? Absolutely. But next time I’d spend a few sessions at an indoor climbing gym first—not to conquer the fear, but to be comfortable enough to actually look around and take in the view instead of just surviving it.
