Hell’s Gate, Utah. Do not mistake this with the treacherous Hell Gate in New York’s East River, which has laid far more men and machines to waste but has faded in the wash of history. Yet the comparison is not without merit: anything wearing such a title ought to bring some risk of doom. Hell’s Gate is a section of Hell’s Revenge (wow, sounds like fun), a high-pucker slickrock jaunt through Grand County (Moab), revered by crawlers and trail dogs for its variable terrain, unending opportunities for death, and countless playground offshoots.

Hell’s Gate: Playground in Moab
A gaggle of Jeepers from SoCal out for a fine time of rock piling and winch winding were in lovely outback Utah, where they RV’d to the Portal RV Park in Moab. Hell’s Revenge and a few of its more potentially disastrous obstacles jiggled like bait on a hook. On a morning excursion, 13 Jeepers headed out to this fine bit of crawling, and by 11 a.m. the group had stopped for a bite to eat at the kickoff for Hell’s Gate. Not wanting to risk the less-prepped Jeeps amongst their group, most of the trucks stayed at the base of the obstacle. Bill and his YJ were not so deterred.

The throat of Hell’s Gate climbs at 20 to 30 degrees for the most part, with a peak or two that rakes back to near 45 degrees uphill. Bill called the inclines like he would a roof: mostly 4-12, closer to 6-12 at the steepest. He and the selfsame Jeep had climbed this incline without incident in May, but steep wasn’t enough to make the obstacle tricky – it had rained the night before (September in Utah, go figure), and the rocks and sand were wet. Traction was junk.

The ladies stayed trailside for this run, perhaps cementing some truth to the account of men being harbingers of their own doom. It should be noted that Bill’s wife later confided in others she probably would have enjoyed riding shotgun on Bill’s Wild Ride.

Shotgun in her stead, fellow Jeeper and neighbor John was enjoying himself as much as possible (considering the freakout potential for Hell’s Gate) until he realized his mass on the starboard side wouldn’t be enough to keep the Jeep on all four. He expected a little fun, not flip. Bill’s friend for a stack of years, John was an accomplished Jeeper himself (having driven them since the war), but he left “Barbie” parked because it was a less equipped than the Billmobile.

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At the base of Hell’s Gate, the culprit puddle is clearly visible.

Falling Down at Hell’s Gate
Bill and John’s YJs were the only leaf-spring Jeeps out that day (both ’94s). Jim from Outlaw Jeep Tours had mentioned the leafy Jeeps were prone to some misbehavior on Hell’s Gate (and fun to watch), but again, Bill had run this crack before. He staged to claw his way up the sky-shot, uneven, off-plane, V-groove that makes up the bulk of Hell’s Gate, and according to Bill’s compatriots, the run started properly. Going slightly off line, though, and it went wrong.

Bill’s run at Hell’s Gate was haunted by that wet patch of slickrock at the base of the slope. Just a bit of rainwater, nothing more than this puddle, and a nice knobby MT/R became a weak-kneed steed on ice – drivers who’d have no trouble before now fight the sneaking suspicion they’ve got less traction than moments earlier. Bill Sr. was aware of this.

Fate had aligned itself against Bill in a fashion, including leaving the YJ hood just tall enough and Jim just short enough that at full angle, Bill couldn’t see Jim spotting. The first 50 yards uphill were uneventful, and Bill did as he’s done countless times – the guy has crawled everywhere. At the prime pucker point, about 40 yards from the top, Bill lost his line of sight on Jim and squeezed up the passenger’s side of the trail and inch more than he ought.

On its side halfway up, Bill’s Jeep fell softly with minimal damage.

The driver’s front tire followed the passenger’s front up, and the whole front end lifted and pointed skyward. Bill caught the wheelstand for a second with the throttle, but as things set back like the shuttle, his spare touched earth and pivoted the Jeep off the left rear MT/R for a moment, and the lightened tire slid down as the Jeep flopped gracefully to port.

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Connected to one Jeep and six dudes, the flopped YJ came slowly upright.

Tipping over was a ganged assault of Bill letting his line stray by an inch plus too much moisture on the tires from the puddle, even with gold-standard MT/Rs. The hidden charm of Hell’s Gate is that if you do tip over and flop on one side, folks are sure you’re going to tumble down like Humpty on a bad day. No one is more spooked by that long fall than Humpty himself.

Bill had a thought as his YJ pointed skyward: “Oh boy, I get a new Jeep!”

“As it started going over, it was slow,” he said. “We were tipping so softly, the rubber flares were undamaged, and I lost almost no paint. A stronger guy could have reached out and held the Jeep off the rock.

“What really put me down was the left rear sliding out into the crevasse – otherwise the Jeep was still balanced. One wet tire did me in, with all the mud on the trail before the hill.”

At trail top, the limited effect of the roll was visible by being invisible.

Extraction Sans Damage – It’s a Jeep
With another Jeep strapped in to secure the front end of Bill’s YJ, plus six guys on the second strap to guide it over, Humpty softly came back to earth on all fours, much like how it left. Bill applied a light touch and crept back to the preferred line with this tether in place, then drove the rest of Hell’s Gate as he started it – solo. Nobody hurt, with nothing more than a dent in the YJ.

John’s wife Gayle watched from the top and was not so impressed.

“I’ve been doing this for a long time, with an off-road husband and off-road kids,” she said. “If we needed a life-flight, it was a nice clear day so landing wouldn’t be much trouble.”

If you want to perceive this story to be about grown men looking for their jollies, you can – it’s a fair point. That said, a fairer interpretation would acknowledge the spirit of adventure fulfilled, and a sense of determination to seek satisfaction with deeper roots. Keep in mind, there are people who’d block places like Moab from folks who enjoy it. Someone once said that history is choked with the complacency of good men: don’t stand still and do nothing when your voice is all that stands between your right to off-road and those who would take it from us.