Rain in Capitol Reef

This weekend Kevin and I made our first visit to Capitol Reef, completing our goal of visiting all five national parks in Utah together. I went to Capitol Reef once as a kid with my family and cousins, but I don't remember much of it. I remember driving around dirt roads in my uncle's big suburban while my mom was sleeping in one of the back seats. When she woke up, we were driving through a river. She woke up with a huge gasp at seeing our SUV partially submerged in water, and we all thought that was pretty funny. This weekend was also marked by surprising amounts of water. When we drove from Sigurd into Torrey, I was surprised to see the nearby mountains covered in snow, and realized that we were at a much higher elevation than I had expected. By the time we checked into our hotel, the Best Western between Torrey and the park entrance, a light drizzle had started. We loved our room, which was situated with a balcony that looked out onto the park, and where we were able to spot and hear animal life, including songbirds and a little kitty who spent a lot of time staring at us.
It was raining by the time we drove arrived at the visitor's center, a less than 10-minute drive from our hotel, where we stopped to discuss our plans for the 15-miler we'd be taking the next day. The center is in Fruita, and early settled town which is incorporated into the Park. It sits on the Freemont river and has orchards and livestock around, including many abandoned wagons (I think I saw at least ten). We hadn't planned any specific hikes for our first day, so we also wanted to hear the ranger's recommendations for what we could do on a rainy afternoon (which, incidentally, were all over the place). We decided to take the scenic drive to the Capitol Gulch, which ended at a trailhead for a wider narrows canyon, steep cliffs on each side. We decided to brave the rain and do the short (approximately 2.5 miles) hike around to the Tanks. While walking through the canyon, we saw the Pioneer Register of wagon trains passing through, and I pitied the early settlers who were called upon to navigate through and settle the desert. I immensely enjoyed the quiet solitude on this hike, as Kevin and I were the only people there. I love walking through canyon narrows (these are about as far apart as Bells Canyon next to Little Wildhorse), and every time we'd stop we could hear nothing but the rain fall. The tanks, we presume are at least two of the white domes that Capitol Reef is famous for. There's also a Golden Throne dome (so the Great White Throne in Zion has a sister), Capitol Dome, and Navajo Dome.
After Capitol Gulch we drove to the Grand Wash where we thought we'd hike the narrows or Cassidy Arch, but it was raining so heavily that we decided to just walk around for a few moments and keep driving. We went out on the highway and stopped off at the trailhead for Hickman Bridge, which we decided to take. This 2-mile round trip hike was a lot of fun, and it came with one of those trail guides like Calf Creek (in Escalante) does to point out the different plants, geology, etc. along the way. There were a lot of large obsidian boulders along this path, along with a cool alcove that had two little natural bridges that you could walk under. Hickman Bridge is a large natural bridge, about 133 feet across. Through it you can see Navajo domes and a lot of the geological formations in that part of the park, and it makes a nice resting spot.
We took a stop by some scenic spots, the Goosenecks (referring to overlooks of round curves int he river) and Sunset point. After that, we headed back into Torrey to buy gas, find me a plastic poncho, and get some grub. One of the seasonal restaurants, the Capitol Reef Inn and Cafe had just opened that night, and based on some local recommendations we decided to eat there (apparently Torrey's Cafe Diablo is one of the best-rated Utah restaurants, but it didn't open until April). Kevin had the baseball sirloin and I had the tenderloin and it was all very delicious. They also had seven home-made honey-sweetened pies, and Kevin and I thought the apple was divine. Our only regret is that we didn't order two slices of pie. We then returned to our hotel for a heated room, clean sheets, and warm showers.
The hike we planned for Saturday was on the southern end of the park. The ranger at the visitor's center Friday had convinced us that the switchbacks on the short-distance route, the Notom-Bullfrog dirt road, would be impassable because of the rain. So we woke up early to go over the mountains through Boulder and onto the Burr Trail Road to get the maximum miles of pavement, even though it probably added 45 minutes to our journey (about 2 hours from our hotel). This route was also plagued by snow that had fallen during the night, so we drove through an inch or more of unplowed snow in the mountains for a large part of the trip. It may have been the long way, but the Burr Trail Road was beautiful. There were tall high cliffs, and no one on the road. We saw a lot of wildlife, including a raptor gliding in the sky. Just beautiful canyon country.
When we reached the turn off to the Upper Muley Twist Canyon, we parked our car near the road. There's a 3-mile high-clearance vehicle road to the trailhead that our little Dodge Neon couldn't muster. We had planned to walk the extra 5-6 miles round trip to and from the trailhead. Only two other people were there that day, and they passed us in an SUV about a mile before the trailhead. We caught up to them at the trailhead and asked them if they came in on the Notom-Bullfrog road. They told us that they did and that they almost got stuck several times in the switchbacks, which made us glad we hadn't ignored the ranger's advice and had braved the icy mountain roads instead.
We had started from our car a little after 10:00 a.m., and the skies were pretty clear, although a few drops were falling when we signed the register. From our car we could see the first of many natural arches, Peakaboo Arch. The dirt road, and then the first 1.7 miles of the trail are through a gravel/sand wash at the bottom of a canyon. This leads to Saddle Arch carved high in the red cliffs, the fourth arch we saw, and where our trail divided for the loop. We had covered the first for miles or so in one hour, but the next mile took us a half hour because it's where we climbed straight up a hill to get on top of the Waterpocket Fold. The view in the morning was breathtaking. From the top of this huge Navajo sandstone reef, I felt on top of the world. We could see out to the Henry Mountains and Mt. Pennel, down toward Lake Powell, and up to Capitol Reef and, I think, Canyonlands. We could see so far, and there wasn't a sign of a soul. At that time I thanked God for uninhabited places as well as the uninhabitable ones.
To our left was the red Winegate sandstone canyon we would later descend to complete our loop. There were many arches along the way, and in one picture I was able to capture three of them at once. Looking from this reef, I developed an itch to learn more about geology. Capitol Reef boasts being one of the most geologically interesting areas in the Southwest, and I can definitely see why. The rivers, the mountains, the folds, and the vastly different layers of sandstone side by side were enough to pique any hiker's interest.
Around noon we stopped at a great viewpoint to eat lunch. The sun finally came out at that point and it stayed warm and sunny for about two hours. We had Triscuit crackers with sliced Tillomock cheese and "zesty lemon pepper" tuna in a pouch (which is a big improvement over the can--we didn't have to drain the water, and the trash was easier and cleaner to pack out). It was very satisfying, and the protein sustained us so we didn't get hungry for the remaining 10 miles of the hike. We continued for the next two miles or so before beginning our climb down, which took a lot more of the trail than I had expected. There were several tricky slickrock spots where it would be awkward with an overnight pack, but we survived by merely crabwalking down the steep edges.
As we descended down into Upper Muley Twist Canyon, we could see a large storm cloud left of us. I knew it would probably rain on us a little, but I had been enjoying the cloudy weather. On top of the Waterpocket fold, above everything else, it was such a pleasant temperature. I was feeling very happy that we'd come so early in the spring, and I was imagining that it would probably be pretty miserable in August at 3:00 in the afternoon. As we made our shift over to the red Winegate sandstone, the rain was coming down the hardest so far on this trip. I donned my $1.99 poncho we purchased from the Torrey Texaco the night before, and we kept walking down into the canyon. The slickrock not only gets quite slippery when wet, but the wet sand stuck to the bottom of my shoes which gave me no traction benefits whatsoever. The water from the storm rushed down the sides of the slickrock, which was convenient because when my hands would get muddy, I could find a spot where quick clean water was nearby to wash them in. Overhead lightning and thunder were close together, and I was glad we were getting off the ridge where we would be so exposed.

The rain continued for 45 minutes to an hour, but I stopped paying attention entirely to the rain and when it stopped when we were faced with the new problem of flooding along what is usually the dry canyon floor. All the rain in a short amount of time ran down the slickrock walls and was congregating together. During what probably should have been one of the coolest parts of the hike--winding between the sloping sandstone--we were wading in ankle-deep or calf deep water. In addition, the sound that the water makes as it rushes down the walls, through alcoves, and in narrow canyons is quite loud, and it sounded scarier than it was. We also went up along the sides, but since that wasn't where the trail was, we walked through a lot of nasty wet vegetation. The hardest part was when we went around a boulder and went into what would usually be a dry pothole. Up to that point, I'd been walking in the sand next to the little river that was forming, and I saw another little river (about 1.5 feet wide and a couple of inches deep) slowly coming from the side to join up with it. I jogged a little to get ahead of the new water, before it joined all the other water when I had to move around that boulder and into the pothole. It was only a foot or two drop, but I could see Kevin in the middle of the pool was waist deep in water. I hesitated a little bit, because the water was making a loud noise as it funneled into a couple inch pass around the boulder and poured into the pool. The hesitation cost me because I could hear, and feel when the second water stream merged with the first one, and much more water began pouring down on my legs as I finally went into the pool.
After that, the worst was over. We hadn't been too concerned about a dangerous (i.e. overwhelming) flash flood because it was March (not July or August) and because in general it was a dry canyon. Another half mile or so, and all the water had been stopped by pothole-type structures in the slickrock or absorbed into the sand of the wash. The next step was for us to get dry, and the sun came out a bit to help with that. We walked quickly the last four miles or so, out of the canyon and onto the high-clearance vehicle road, and made it back to our car before 6:00 p.m.

Keeper of the Blue-Eyed Maine Coon Mix

OK, I've posted on my genealogy, and now I've decided to speculate on my cat Aja's as well. I know that Aja's mother was a long-haired solid black cat, so I think it's safe to say that she's basically a mutt.

When she was a kitten, she resembled a blue-point Siamese kitten. Her fur was very pale, except for little dark spots on her ears, her tail, and her feet. In addition, she had the high-maintenance personality and clear blue eyes of that breed and its off shoots. As she grew older, the tabby stripes (the default pattern for domestic house cats) became more prominent, so much that several years ago my mom gave me a small wood gray tabby kitty figurine, saying it looked like Aja; at the time I was somewhat shocked to hear her described as a tabby rather than a Siamese.

One thing that we can't mistake is how big she is. When Kevin took her to the vet last August, the vet walked in to the room and proclaimed, "Wow! You're massive!" and then suggested they might need the dog scale to weigh her. She weighs about 18 pounds, which is huge for a female domestic cat. This is probably due to her sedentary lifestyle (she's spent years of her life just waiting around for human attention), but it's also her frame. Her paws, for instance, are huge.

Recently Kevin and I discovered a breed of domestic cats called Maine Coons, which apparently were the only cats brought over by early North American settlers who could survive the harsh winters. They're named such because they have bushy tails like raccoons, are large, and have the typical tabby stripes. Even though they're large, Aja would still be on the large size even for this breed. Although Maine Coons do not typically have blue eyes, I think there's some of this in her.

Genealogy, I am doing it

I recently engaged in a 14-day trial of Ancestry.com's offerings of genealogical information. For me, filling out my family tree was pretty simple. I had to only go up two or three generations before the computer found my ancestors and linked them into a large family tree.

I had some pleasant surprises while doing this. There's a feature where one can retrieve a list of famous relatives, and mine list left me feeling quite proud for a person who hasn't really done anything remarkable herself.

I found out I'm a 17th Great Granddaughter of Geoffrey Chaucer. I also found out this line connects me with another of his descendants, Jane Austen, who is a cousin I'm seven generations removed from. Other literary cousins include: Henry David Thoreau, D.H. Lawrence, John Steinbeck, and Aldous Huxley.

Other notables? 11th Great Grandaughter of Miles Standish (Mayflower passenger and signer of the Mayflower Compact). Also distant cousins of five first ladies (Pierce, Roosevelt, Garfield, Hoover, and Eisenhower) and others: Humphrey Bogart, John Wayne, Katherine Hepburn, Frank Lloyd Wright, Eli Whitney, Philo T. Farnsworth, J.P. Morgan, and William C. Durrant. (Photo courtesy of Wikipedia.org)

My Original Favorite Place

A couple of posts back, I talked about favorite places. These are places that feel
so much like home that they almost hurt to leave. I recently acquired a photograph of the place that first made me feel this way. This is a picture of Courthouse Towers in Arches National Park. You can see the Three Gossips on the middle left with Sheep Rock to their right. On the right side is the Organ.

I love this picture, and I have it taped up to my bookcase at work. This is the scene that I'd always anticipate on my family's trips to Arches. I never felt like we were actually there until we had ascended the hill from the visitor's center to the main level of the highway and travelled long enough to see these familiar features. My dad taught us to recognize these features instantly, and I see my brothers passing on this tradition with their own kids. A few years back, my oldest niece could point to the 3-pointed fin and identify them as "the Three Gospips [sic]."

I acquired this picture on a trip to St. George. I think this picture is particularly good, taken at sunrise and with a rare set of rolling clouds in the sky. The ground is relatively green but frosty, suggesting it was taken sometime in early spring, and there's a sense of stillness to it. When I look at this photograph, I feel like I'm the only one there.

Places we never want to leave

"I wish I were in Chesler Park" is the statement I currently have under my name on IM. A couple of friends have asked me about this, and Heidi took the challenge to come right back: "I wish I were in Canada... Alberta." She followed with:

"Oh, I always wish I was in Canada. And when I'm there, I never want to leave. The grass IS greener there. It always has been, always will be. Have you ever been to a place that it hurts you every time you have to leave? I mean, really... you want to cry and you feel like part of you has been torn away every time you have to drive away?"

Yes! This is what it is like for me when I have left Devil's Garden after sleeping there a couple nights. This is the feeling I immediately had when I visited Chesler Park for the first time two years ago. This is how my favorite wilderness spots and hikes become my favorite spots and hikes.

And sometimes they are good spots because they come to you at the time in your life when you need them. Two years ago, I went down by Hanksville to Little Wildhorse and Bell's Canyon, with a stop off at Goblin Valley. It was just me, Kevin, and our friend Mike, but it was a President's Day that was desperately needed (I would be defending my graduate thesis a couple of months down the road). We drove our crappy '89 Dodge sedan from Provo through all those miles and then wet dirt roads. It was totally worth it. We got mildly lost and went through Bell's Canyon first, which was a fun twist. The hike was pretty much deserted. Then we went to Goblin Valley, where the playground that existed there was as fun to me as Devil's Garden when I was a kid. Solitude. Brisk air. Red rocks. It was amazing.

A Creature Longing to be Wild

Despite the infinite wisdom of Pi, some animals will never be completely satisfied with a food source, shelter, and a water hole.

Here's Squishy, my dwarf hamster, trying to escape her 10-gallon tank. This is also posted on YouTube.

Pines

Last night I went to a family party to celebrate the birthdays of my brother and three of my nieces. At the party, my sister-in-law handed out hand-made Christmas cards with a beautiful picture of their family in the mountains (the Alpine Loop in Utah) and a link to their Christmas slide show online. After half a decade of marriage, I still haven't been able to plan far enough ahead to send out Christmas cards, and the guilt just got to me. Well, not really, but I suppose I felt guilty about not feeling guilty enough.

It did, however, cause me to reflect on how wonderful this past year has been for me and Kevin. We have a new house, we got out in the wilderness that we love, we started new jobs (or at least new positions at them), and we can celebrate five fantastic years of being together.

Enjoy these pictures of our favorite pines, the bristlecones. These trees on Cedar Mountain are probably buried in snow this time of year, but in my mind it's always late summer here.

November

I relish the way the autumn air in the Wasatch Front blows down from the canyons and makes the air in my yard smell like the mountains.

In autumn, I like to I take inventory of my life, and I feel it is a time for letting things go, such as unnecessary stress, political games, and anything that doesn't feel as comfortable as coming home. On the other hand, it's time I make resolutions, and I have decided to meet my challenges upfront on the job, in my church service, and with my friendships.


Chesler Park at dusk

Reluctance
Robert Frost: A Boy's Will

Out through the fields and the woods
And over the walls I have wended;
I have climbed the hills of view
And looked at the world, and descended;
I have come by the highway home,
And lo, it is ended.

The leaves are all dead on the ground,
Save those that the oak is keeping
To ravel them one by one
And let them go scraping and creeping
Out over the crusted snow,
When others are sleeping.

And the dead leaves lie huddled and still,
No longer blown hither and thither;
The last lone aster is gone;
The flowers of the witch-hazel wither;
The heart is still aching to seek,
But the feet question 'Whither?'

Ah, when to the heart of man
Was it ever less than a treason
To go with the drift of things,
To yield with a grace to reason,
And bow and accept the end
Of a love or a season?

Red Canyon Revisited

Here are a few more pictures from the beautiful Red Canyon between Panguitch and Bryce Canyon National Park.

Spend the years of learning squandering
Courage for the years of wandering
Through a world politely turning
From the loutishness of learning.
--Samuel Beckett

Shakespeare's Poetry and Contrast

As the summer season of the Utah Shakespearean Festival in Cedar City draws to a close, I have to say that I was thrilled with the plays I was able to catch on my vacation. I loved the Merry Wives of Windsor. This comedy is one of Shakespeare’s superior ones, in my opinion. I found it down to earth, and the games and attempted deception plausible and laughable, rather than strange and disturbing as they can be. In the end, Falstaff gets what he deserves and is sad because of it, but the ending doesn’t turn into a nasty cruel and unredeemable punishment on him as some of the other comedies punish their pro/antagonists, and he is almost back to his old self, though a bit humbler. Mistresses Ford and Page were so likeable, and their plots so simple, that I couldn’t help but be entertained. And in the end, Miss Page finds true love. What could be better?

Hamlet was amazing. It is more of a thinking play, a wordy play, than tragedies the festival has recently put on such as Dr. Faustus or Richard III (which was sometimes published as a tragedy). Richard III is riddled with juicy murders throughout, while Dr. Faustus presents the allurement of metaphysical knowledge. In contrast, Hamlet is of the unraveling, the non-creation. He is bypassed for the crown, his romance with Ophelia goes sour, noble people die, school boys perish, and the whole kingdom goes “rotten.”

A month or so ago I posted Psalm 8 here because I was captivated by the beauty of it and the deep question it asks. As I watched Hamlet from my gallery seat, I became very excited about listening to his soliloquies in light of that psalm. While putting on a little show for the insincere Rosencrantz and Guildenstern in Act II scene ii, he says sarcastically,

What a piece of work is a man! how noble in reason! how infinite in faculty! in form and moving howexpress and admirable! in action how like an
angel! in apprehension how like a god! the beauty of the world!
the paragon of animals!

And continues,

And yet, to me, what is this quintessence of dust? man delights notme.

This is the turning of the psalmist’s words:

When I consider thy heavens, the work of thy fingers, the moon and the stars,
which thou hast ordained;
What is man, that thou art mindful of him? and the
son of man, that thou visitest him?
For thou hast made him a little
lower than the angels, and hast crowned him with glory and honour.

While the psalmist’s words are those of creation, of support and strength of oneself that glorifies the God who gives fear and torment to his enemies, Hamlet’s are those that tear down, that see in humankind and himself vileness and falsehood. His enemies are the ones seeking pardons from God, and in Act I Hamlet himself cries out to God only in response to condemning the word and expressing his suicidal inclinations,

O God! God! How weary, stale, flat and unprofitable,
Seem to me all the uses of this world!
Fie on't! ah fie! 'tis an unweeded garden,
That grows to seed; things rank and gross in nature
Possess it merely.

What a wonderful contrast in human emotion. On the one hand, there’s total elation. On the other, complete desolation. Yes, Hamlet is a reckoning of they way things go on this earth, that things become broken down, dissipate into useless forms of energy, and “grow to seed.” To Hamlet, it is a universe without meaning repeating this cycle of decay. It’s thrilling in its existentialism as much as Psalm 8 is in its affirmation of a meaningful existence.

Bunker Creek from Brian Head

I thought I was the type who'd try anything once, but after my first mountain biking experience this last week, I'm not so sure. I learned several things from this experience:
1) Mountain biking can be challenging if you've never been on an adult bike, even a road bike, before. There are certain things to consider, such as using your back break more than your front break to avoid flipping over, or learning how to mount and dismount from a bike that's too tall for you to reach the ground with your toes. Learning this over a 3,000 foot descent can sometimes be a little scary.
2) Mountain bikes can do things regular bikes can't, such as going over big rocks, roots, and very bumpy ground. Just be careful and go over them.
3) Even though your rented mountain bike may be one awesome high-end Cannondale with full suspension, there are still some things that you may not want to do on your bike, such as choose the sandy parts of the trail to ride in or worse, the deep ruts of the trail. Don't get stuck in the mindset that your bike's tires are magnets for any debris scattered across the trail.
4) Going uphill can be even more fun than going downhill.
These are a few things that were true to my first experience. There were parts that were really fun, such as riding through the high meadows and the uphill parts (when I peddled, I felt more in control of my speed and direction). The scenery from the top of Brian Head (over 11,000 feet) down to Panguitch Lake (about 8,000) feet was amazing the whole way as it wound through mountain overlooks, fields, woods, and grazing pastures. I was challenged to keep going on my bike, and at times my desired speed was just a little slower than it took to really maneuver my bike, so I went back and forth on taking risks and walking my bike through the rough parts.
All in all, it took me 4 hours to do the 12-mile trail (it usually takes 2.5 for most riders), but I feel like I gave it a good shot, and I have the bruises to show for it.
Unfortunately for my brother who's been trying to coax me into classes, I think this means I may wait a little longer before trying rappelling.

Cedar Breaks

I've been consistently visiting Cedar Breaks at least once a year for the past several years. I find this canyon breathtaking. It's a lot like Bryce, but in many ways it's its own canyon. Kevin and I decided to do a little hiking down the rim of the trail to the Spectra Point and Ramparts Overlook, about 4 miles round trip. This is a relatively easy, well-marked trail, and the scenery is gorgeous as we walked through pine forests almost always in sight of the gaping canyon. My only disappointment was that after walking in about 1/3 to 1/2 mile, we were within easy distance and view of the highway. After that, the trail takes a turn toward the canyon and leads out to Spectra point, providing a clear view of the canyon, Cedar Mountian, and in the distance Cedar City. Still remaining on the rim, the trail to Ramparts Overlook heads into a beautiful strand of pine trees, including bristlecones. It takes a decline through this forest out to a dry desert point, where even the twisted trees struggle to produce green needles.

Red Canyon

Kevin and I just returned from a recent trip to the Cedar City region of the state. Last year we did some hiking at Bryce Canyon National Park, but on our way there from Panguitch, we were stunned as we went through the beautiful Red Canyon, which seemed to just pop out of nowhere from the rolling green hills and plains. I loved it because the brilliant color reminded me distinctly of Arches National Park, where I was first conditioned as a child to love the red rock of Southern Utah. We promised to come back with this canyon as our specific destination.

The ranger at the station was a nice older gentleman with a big, white beard, and at first I was tempted to crack a joke about whether or not he was Ed Abbey reincarnated (I didn't). He and his wife could hardly believe that we came for Red Canyon itself, instead of just merely passing through on the way to Bryce. Yes, Bryce is fantastic; it's breathtaking; however, I think it's unfortunate that Red Canyon be passed up because of its proximity to a naturally spectacular giant.

We decided to go on the Ledge Point Trail, which from the bottom of Red Canyon is about 2 miles to the destination point via Cassidy and Rich trails. Looking at the map and what we could see on foot, it appears that there would be a fun backpacking or horseback trip going up Cassidy and coming down one of the other canyons, such as Losee, where we took our second short hike in the region. We even ran into some riders on the way there, and there were also bike treads on the trail, although the trail was very sandy and wouldn't be my idea of an especially navigable bike trail.

The trail parallels a wash until we split to Rich trail, which started an ascent and took us over a rockier trail. After turning to the Ledge Point trail, we entered a beautiful high Ponderosa Pine forest until we nearly reached the point that looks over much of Red Canyon and is a beautiful prospect.

It was getting close to sundown, and we wanted to stop in Panguitch for dinner at the Cowboy Smokehouse, so we decided to go on a little short tour up Casto Canyon road until we got to the Losee Canyon Trailhead. We walked up the Arches trail, which has about 15 small arches in a .5-.7 mile location. The arches are relatively small, and the place had a Goblin Valley kind of feel to it, but I'd really recommend this hike for kids, although it is a little steep. The rock formations are odd and playful, and it's great to have so much to see in one small place.

Lake Mary, Pass Lake, and Albion Basin: Two short hikes and a stroll through wildflowers

In the last month or so, I haven't had much chance to go far away to hike, and July is not necessarily my favorite time to hike my favorite places in the Southern Utah desert, but I have been able to get away for an hour or two to the nearby canyons.

Near the end of June, I went with a neighbor and some of her friends up Big Cottonwood Canyon to Lake Mary. It's a supposedly short hike, and I'd done it before years ago, but the beginning of the trail had changed, and there was a lot of snow and flodded meadows, so things looked different. We overshot the trail a little bit and ended up approaching the lake from the east, but it was beautiful. The shutters of my camera weren't open all the way, hence the blocked view.

The weekend before the 4th of July holiday Kevin and I went up to the Uintas with my dad to go on a trail past Scout and Pass lakes. I love this hike. It was perfect for a July afternoon--short enough and high enough to produce pleasant temperatures. In just 3.5 miles, this loop trail takes hikers through forests, past several lakes and streams, above the timberline (where there were still plenty of ice fields), through high wildflower meadows, and through lower grassy meadows. It's a great way for me to enjoy most of the things I love about the Uintas in an afternoon, and it doesn't have switchbacks, of which I've become less fond during my mountain backbacking trips.

This weekend Kevin and I went to Albion Basin to see the wildflowers in bloom. This is where I learned to ski, and it still takes me back to my childhood to go up there and see the lift to Sugar Loaf, my favorite ski run, and the way to Cecret Lake. There are so many beautiful wildflowers this time of year.

Next to Nothing

"On Going Unnoticed"--Robert Frost

As vain to raise a voice as a sigh
In the tumult of free leaves on high.
What are you in the shadow of trees
Engaged up there with the light and breeze?

Less than the coral-root you know
That is content with the daylight low,
And has no leaves at all of its own;
Whose spotted flowers hang meanly down.

You grasp the bark by a rugged pleat,
And look up small from the forest's feet.
The only leaf it drops goes wide,
Your name not written on either side.

You linger your little hour and are gone,
And still the wood sweep leafily on,
Not even missing the coral-root flower
You took as a trophy of the hour.

"Psalm 8"

LORD, our Lord, how excellent is thy name in all the earth! who hast set thy glory above the heavens.

Out of the mouth of babes and sucklings hast thou ordained strength because of thine enemies, that thou mightest still the enemy and the avenger.

When I consider thy heavens, the work of thy fingers, the moon and the stars, which thou hast ordained;

What is man, that thou art mindful of him? and the son of man, that thou visitest him?

For thou hast made him a little lower than the angels, and hast crowned him with glory and honour.

Thou madest him to have dominion over the works of thy hands; thou hast put all things under his feet:

All sheep and oxen, yea, and the beasts of the field;

The fowl of the air, and the fish of the sea, and whatsoever passeth through the paths of the seas.

O LORD our Lord, how excellent is thy name in all the earth!

Matt's Report on Chesler Park, Canyonlands

My brother, my husband, and I went to the Needles District in Canyonlands in May. My brother Matt's report (originally written to our brother over seas) is included below. Thanks Matt, for a great comprehensive report. Some of my pictures to come later. Matt's pictures appear on his website and are copyrighted.

Report on Canyonlands

1. Elephant Hill

Alisa, Kevin, and I left at about 6:00 AM on Friday morning from my house, and it seems like we got to the trailhead at about 11:00 AM. I packed all three of my canteens, plus my camelback, so I had about 1 ¾ gallons of water. Alisa and Kevin each had more than that—about 2 ½ gallons each. So I thought we would have plenty of water, even in late May. In addition, I also emptied our ice out of our freezer into a 5-gallon water cooler, and filled it with water. We used this to fill our camelbacks with ice cold water as we started our hike, which stayed cool until about 9:00 that evening. In addition, there was still a tiny bit of ice floating in cold water when we returned to the airtight, steamy car Saturday at 4:00 PM, for post-hike refreshment. I may never go on another desert hike without the 5-gallon cooler again.

There were thunderstorms over the distant mountain ranges, which provided not only a dramatic sky for the east-ward pictures I took on Friday (http://www.colorfulutah.com/img226-257-254-18-0.ashx), but some partly-cloudy conditions to hike in, which was a blessing. With all the water and the rather un-careful job I did packing my backpack, it weighed about 55 pounds, which is a non-trivial load to carry through 90 degree desert heat, especially for only an overnight trip.

I was in charge of the menu, and considering the fact that I was out of practice for planning backpackable, no-cook meals, things turned out pretty well. There were even some new innovations which I thought are worth noting for future reference. For both lunches we had chunky peanut butter on raisin bagels (very satisfying and yummy the first day, but not tempting on Saturday in the dry heat), and for dinner Friday night we had a box of wheat thins, a jar of soft cheese (melt-resistant) made from real sharp cheddar (not nasty Cheeze Whiz), plus two cans of tuna. Putting a spoonful of cheese and a spoonful of tuna between two Wheat Thins fifty times made for a very satisfying and yummy meal. In addition, we had bananas, apples, oranges, applesauce, pudding, and string cheese (also melt-resistant), plus sweet rolls for breakfast. As you can see, the menu planning also contributed to the 55-pound weight, but we had plenty to eat and it all tasted very good. Plus, the simple, quick meals provided for more hiking and sleeping time.

The first steep ascent of the hike is right at the parking lot, at a location called “Elephant Hill.” The parking lot is right at the base of one of the most difficult 4WD roads in the broad region, but the dirt road is 2WD up to that point. We saw a few jeeps maneuvering up switchbacks, but couldn’t see enough detail to make it very interesting. This first ascent climbs up out of the canyon bottom to what I would call “ground level,” the same basic level of Chesler Park, our destination. From ground level, canyons cut deep ravines, and red-and-white striped towers and buttes jut skyward to break up the horizon in any direction you look. (http://www.colorfulutah.com/img252-257-254-18-0.ashx) These sandstone marvels are what gives the area its name of “the Needles.” Though the rock formations of the area look like Arches’ fins (http://www.colorfulutah.com/img96-257-254-18-0.ashx) on a much grander scale, “the Needles” is actually a pretty good name due to one important difference between this area and Arches—the nature of the holes in the rocks. In Arches, they tend to be circular or oval, beautifully carved and delicate, as if first cut by a word-worker’s router and then further beveled and smoothed by hand (http://www.colorfulutah.com/img239-257-254-18-0.ashx). Though there may not be quite as many, the quantity of natural arches in the Needles is also great, but nearly all of them are rather unspectacular, vertical shafts that cut straight through three-hundred foot high towers. You might be looking at a solid rock mass and be surprised to see a vertical, thin line of blue running right through the middle of it, realizing that you are seeing a rare sliver of sky, which at your particular viewing angle is aligned perfectly through cracks in two or three layers of rock which might otherwise make the hole indiscernible. These vertical shafts break up the rocks into the interesting formations of spires, cracks, and canyons which one could argue loosely resemble needles. (http://www.colorfulutah.com/img253-257-254-18-0.ashx)

One such shaft formed a passageway straight through the huge monolith which our campsite backed up against. Once I realized that it went clear through, I wanted (of course) to see if I could walk or crawl through it and poke my head out the other side. I could have easily, too. It was probably eight feet wide and nearly 50 or so feet tall, and the passageway was probably 30 feet deep, and all of it at ground level (on my side of the crack, at least). However, at the entrance to this cavern there was a large rock pile, and on, around, and above this rock pile was the most disgusting collection of bat guano I have ever seen—three to four feet thick in places, as far as I could tell, and going from the ground up to the top of the crack. There must have been an incredible quantity of bats living there to produce such a prolific pile of poo (I warned you that I am deranged enough to believe that I am suddenly a great writer—even employing alliteration to describe a fetid bunch of bat feces).

Once we reached the top of the parking lot canyon, we were able to walk on level ground for quite a while, passing large, brilliantly-colored towers on the right, and intriguing canyons on the left. Intriguing only because this was the beginning of our hike--by the time we passed by the same canyons on the way back the next day, the intrigue of exploration had been replaced by a realization that this area is so huge, hot, arid, and difficult to traverse, that a hiker had better just stick to the trails and hope he brought enough water for that. Exploration might be more palatable in the earlier spring or late fall when water stretches a little farther, and with more than two days at one’s disposal.

At one point we came to an outcropping of white biscuit-shaped rocks over a deep canyon, which I believe is the general area of one of the most famous (and my favorite) of the postcards and posters that are available at the park visitor’s centers. What surprised me seeing it in person though, is that the particular angle the shot was taken at makes it almost look like the red-rock needle formations are sparse over the broad landscape. Seeing it in person, one realizes that the layers of towers and buttes jutting out of ground level are stacked deep in any given direction, providing an utterly confusing, wonderful, picturesque landscape in any direction you look. I took over 40 panoramic photos on this trip, far more than I have ever taken on any other trip—there was so much to see and the scale of the rocks and canyons was so grand that the ridiculously small square frame provided by the camera for a regular shot could not do the landscape justice in any sense of the word. Unfortunately, due to the limited time I had, I could not plan most of these shots and the light angles were poor for most of them.

Though the scenery was spectacular, the bulk of our hike in (with the full 55 pounds) was in the heat of the day, with very little shade. There is quite a bit of distance on open ground to cover between the striped buttes and canyons, and the only chances for shade were when the trail descended in a crack between two marshmallow biscuits on the rim of elephant canyon, and when it passed immediately along one of the cliff faces. Crossing Elephant Canyon, the main canyon in our path on our way into Chesler Park, was steep, hot, and really not much fun. But hiking down the dry wash of the same canyon on our way back out was much more enjoyable, though the sheer distance we had to walk, fully exposed to the sun, was a little excessive. After climbing the far side of Elephant Canyon, we made a final ascent up towards some cliffs and passed through a break in the fins and into full view of Chesler Park.


2. Chesler Park

Chesler Park was used for cattle grazing until the late 1970’s, and it is obvious why. This egg-shaped valley, nearly completely surrounded by high fins and cliffs, has some strange properties which seem to pool an unnatural amount of water in its sandy soil. At this time of year, the whole valley floor was carpeted with wildflowers—sparse as they always are in the desert, but full of reds, oranges, yellows, whites, and even occasional blues. As we started to circumnavigate this large crater, we could occasionally see through and beyond the cliff layer and realize that we were up on a plateau of sorts, with dramatic drop-offs into canyons on the north and east. In the east portion of Chesler Park was a particularly lush area, with the same type of cracked earth in large, heavy clumps that is more characteristic of an alpine meadow than the exceedingly dry, hard, cracked sand typically found in Canyon Country. This area was covered with bright green, soft grass and daisies, which looked quite out-of-place compared to the rest of the landscape, covered with drier grasses and flowers. Since this area was probably ½ mile wide and had just as much sun exposure as the park in general, I have to conclude this area probably had poorer drainage than the rest of the park, most likely with a nice layer of bedrock that held the water close to the surface. It was truly a meadow, a green oasis in the desert. If I were a cow, I would be happy to graze here, surrounded by such beauty.

In the middle of the oval-shaped park was a line of towers and cliffs (http://www.colorfulutah.com/img251-257-254-18-0.ashx) that runs from the southern end to within about ½ mile of the northern end. Along this row of rock, on the west side, was our campsite. By the time we finally arrived at our camp (Campsite 3) at about 3:00 PM, taking off that heavy pack was welcome relief. When we cleared the ridge of rock in the middle of Chesler Park, we were suddenly exposed to the wind, which blew sand everywhere, including into our Peanut Butter bagels. We were so tired and hungry that we really didn’t care that much; sand-laced pudding is very delicious after a five mile hike with backpacks in the heat of the desert sun.

Our choice of sites for the tent was fairly limited due to the wind, and we selected the only suitable place within the markers of the boundary of the campsite—inside the shade of small grove of large juniper trees. The oversized tent (a tall, comfortable, four-adult tent, not really meant for backpacking) had about one foot of clearance on all sides and on top. The most treacherous part of the site was a thick juniper branch that stuck out horizontally at about chest height, about 1 foot in front of the door. We all agreed that someone was going to get clocked by this branch, as we all had several close calls getting up and out of the tent. Alisa was the only one who hit it head-on, giving her a nasty bump and as she found out later while washing her hair, a large bleeding gash across the top of her head. But that did not slow her down while we were there (she is one tough cookie). Setting up the tent was a bit of a trick in the wind, but once we staked the corners down, it quit trying to be a kite, and we rested in the shelter it gave from the wind, dozing off for about 45 minutes.


3. Joint Trail

When we awoke, the sun was starting to fall in the afternoon sky, and feeling refreshed, we decided we had better head out for our evening hike around the south and west sides of Chesler Park. We crossed the grassy plain to the southern cliffs, and pausing on top of a slight rise, I attempted to take a panoramic shot of the beautiful crater we were in. The only trouble was, there was no natural stopping point. So about 24 shots later, I had 180-degree coverage of the area. My favorite portion of this panorama is looking back towards the ridge of rock and our campsite in the middle of the park. (http://www.colorfulutah.com/img226-257-254-18-0.ashx)

We walked to a viewpoint on the southern end, and then descended down into the Joint Trail. This trail leaves Chesler Park by following a perfectly straight, three-foot-wide joint in the rock on the southern end. The uniformity of this passageway is remarkable; smooth white sandstone walls like rough sheetrock, stretching up to an unknown height and the mostly flat, sandy floor. The passageway extends for several hundred yards this way without variation, except for a few points where it is intersected at nearly right angles by uniform passageways heading in perpendicular directions. Traversing through the heart of solid rock like this is something quite unique. The cracks I have previously explored in places like Arches were much shorter, and never with the strange right-angled intersections seen here. The desert canyons I have hiked are sculpted and rounded by the flow of water ((http://www.colorfulutah.com/img84-257-254-18-0.ashx). This channel seemed to be cut with a giant table saw at right angles, beginning and ending suddenly at the edges of the sandstone block.

Once we came back into daylight to the south of Chesler Park, the landscape was suddenly changed. The ground-level terrain is in a state of decay, falling in large chunks into broken boulders and collapsed valleys, and the needle red-rock formations are few. (http://www.colorfulutah.com/img238-257-254-18-0.ashx) The terrain seems more accessible for exploration, and for the first time on our hike we join up with the jeep trail that began at Elephant Hill. If a jeep can make it over Elephant Hill, it is only a few miles’ ride to this spot, within easy access to Chesler Park. An inexperienced jeeper will have to ride 30 miles to approach from the east, I discovered by inquiry at the visitor’s center on the way out. The setting sun cast warm, long shadows on the rounded bluffs that looked appetizingly like baked bread loaves, and the air was cool and pleasant. (http://www.colorfulutah.com/img233-257-254-18-0.ashx)

At this point, the hiking trail and the jeep trail merged for a mile or so as we rounded the southwest corner outside of Chesler Park. Then the trail made a steep climb up some rocky terrain and put us up back into the tableland, and back in close proximity to the salmon cliffs, now glowing brilliantly in the setting sunlight, segmented by deep shadows, now turned black. This section of our Canyonlands hike reminded me most of the red-rock fins in Arches that I love so much. If we had had time, I would have loved to spend some time exploring the many cracks and towers that most likely lead to nowhere. (http://www.colorfulutah.com/img250-257-254-18-0.ashx)

As the trail wound through this maze of rock, down through a crack, and back into the open grasslands of Chesler Park, long shadows overtook us as the sun disappeared behind the buttes of Island in the Sky on the far western horizon. The pink afterglow of evening set in with the sacred silence of dusk. We decided that rather than hike the mile and a half along the perimeter of the park back to our site as we had done earlier in the day, we would just cut cross-country, sticking to the bottom of washes as much as possible. Unfortunately, this proved difficult to do, but we figured we would do less damage to the terrain than a herd of hungry cows. As we approached the central towers of the park and our campsite, the last shades of color flared up in the western sky as the remnants of the day’s thunderstorms caught fire and were consumed by darkness. Below, a nameless black sandstone metropolis was silhouetted against the fading light. (http://www.colorfulutah.com/img248-257-254-18-0.ashx) As the earth prepared to renew itself with the dawn of the morning to come, the bats came out to cleanse the spent desert air of unwelcome pests. The numerous cotton-tailed rabbits that before had bounded away from us in the brush even seemed to lose their fear temporarily and stopped to watch us as we passed, so complete was the peace of night.

Back at the tent, we ate our supper mostly in silence. The only sound to disturb us was the late-arriving party bound for campsite 5, who shined their headlamps at us and offered cheerful hellos as they passed. I fell asleep to the sound of the light breeze rustling the branches of the juniper above the tent, my last images being starlight, bright enough out here to be seen through the filters of both tree branch and tent screen.


4. Druid Arch

I awoke early. Not as early as I had planned, but early enough that the shadows were still long and the air was still cool. I put on my crusty, cold shoes and stepped out of the tent. I could see the sunlight streaming onto the grass and flowers through the gap in the rock wall near our camp site, but as any sensible man knows, I needed to do more than just go stand in the sun: I needed to stand in the sun 30 feet up, on top of some place suitable for chest-beating and perhaps a good yodel. So I climbed up the only chunk of the wall that looked reasonably climbable, and was greeted at the top with a brilliant massage of warmth and light on my ground-stiffened body. Standing there I could see about 270 degrees of the circular walls and battlements around our huge, private fortress (http://www.colorfulutah.com/img227-257-254-18-0.ashx). I don’t know how, but I somehow resisted the powerful urge to burst out into song. Something about the stillness of the morning helped me keep my enthusiasm for life contained at that moment.

It is quite a marvel to stand alone in such a place, where the clear desert air is free from civilized haze and allows awe-inspiring views dozens of miles away. Incredible vistas are there for the taking in, but they are no more interesting than noticing the blues of the shadows of individual bumps and ripples on the massive, white, rounded rock at my feet. The texture of rock, the pattern of far-away cliffs, the hushed activity of this living desert community all combine to give a powerful reminder of the value and power of silence and solitude. (http://www.colorfulutah.com/img228-257-254-18-0.ashx) I wonder at those who try so hard to stay “connected” in the information age, when the option exists to be in communion with the ageless.

Reluctantly, I realized that I could not stay there forever, so I descended to breakfast and break camp. I agreed to take about ½ gallon of Alisa’s water because I was consuming mine ahead of schedule, and she was behind schedule. We refilled our camelbacks, packed up our noticeably lighter backpacks, and headed out the east side of Chesler Park towards upper Elephant Canyon. The way out of Chesler Park on the east side was even more interesting than the way in on the north—a fun trail that descended through cracks, ran along pothole-laden slickrock, and ultimately landed us at the bottom of the wash in Elephant Canyon. The moon was still up and visible, having spent the night away.

We stashed our packs underneath some flat rocks along the bank of the dry wash, and started the climb upstream to where the canyon rose steeply upward, eventually ending in a huge, double box canyon that was bisected by a massive fin containing Druid Arch. Along this path we saw the only visible water in the 15 or so miles of trail we traversed, in the form of a couple of deep, dark green stagnant pools, with a 12 foot dry fall on the upstream side. I suppose we could have approached the pool from the bottom if needed, but I would have had to have been more than a little desperate to drink that water, even with the filter that I brought along. We informed a couple of backpackers of the existence of this pool on our way out, when they inquired about the availability of water—after only about two miles in. Hopefully they didn’t need it. It was definitely hotter on Saturday than it was on Friday when we hiked in.

When we reached the end of the box canyon, the trail turned steeply upward, and we climbed out of the wash, up one level, then another, and ultimately to the top-most level of flat ground at the base of vertical, two-hundred foot walls. Sticking out into the middle of the canyon at this level is Druid Arch, aptly named because of its resemblance to Stonehenge (http://www.colorfulutah.com/img232-257-254-18-0.ashx). Looking at this spectacle in a small photograph, it is impossible to comprehend the sheer size of it. The larger of the two main arches must be forty feet wide at the base, and close to 120 feet tall. This turned out to be the most congested of all the places we visited—we saw well over a dozen other people while we stopped to admire the beauty of the scene. But even here, it was easy to get far enough away from the arch that the people became insignificant specs in the foreground, allowing me to photography the arch and canyon in relative solitude.

After we hiked back to our packs and ate a quick lunch, we finished our hike out, which whizzed by with lively talk of politics and philosophy (a constant throughout our journey), and arrived at the car with just a little water to spare and a cooler half-full of ice water waiting for us. We stopped at the Visitor’s Center on the way out to use the facilities, and that is where I bought Desert Solitaire, and hence you can blame them for the length of this report.

Soapbox Update

An update to my previous post on nuclear waste storage in Utah: The LDS Church has made an official statement saying, "The transportation and storage of high-level nuclear waste create substantial and legitimate public health, safety, and environmental concerns." They call on the federal government to "harness the technological and creative power of the country to develop options for nuclear waste." An article about their statement appears here: http://deseretnews.com/dn/view/0,1249,635205027,00.html . Again, the article urges the public to contact pam_schuller@blm.gov to express our opinion, and Congressman Jim Matheson suggests we mention the facts and public policy reasons why nuclear waste doesn't belong in the West. The burden of nuclear waste belongs to the people who most enjoy its benefits.

In the past I have not always been sure how I feel about religious leaders contacting the government directly, as I've favored the route of preaching desired principles over the pulpit and then allowing their members to act on these principles in public. However, I am glad that the LDS Church sees environmental issues and ecological fairness as legitimate concerns (and perhaps moral ones). And I will be elated if I ever hear Church leaders talk to their congregations about the living earth, the environment, and wise stewardship that avoids unrighteous dominion over the earth. Maybe next time I'm asked to give a talk, I'll sneak it in.

We are what we breathe

Here's an article on the latest findings on particulate pollution in Utah: http://deseretnews.com/dn/view/0,1249,635204487,00.html

Hidden Canyon: Zion National Park

There's nothing like a sunset hike in Zion. At that time of day, we found it very relaxing and quiet, and a lot of the animals came out.

"So are great reaches of our western deserts, scarred somewhat by prospectors but otherwise open, beautiful, waiting, close to whatever God you want to see in them... It is a lovely and terrible wilderness, such as wilderness as Christ and the prophets went out into; harshly and beautifully colored, broken and worn until its bones are exposed, its great sky without a smudge of taint from Technocracy, and in hidden corners and pockets under its cliffs the sudden poetry of springs. Save a piece of country like that intact, and it does not matter in the slightest that only a few people every year will go into it. That is precisely its value. Roads would be a desecration, crowds would ruin it. But those who haven't the strength or youth to go into it and live can simply sit and look. They can look two hundred miles, clear into Colorado..." --Wallace Stegner, "Wilderness Letter," December 3, 1960

Nature's Answer

I have been thinking a lot about environmental issues lately. When writing my master's thesis, I discovered the assault of nature is nothing new. I studied the traditionally-called scientific revolution and found that scientists often used metaphors that illustrated a male scientist pursuing female nature, loading their work with ideas of sexuality and masculine dominance (and some wonder why ecofeminism--the merging of ecology and feminism--is such a good fit?). In prologue to Micrographia by Robert Hooke (1665), he says, "the footsteps of nature are to be trac'd, not only in her ordinary course, but when she seems to put to her shifts, to make many doublings and turnings, and to use some kind of art in endeavouring to avoid our discovery." e.e. cummings writes about the same thing, with bravery. I love the hope that nature is and always will be resilient to our bullying (a vain hope?).

O sweet spontaneous
earth how often have
the doting

fingers of
prurient philosophies pinched
and poked

thee
has the naughty thumb
of science prodded
thy

beauty how
often have religions taken
thee upon their
scraggy knees squeezing and

buffeting thee that thou mightest conceive
gods
but
true

to the incomparable
couch of death thy
rhythmic
lover

thou answerest

them only with

spring

-- e.e. cummings