Eerie beauty

Plans not going as planned

I know better than to try certain things. But the crucial part is to actually think about those things for at least a few seconds before heading off.

Yesterday’s error was my lack of thought about it not only being a popular travel season in southeastern Utah’s National Parks, but also a weekend. Also also a three-day weekend for many folks. So, again, if I had even thought about it, I would have known it was foolish to assume there would even be parking anywhere near a popular trailhead like Hickman Bridge/Cohab Canyon. I mean, I knew Scenic Drive was closed for repairs, crowding more visitors into less area. I knew there would be a mess at the visitor center because part the parking lot was being reconfigured and resurfaced. But doo-da-doo-doo-doo, off I went. And it was the worst crowd I had ever seen there.

I had a vague back-of-the-mind alternate “plan” though. I knew of a boondocking area on Notom-Bull Frog Road, on the eastern side of the park. I could hang there a day or two then return to my original plan. But I’m not the only one familiar with that boondocking spot. It was full, except for a very tilted spot right by the road. In addition, there was no cell service. Not good.

Okay, fine, I would continue east to Hanksville. I needed bread and there’s a grocery there. Then I would go north to where I wanted to do some hiking in the canyons near Goblin Valley State Park. But the grocery was closed, I guess because they believe in observing the Sabbath.

Okay, fine, I would continue on to Goblin Valley, even though I knew that area would also be crowded. At least it wouldn’t be as crowded as Capitol Reef.

I found a site, even though it’s not as scenic as I would prefer. The better spots were occupied. Of course. But at least I have solitude where I can give greater thought to my plans.

We got a smattering of rain in the night. Maybe that was enough to rinse away my stupidity.

Modern archeology

This is not an ancient ruin, but it will be in a few centuries. Should I leave something in it to facilitate dating? A coin, maybe?

Gone to a better place

I griped a little that my camping neighbors, though well behaved, were a little closer than I liked. So when I finished yesterday’s hike I looked for a new boondocking spot. I found it on a less used road, in sort of a bowl. Less view, more privacy. Had to switch from my Verizon phone to my T-Mobile hot spot, though, which is not a problem. It’s good to spread my “unlimited” data around.

An easy trail, until...

Capitol Reef National Park has many popular and well-promoted trails. But this being one of the peak seasons I considered taking a less known trail. It might not be as spectacular as others, but it was more likely I’d have it all to myself. And I did. Well, except for one guy going the other way.

Sulphur Creek runs west to east through a rugged canyon a little south of Highway 24. The Sulphur Creek Trail runs from the highway to Sulphur Creek via a wiggly dry wash — about a four mile round trip. It’s easy walking with a very gradual slope, moving in and out of the shade of cliffs as the wash twists and turns.

But then, near the end of the trail, with Sulphur Creek in view, there’s a series of drop-offs ranging from about six to fifteen feet. Hmmm… How to get down? More critically, how to get back up?

I spent about fifteen minutes trying to find the way. I knew there must be a way because I could see footprints below.  I backtracked to see if there was a detour. None that I could see. Maybe I follow that narrow ledge around that point. It dead ended. I finally saw the crack with a series of step-like ledges. Spots along the rocks where hands and feet had rubbed off dirt and lichens were a reassuring sign.

The big question was whether my old man body was up for the task. Might I fall? Would I be able to heft myself back up? Should I just turn around short of the goal?

I went for it. I did not hurt myself.

The trail continues down Sulphur Creek, eventually reaching the Visitor Center. But the remainder for the trail requires a lot of bushwhacking, rock scrambling, or walking in the water. A notice at the trailhead warned of high e. coli levels in the water, so that was out.

I found a comfy rock and enjoyed the scenery for a while. Then I climbed back up the drop-off. The only damage was whacking my head on a overhanging rock I hadn’t seen because it had been hidden by my hat brim as I was concentrating on my foot placement and handhold. (There’s only a very slight bump and tender spot this morning.)

All-in-all, it was an enjoyable afternoon, in part because I chose to solve a problem rather than retreat.

So many words

I just noticed I've published 3,720 blog posts. That's an average of 338 posts a year for the eleven years I've been doing this. Not quite one a day.

That amazes me. 

I am not known as a talkative guy, but I guess writing is how I let it all out — whether anyone asked for it or not.

So thank you to those of you who follow my blatherings.

I miss isolation

If you’re a fairly normal person (which I pretend to be) then spring and autumn are the best times to visit the desert. It’s neither too hot nor too cold. Goldilocks time. Which means it’s more crowded.

I found a good campsite with a very nice view, but the neighbors are closer and more numerous than I prefer. At least they’ve been quiet. I think I’ll be here for a few days, so I’ll see whether the crowd thins out or gets worse. Fingers crossed.

Away to a waypoint

It felt like time to move on from Bryce Canyon. No particular reason other than my impulse to keep moving. But first a shower at the park’s general store. Three bucks for a token that’s good for five minutes. The token might have no cash value, but a nice hot shower makes me feel like a million bucks.

Although I had stocked up rather well in Kanab there were a couple of items I could only get at Walmart. The closest ones were in Cedar City to the west, Hurricane to the southwest, and Richfield to the north. Going to Cedar City would mean going over an 11,000 foot pass. Going to Hurricane would mean crawling through Zion National Park. Richfield — the farthest away — would be a leisurely drive, except for a few miles of I-15. And it would put me in better position for Cedar Breaks, Capitol Reef, Bears Ears, and Moab.

Having chosen Richfield, I had a few route options. I could go west on Highway 12 then take US89 all the way to Richfield. But I have driven that way many many times. Or I could take Highway 22/Johns Valley Road north through Black Canyon to Highway 62, then north to Highway 24 and west on Highway 119. I have been that way once before, only in the other direction. Or I could do a combination of the two, cutting through Kingston Canyon between 89 and 22. I had never driven Kingston Canyon, so that’s what I chose.

So I got my stuff at Walmart, and I filled the tank, but now what? It was late afternoon and I needed to decide where to spend the night. About nine or ten years ago I had overnighted at Walmart and the Flying J. Eh, I’d rather not. So I headed up into the mountains and found a spot with a view of the valley. It was a little trashy with a few beer containers scattered about, and a couple of deer carcasses, but it would do for a night. 

The Rolling Steel Tent hiding behind some trees

Now I’m off into the land of spotty cell service and spotty population. Oh, and weather that might be warmer than I’d like. But new experiences, man.

An increasingly rare meal

Yesterday a friend posted about a smoothie he makes. One of the ingredients was maple syrup. Naturally, maple syrup made me think of pancakes — even though I don’t put maple syrup on my pancakes. The flavor just, eh, doesn’t appeal to me.

Then this morning, as I was rearranging things in my cupboard, I came across the box of pancake mix hiding in the back. Man, how long had it been since I made pancakes?………. Over a year? At least. Why? I don’t know. I go through phases.

It was about lunchtime, and I hadn’t eaten yet, so pancakes. With only butter.

I enjoyed my flapjacks, but then I remembered why I hadn’t been making them very often. There’s more to clean up. I can usually do breakfast with just a pan, fork, spatula and plate. And I can clean them with just spritzes of water-vinegar mix. But pancakes require a measuring cup, mixing bowl, soft spatula for mixing, pan, spoon for moving batter to the pan, hard spatula, plate, and fork. And the bowl, spoon and soft spatula require several cups of water to clean off the batter residue, some of which dries and sticks to things. 

No, it’s not like I need to clean up a four-course meal for six with lots of greasy gooey crusty stuff. But I’ve gotten used to doing things very simply. Ideally, minimalism isn’t only about having less but also about doing less.

More Bryce Canyon

At Sunrise Point at sunrise

If you think, “Hey, let’s get up while it’s still dark so we can be at the rim of Bryce Canyon for sunrise,” know that you’re not the only one thinking the same thing. When something is named Sunrise Point folks tend to go there for the sunrise. 

You could find yourself in a conga line driving down Highway 63 to the park. You could find yourself hunting for a parking space. Or you could find yourself wishing you had dressed warmer now that it’s autumn.

But I went anyway.

The sun was cresting the horizon just as I approached the rim. I had timed it perfectly. Sometimes guessing works out as well as meticulous planning. It wasn’t one of those alone-with-the-majesty-of-nature moments but I was happy to be there nonetheless.

Dubious detour

I have to wonder what the situation was on the regular forest road that made the detour seem like a better choice. A large puddle? A dead cow? (There’s open range about a quarter mile away.) 

Whatever the reason, I can imagine how the driver felt. I’ve done a similar thing more than once. Such is life off pavement.

And right now there are a bunch of victims of tropical storm Helene who, if their vehicles weren’t washed away, will be making iffy route decisions. Is the mud dry enough to drive on? How deep is it? Is there any pavement left underneath or is there a drop-off? Is there any road left at all beyond what I can see from here? Should I turn around? Is there room to turn around? And so on.

It’s easy for me to be smug and think (or say out loud), “Hell, I live in a van and I would’ve fled the region at the first word of an approaching storm, if for no other reason than I don’t like massive amounts of rain very much.”  But I have enough empathy and humanity to feel ashamed when I think that.

May you not get mired down — literally and metaphorically. Make wise choices, and drive on.

It was too warm in Kanab, so my choice was to head northward and to higher elevation near Bryce Canyon.

On to Utah

From Jacob Lake AZ the closest town of any useful size is Kanab UT. I needed to do laundry and there’s a laundromat in Kanab I had used once several years ago. The plan was to do laundry and then continue northward, out of Kanab’s heat, to Bryce Canyon which is at 8,000 feet. But by the time I got off my butt, drove the 37 miles to Kanab, had a late lunch, then washed and folded my laundry, it was 4:30. It would be about an hour and a half to get to Bryce. That would be around sunset, which is not the best time to be looking for a campsite. Besides, there are a couple of small things I’d like to see near Kanab. So I decided to stay in the area. I found this nice campsite a couple of miles north of town. Hmmmm… Maybe I’ll stay a few days if it doesn’t get too hot. 

Leaf peeping in Northern Arizona

In June of 2020 the human-caused “Magnum Fire” burned 71,450 cares of forest on the Kaibab Plateau at Jacob Lake. When you drive through the fire zone today you see the conifers have been decimated but aspens have taken over like gangbusters. And right now they’re glorious yellow.

Breakfast IS the most important meal of the day. Sometimes.

I was eager this morning to set out on the Cape Final Trail at the North Rim of Grand Canyon. “Have some breakfast first,” I told myself. But I got caught up in other preparations and… I was about a quarter mile along the trail when I remembered I hadn’t eaten. And I hadn’t consumed much the day before. I should have returned to the Rolling Steel Tent and at least made some eggs. But I was fixated on my hiking goal. And I didn’t want to re-climb the hill I had just slogged up. “If I don’t eat I’ll burn off more of the flab I’ve accumulated. Right?”

After the first mile it became obvious the weakness I felt was more than just being out of shape. I was stopping every few hundred yards to rest. My legs were getting shaky. There was some dizziness.

Not too many years ago, when my philosophy was to avoid exertion, I would have thrown in the towel and turned around, lecturing myself on the way back about the folly of exercise. But now a louder voice was telling me to keep going, to not wimp out. When did I become one of those Press On Regardless types?

The crew that built the trail seemed to have thoughtfully placed downed trees at intervals just right for fools like me to sit on and recover. Or sort of recover.

I made it all the way to Point Final. I didn’t go out to the very tip because my balance and footing were not good by then. But I sat and sat and sat nearby, enjoying the view, congratulating my dubious determination, trying to feel somewhat stable again.

On the way back I realized what I was feeling was most likely hypoglycemia. That’s some serious stuff. I took it extra easy, stopping more often and resting longer. I thought about asking passing hikers if they had some kind of snack they could spare, but my embarrassment stopped me. I should have brought something with me, but, like I said, I started out with other things on my mind. Besides, it was only a four-mile hike. It wouldn’t take long. It ended up taking five hours.

That hill at the beginning was now my friend. It was downhill to the van. Once there I downed two big chocolate cookies and collapsed on the bed. I had made it. I hadn’t died. I didn’t need to be rescued. I had been very stupid. I made a sandwich once I was able. Then napped some more. And thought about my mistakes.