52.) Obligatory Horror Stories.....Angel's Landing.....Self Loathing....

 The next morning I navigate the bus system deep into the Park in hopes of reaching the trailhead to Angel’s Landing. It’s one of those hikes Zion is famous for, I’ve read all about it, and it sounds like it’ll be quite an experience. In route I chat with other passengers and when I mention my destination I’m met with there obligatory story of “did ya hear what happened last week?”  Evidently a woman hiked part of the way up and then just froze. She refused to move either way, and this particular part of the trail is oriented in such a way that the stuck woman’s presence was preventing any other hikers from safely getting by.  No one else could go up, and no else could come down, until she moved; but she was paralyzed with fear.  Eventually, a ranger was notified and made his way up the trail to aid this woman in her decent.  When he finally reaches her, he speaks in soothing tones trying to coax her down the trail.  It doesn’t work, she can’t move.  The ranger inches closer to her sliding an arm around her shoulders and places his hand on hers.  When he scoops up her hand into his, she panics. Arms flailing, squirming in the ranger grasp, until it’s too much and they misstep.  In each others arms, these two strangers plummet hundreds of feet down the cliff side and into the canyon.  Neither survived……. “That’s a hell of a story to tell me on the bus ride TO that fuckin' trail!” I yell, shaking my head.  

I’m still shaking off the cobwebs of that story as I hop off the bus and onto the trailhead for Angel’s Landing, where I end up doing 5 miles of the most intense hiking I've done yet. And that woman from the story on the bus? Well, her fears seem more and more reasonable the further I go up the path.  First it's 21 switchbacks up…..always up.

    It’s misleading at first, the path is narrow, yes, but far from perilous, and the grade not too steep. It starts from the canyon floor, no need to be nervous just yet. Then switchback after switchback, higher and higher and before I know it the canyon floor on my right has dropped so far that I’m hiking next to tree tops. On my left, heavy chains are riveted into the rock wall to give hikers something to hold onto. The trail seems to do nothing but narrow and climb, no more than 2 feet wide in some places and topping out in the neighborhood of 1400 feet with nothing between me and the vertical drop.  It’s terrifying and exhilarating at the same time, which seem to be the token characteristics of life’s greatest experiences, and if you ever catch yourself feeling both simultaneously,  you can rest assured your time is being wisely spent. I recommend any of these experiences to anybody, this hike included.  But it does seem awfully dangerous. I don’t know how the park gets away with just letting anybody climb up here.

    When I finally reach the top and the trail widens into a relatively flat plateau where people are milling about taking pictures and what not.  Sitting just off to my left is a pair of college girls, the Asian one is looking panicked and out of breath while her friend sits next the her with a comforting arm draped around her neck. They look up as I walk passed and I stab a thumb back in the direction of the trail, “Damn, that’s a crazy fuckin climb huh?”

The Asian girl looks at me with red ringed eyes, “I cried the whole way up…” she says.  I giggle a little and say “But ya made it!” and head towards the highest point on this mesa in the sky.  The views, along with the feeling of actually being here, are well worth any traumas the route up may have caused.  Three hundred and sixty degrees. All the way around. I’m in awe everywhere I look.  I can see all the way to the mouth of the canyon and the entrance to the park.  Below a shag carpet of green follows the river along the canyon floor. The other direction, deeper into the canyon is more untouched wilds until the river disappears around a bend.  

    It’s this feeling that I’m chasing. The feeling of ‘being’ that you get when you reach  a place like this. There's a metaphor hiding there somewhere. The triumphant wave of adrenaline that comes after an arduous journey.  A sense of accomplishment, and a view from the top.  It’s what we’re all chasing really…..isn’t it?  Maybe I’m wrong, but if feels damn good.  

During my brief but memorable stay atop Angel’s Landing I chat with a lovely young couple, and during our hike down they mention they are next headed to The Narrows. I did that trail just the other day but since the rest of my day is plan-less I happily accept their invitation to join them. 

On the bus, heading towards the Narrows I reach for my camera but it isn't there. Normally it hangs in an army green pouch slung across my chest like a purse, but the entire thing is no where on my person. A frantic search of my bus seat and the surrounding bus floor bears no fruit either. Then it hits me. I remember taking it off, hanging it on a fence post so I could remove and refill my camelback at one of the water stations.  I specifically remember taking it off, but not putting it back on. To myself I think, well that's pretty stupid of me and I bid adieu with a hasty apology to my new found hiking buddies and hop off the bus to head back in the direction of my cameras last known whereabouts.  

This spot in the park is know as the Grotto, and when arrive my camera is no where to be found. Not on the fence post near the water station where I left it, nor in the nearby ranger station's lost and found. As I board another bus, my self loathing is deepening and in a last ditch effort I dump my tale of woe on the bus driver who informs me that a camera fitting my description has just been turned in to the lost and found at the Visitors Center back near the entrance to the park.  I’m once again elated on the ride there, and one again plummet back into the depths upon my arrival when it’s obvious that it's not my camera that was recently turned in.  

The self loathing reaches a fever pitch as I turn in a ‘lost item’ form to the ranger at the lost and found.  “Buck up, man,” he says to me, the dismay on my face is far from subtle.  “We find 99% of lost items around here.  I once had someone turn in a $4,000 camera they found on the bus.  Could have easily made off with it themselves but they didn’t.  People know cameras contain memories, I guess.”

It’s a nice thought, and a profound observation.  “I’ll have to steal it”, I think to myself while considering all the now-lost memories in my lost camera.  I thank the ranger as I leave, with no real expectations of ever seeing the thing again and the memory of how I came to have that particular camera in the first place.  

It was a gift from my old man, the first model was, for a birthday or some such event.  It was sleek, shiny, digital, and water proof.  I was beyond content, and it served it’s function admirably until a trip to Maui, where a dip into the tide pools did it in, despite the advertising of it’s “waterproof” feature.  I remember feeling terrible for breaking the damn thing, it being a gift from my Dad and all.  And being the stand up guy that he is, my dad weaseled his way into a free replacement from the manufacturer.  And not only that but a higher end version of the broken one…..next years model…as they say.  This new one, looks indestructible.  Made of thick durable plastic and padded rubber printed with the words “waterproof”, “impactproof”, “adventure proof.” 

Back on the bus, I come out of my daydream thinking, “yeah, but not Skala-proof. I can’t break it…..but I can loose it.” I take the bus back to the park entrance hating myself even more than usual.

51.) The Darkest Place in America and Plotting in Hotel Lobbies......

 The hike out is all uphill, not steep, but consistent.  I can feel my stamina building, I make it back to the top pretty quickly and I’m not really tired. Personal growth, physical or otherwise is always a reason to celebrate, or at least take conscious note of. 

    I read that Bryce Canyon is one of the darkest places in America so around 1 am I drive out to Sunset Point to have a look.  What I see…..is nothing. Thousands of stars are the only points of light for miles. I look out over the canyon…..not one light, not one sign of civilization from where I stand all the way to the horizon I can barely make out……darkness. It’s like standing in outer space.  

On my drive back out of the park the animals know the crowds have departed for the day and its safe to emerge from their hiding places.  Dozens of mule deer, springbok, and antelope show themselves on both side of the road.  It’s probably another nightly routine for them, just like the deer in Capitol Reef.  They’re just like me, trying to avoid the crowds in order to pursue their own personal desires.  I have more in common with animals than I do with people, and I like the animals better. They're more relatable. 

    Bryce Canyon is a beautiful landscape, but I’ve seen what there is to see, I’ve turned 31 and now it’s time to head to a new park, one that I’ve heard a lot about and am excited to experience……Zion National Park.  

    Upon my arrival my intention is to stop at the local post office. My Mom has sent me some packages, but the sign on the door says closed.  Apparently it’s Memorial Day and the park is a zoo.  I don’t even try to get back in today so I spend the rest of my daylight hours walking around town looking for a place to watch tonights hockey game.  It’s here that I discover hotel lobbies to be a great place to cool off in the A/C, rest up, and read in relative comfort.  No one hassles me because they have no way of knowing I’m not a guest of the hotel.  I’m thinking exactly this when I notice a sign advertising the free continental breakfast in the morning…..and a plan begins to form.

    The next morning I show up at the same Hotel during the designated breakfast hours. I walk in the front door all nonchalant and head for the bathroom in the lobby. I don't have to go, but it's down the hallway a bit towards the elevators. I’m hoping when I come out, it’ll look like I came from my “room” on one of the upper levels so that no one will hassle me at the breakfast buffet.  It turns out that I needn't worry, the hotel staff actually help me operate the waffle iron and I’m in heaven.  I fill up my plate with bacon, french toast sticks, OJ, milk, mini omelets, english muffins, coffee, plus that waffle they helped me make, and it’s all free! After I’m stuffed to capacity, I waddle back to the jeep thinking, “Ill be doing this again,” and head to the post office to retrieve my packages.  When I do they are full of snacks and a new load of books. I take stock and then get excited to start exploring Zion National Park.

I anchor the jeep in a desert of parking lot at the park's entrance. No cars allowed INSIDE the Park itself, I must navigate the bus system. It’s pretty simple….slow, but effective. I ride as deep as I can into Zion so I can do the the trail all the way at the back called The Narrows. It leads me up the Virgin River and deep into the canyon where, you guessed it, it narrows until I can't help but walk in the river.  Near vertical rock faces on either side that have to be over 100 feet high. Hanging gardens in fissures and crevices with rocks weeping from the rain water dripping from above.  A significant drop in temperate finishes off the scene and I take it all in.  It’a a poplar trail so there’s more people than I’d like, but I still get the feeling of really being “in it” or “out there”. The landscape feels imposing, imprisoning almost.  Isolation, that’s the word I'm looking for.  It’s very isolating, after the long bus ride down the park’s winding main road, and now the cliffs always looming, I’ve got no sense of direction, I'm disoriented. I wait till the last of the hikers in front of me disappear around the next bend in the river and really try to feel all alone out here. It’s wild but short lived as more people hike passed from deeper in the canyon. Still a unique experience that I would recommend to anyone. It’s an awful flat hike, but your feet will get wet. Mind the weather, flash floods are no joke.

    I find the local library, giant bean bag chairs are a plus, watch the hawks game at Jacks Sports Bar. Jack’s is a pretty nice joint, and I get to sit outside with views of the zion canyon while I watch the hawks avoid elimination.  I pass out in the jeep at the Park and Ride just down the road from the park.

50.) Lounging NOT Lodging,...Choking Life INTO the desert.....And Word Vomit...

 The next day is nicer.  The report is still calling for rain but I see no storms the radar. It’s frustrating because I can’t commit myself to a serious hike with the risk of getting caught in the rain below the rim.  Flash floods are relatively common in canyons like these. I’m able to get a few miles in along the Rim Trail before it starts to drizzle again, the wind picks up and the temperature drops so I retreat to the car. A few hours later it looks like the heart of the storm is gonna pass north of me and it turns into a beautiful day. The sun is still trying to navigate through a light fog of cloud cover but blue skies make an appearance and the temperature is up to 54 degrees. It makes for very pleasant conditions but it’s already too late for a serious hike. I cruise to a few more view points, all of which are similarly gorgeous.  There is immense beauty in the USA, all over.  It’s the ugliness of a lot of the people that erode that beauty.

    Theres no sports bar or anything around to watch the Hawks game so I sneak into Ruby’s Lodge and find a little lounge area where I can steal wifi and watch the game on my iPod. They lose but I’ve been drinking whiskey and coke out of my water bottle for the entire game.  By the time it’s over I’m ballsy enough to sneak into the indoor pool area. I’m so dirty from living out the back of the Jeep, when I cannonball into the pool I imagine a cloud of filth blooming around me like Pig Pen. The dip is a welcome reward, the hot tub is an added bonus, even though there are a few other people in there. We all laugh together when we learn that not a single one of us is actually staying at this lodge, we’ve all just snuck in. The right type of people can also add to that beauty...they're a double edged sword, people are.  I car camp in the parking lot, close enough to still steal wifi from the lodge, and a fall asleep watching Colbert, What a treat! Today was a good day….

    Finally! Sunny blue skies!  Weather is huge in a life on the road, when one is outside most of the time.  After days of rain this is a welcome sight and I take full advantage and hike nearly 8 miles.  I do the Queens Garden Trail, Navajo loop, and the Tower Bridge Trail.  

I finally get to drop below the rim, down amongst to hoodoos and again I’m forced to use that phrase…..like nothing I've seen before. I say it a lot but I believe it to be true every time…..that’s a good thing I think. The hoodoos are formed the same way as the arches but they don’t seem similar. Massive, layered spires reaching skyward. “Odd” and “impressive” are the words I jot in my note book. I believe their proper description is beyond the scope of my abilities, and recommend seeing them for yourself.

 

It appears that here in Bryce Canyon is where the forest meets the desert. I hike passed several dark green conifers standing tall in the canyon, but the hoodoos appear successful in their attempts to maintain control. The view from the rim shows dense green forest carpeting the river valley further below slowly choking life INTO the desert.

I take a trail called Wallstreet on my way back up. It leads me through a narrow slot canyon with shear rock walls straight up on either side.  A few evergreens grow out of the canyon floor and stretch toward the sliver of blue sky that's visible between the canyon walls. It’s much cooler in here but it’s a relatively low-impact, and therefore popular trail, which makes it too crowded for my own personal tastes, so I don't linger.

The Tower Bridge Trail drops into the forest among the evergreens and the pinkish white hills of crumbling rock. On the way down nearly every person I pass warns me of a rattle snake near the bottom of the trial. The first few warnings make me a little nervous, by the 9th or 10th, I’m annoyed and couldn’t care less.  These types of warnings are abundant in this part of the country.  Every ranger station or visitors center I’ve been to, somewhere inside there's always some kind of warning about rattle snakes. (I attribute this to the low levels of common sense, and the high levels of stupidity rampant in the American public) I have still yet to see one, so when the trail levels out near the bottom I take some time to hunt for the little bastard and eventually I do catch a glimpse of him. It’s exciting only because I’ve never seen one before, other than that all the warnings were a whole lot of hubbub for nothing.  People make it seem like the snakes, or any potentially dangerous creature, are out to get you, when the reality is, generally speaking, wild animals don't really give a shit about us. This rattler is no exception and continues on with his snake business and I hike by and out of his life forever. 

At the bottom I reach the rock formation known as Tower Bridge.  Aptly named because it has rock towers reaching skyward, a natural rock bridge, and even a window like arch at the opposite end.  I’ve seen all these before, but never in the same rock formation, it’s an impressive sight.  Again, go see for yourself.

 

I sit on a log to read down here for a bit in an attempt to avoid making my hike out with random strangers.  I like being alone on hikes, so my mind is free to wander instead of struggling through small talk with some random person I care nothing about. I really should be more open to meeting people while I'm on the road, and there are times when I’m craving human interaction, or just someone to talk to.  Other times, I find myself going to great lengths to avoid people entirely.  Truth be told, most people are completely useless to me.  Narcissistic, self serving, greed heads who are under the impression that their needs and desires are more important than anyone else’s.  I’m not into it. Small talk, the problems with your significant other, your long term goals, whatever dilemma they're going through…..I’m not interested.  That’s why I never really share anything about my self with anyone, I don’t care about your shit, why would you care about my shit?  Personally, I think reading on a log in the woods at the end of a long hike can lubricate your problem solving muscles much better than the word vomit I get from most people, but what do I know?

49.) Devil's Backbone.... Stranger's Detours.....Birthday Gorge...

    In the morning my drive starts along Highway 12. There’s mention of it in 2 or 3 of my National Park books, says it’s supposed to be good one.  Passed Boulder, UT it follows a ridge not much wider than the road itself aptly named The Devil’s Backbone. The road stretches to a vanishing point on the horizon in both directions. On either side it’s all solid rock as far as I can see except the furry green serpent of vegetation slithering it’s way through the bottom of a nearby valley...must be a creek.

     Derek, back at The Patio, had mentioned to me something about Calf Creek Falls.  The details are a bit fuzzy but I remember the name, and something about 3 miles, and a campground. Circumstances are such that….I ain’t got nowheres to be, so I figure I’ll see if I can find it. Turns out pretty easy, I’m just cruising highway 12, taking in the sights when I come upon Calf Creek Campground…..(that’s hard to say)…..but as I pull in I seem to remember something about a trail all the way in the back. There ARE campers in the place but it’s not crowded by any means. We really are in the middle of nowhere out here.

     No one hassles me as I drive through and find a parking area and a trail. I follow a sandy footpath worn through the knee high grass three miles back into a shallow canyon. It’s a warm sunny day, it’s quiet and peaceful, birds singing…it’s a damn Disney cartoon.   

    I can hear it before I see it.....The canyon dead ends at a rock wall that’s obscured by a few taller trees. Up above them I can see a stream pouring over the precipice and disappearing behind the treetops. I hike underneath them, through to the other side and there it is,127 feet high, Calf Creek Falls. Pretty incredible, at the back of a canyon in the middle of no where.  As I approach it seems as if the waterfall is creating it’s own breeze back here, it’s much cooler. I sweat my ass off the entire hike here and now it’s almost cold. The water is arctic which is disappointing, I was looking forward to a swim, wash myself off a bit but I can’t bring myself to do it. The water's just too damn cold, so I do my best to wash off with an old shirt I dunk in the frigid water.

    

    Once I’m clean…..well, clean-ER anyways, I feel much better and think, I never would have known about this place, let alone stopped for a look, if I hadn't chatted with Derek. Just a friendly stranger, and I realize I’ve already met my fair share of friendly strangers already. It’s actually been happening much more often than I would have thought. There was Laundry Matt back in Roswell, the guy that gave me half his sandwich at the Grand Canyon, Michelle at Ghost Ranch, and now Derek at The Patio. It puts a little bit of hope back in humanity for me, and renews the spirit. In just the past few days I’ve received three different calls from old friends that have been reading the first few posts I’ve made about the beginning of my trip, and just that little bit of encouragement, the slightest bit of positive feedback gives me new life, makes me want to write more. As much as I want it to not matter if people take notice, it still feels really good when they do. Plus, through one of these calls I get word of some newly acquired land in Montana that a group of friends will be camping on in a few weeks. I mark it on my calendar.  Every so often, the stars align out here and I get one of those near perfect days….today was one of them.

    I pull into Bryce Canyon National Park under a bleak, grey sky which unleashes a fierce and persistent drizzle the second I enter the visitors center, it also happens to be my 31st birthday. Here on the rim of the canyon, around 9,000 feet above sea level, it’s in the mid 40’s.  I roam around the visitors center collecting maps and information packets to discover what there is to see in the park. When I’ve fully explored the visitors center (Bryce Canyon has a pretty good sized one….That’s what she said) I emerge to find a steady mist still thickens the air and an endless grey sky shows no signs of departing anytime soon; so I decide to cruise thru the park, getting the lay of the land. It’s a good way to get the feel for a new park, especially when it's this shitty outside. The main park road is 18 miles long and I drive it’s entire length, stopping at a few roadside overlooks along the way. The main attraction here seems to be the rock formations, tall rock pillars that reach up from the canyon floor. And the fuckers are everywhere, stretching from one canyon wall to the next.  The Indians that once lived in the canyons called them Hoodoo’s or “Legend People”, believed to be turned to stone by a coyote god. Another awe inspiring example of what the earth can do, and another sight that is different from anything I've ever seen.  Unfortunately, I’ll have to wait to do any real exploring because of the rain, but it’s not a total birthday loss. I picked up a package from my parents at the local post office. Some cookie and candy treats raise my spirits, but what really gets the blood pumping is the gift card with instructions to spend it on a load of groceries and a nice birthday dinner! Hell yeah, an actual meal sounds like heaven. Most of what I’ve been eating has been canned, powdered, freeze dried anything that doesn't need refrigeration. I’ve got a cooler in the jeep but maintaining ice levels has become a nuisance, so anything frozen I buy has to be eaten or cooked almost right away. The prospect of a real meal, that I don’t have to cook myself, that I actually get to eat inside, has me giddy and I'm able to exploit the gift to the fullest at Ruby’s Inn….I opt for the Cowboy Buffett.  

It’s glorious, everything you could imagine, and I attempt to try it all.  Being on a tight budget, I’ve been trying to eat less, stretch my food as far as it will go. Not today my friends….today, I gorge. I probably would have eaten even more than I do, but around my 3rd or 4th plate, I’m so full that the threat of vomiting is very real. I actually have take a moment to concentrate on my breathing there in the booth, to keep all the food down. 

I escape with the contents of my stomach still in place, and call it a pretty successful birthday. The weather was pretty crummy, but I’m not completely miserable with my life now, which is a positive change. I’m doing something I enjoy and while not every single day is exciting, sometimes not even very pleasant, it’s still lightyears ahead of working job I hate, leading a nothing existence. 

I have reason to believe that I’m learning about myself too….or at least trying to get a clearer picture anyway.  I’ve always craved a nomadic kinda life, always on the move seeing new things.  But now after nearly 3 months on the road I’m beginning to think I may need and HQ of sorts. Nothing fancy just somewhere that’s mine, somewhere comfortable, where I can recoup from all the constant movement. I drift off to thoughts of tiny houses near the ocean and that it was a decent birthday. So here’s to me and my 31 years. In my early 20’s I always used to joke that I wouldn't make it to 30. Then that became no fuckin' joke when I was 26, so I mean it when I say I never thought I’d make it this far. Let's celebrate that I did, make the next year a good one, and concentrate on being happy for the rest of em, because you never know how many, or how few, you might have left.

48.) Wildlife Rituals......Outlaw Hideouts......and Unmitigated Kindness

    I camped out in the desert just outside Capitol Reef last night. It was nice to have a night in the tent where I can really stretch out. It gets a little cramped in the back of the Jeep, but my tent has quickly changed from blessing to curse in the desert’s morning winds. They gust so strong that I am unable to properly break down camp by myself. I resort to disassembling the tent poles, wadding up the whole mess and jamming it into the back of the jeep. Out of the wide open desert and into the relative shelter of the park, I’m able to breakdown and stow the tent properly, but its an irritating way to start the day. 

I’m not terribly sore from the 10 miles I hiked yesterday evening and I think of that word again…Progress. It’s a good feeling.  

I’ve been in Capitol Reef for a few days now and I’ve grown very fond of a certain picnic area I've found.  It’s a lovely little grove of cottonwood trees stretched across a lush green lawn.  The Western face of the Water Pocket Fold soars above the tree tops just across the street.  Red, maroon, mauve….and straight up.  The shade and the scenery make it my go to spot for cooking meals and consulting trail maps, despite being marred by power lines cutting through the middle of the park.

 

I've made chicken and broccoli pasta for dinner this evening and while its on the stove I walk down a short trail to the stream that skirts the park's edge to take a leak. When I look up I lock eyes with a deer on the streams far bank. I’m startled at first but we stare in silence at each other for a moment and then we part ways. I head back down the trail and when I step back into the picnic area I freeze.  A dozen more deer are grazing at he far end of the park.  As, I cook they slowly but efficiently work their way across the lawn without missing a spot. I imagine it’s become a nightly ritual for them, looking for people food. I watch them finish their dinner as I finish my own and think, it’s these kind of surprise moments that this trip is supposed to be about. Those little things that happen out of the blue and touch the heart, the moments that can't be planned. The silence and serenity I experience as these little creatures comb the grass for snacks cannot be manufactured and injected into an energy drink or a fruit chew, but I imagine it can be equally addicting.    

    The drive to Sunset Point is a scenic one, and the view from the point is awe inspiring but the sunset tonight is kind of a weak one, but hey. They can’t I’ll be perfect.

     

     Three and a half miles of steep switchbacks and stairs cut right into the stone gets me to the top of the Cassidy Arch Trail. Named as such because it’s rumored that Butch Cassidy had a hideout somewhere in these canyons. Seems like good hideout territory to me. It’s at the western end of Capitol Reef NP and I had to pilot the Jeep down a long, dirt road into a canyon just to reach the trailhead.

 Now, at the peak, I find the highest point to take in the view and engage in some quiet meditation.  And also to get some sun on my pasty white thighs. The drive in and the hike up are well worth the view and results in a few of my favorite pictures so far. I crawl on hands and knees as close to the cliffs edge as my nerves will allow. This is my favorite part of hiking I think. When you reach the viewpoint, or the top of whatever you maybe hiking up or to. It’s the quiet moments of contemplation, where I can be alone in the world and really have the time to take it all in, as they say. 

These were the kind of moments I was looking for back when this trip was just an idea…..a “maybe some day” kind of dream. They’ve been abundant to say the least, and for that I’m grateful.  But there are other moments too, ones that I wasn’t looking for but have had an impact on me none the less. The moments involving people…..perish the thought, I know. People? Ugh, I’ve never really been a fan. And not just people, complete strangers in fact.  I stumble into one of those kind when I cruise into a bar just outside Capitol Reef called The Patio, to watch the Hawks game.

Derek is behind the bar when I walk into the nearly deserted place. He’s a friendly chap. Puts on the hockey game for me and pours me a beer. We get to chatting and I give him a short version of what I’m doing. He says he's from Pittsburg and did something similar when he first made his way out west. A kindred spirits sort of thing I think, and he asks if I’m hungry. “A little, I guess,” I say with a shrug, “but I’m kinda broke. Beers during the hockey game are a luxury I think I’ve earned from all my miles hiked, but I probably shouldn't be spending my money on them. I've probably got a can or pouch of freeze dried something or other in the car I can make for dinner later.”  

“I feel ya,” he says and disappears back into the kitchen. I turn my attention back to hockey but Derek emerges from the back and slaps 2 huge pizza slices on the bar in front of me. “On the house,” he says with a nod.  

“For real!? Oh my god man, thank you!”  It’s just a couple of pizza slices but it’s the gesture itself that’s touching. It doesn't benefit him in anyway. He has nothing to gain, all he had was an opportunity to spread kindness. To be human to another human and moments like this are just as moving as those I’ve had alone in the desert at the cliff’s edge. I scarf the slices like a raccoon in a dumpster and order another beer to wash them down. Wiping my face, out of breath I utter another heart felt thank you.  “No sweat man, are you still hungry?”

“I couldn’t,” is say with palms out in an I surrender gesture.  

“You sure? That pizza back there is a mistake, and I’ve already eaten, so it’s just gonna get thrown out if you don’t want anymore.”

My eyes widen, “Well, that seems sorta wasteful,” I say with a smile, and Derek chuckles as he heads back into the kitchen. He’s back a few minuets later with 4 more huge slices on a paper plate that he covers in tin foil. 

“Take em with you, save em for later. Whatever ya want, better than just tossing em.”  I can hardly believe his kindness, and thank him profusely. It’s not this grand, out of this world gesture—like I said it’s just few slices of pizza—but feeding someone who is hungry is one of the kindest gesture one can make, in my opinion. There nobility in providing a basic human need, especially when there’s nothing to be gained.  

I eat one more slice on the spot, with my belly full and my next meal already taken care of to the tune of 3 more slices, I figure I can afford another beer or two. I nurse them through the rest of the hockey game and continue my chat with Derek. I tell him the direction I’m headed next and he tells me about a hidden waterfall, 127 feet high. He says it’s just passed a certain mile marker and down a trail at the back of a campground. I struggle remember the specifics, by this point I’m well passed buzzed, and quickly approaching tipsy. When Derek gives me my tab, he’s only charged me for one beer. I thank him again, and on my walk out to the car I realize I’m much drunker than I thought. So drunk in fact that I end up car camping in the parking lot.

47.) Lesser Known Parks.....Earth Wrinkles.....and Progress!

Capitol Reef is a national park I haven't heard much about.  Nothing really.  It’s never been on my radar, never done any research on it, never even heard of it to tell you the truth.  It’s just the next park in line on my slow plod out west.  When I pull into the park the first thing that strikes me is the small creek running along the rode side. I get excited at the prospect of washing myself. Up to this point, personal hygiene has not been on the forefront of pressing matters, but the Jeep is starting to get gamey….probably the ravens played a part in that. In the visitors center a ranger informs me that the creek is rife with E.coli, so it appears I’ll remain au natural for the time being.  

The E.coli creek runs along the base of an ominous cliff wall.  A lighter tan, sandy color now, rather than the pinks and reds I have become accustomed to. I learn that this wall is referred to as the Water Pocket Fold. It was buried deep within the earth until two continental plates collided and buckled under the pressure. The result is a 100 mile long wall of solid rock, a geologic earth wrinkle. I forgo the main campground because I get word of more dispersed camping in a more remote park or the park. It’s more primitive than the main campground,  there’s not any water available, but I’ll have a picnic table and a fire pit. To me that is luxurious, and the fact that it’s free makes it that much sweeter. And with a free place to set up an HQ, I can take my time, and really explore the park.  

     I do a little over 2 miles on the Hickman Bridge trail. It’s trailhead if just off the road that I drove in on, but once I get up and over the first ridge, the one that makes the 100 mile water pocket fold, the landscape is shockingly impressive.  The Hickman is a natural rock bridge over 120 feet high.  It spans the canyon I’m in, and everything is solid rock, the bridge, both sides of the canyon, everything. Even the trees and foliage seem go grow right out of the rocks.  And my favorite part, no one else is around. I’m completely alone, a perk of the lesser known parks I suppose.

Around 5:30 I set out on the Sulfur Creek Trail.  I start out on a dry wash and head through flat desert scrub brush, until I reach the creek, which I ford a few times, back and forth. It’s not deep or wide, so I’m able to amble across on a few steping stones with the help of my walking stick and keep my boots dry. I’m still very much pro-walking stick, but I’ve strapped a pair of crocs to my camelback just in case I gotta get wet.

     The cliffs climb skyward as the creek descends into a canyon. It’s only a few feet wide and it funnels the small braids of the creek into a full fledged river now. I reach the first water fall, where I scale the slick rock and up over a huge log to reach the bottom. My feet remain dry until I reach the section called The Narrows, the water stretches the entire width of the canyon floor and I have no choice but to step in the river. I don my crocs, hang hang my boots around my neck and slosh forward, deeper into the canyon.

     In some places the river has undercut the canyon walls creating massive rock overhangs deep enough for me to walk into.  The ribbon of blue sky I can see over the canyon rim contrasts nicely with the sandy colored walls. I stop for a moment to look back to see what I’ve already hiked through. It’s breathtaking an I make an effort to soak it all in.  It’s a very peaceful scene until I realize that I’m sorta trapped in this canyon. My only options are to continue on until I reach the end of the canyon, or retreat back the way I came. I’m enjoying myself too much to give the thought of retreat any real consideration so I continue on my way.  

I reach the last waterfall, the largest on the trail at about 8 feet tall.  It’s high enough to force me to down climb, much too treacherous for a simple jump down. Luckily someone has stood a long up on its end and leaned it up against the rock wall I need to climb down. I’m able to place on foot, still in it’s croc, on the top end of the long to get me started, but the log has been washed here by the water, so its bark-less, and branchless. My wet crocs lose traction and I begin to slide. There’s nothing I can do but go with it. I slide down the naked long and stick the landing in the loose gravel at the waterfalls base. I take a deep breath and dust myself off. That coulda gotten real ugly real fast, had I broken an ankle or twisted a knee, that woulda been the end of me and my trip. No one knows I’m out in this particular canyon, I would just have to hope I could survive long enough for someone to eventually come along and lend a hand. But all my joints are still functioning and I’m able to press on.

 

I’m beginning to get nervous about daylight.  Starting a 5 mile hike around 5:30 should not have been a problem. The map looked pretty straightforward when I consulted it at the trailhead. Just follow the creek and eventually it leads right back to the visitors center, roughly 5 miles. In reality it’s much farther than that, and the rugged landscape is taking longer to traverse than I anticipated, but with no real choice in the matter I continue on my way in hopes of reaching the end of the canyon before dark. Every time the canyon wall seem to be dropping and I sense the canyon opening up, I reach the next bend and it just keeps going. I keep my wits about me enough to finally emerge from the canyon and make it back to the road around 8:30, just in time, but since this trail isn’t a loop, I have to hike the 3 miles back down the road to where the jeep is parked. I stick my thumb out at the few cars that pass me but no one stops. In their defense, it’s getting pretty dark, we’re in the middle of the desert, and I look like a hobo, so I continue to plod ever forward, taking in the darkening sky. With no light pollution out here, the stars are ridiculous. Millions of them, everywhere. No open spots anywhere in the sky, it's literally blanketed with them. Too many for me to believe that here on earth is the only place intelligent life has evolved. With that much going on, we can’t be alone.  Eventually, I make it back to the Jeep where I sit on the back bumper to remove my boots and consult my GPS. Turns out this was my longest single hike to date, and probably my favorite as well. 10.8 miles when it's all over, and I don't fell like I’m going to die. The last thing I write in my note book before crashing for the night is a single word…..Progress!

46.) Rest Stop James....Needles......and Conspiracies....

   It’s luxurious, as far as rest stops go. Not only does it have the requisite rest stop building with bathrooms, maps, and snack machines but outside it’s surrounded by a pretty, manicured lawn with several picnic table scattered throughout, and a few trees to provide shade; along with the huge pinkish rock wall that rises behind the park, it makes for a pretty stellar place to wake up in the morning. I set my camp stove up on one of the picnic tables to make coffee and here’s where I meet Rest Stop James.

He’s milling about raking leaves, changing garbage bags, weed whacking while I make my coffee. I tip my cup to him when he glances in my direction and he eventually ambles over to introduce himself. James is a 68 year old retired grounds keeper/janitor. For the past 10 years he’s been paid 9 bucks an hour to shovel snow and mow the grass here at this rest stop. “Keep it up man, the place looks great” I tell him, then about my trip when he asks and we fall into comfortable conversation. He lost the first 38 years of his adult life to booze, is how he puts it. Back then he would drive the truck that delivered blood to hospitals and blood banks. The bags of blood were always packed in dry ice to preserve it in route. James found that the dry ice would do the same for a six pack of PBR, so he always had one jammed into one of the coolers with a few blood bags on top to hide it. It’s a good story and he’s full of them. He rattles them off as he leads me to the back of the building where he loads a small glass pipe with weed and offers it to me. I graciously accept and continue to listen as I spark up. James has lived in Texas, West Virginia, Georgia, all over the place. He can tell me every turn one must make along the route from West Virginia all they way to Moab, Utah. He enjoys his little spot in the world here at the rest stop on highway 191. It stretches form Canada all the way to Mexico, you know? So he gets to meet people from everywhere. It’s the type of chance encounter I really enjoy, and not just because I got to smoke free pot. James seems sweet and wise……and strong too, considering his battle with the bottle. I shake his hand and thank him dearly on my way out, but before I begin the drive to my next park I scribble a few of my favorite quotes from our conversation. 

When I told him about my trip, and my anxiety about how it might not be the right thing to be doing, his response was “Why not!? Columbus took a chance!”  His take on growing older is “I got young blood, it’s just got an old package.” And one of his favorites, I could tell because it was said with pride while we were smoking behind the rest stop, “God made weed, man made booze…..Which one do you choose?”  I think you chose right James, well played. 

The Colorado and Green rivers meet here in Utah and the deep canyons that house them separate Canyonlands National Park into three parts and the area is so remote that no roads lead all the way through. My stay at the rest stop and my meeting Rest Stop James occurred while I was in route from the Island in the Sky section to the Needles section. The two are right next to each other, separated only by the canyons but it takes 34 miles to drive from one to the other. Vast like outer space.

 

When I arrive in the Needles district I’m much lower, physically speaking, and looking back up at the cliffs that form the Island in the Sky. This section, The Needles, is named for the rock formations that are abundant here. Lines of tall rock cylinders, rising out of the desert floor. I guess I can see the flimsy connection between them and needles, but it's a stretch. There’s also fatter rock formations with rounded tops that sort of resemble mushrooms, so who knows who gets to name these kinda places.

Needles!?.....I guess...

I hike a small loop called Pothole Point to have a look around. It’s all slick rock dotted with hundreds of potholes surrounding the trail, each filled with rain water springing entire ecosystems. Don’t touch the water they say, but I forget if it was because it can upset the entire self contained pothole ecosystem or because it can make you really sick. Always the Boy Scout, I chose against a soak.
     I break for lunch in a deserted picnic area just off the main park road. I carry my food box over to a picnic table and return to the car for my camp stove. Now I’m parked maybe 50 yards away from my picnic table, maybe even closer, the point is it isn't terribly far. But by the time I’ve retrieved my stove from the Jeep and turned back, a dozen huge ravens fight for space on the table top, pecking through my box of food and at each other. I run and scare them off before they can make off with anything, but they were fuckin’ huge, jet black, evil looking things. The incident is funny but a little spooky at the same time, how fast they showed up. I just shake off the spooky and sit down to fix myself a meal. While I'm rummaging through my provisions a minivan pulls into the lot and parks between my Jeep and where I’m sitting now, blocking my sightline. I think nothing of it and continue to fire up my stove. The man in the van seems to consult a map and then begins to reverse, like he's just turning around. In the middle of this maneuver he looks my way and rolls down his window. Leaning out, in what I believe to be a Russian, maybe Austrian accent he shouts toward me “Uh, Sir?” I look up and raise my eyebrows at him in a yeah-whats-up sort of gesture and he continues, “Zare ah ravenz in yo ca.” It takes me a second to decipher what he’s saying but after I do, I’m up and shuffling a few yards away from the table so I can see around his van to the Jeep. Sure enough, I left all the windows plus the sunroof open and there 5 or six of the ornery bastards perched on my hood and roof rack. Three more are actually IN the jeep yanking at my blankets, tools, and other personal effects. “What the fuck!” I laugh as I run at them, flailing wildly. “Get outta here, ya animals. Ah, for christ sake.” Their chatter as the fly off sounds like laughter, I brandish my fist and curse them like a grumpy old man. I shake my head in stunned disbelief at the man in the van, all shrugging shoulders and upturned palms, and I thank him. “No probe-lom” he mutters with a giggle and pulls back out of the parking lot.  

The departure of his van is like the shot on a game show where they reveal the prize. The door slides slowly open and it’s a brand…new….car….the crowd goes wild. The Russian's/Austrian's van acts as the door in this case and reveals my picnic table with my box of food on it is now completely covered in more damn ravens. Clever little fuckers aren't they? I secure all windows and sunroofs in the jeep and then run back over to the table to scare them off again before they get their filthy beaks on anything of value.  

After, I eat my lunch with a conspiracy of ravens milling about nearby. That's really what a group of ravens is called...I looked it up...."a conspiracy of ravens". Google says it's also  sometimes referred to as "an unkindness of ravens" which I might like even better! Seems apt, considering how stupid the greedy little fuckers made me look today.

 Man, remember when you still had to wonder things? Google has made wonder obsolete.

   I head back towards the highway. For some reason I feel like the Canyonlands is the least impressive park I’ve been to yet. But that opinion waivers a bit on the drive out. The road, the same one I came in on, is flanked on both side by massive flat-topped buttes. It’s a beautifully rugged, unforgiving terrain, and driving back through it, actually noticing it this time, endears the Canyonlands to me a bit more, but I'm still headed out to my next park.