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.