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!