I want to tell you about a trip that changed me. A
backpacking trip in southern Utah. After a few long days of travel through the
desert of southern California and Nevada, we found ourselves in the small town
of Escalante, Utah. I had planned out weeks in advance that we were to hike
Coyote Gulch, a small tributary to the Escalante river, which ultimately flows
into the Colorado. A local rancher waved to us from his truck as we turned off
onto the dirt road that took us to the trailhead. 30 miles down the dusty,
bumpy “hole in the rock” road we arrived at the trailhead.
It was a beautiful April day in the Utah desert, in the high
60s with a cool breeze. A contrast to the summer days that can reach well into
the 100s. We packed our supplies and started off down the poorly marked path.The trail quickly dropped off into a large dusty wash. The solid
slickrock desert clearly cut by the forces of water. From here the trail was
easy to follow- just stay in the canyon
Inside the wash, the breeze disappeared and we stayed in the
shadow of the walls to stay cool. After walking for several minutes, the first
shrubby cottonwood trees began to appear. Their brilliant green spring foliage
was in contrast with the red canyon walls.
As we continued deeper into the canyon, the walls began to
grow taller and the cottonwood trees larger. The dry, dusty desert above
seemingly a different world entirely. We soon discovered what we had suspected
to appear- a trickle of water flowing ahead of us- practically beckoning us to
go further into the gulch.
The trickle slowly grew into a small stream, and then a full
stream. We found ourselves crossing the water so often that we decided to walk
barefoot. The cool, ankle deep water and soft sand felt good to walk in.
After hiking for several miles, the canyon walls had become
even more dramatic. They towered hundreds of feet above us. Seasonal waterfalls
had carved out notches in the rim above. It is astonishing the extent to which
the ephemeral water has shaped the landscape here. We found a quiet alcove to
set up camp.
The next morning, the light played off the canyon walls
creating brilliant and colorful patterns in the sand of the stream.
We continued into the canyon. The walls now not only tall,
but leaning inwards, having had their bottom portions eroded away by the
increasingly powerful stream.
We walked through the winding canyon, finding new sights
after every turn. Around this turn, we found one of the most awe inspiring
natural features I have seen: a towering, massive natural arch. We stayed for
what seemed like hours, taking photos and absorbing this natural wonder. The
clouds passed over quickly above, dropping the occasional rain drops.
The curves of the canyon walls and the contrast in color
kept becoming more dramatic as we continued on.
Soon, the canyon opened up to its widest point. The stream
widened and flowed softly through a grove of the most verdant cottonwoods. The
sand under the stream was warm and felt incredible to walk in. It gave just a
little under the weight of our feet, enough to cushion but not enough to make
it hard to walk. It was here that we encountered a group of mule deer. They
looked us over briefly before bounding away into the brush. At this point I
realized that this was an area a group of humans could easily spend their lives
in. A suspicion that was later confirmed.
We ran into a small family heading in the opposite
direction. They had emerged from a side canyon grinning. They told us about a
hidden swimming hole just a few dozen yards away. We decided to take our lunch
break and check it out. After making our way through tangled scrub oak and
carefully avoiding poison ivy, we found ourselves in a giant sandstone amphitheater.
At the bottom was a still, deep and peaceful pool surrounded by ferns. It was
perfect. We admired the sight but decided it was too cold to go for a swim that
day. One day, I will come back to this very spot and dive in!
After we came back out, a passing group pointed out a trail
leading to an elevated alcove above the canyon floor. They said there were old
native American artifacts and paintings at the top. We scrambled up the trail
and found the alcove, shaded from the sun and with a great view of the canyon
below. There were several stone rings and fire pits. There was even fragments
of baskets and pottery shards. Most incredible to me were the intact corn cobs,
wow!
It’s easy to imagine people living their whole lives in a
place like this. An oasis in the desert with everything you could need.
The next morning we set off back towards the car, walking
under the Coyote natural bridge. The effort of the previous two days had
started to catch up with me, and walking without ankle support with a 50lb pack
was starting to take a toll on my ankles.
We stopped for a moment at this small waterfall to rest our
aching bodies and take a few photos. This one turned out to be one of my all
time favorites.
After hours of hiking, the canyon walls grew shorter again,
and the cottonwoods disappeared. We were back out in the desert. We slowly
trudged through the gravely wash and up to the trailhead. Ominous clouds were
moving in and a cold wind started blowing as we approached the car. I looked
back over the canyon lands we were about to leave. The clouds cast shadows
across the slickrock, slowly moving sheets of light across the curves of the
landscape. I watched exhausted, the wind blowing strongly across my sweat
soaked back, chilling me to the bone. It was an emotional moment, though for
reasons I may not be able to articulate.
We drove back into town in near silence, exhausted and
hungry. The clouds closed in over the mountains to the west, while shafts of
light came through accentuating the ranges in the distance. As we approached
town, a soft snow began to fall. I wondered what it would be like back in the
canyon in the snowfall. Would it be harsh and cold? Would we freeze and starve
in isolation? Or would the canyon provide shelter from the elements? Would it
block the winds and provide water and food? There were once people here who had
all they needed: the land and each other.
