Blissful. I know it's not possible to literally drive on a rainbow, but taking a trip down Notom-Bullfrog Road at Capitol Reef National Park in south-central Utah comes pretty damn close. The road starts off paved, though it climbes straight up away from the highway entering Capitol Reef and curves several times before leveling out. The pavement doesn't last long, however, and your tires meet dirt with an enthusiastic crunch as the road narrows, though it is still maintained. You rise along a ridge until you're above a small valley that shelters a couple of cattle ranches along the park border. Just past the ranch, you cross into Capitol Reef itself and the road becomes considerably less maintained, more of a track than a road, and one that wouldn't let two big vehicles drive next to each other. Can you guess how excited I was?
Once in the park, my real adventure began. I had stopped at the visitor's center when I first arrived and told the attending ranger that I was looking for something easy and had a day to spend. He strongly suggested Notom-Bullfrog Road, which paralleled the park's eastern border until it curved and plunged into the protected wilderness of the Waterpocket Fold. After confirming most two-wheel drive vehicles could make the drive, and with the ranger's assurance that they do regular patrols of the backroad, I set off. After reentering the Capitol Reef on Notom-Bullfrog Road, I knew why the ranger had told me the drive was a must-do: mounds and hills composed of all different colors imaginable, maroons and greens being the most prominant although striations of red, orange, yellow, blues and purples made themselves clear. I followed the rainbow mounds of dirt, sand and clay deep into the Waterpocket Fold and could have easily been the only person on the road. I never did see anybody else. I was in my happy place, on one of those good bad roads that I love so much, and there, incased within Strike Valley of Capitol Reef National Park, I never wanted to leave.
I knew that during the summer monsoons the road would be impassable to all but the most rugged high-clearance four-wheel drive vehicles, as evident by the deep tire tracks that created ruts beneath my tires. As it was, there was just enough ice on the road, left over from the last snow storm, to require caution. I drove on, thoroughly enjoying the rollercoaster-effect of diving down into wash bottoms before rocketing back up to the top of the next hill, all with my windows down and my heater on. My destination was a short trail across the valley to a cleft in the Fold, a slot-like fissure named Surprise Canyon. More than an hour after I started on the road, I almost passed the tiny sign and two-car parking lot denoting the trail to the canyon, and had to reverse on the lonely road before I parked. If I hadn't been paying attention, or had been watching the otherside of the road, or if I had blinked at the wrong time, I would have completely missed the trailhead.
It didn't take me long to strap on my pack and get my feet to the trail. It wasn't a long hike, less than three miles, and it took nearly no time to cross Strike Valley as I kept my eyes on the shadowed cleft in the wall of rocks in front of me. Before long, I entered a dry wash and when yellow sandstone walls rose around me, I knew I was in the canyon proper. The canyon earned it's name; it twisted and turned so often that you couldn't see in a straight line for more than a few paces ahead of you, and every turn in the canyon brought new sights. It wasn't long before I noticed bobcat tracks in patches of shaded snow, and once or twice a pile of half-concealed scat. I was interested to know a bobcat considered this canyon part of it's hunting grounds, but I really had no desire to meet one alone on a trail, a long way from medical attention. I knew it couldn't kill me, but it could seriously injure me if I came around a corner and surprised it. After I noticed the tracks, I made sure I created plenty of noise, which echoed off the canyon walls and carried far beyond my turn-around point. That's one way to make sure you don't see any wildlife, I guess.
I was still in the middle of being sick on my winter desert trip when I took this hike, and it wasn't long after I entered the canyon before I started to feel it again. I explored as far as I had the energy to, and turned around when faced with a dry fall that would have been easy to climb if I'd been up to par, but seemed an impassable obstacle to me at the time. I'll finish exploring the full canyon on another trip, but this time around I turned back and made my way slowly to my car. The drive back to town (and a warm hotel room) was just as enjoyable as the drive to Surprise Canyon, though it was tinged with exhaustion. A short and easy hike like that shouldn't have wiped me out, so I knew I still wasn't back to myself, but the drive and hike to Surprise Canyon was amazing, and next time I'm going to drive the length of Notom-Bullfrog Road, and hike every trail along the way!
What I'm listening to: Friend by Blackmill
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