Happy Birthday National Park System!

Celebrate. Can you believe the National Park System is older than any of us? It's 101 years old! America's Best Idea has a lot to celebrate, and I want to take a moment to look at my favorite national parks while I look forward to the future of the parks system. Here I've listed out my favorite national parks, in no particular order, with a little description of each park and why it is one of my favorites. Enjoy!

Rocky Mountain National Park, CO
Who doesn't love towering mountains, tumbling waterfalls, lush evergreen forests smattered with aspen groves, A-list wildlife, and hot campfires under a cool night sky filled with stars? If you don't, you're wrong. But you don't have to take my word for it, just ask one of the million other visitors who seek out the mountains during the peak season of June through September. Why do I love this park, though? The sweeping mountain vistas are always amazing, both the main road, Trail Ridge Road, and the secondary dirt road called Fall River Road are well worth the drive, and any of the short hikes and established campgrounds in the park should be on your list to visit, but the real reason I love this park are the long hikes. There is nothing quite like summiting a mountain after gaining thousands of feet in elevation, or touching one of the few remaining glaciers in the lower 48, or passing by places to camp in the backcountry where you know you're in bear country. Yes, this place is amazing.

Canyonlands National Park, Island in the Sky District, UT
Grand views are the name of the game at this park, and you truly feel like you're in the sky as you stare down thousand foot cliffs to the next tier, then another thousand feet below that to the rivers. The Colorao River and the Green River cut Canyonlands into three sections, or Districts, and the Island in the Sky District is where you go if you want to see beyond the horizon. Up there you can glimpse the White Rim Road, views of the rivers, and use the plateau as a jumping point for any of the numerous trails down into the lower reaches of the park. This district of the park is all about the views for me, and if you visit at the right time you can find solitude as you perch on the edge of a cliff, watching a thunderstorm roll across the canyons below, contemplating life.

Canyonlands National Park, Needles District, UT
Yes, Canyonlands gets two spots on my list, because each District of the park is uniquely different. The Needles District is all about exploring. To really get a feel for this park you need to get out there and hike. There is only one road through a small section of the park, though a multitude of hiking trails sprout from the road. This district is significantly less visited than its sister Island in the Sky, and once you get out on the trails there are even less people. Why do I love it? You can hike for miles and get among the cliffs, arches, and spires (also known as hoodoos) and never see another person. Plus there is this amazing place called Chelser Park that defies words. You just have to go there.

Capitol Reef National Park, UT
Of the Big Five national parks in Utah, Capitol Reef is the least visited. I'm not sure why; maybe it is the remoteness, the drive along backcountry highways, or visitors don't see soaring cliffs and awe-inspiring views right from the road, at least none that can match other parks in the area. Capitol Reef has its own charm, but you have to get off the road to find it. The park protects a small oasis in the desert, a lush canyon threaded through by the Fremont River, that at one point saw a small culture of ancient Fremont Indians and at another point more recently was home to pioneers who planted orchards and farmed the land to make a living. The Gifford House still stands as a museum and monument to the mormon poineers, selling ice cream and homemade pies to hungry visitors looking for relief from the desert heat. Get out on a trail or hit up the scenic drive, though, and you get transported away from the green canyon bottom by the little river and find yourself surrounded by the unforgiving desert. This is the part I live for. Here you find the soaring cliffs splashed with colors ranging from tan to white to red to green and more. Here, out away from the main road, you find the little potholes embedded in sandstone, filled to the rim with tiny life. Here is the real magic of The Reef.

Zion National Park, UT
Zion is a world away from what most people will ever see in their lifetimes. If you think the pictures of thousand-foot cliffs, taken either from the top or the bottom of said cliffs, is awe-inspiring, you should try actually being there taking the picture. Zion National Park encompasses a large region of the southwest corner of Utah, but the main draw, and the most visited part of the park, is Zion Canyon. The canyon, carved by the small but mighty Virgin River, narrows the further upstream you travel, to the point where you can look up and your view is restricted to the patch of sky right above you thanks to the rusty red cliffs that rise up, sheer, more than a thousand feet into the air. Take a hike, usually a strenuous one, from the bottom of the canyon to any point up above the canyon floor and you will feel like you're on top of the world. Until you look up and realize you can go even higher. Along with all of the other parks on this list, I have visited this park multiple times, and each time I find something else to love. I visited in winter once, and fell in love with the silence that accompanies a soft snowfall. I visited more recently in May of this year and discovered even on the most popular hiking trails there is something special about overcoming your own mental barriers and making a climb that you thought impossible. For some of the most amazing hikes in the states, visit Zion.

Great Sand Dunes National Park and Preserve, CO
Do you like playing in the sand? The kid in everybody has a chance to stretch their legs at this popular National Park, where the nation's tallest sand dunes are surrounded by mountains whos peaks reach more than fourteen thousand feet above sea level. You can sand-surf and sled down the golden dunes, and when you need to cool off you can walk off the dunes to splash in Medano Creek, one of the two life-giving streams fed by meltwater in the mountains high above that surround the dune field. Stay until evening, though, when most of the visitors are back at their campsites or hotels, take a hike out onto the dune field at night, and a whole new world opens up around you. I like the dunes best at dawn and dusk, while everybody else is off the dunes and before the sand heats up to a burning point. Sunsets and sunrises paint the dunes with splashes of color and shadow, and on clear nights the skies are so bright you can see your shadow on the monotone sand. Out in the preserve section of the park elk and bears share space with coyotes, antelope, and mule deer, and only one primitive road and a small handful of hiking trails provide humans a glimpse into their world.

Great Smoky Mountains National Park, TN/NC
Lush green mountains rolling away into the distance, the constant sound of water dripping, trickling, rushing, roaring, life everywhere you look, from little salamanders under the leaf litter to birds chirping in the trees above your head, the Smoky Mountains are something unique. I usually avoid crowds, but even the most visited national park in the country has a few places where you can find peace and quiet, if you know when and where to go. I found plenty of it on my trip there in the off-season, when summer vacations were over and everybody went back to school and work. Do you want to be practically guaranteed to see an american black bear? Visit the Great Smoky Mountains National Park, where they have one of the highest population densities of bears in the eastern US. I loved hiking in this park, where it was constantly wet and humid and vibrating with life. Also, I love bears and I got excited every time I saw one.

Surprise! Most of my favorite parks are in Colorado and Utah. You're not really surprised, huh? Also no surprise, my favorite parks are located in the mountains or the desert. I do have a goal to visit all of the 415+ national park/monument units (and I've hit a fair few) so I think my opinion of the best national parks is based on as much of a scientific process as possible, but I can't deny the way the desert and mountains call to me, and how the desert always sits right next to a mountain range. Here's my thought though: I want to know what your favorite park is, and why. If I haven't been there, I would love to know what makes it amazing. If I have been there, convince me why your park should be on my list of favorites. I look forward to rewriting my list this time next year.

Surprise, Another Road Story (And A Canyon Hike)

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

A Snapshot and The Scoop: A Whole Lot of "Nothing"

There's not much of anything on the road between the town of Green River and Capitol Reef National Park in southern Utah. That is, unless you're like me and get a kick out of weirdly sculpted rock formations and long stretches of deserted desert highway. In that case, do yourself a favor and take the road, with a possible stop at Goblin Valley State Park. Just keep an eye out for cows on the road. And don't take your eyes off the goblins.

Leave me a comment below and let me know if I've convinced you to visit the desert yet!

Maybe I Pushed It a Little Too Hard

Frustrated. I couldn't have picked a more inconvenient time to get sick. I mean, no time is a good time to fall ill, but 24 hours into a ten day camping trip in the desert (during January) isn't exactly conducive to enjoying my winter experience. If I am honest with myself, I wasn't feeling all that great the day I left home, but I chalked it up to anticipation and a long drive. When I started feeling icky on my first hike, though, I knew I was in trouble. By the time I got to my car I hardly wanted to move, and forced myself to drive into Moab to pick up some medicine. I pushed through the rest of the day, but by the time I had finished trying to enjoy a spectacular sunset over the Island in the Sky District of Canyonlands National Park through a major headache and congestion, I knew I wouldn't be camping that night. I drove back to Moab and found a cheap hotel room, hoping that a good night's sleep and a constant warm temperature would stop me from getting worse.

I woke up the next morning feeling okay, but not totally normal. I drove to Capitol Reef National Park, explored an awesome road (story in an upcoming post) and did a short hike to a small slot-like canyon, but after two miles I knew I was in trouble again. The drive back wasn't nearly as fun, and I found a hotel in Torrey and called it an early night. I'm pretty sure I called Jared and my parents, half-crying and upset with myself and the situation. I've never before seriously considered calling off a trip and heading home, but I was very close that night. Stuck in a hotel room while I had planned to camp every night of my ten day trip, congestion making it hard to breathe (let alone hike), and a headache so bad I probably shouldn't have been driving, I was miserable and on the verge of giving up. The only thing that prevented me from packing up that night and going home was the fact that I honestly didn't think I could drive, and I was so tired after a day of doing nothing that I went to bed when the sun was still in the sky and tried to sleep it off.

I am a motivated, self-reliant, and (best of all) incredibly stubborn person who hates being told she can't do something, so to have my own body preventing me from enjoying the desert trip I had planned out was seriously frustrating. I knew I shouldn't have tried to stick to my plan by driving to my next destination and attempting that day's short hike, but I at least had the smarts to not tent-camp in below-freezing temperatures, and to get a full night's rest. Twice. I wallowed in self-pity that night, sad that my experience in Canyonlands wasn't what I wanted it to be, and almost as upset that I didn't get to enjoy Capitol Reef like I should have, but even though I wanted to give up I would have kicked myself if I'd gone home after just two days in the desert. When I get this idea in my head of the way something is supposed to be, I take any deviation from that ideal as a serious blow. I just kept telling myself that I had a whole week ahead of me, and hoped that I would get over the cold quickly enough for me to enjoy the rest of my trip.

After more than twelve hours of sleep, the next morning dawned cold and cloudy over Torrey, UT and I actually woke up feeling pretty good. I stubbornly decided to take a chance and push on with my original plan to drive up and over the Boulder Mountains to the middle of Grand Staircase-Escalante National Monument and my next hiking/camping destination. As it turns out, I couldn't have hiked or camped in the monument due to multiple road closures, preventing me from getting to my destination, but it kinda worked out. I made an impromptu stop at Bryce Canyon National Park, and by the time I walked to the overlooks I felt like myself again. I was back in the game, and ready to break out my tent again and enjoy the desert, magically transformed into a winter wonderland; it was right about that same time when the first blizzard hit.

A Snapshot and The Scoop: This Is Where The Fun Begins

If you know me at all you know I have a thing for bad roads; reference here and here. I get seriously giddy when I see "Pavement Ends 500ft" signs, and just know that I'm about to head to some place amazing. Notom-Bullfrog Road on the eastern edge of Capitol Reef National Park was exactly that. I'll write a full length story about that road and my adventure on it, but for now, let's just say it lived up to the hype in my head!

Leave me a comment below and tell me about a bad road you had the pleasure of experiencing!

An All-American Road: Utah's Highway 12

Replenished. I've been on a lot of roads that astound me, and I find myself exclaiming again and again "this is one of my favorite roads!" And I'm not exaggerating; I've driven on over a hundred thousand miles of road and several of them make my Favorites List (Trail Ridge Road in Rocky Mountain National Park, Highway 313 up to Canyonlands National Park, Utah 128 near Moab, Schafer Road in Utah, plus numerous jeep trails, just for examples) but nothing I've seen or driven on so far even comes close to Highway 12 in southern Utah. This road has it all: mountains, deserts, stunning views and dizzying heights set upon hairpin curves, not to mention it connects two of Utah's Big Five National Parks, Capitol Reef and Bryce Canyon. There is no comparison; it takes my breath away every time I drive it.

Starting in the town of Torrey, 12 takes you straight into Dixie National Forest and a gently sloping land of pinion pines and juniper trees. Gradually, almost without you noticing, the desert trees start to mix with ponderosas as you gain altitude, and it's only once you're surrounded by a grove of aspens do you realize you've left the desert below and are truly in the Boulder Mountain Range. Scenic viewpoints make you realize how high you are when the canyons and domes of Capitol Reef National Park shrink into almost nothing. High above the desert, the mountain road twists and curves through stands of evergreens and aspens. If you visit during the summer you're likely to find shade, water and a cool retreat from the baked desert below. In the winter the road turns icy and treacherous, and the plow crews have their work cut out for them to keep the roads free of drifting snow.

As you descend, the high-altitude trees give way to desert pinions and junipers again, until the trees abruptly end and 12 spits you back out into the desert. Now you enter Grand Staircase-Escalante National Monument and suddenly realize that you're driving on a tiny spit of land only just wider than the road, with canyons yawning open eight hundred feet or more straight down on either side of you. Narrow pullouts provide photographers and thrill seekers with opportunities to stand on the lips of those canyons and gaze with wonder at what a little water and wind can do. Let me just say that this road is not for those with a fear of heights.

And then 12 dives over the edge of the canyon, descending to trace Calf Creek and crossing the Escalante River, those ribbons of water responsible for carving the canyons you admired from above. The winding road along the canyon bottom branches off, giving access to hiking and camping areas managed by the Bureau of Land Management. Continuing on, you ascend again and leave the monument, though you technically drive through it for several more miles here and there while on the road. Only after steadily gaining elevation do you arrive at the historic pioneer town of Tropic, and just beyond that, Bryce Canyon National Park. A stop at Bryce is well worth several days and I was unintentionally stuck there myself this past winter, but that is a story for another post. 12 continues on.

The final stretch of Highway 12 travels through yet another stunning geological marvel: the Red Canyon. For those of you who skipped Bryce Canyon (shame on you) Red Canyon give you a taste of what you missed. As you descend into the canyon gigantic monoliths rise out of ponderosa forests, contrasting bright red rocks with dark green pines. Drive it in the winter and you get to add in a dusting (or four plus inches) of snow. There are scenic turnouts every quarter-mile, and at each one the view is different. Trails crisscross the canyon, and a campground provides a home for those who don't want to leave right away.

Just beyond the end of Red Canyon, 12 comes to an end. Turning north or south on Highway 89 will take you to yet more amazing destinations in Utah, but no road can compare to the scenic byway marvel that is Highway 12. I could spend an entire trip to Utah solely on that road and never run out of things to do. Hey, maybe I'll do exactly that. Anybody want to go with me?

A Snapshot and The Scoop: Homemade Pies and a Desert Oasis

Last September Cat and I spent a week in the deserts of Utah, and took a day trip from our base camp in Moab to visit Capitol Reef National Park. The lesser known of the five major national parks in southern Utah, Capitol Reef has amazing views and incredible hikes and drives but with way less people than places like Arches or Zion National Parks. Cat and I hiked to several small slot canyons within the park, then chose to relax among the peach and apple orchards of the historic Mormon settlement of Fruita along the banks of the Fremont River. This settlement is now run by the National Park, and offers a shady respite from the desert sun. Green grass, lots of fruit trees and abundant water bring what few people who visit the park all together, and usually attract a herd of mule deer, much to everyone's delight. Look closely at the picture above and you can see a deer's ears on the other side of the wooden fence, resting in the shade of a peach tree. The Gifford House in the valley sells park related items and doubles as a museum for the town of Fruita; they also make and sell amazing mini pies including apple, peach, cherry and rhubarb. Oh, and their wildberry ice cream cures every hiking-related ailment, ever. Of course, Cat and I settled down at a shaded picnic table on the lawn of the Gifford House and enjoyed pies and ice cream, fueling back up for another hot hike in the desert.

Leave me a comment and let me know if you thought desert oasises were just fantasies, or if you've ever been to one as awesome as this!

A Snapshot and The Scoop: We Break For Sheep

Cat and I were about halfway through our hike in Cohab Canyon in Capitol Reef National Park in Utah when we found some shade under the ledge of a cliff and decided to take a break. We dug out our energy bars and took a seat, guzzling water and reveling in thecool rock-shade that protected us from the relentless sun. After a few minutes of sitting quietly, we were rewarded with an entire herd of desert big horn sheep peering over the lip of the canyon on the cliffs opposite us. They were clearly grazing on the sparse greenery, and showed just as much curiosity in us as we had regarding them. We watched them deftly jump along the cliff edge, and our break extended far longer than our usual rest period.

Leave me a comment below and tell me about a time you happened to be in the right place at the right time!

All Bad Roads Lead to Something Spectacular

Eager. To date, I have not found any evidence to refute the following theory: all bad roads lead to something spectacular. Sometimes it's just the drive itself, sometimes it's the scenery along the way, and sometimes it's the destination; I dare you to show me a bad road that doesn't have something amazing along the way. Of course, I have favorites, which I've pictured in this blog post, where I've also extensively discussed the topic of bad roads. My most recent trip, family vacation in Moab, UT, had me thinking about my theory again, and here I am obsessing over bad roads.

I love driving on the soft sand of beaches, adore the twisting, rocky tree-lined lanes in the mountains, but my heart belongs to the trails in the red rock desert, with one side overshadowed by thousand foot cliffs and the other side inches away from a breathtaking, fatal fall. There is something new around every canyon switchback, some new challenge, evidence of ancient human activity, or amazing views. You wind up the side of a canyon, following a route that doesn't seem possible but somehow is, opening up onto a plateau and a 360 degree view of the desert laid out below you. Or you meander down a tributary canyon into a boxed-in wash that could flash flood if there are thunderstorms within 60 miles of your location, adding to the thrill of the advenutre. You drive for hours, yet only travel a few miles, stopping at every chance to get out and take in the wide-open views: red rock, blue sky, and maybe a river or stream hundreds of feet below where you stand.

Your destination could be absolutely nothing, yet you haven't wasted your time. You could just be there for the road, wondering what lies around the next corner, hoping your vehicle can handle the slickrock ramps and steps. You could be headed to something amazing, like natural bridges suspended two hundred feet above the canyon bottom, that, if you're brave enough, you can walk across. Maybe the road is the scenic route between two points, and you had the option to take the short way, the path most people choose, but instead you opted for adventure and challenge and a little bit of the unknown. This is what it's like to live.

 I'll be driving my little Yaris into the ground, but soon, soon I'll get my Jeep and take these roads myself, go places that I can only dream about, unless I'm with someone who's car can handle bad roads. Going on four-wheel drive trails is something we've always done, on every family vacation, and this trip was no different. We saw parts of the Moab area that we'd never seen before, because we chose to get off the tourist-beaten path and take a little adventure. I can't wait to do it again.

What I'm listening to: The Woodland Realm by Howard Shore

A Snapshot and The Scoop: Potholes Galore

The destination of a relatively short and easy hike at the end of a spectacular dirt road through a dry wash in Capitol Reef National Park is a series of potholes in the sandstone. Now, just said like that everyone's like: who cares, it's a pothole. Let me explain. These potholes collect and hold precious water after the infrequent rain showers that roll over the area. They are the lifeblood of the animals that call the desert home. This series of potholes had multitudes of life in them, from tiny insect larvae to full grown water beetles and dragonflies, there were the tadpoles of spadefoot toads, and there were even tiny silver fish! These animals are able to exist because of potholes, but they are also trapped in their little oasis, unable to leave until the next rare rain brings enough water to overflow the pothole. Those little buggers have an extremely quick life cycle, and most are able to go dormant until the pool fills again. Getting to see this phenomena in person was awesome, and well worth baking in the desert sun to get there!

Leave me a comment below and tell me about a time you've witnessed something as cool as this on your own travels or in your backyard!

Ask and You Shall Receive (but it sure helps to ask the right questions): Finding Slot Canyons in Capitol Reef

Intrigued. Cat and I were halfway through our week long trip to the high desert of southern Utah, and we decided to make a day trip out at Capitol Reef National Park. Our plan for hiking included a relatively short hike through Cohab Canyon, whose trail head starts right off of the main park road. I usually make a point to talk to a park ranger before I hike on any new trail, because they can be a gold mine of information relating to the trails I want to hit. In this case, I'm extremely glad I did, because the ranger Cat and I talked to mentioned that there were several slot canyons just off of the main trail, and if we knew where to look, we would be able to get into them. With a few more questions, we were able to determine roughly where the slots were, and took our hand drawn map with us as we ascended into the canyon.

After gaining close to 400 feet in a series of steep switchbacks, we turned the corner and entered the canyon proper. We found our first of four slot canyons with ease, and slipped off of the main trail and into the significantly cooler grey stone canyon. The canyon slowly narrowed as we traveled upstream, and we soon found ourselves taking off our packs in order to slide sideways through the narrowest point. We had a bit of climbing to do before we accessed the upper part of the canyon, and once we hit the dead end, Cat and I each climbed as high as we could, to see if we could get a view over the top. Unsuccessful, we grabbed our packs and slid down the canyon, more than eager for the next slot.

Due to the drive to get to this park, we started our hike later in the morning than we probably should have, and the canyon quickly lost what shade it had, turning the whitish rocks into heat reflectors. We hiked the canyon wash, keeping our eyes open for the entrance to the next slot. Once inside, we found this side canyon was initially narrow, but opened into a wide area that clearly held a pool of water in wetter times. What a sight that would be, with a waterfall cascading into a shallow pool, and the rushing water carving the canyon just a little deeper!

The other slots held similar wonders, and we got excited every time we spotted the side canyons. Who knew what we would see? We hiked to the far edge of Cohab Canyon, and instead of descending to the road and walking back to the parking lot, we turned around and went right back through the canyon again. It's amazing how different a trail looks when you're going the other direction. You notice different things, and it's like you're walking a whole different trail. We were so happy we stopped and asked the ranger about this hike, because we would never have known about the adventures just off the trail! After a couple of shade breaks and a little more off-trail exploration, we headed down toward our car, and the fresh homemade pies and ice cream waiting for us at the little park museum.

What I'm listening to: Dragon Flight by Alexandre Desplat

How Do I Put This Into Words? The Place My Heart Calls "Home"

Awed. There is nothing else anybody can possibly feel when they are standing at the brink of a thousand foot cliff with absolutely nothing between you and a very long fall. Canyonlands National Park in southeastern Utah is my heart's home, and I have trouble putting my thoughts and feelings and yearning into words; I don't know if I can even describe what this place means to me. I'm usually pretty damn good at telling stories about my travels, but I have deliberately put this blog post off because I don't know how to describe my desert in a way that will make anybody understand the way I feel and think about this place. Why I have a fierce, burning desire the color of entrada sandstone at dusk to be there. Why I feel like I'm home in a state that I've never lived in, surrounded by one of the most inhospitable regions in the United States. How do I tell people why I got a tattoo of a lizard to represent my desert in a way that won't come off as a little psychotic?

It's not just one thing that speaks to me when I'm out there. It's the combination of all of the elements of a desert that astounds me, and keeps me coming back for more like desert sage soaking up moisture after a summer thunderstorm. It's the fiery orange and blindingly white sandstone and the purple shadows at dawn and dusk. It's the sage, the junipers, the cacti and the little hidden wildflowers. It's the ravens and the desert bighorn sheep, the spade foot toads and the coyotes. Not only the physical presences in the desert, but the lack thereof. I've described many times how I prefer solitude to crowds of people; in my desert, I achieve that elusive condition necessary for my sanity. How can I resist the beckon of a place that meets my desires?

I must also confess that I'm drawn to the challenges presented by the desert. Sure, there's the obvious lack of available water, but one can't forget the hiking, mountain biking, jeep trails, scrambling, and rock climbing provided by such an incredible place. If you don't think hiking or scrambling in the desert can be challenging, you obviously haven't read anything I've written before in this blog. There is something about testing your strength and stamina and resources and will power against a completely unforgiving environment. And when you come out on top? Bliss.

The last time I visited my desert, Cat and I were on a week-long hiatus from life. We spent every single day up by dawn (and sometimes long before the first hint of dawn) and returned to the tent well after sunset. We spent all but one evening among the rocks, watching as they flamed brightly, then dimmed into purple silhouettes with the dying day. Twice we hiked to Delicate Arch, on a mission to capture the essence of Arches National Park, along with a hundred other people. Three times we drove to the Island in the Sky District of Canyonlands National Park, savoring the long, winding highway up the plateau and across the grassy washes to the very edge of the world, where the earth fell away at our feet and there was nothing to stop us from launching ourselves into the deep shadows left by the retreating light. We arrived too late on two nights, and were there only to watch the sun cast her last sky painting of the day, and observe the canyons falling into silent darkness. The third attempt we arrived early, on the coattails of a booming thunderstorm that left the scent of rain on the air and a rainbow in the sky over the canyons. We set up our cameras, kicked off our shoes, and stretched out, six inches away from one thousand feet of thin air. It was a perfect evening, and I think both of us hoped it would last forever. The sun set slowly, and the mood of the canyons changed constantly. I have a hundred pictures of that moment, and at first glance they all look exactly the same. But then you notice that this canyon here was lit, then it filled with a lavender haze, then finally succumbed to shadows. Then that one over there did the same. And the district across the river, the one we had hiked that very day, looked like flickering candles on a birthday cake, until they were blown out by the setting sun.

Are you beginning to understand the power that my desert holds over me? Every. single. thing. calls to some part of who I am. I love the challenge, I love the adventure, the solitude, the delicate balance of life that water brings, the destructive force that heat can wrought, that water can carve, and the innate peacefulness that I feel when I am there.

The name of my blog is directly related to my desert. The Kokopelli is an ancient southwestern Indian deity, usually depicted as a hunch backed flute player. Kokopelli is a prankster, a healer, a musician, a storyteller and a traveler. Kokopelli is responsible for the changing of winter into spring and for the fertility that accompanies the changing seasons. While in the desert, I bought a little toy raven that now lives on my rear view mirror in my car. Guess what it's name is.

The raven is Kokopelli. The bear is Hallett, named after the mountain I will climb in Rocky Mountain National Park, CO

Now, due to my decision to move even farther away from my heart's home, it is unlikely that I'll get to visit my desert any time this year, but I have every intention of going back as soon as possible in 2016. As in, beginning of January. I don't even care if it's the middle of a high-desert winter. Just means less people, right? Until then, I have photos and memories of my favorite place on the planet, and can look forward to the day that I get to go home.

What I'm listening to: Skytoucher by The Glitch Mob