Hoodoos, Blizzards, and Some Potentially Bad Choices

Patient. Did you know I love the desert? Shocking, I know, but I can't get enough of the red rocks, towering cliffs, deep canyons, and threads of water that snake through the baked earth. Of course, I'm talking about the desert in summer. Up until this year, I'd only ever visited the desert in summer or autumn, when temperatures during the day easily hit or surpassed 90 degrees and nighttime lows weren't much less. This January, however, I finally had a chance to visit the best place on the planet during the winter, and it didn't disappoint. The desert in winter is everything I wanted it to be, even with (and maybe because of) the extensive closures due to ice/snow/bad weather. Although I now live in East Texas, I'm originally from Nebraska so I know how to drive on snow and ice, even if I have a tiny two-wheel drive Yaris. Bad weather isn't something that bothers me, and quite honestly, I prefer winter travelling just because there are significantly less people at the places I want to see. I travel to find peace and solitude, and there's no better time to find those qualities than when it is snowing.

Halfway through this year's winter-week in the desert, I found myslef making an unplanned stop at Bryce Canyon National Park. I had been forced to abandon my plans to hike and camp in Grand Staircase-Escalante National Monument due to road closures, so continued on and stopped to see the famous hoodoos topped with snow. Bryce has the highest overall elevation of the Big Five national parks in Utah, so I was unsurprised to find it snowing softly when I arrived at the park. I knew from my trip research that the park road was mostly closed and that the plow crews only cleared about a mile, up to the second viewpoint, but decided it was worth a stop anyway. I arrived at Bryce Point and found myself alone, enveloped in a thick layer of fog that obscured everything. There was something about being at a place where I knew amazing vistas were layed out below me, but hiding from the world, that was enchanting in itself. I didn't get to see hoodoos covered in snow, but with the fluffy cold stuff gently falling from the clouded air around me, I wasn't disappointed.

It didn't take me long to get my fill of fog-choked vistas before I decided to leave the park and head to my next destination, although it was snowing a little harder and I half-wondered if I should just stay put until it cleared up. I didn't, and turned on to the main road to continue my trip. Before long, however, the soft snow became harder and smaller, and the winds picked up. I was forced to inch through the storm, fighting to keep my car on the road and to see where I was going in near white-out conditions. It took me thirteen miles, thirteen white-knucked curvy winding miles, to finally decide that I was making a huge mistake in trying to push forward. I was going so slow I could have walked faster than I was driving, but I really didn't want to slide off the side of the road into the bottom of a canyon. Thanks but no thanks. Even with my upbringing (my birthday is in January, I learned to drive on ice) I don't remember the last time I was stupid enough to try to drive through a full-blown blizzard. I slowly inched into a u-turn, and painstakingly drove back to the hotel located at the entrance to Bryce Canyon.

The decision to turn around was a good one, as I found out from the hotel clerk that the road I was trying to get to was closed not long before I pulled into the hotel driveway. I got a room for the night and resigned myself to the fact that I had to spend more money on a hotel when I should have been camping. I was consoled a little bit, though, when I discovered that the hotel sold bottles of wine from Castle Creek, a winery located in Moab who makes a delicious white table wine, and I *might* have bought three bottles to help me get through the storm. I got to my room, borrowed a wine glass from the in-house restaurant, and settled in to spend the rest of the afternoon enjoying myself.

About an hour before sunset the storm broke, and it actually cleared off enough to convince me to leave the warm hotel and venture back into the park with the lure of snow-covered hoodoos. The plow crew had their work cut out for them clearing the small portion of road, and I was lucky enough to get behind of of them as they made their way up to the viewpoints. When I arrived, I knew I had made the right decision to come back; the fog had lifted enough for the amphitheater full of red rock hoodoos to be visible, and the view was stunning. I didn't even feel the cold as I trudged through snowdrifts to the very edge of the cliff, marveling at how much winter changes the landscape. I stayed there for a long time, until the fog closed in again and I was left in a swirling gray cloud at the edge of the world. I returned to my hotel, happy and satisfied with my decision to stop at Bryce in the first place and to come back and stay the night.

Another blizzard closed in overnight, so when dawn broke the world was covered in a fresh six inches of snow. Once again, I followed a plow into the park and visited the overlooks, but the fog was thick and showed no signs of lifting. I still left the park a happy girl, and found Hwy 12 to be snowpacked but passable as I continued on.

A Snapshot and The Scoop: An Island in the Sky, Indeed

I will never get tired of this view. I have seen the sunset from Canyonlands National Park's Island in the Sky district many times before, but never during the winter. The low angle of the January sun lit up the oranges of the thousand foot clifs like I've never seen, reflected in dazzling flashes by patches of ice and snow. Cold blue shadows stretched behind boulders and hardy desert shrubs, and the sky couldn't have been more colorfully painted. It was possible, for a few brief minutes, that nothing in the world existed except those rusty cliffs and that wide open sky.

Leave me a comment below and describe the most beautiful sunset you've ever seen. Or sunrise. Whatever!

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!

Apparently I Can't Read a Map

Dazed. My first hike of the year dawned at a brisk 10 degrees, and I had on as many layers as physically possible. I had survived the night in my tent nestled deep within the Needles District of Canyonlands National Park, and the breaking of dawn meant I was ready to get on the trail. My intention was to hike Squaw Canyon to Lost Canyon and loop back through the Needles, roughly an eight mile hike that should have been no problem, even with the altitude difference between the Colorado Plateau and back home in East Texas. I left my car in the frosty shade of the Elephant Hill parking lot and set off with mounting excitement at being back among the Needles. Riding the high of being back at my favorite place on Earth, I barley felt the cold and was soon shedding layers as the sun rose and began warming the rusty towers surrounding me.

I kept up a good pace as I wove through the Needles, coming to my first trail junction and beginning my trek into Squaw Canyon. Jaw-dropping vistas sprinkled with snow spread out around and below me as I stood at the top of the canyon, and I stopped for a full five minutes just to stare at it all. My first hesitation confronted me when I came across a north-facing descent that was packed with ice and snow, and I could see where other hikers had slipped and slid down the slope to the three foot drop off. I knew it was going to be a bitch if I had to climb back up it, but pressed forward anyway. Crouching low to keep my center of gravity down, I inched across the hard-packed snow, and when the incline became too steep, gave up, sat on my butt and slid down the ice ramp, landing with a thud at the bottom of the drop off. Shaking it off, I kept going.

It wasn’t until about a mile after that descent that I began to feel like I wasn’t on the right trail. My GPS told me I was going one way but the map I had with me had the trail I wanted to be on going off in a different direction. It was only when my GPS showed that I wasn’t even on a trail, when there was clearly a cairn-marked trail beneath my boots, that I realized I was not on the trail through Squaw Canyon, and that I actually had no idea what trail I was on. At about the same time, I found a sunny rock to sit on and pulled out my map to try to figure out where I’d gone wrong. After some length of time I figured out I was on the trail through Big Spring Canyon, and that this trail would take me back to the same campground I had stayed in the night before. It was either press on, on the wrong trail, or try to backtrack to the one I had intended to hike. Remembering the ice slide and how much of a pain it would be to climb back up (if it was even possible), I decided to just stay on the trail I was on and hope for the best.

I still deliberated with myself about whether or not I should turn around, but after I slid down yet another north-facing slope, this time one without a hope of climbing back up, I gave up and committed to the new trail. I began to develop a headache, which I attributed to altitude and stress from being derailed from my intended hike. I kept going, a little slower, perhaps, but still moving. Once I reached the campground road, I knew my hike was over, but still had miles to walk on road to get back to my car. It was around that time that my headache became worse and I began to feel sick. Really sick. I trudged roughly four miles on the road, and for the first time ever half-hoped someone would drive by and give me a lift to my car. I didn’t see anybody, though, and all but collapsed into my car when I finally arrived. My map-reading mistake had cost me in miles and time, and my eight mile hike turned into nearly ten miles and an extra hour. By the time I arrived at my car, my head was spinning and I was so sick I could hardly move. All in all, I don’t think I’ll be making that mistake again. Next time, I’ll double check the map. 

A Snapshot and The Scoop: Shadow Portraits on Slickrock

By now you've probably figured out that I've got an obsession with the deserts of southern Utah. I just love the big skies, deep canyons, and multi-hued rocks. What can I say, I'm a bit of a geology buff, and I love taking pictures of the whole area. The light is just perfect right at dawn and dusk in the summer. I had the chance to venture out there again this winter, and I was in a photographer's heaven. The sun stayed low in the sky even during the middle of the day, bringing out the colors of the sandstone even more vibrantly than I thought possible, though it was late to rise and early to set, cutting my time among the rusty red rocks short. The day was dying as I snapped this picture, and shortly afterward I was crawling into my tent for a cold, 15ish hour long night.

Leave me a comment below and tell me if you'd like the visit the desert in all seasons just as much as I do!

A Night of Firsts: Winter Camping (Alone)

Apprehensive. I have never done anything like what I had planned when I headed to the deserts of southern Utah at the beginning of the year. I was going to spend ten days in the desert, during winter, camping (yes, in a tent) alone. Yeah, I *might* be a little crazy. I was certainly thinking about the advisability of my plan as I pulled into my first campsite of the week, nestled against yellow slickrock deep within the Needles District of Canyonlands National Park. I made sure I found a campsite that would protect me from the cold wind but also let the last rays of the setting sun warm my tent as much as possible. I set up, made my hot dinner, and settled down to watch the sun set over my favorite place on the planet. The low was forecasted to be 10 degrees Fahrenheit; it was going to be a long night.

There were two other brave (crazy) people in the campground with me, and I listened to their voices murmuring a couple of campsites away as I snuggled into my sleeping bag and slipped off to sleep just as soon as the sun went down. Unfortunately, I didn't stay asleep very long. Only a few hours after I crawled into my tent I woke up confused, and it took me a minute to realize that my feet were freezing, despite the water bottle filled with hot water resting between them. What confused me most was that my whole body, even my legs, were warm but my feet just would not warm up. After that, I slept fitfully, tossing and turning, dozing off then waking up minutes later, but time seemed like it wouldn't pass. I pulled the drawstrings of my mummy-style bag down over my head so that only my nose and mouth were exposed, but nothing I did seemed to help my feet. Multiple layers of wool socks did nothing, and even zipping up my coat and pulling it over my feet and lower legs made no difference. I knew I wasn't in danger of frostbite, but sleep wasn't going to happen. Given my way, I prefer to sleep warm, even a little humid, instead of dry and cold. Remind me why I chose to camp in the desert during the winter?

Being awake most of the night did have some advantages, however. A couple of hours before dawn the campground was treated to a pack of coyotes yipping, howling and carrying on just beyond the road. Hell, I thought they were in the campground itself, and began wondering what would happen if they realized there were a couple of human popsicles wrapped in fabric, just laying on the ground. The half-horror-story half-snowwhite-bullshit fantasies, no doubt borne from lack of sleep and bone-chilling cold, entertained me for a while as I lay in my bag and listened to the canines calling into the night. I even pulled my head out of my sleeping bag to hear them better, and I'm pretty sure I couldn't have slept even if I was comfortable just because of the ruckus.

The coyotes moved on, and I was left to contemplate the wisdom of winter camping for the remainder of the fifteen-hour long night. With the first glimmer of dawn, I gave up all hope of sleep and started packing up to begin my desert adventures. Moving around in the tent was warmer than it could have been, but it wasn't pleasant. There was frost inside my raincover! It was also cold enough that the one water bottle I didn't have inside my sleeping bag was frozen solid, and it took hours in the sun to thaw out. I don't know why I expected anything different for a night of camping in the high desert during January, but it wasn't bad enough to deter me from doing it again!

A Snapshot and The Scoop: Everything is Bigger in Texas...Including the Spiders

Let me set the scene: I was walking along a trail in Big Thicket National Preserve on a bright December day that had started out around freezing with frost covering everything but had warmed up through the morning to the point that I was shedding layers as I hiked. I just so happened to be looking straight ahead at the trail in front of me when I very nearly walked straight into this gigantic spider sitting in a web that stretched the entire width of my path. I was so happy I was looking in front of me; usually I look all around me, my eyes flicking from the trail at my feet to either side and even behind me. I'm not afraid of spiders, but I have to admit that walking into a web with a spider bigger than my palm at the same level as my face would have freaked me out! I carefully found a way around the web, careful not to disturb the giant spider sitting in its center, and continued on my way. When I came back through on the way to my car, the web and spider were no longer blocking my path; I can only assume one of the other hikers had removed the web as they passed, probably a little more apprehensive of the spider than I was.

Leave me a comment below and tell me what you would have done if you'd come across a giant spider like this golden orb-weaver!

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?