A Snapshot and The Scoop: Inspiration Point...I Guess?

Well, I wanted to see hoodoos in the snow...I think this was a case of "be careful what you wish for." I hadn't even intended to stop in Bryce Canyon National Park but due to some closures I wandered into the park with the idea to see the famous Bryce Amphitheater glazed with snow, and got a little more than I bargined for. So much so, in fact, that it was impossible for me to see anything at all, even though I tried all of the viewpoints that the plows had kept open. Better luck next time!

Leave me a comment below and tell me if you would have tried to go see this park, even during a snowstorm!

Avalanches in the Desert

Puzzled. I hadn't been hiking for very long on an small ledge elevated above the canyon floor when I started hearing a deep rumbling that sounded an awful lot like thunder. It was raining softly, just enough to require a pack cover and a rain coat, but not hard enough to indicate a thunderstorm was coming. My eyes swept the skyline above the towering canyon walls that surrounded me on all sides, noting the bright gray underside to the rain clouds, but nothing more ominous than the drizzle I was dealing with anyway. Looking a second time, I noticed what looked like smoke or mist rising above a cliff, then, before my disbelieving eyes, a great chunk of ice and rock broke off the cliff face and thundered down onto the canyon floor hundreds of feet below.

The sound itself was enough to get me to pull my camera out, and when the ice started to move, I started documenting the occasion. I honestly have no idea if there are such things as avalanches in the desert, but if the definition of an avalanche is the movement of ice, rock and snow from a higher elevation to a lower one, then I heard and saw my first avalanche. It was terrifying. Even more unsettling was that I knew my destination lay at the foot of the very cliffs that had just let that thunderous monster loose.

I was on my way to Upper Emerald Pool in Zion National Park this past winter, wanting to get in a few more hikes before I had to return to reality after a week of playing in the desert. I had started my hike early, and as far as I knew I was the only person on the trail, and the only person to have witnessed the avalanche. I'm sure the near-constant rain had weakened the rock and ice, and it was only a matter of time before they came tumbling down. Water in all forms created the deep canyon that I was exploring, and I witnessed the erosion process first hand. Extra-vigilant and hyper-aware of my surroundings, especially the cliff directly above me, I kept moving up the side canyon toward the upper emerald pools and the promise of winter waterfalls.

My trek took me across Middle Emerald Pool and above the hundred foot waterfall that fed Lower Emerald Pool and the icicles I had visited the day before. Soon after the middle pool, my hike began to feel more like an alpine hike than a desert one. Ponderosas towered above me, and the air became scented with pine resin and water. A stream bubbled nearby, the same one that fed the perennial pools in the hot desert canyon below. The air became colder, too, though the rain never changed to snow. I wasn't quite high enough in the canyon for that.

Due to the trees, I almost didn't realize how close I was to the canyon walls, and only when I scrambled down a series of boulders and found myself on the small pebble beach of a cold, clear pool did I see I had reached my destination. Upper Emerald Pool, so named for the algae that grows in the summer months, was crystal clear and so cold it had ice chunks bumping against its bank, while evidence of scattered snow and smashed rocks on the ground around the pool attested to a long fall from the cliff-face above. A rope-thin waterfall, flowing from a small cleft in the cliffs, showered the center of the pool and I hung back, having no desire to get close enough to feel the spray or to put myself much farther into the range of falling rocks and ice. The rain had slowly grown stronger and it wasn't long before I took my leave of the lonely pool, listening closely for any more thundering rumbles the whole way.

A Snapshot and The Scoop: Can Illiteracy Stay In Your System Like The Flu?

Apparently I suffered from illiteracy a lot while on my recent winter adventure in the deserts of southern Utah. For some reason I couldn't read this sign while on my way to a viewpoint in Bryce Canyon National Park, and thought the chain was there to help give support and traction on the snowy sidewalk. It's a damn good thing I didn't fall off the end of the path, isn't it?

Leave me a comment below and tell me what you think.

What Not To Do When Winter Camping

Unpleasant. This past winter I had the brilliant idea to go camping in the desert. Actually, for the most part it was awesome and even though I was sick for the first half of my trip I was able to see my desert in a whole new season. And aside from a couple of nights spent in a hotel while I tried to recover from being sick I accomplished my goal of tent camping in the desert winter. I've camped in cold weather before and felt I was prepared for what I was getting myself into, but I'll be the first to admit that I didn't do everything perfect and definietly learned a lot. For anybody wanting to try winter camping, I've put together a short list of things you shouldn't do if you want to enjoy yourself. I mean, not that I've ever done any of these things. I've just heard about them.

When I pack for any trip I start with an extensive checklist of everything that I could ever possibly need for every scenario I could potentially find myself in. I know this packing method doesn't work for everyone, but it ensures that I don't overlook anything and allows me to cross off what I know for certain I won't need. That's the theory, anyway. In practice it works very well, though it wouldn't be a camping trip if I didn't forget something that I actually needed. Something you should definietly not forget, though, is a second blanket to stuff inside your sleeping bag to provide yourself more insulation. Now, I know this mostly works for car campers, and I wouldn't want to carry another blanket if I were backpacking in to a site, but if you've got the space, a second blanket goes a long way to making your night warmer. If nothing else, wrap the entire blanket around your feet and keep those toes toasty.

So, say you packed everything you could possibly need into your car, arrived at your site, set up your tent, made dinner and finally climbed in to your tent when the sun set (or after your blazing bonfire). As you get yourself snuggled in, trying to make sure you are completely covered, you come to one or more horrifying realizations: you forgot a second pair of wool socks, or a hat, or didn't grab another layer for your core or your legs. Allowing for the fact that everybody sleeps a little differently and wants different parts of their bodies to be warm, insert your own "omg I forgot to grab more ____ to keep ____ body part warm." No matter what you forgot, once that vulnerable part of your body gets cold, good luck warming it up.

Ok, you remembered everything you need, you have all of your layers in the tent with you, and you're snuggled down and drifting off to sleep. Then the most unwelcome thought crosses your mind, "I have to pee." You went to all this effort to get and stay warm, and in the hustle, you forgot to go to the bathroom. You'd better buck up and brave the cold to relieve yourself, otherwise you're in for a long night of an uncomfortable bladder. Not to mention all the energy you're wasting in keeping all of that fluid warm. Trust me, just get up and go.

In the business of keeping warm, nothing works as well as a water bottle filled with hot water stuffed at the bottom of your sleeping bag. Just please, for the love of all that is warm, make sure you double check it to confirm it doesn't leak before you put it in your bag. No matter how warm you are, if you've got all your layers on, a second blanket in your bag, and you did jumping jacks before crawling into your tent, if you lay down in a wet bag you are going to get cold. And it will be a miserable night. You might just choose to spend it in your car.

Remember, I don't have any personal experience with these...I just heard about them somewhere.

A Snapshot and The Scoop: Help, I Can't Read the Sign

For some reason unknown to me, I suddenly became illiterate while driving past this sign on my way to my first hike in the Needles District of Canyonlands National Park in Utah. Really, I can't explain what happened! It was only after I'd finished my hike and was driving out of the Elephant Hill area that I could read what it said... Oops. It's a good thing it was only making a suggestion, anyway.

Leave me a comment below and tell me about a time you suddenly suffered from illiteracy. Did it turn out ok for you?

Same Place, Two Seasons, Completely Different Adventures

Pleased. When I get attached to a place, I tend to revisit it. A lot. One of the good things about revisiting a favored location is being able to get to know it's trails and roads very well, better than someone just passing through, or worse, someone who's just seeing it from the window of a car. Another distinct advantage of revisiting is going on the same trail multiple times, in multiple seasons, to get different perspectives of the exact same place. I had the bright idea to go to Utah's southern deserts on the Colorado Plateau in the smack-dab middle of winter, purely to get a different desert experience from the one I usually get when I visit in the summer and fall, and it turned out far better than I'd dared to hope. Sure, I got sick, and yes, I ran into several blizzards and closed roads and inaccessible trails, but going to the desert in winter allowed me to see places I've seen before in an entirely new light, as if I were visiting for the first time. 

The Virgin River and Zion Canyon during summer

One of the most iconic "trails" in Zion National Park is the Riverside Walk, which becomes the upriver hike to the famous Narrows section of the Virgin River encased in Zion Canyon. I've walked that trail multiple times, in both summer and fall, and slogged through the chilly river as far as my numb feet would take me. I love the soaring rusty cliffs that gradually narrow in on you, the desert waterfalls where I enviously watched climbers rappel down, and the rocky, sandy river bottom that swirls around your feet as you struggle upstream. Of course, all of this occured in the warm months of the year, where a cool dip in the river is a welcome respite from the oven that is Zion Canyon. In the winter, however, things are different.

Hanging gardens in the summer

Winter's hanging gardens

Sure, the cliffs and the waterfalls and the river are all still there, but the green that thrives along the life-giving corridor is absent, as are the crowds. With no leaves on the trees the width of the canyon becomes evident and you begin to wonder exactly how a tiny little river, not even a deep one for most of the year, came to carve such an impressive canyon. You could throw a stone from one bank to the other (not that you should!) and have plenty of room to spare on the far side. Perhaps it's the perennial presence of the water, forever pushing grains of sand and giant boulders downriver, scouring the canyon just a little bit deeper and a little bit wider as it goes. 

Green nearly dominates the canyon during summer

During winter, wildlife sightings are common in the lower canyon

The lack of crowds on the paved, handicapped accessible walk was a huge perk to visiting Zion in the winter, lending itself to a quiet that I've never experienced on that river. The soft and constant drizzle, threatening to turn into real rain, most likely contributed to the stillness on the walk. The solitude provided rewards in the form of a leisurely stroll, and coming around a corner to find a herd of deer grazing along the side of the path. There is no way they would have been close enough to touch during the high-volume traffic of summer. 

Shaded path and the hanging gardens of Zion Canyon in summertime 

Nearly the same photo, taken in a totally diffrent season

On the downside, the final quarter of the paved path was closed to foot traffic due to icicles dangling off the hanging garden walls, meaning you either detoured down near the river itself, or turned around. A thin pebble beach extends along the Virgin River for a ways, but eventually you'll have to enter the river proper to continue upstream. I don't know about you, but entering an ice-cold desert river during January doesn't sound appealing. I personally descended onto the beach, and walked back to the parking lot alongside the Virgin River, taking my time and contemplating Zion during winter. I'm pretty sure I'll be back. 

A Snapshot and The Scoop: Inexplicit Warning Signs Make Me Happy

I love seeing signs like this. They let me know that there's some really rough country ahead of me that is likely absolutely gorgeous. They also politely let motorists know that if they get into trouble, it'll be a long walk or a long wait for help. The sign might as well shout "Hey dumbass, go back to town and fill up your gas tank, let the kiddies go to the bathroom, and prepare yourselves for the next 100 miles of rough riding." You might think twice about getting that cup of coffee. And you know what I say? Bring it on, I'll make you my bitch.

Leave me a comment below and tell me if signs like this scare you or make you as happy as they make me.

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!