Day 2:
Imagine a music dear reader: a lone, serene bassoon perambulating down the sidewalk of a sweet melody. Nathaniel and Hunter slowly rise to greet the soft morning light - the palpitation of Mark's snoring rises and falls in a well-practiced staccato. The mystical desert beckons us to leave the abode of our synthetic shelter with seductive promises of adventure. She's a cruel mistress, she is - so alluring and yet so elusive. Our protagonists must rise and heed her call, lest her promises fall on deaf ears.
Thus, the day began. A weather system was supposed to move through the area during the afternoon, so our efforts must be coordinated accordingly. We enjoyed a delicious breakfast of sauteed onions, mushrooms and scrambled eggs before weighing down the tent with all our worldly possessions to keep it from flying unencumbered into the abyssal canyon below. We expected a small bit of wind and wanted to play it safe; little did we know of the gale that was to come. More on this later.
Packing into the car, we made the quick drive down to the Calf Creek trailhead:
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| Its hard to see, but the road you drive on to get into the area is along this ridge, and comes from the Hell's Backbone junction. A 200m elevation change and a little bit of water makes all the difference between paradise and purgatory out here. |
The trail wanders up the western side of the canyon, skirting an ancient livestock grazing area that was paramount to the survival of the various native and invasive settlers to the region through the years. One thing that I unfortunately didn't make a visual record of was the brochure that we picked up at the trail register. There were approximately 14 stops along the 2 mile trail that recounted the history, flora and fauna of the area while amicably reminding visitors to drink loads of water. Granaries and cattle fences still stand that were erected long ago, and in the case of the granaries, we were often left with the question of "how did they get to their granary that was 150m off the ground on the side of a sheer sandstone cliff?" Let alone how they did it when they were hungry with low blood sugar. Folks must have been seriously hardcore to make an existence out here, even in the creek drainage.
What's more is, if you forgot where you put your granary, you would never be able to find it again because it is so well hidden! You'd have to build a whole new one way up on the cliff face. It is at this point that I would like to offer my highly uneducated opinion about the origins of the Fremont hieroglyphs from Capitol Reef: those are pictures of the aliens that helped the natives build their ridiculously-well hidden structures. I am prepared to defend my hypothesis by directing any dissenters' attention to the figures' antennae. It seems to me the most logical explanation.
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| Mark and I pondering questions of life and existence in the desolate, historical badlands of North America. |
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| This is not a granary for two reasons: a) it is not impossibly high up on a cliff, and b) it does not look enough like a rock. |
We came around the final curve and heard the rushing of a falls. We had our first glimpse through the trees at what appeared a thin falls coming off the side of a cliff.
Here are some fun plugs for what you get in the Springs (credit to their website for photos):
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| They extort the local native culture for the benefit of petty profits! |
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| They posit that the falls spontaneously combust into a raging tapestry of liquid-hot magma! |
There were no dancing bears. There was no life-changing experience. There was no cascade of Tom Cruise's witch-magical fire to engulf the land in a spectre of awe. Instead, I no longer had lunch money for the rest of the week and here's what we saw:
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| If it was free, I might enjoy it. I payed $50-plus, got attacked by mosquitoes and the girl I went with turned out to be institutionally and incurably nuts - so this sucked. |
I digress again, because this is a story of the Calf Creek and not of the controversial marketing techniques employed by local Springsians.
This story has a happy ending, and it is going to end good!
The Calf Creek Recreation area is apparently world-renown. We heard at least three differently recognized foreign languages spoken by camera-wielding tourists, all of whom were just as wowed by the culmination of the hike as we were. It was as though we had stepped into the very metonymy of paradise. Nathaniel did a tremendous job photographing the scenery, but our cameras simply can't justify how awesome this place really is.
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| The dark line you see extending from the falls is actually a natural, hanging garden shaded from the morning sun. The sandy beach gave way into a shallow lagoon; the green Plantae danced a sweet three-way tango with the crisp, blue water and the deep red of the sandstone cliffs. |
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| Mark and I considering how we could ever follow up this hike with something even remotely as cool. (Note: observe how the pristine shade along the beach provides for excellent meditative potential) |
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| Artistic shot of the spray from the falls. |
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| Yours truly. Definitely one of the high points of the trip. |
A group of tourists (spoke German and no English... possibly from Germany?) were resting nearby. One of them was kind enough to snap a group photo of us with the falls. We bid them a fond "Danke schoen," and turned to head back to the car.
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| Mark, myself and Nathaniel, dwarfed by the falls behind. |
Here are some parting shots of the falls for use as your computer desktop background. They speak for themselves.
Upon our return to the car, we found that the weather had indeed rolled in, and that we probably wouldn't want to be out and exposed to the elements all afternoon. We drove a mile west of our campsite along Utah's Highway 12 and backed up the Jeep to the side of a ~10m rock face. I learned a valuable lesson about how awesome it is to own a Jeep here, and I will share it with you now: in the event that there are no rocks or trees to set an anchor to, you can four-wheel your Jeep to the top of the cliff and anchor directly to your vehicle instead. The manifold has a convenient row of carabiner-sized holes, etched into battleship-grade steel, located right behind the bumper! So, with the addition of two quickdraws and a rope, we were in business.
It is my life's great regret that I did not document the level of badness that ensued during the ensuing climb, both from my Jeep as well as from the three of us climbing. We quickly learned that the reason for all of the surrounding sand dunes in the area is because the rock is literally falling apart. Any lateral pressure on any given handhold while climbing meant a 70% chance of the hold disintegrating in your hand. It was a real challenge, and made doubly-so by the fact that everything was covered in a fine layer of dust that mostly eliminated any friction that the climber may normally rely on to, say, stay on the wall. After about four or five routes each (around 3PM), the weather was coming in fully, and the wind was not messing around. During certain memorable gusts on the side of the slab it was difficult to stand and put away gear at the same time. It got cold fast, and we collectively made the executive decision to just throw everything in the car and deal with organization later. The rest of the afternoon was spent beer-drinking (Colorado Native, appropriately enough) in the tent and playing cribbage.
By the time the tsunami of sand and wind had passed through camp, it was nearing dinner time. All of our worldly possessions had been in the tent in order to keep it from blowing away, and yet before we returned to the tent it had migrated five feet over the sand towards the canyon (the bad direction) from the winds. Also, there was the fun fact that, since everything we brought was in the tent to hold it down, everything we brought now had about five pounds of sand in it, regardless of size. In spite of my sardonic feelings at the time, a quick glance north towards Boulder Peak reported snow in the highlands. We had driven through that area just yesterday and had considered camping in the aspen forests when Calf Creek campground was full. The juxtaposition of 85-90 degree weather in the morning with snowfall and heavy winds in the afternoon would have been unpleasant in a manner reminiscent of the unpleasantries endured by the Duke of Wellington and the Prince of Orange at the hands of Napoleon's armies during the battle of Waterloo. It was clear that providence had cast us a desirable lot in our decision making on this trip, and by golly day two ended good!
We enjoyed more of Josie's campsite fodder, climbed on a sand tower near the campsite that was in a worse state of decay than our climb from earlier that afternoon, and slept the sleep of the avid adventurer encapsulated in the imagination of young children.
