Author: joshthehodge

Trekking to Sky Pond

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I was at the trailhead by 6am. I wanted to make sure I could squeeze in as much adventure as I could in this day and also make sure I could find parking. I hadn’t yet put myself together, so, within my car, in the parking lot, I was changing out of my nighttime attire into layers for today’s hike. I strapped up my boots, filled up my hydration pack, gathered my essential snacks, and fired up my hiking GPS. The destination was Sky Pond. According to the map it was a 9.8 mile hike, nicely broken up into segments with Alberta Falls, Timberline Falls, Glass Lake, and Loch Lake all being points of interest along the way.

Unlike the hikes in Capitol Reef, where despite beauty and intrigue the miles stretched on forever, here the miles seem to pass by so quickly. It helped that I was full of energy and excitement, running nearly half of the distance. The weather was also amiable. The sky was perfectly rich blue, and the morning sun was bright but not painful. It shown enough to provide a warm touch on my face and arms, but in the shade, the air was cool and brisk. It was an ideal balance, making it prime hiking time. Surely all of nature’s different attractions and vistas along the way made the hike so enjoyable that it passed by quickly. Also, I had stopped to take a plethora of photos, and today’s views were the stuff of magazine, quintessential perfection.

The first stopping point on the hike was Alberta Falls. It was a small but energetic

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Alberta Falls

waterfall, or rather a series of waterfalls. The water rushed down in a white fury, leaping into a rapid stream around boulders adorned with lichen. Along the rocky borders of the river stood short pines. Their green complementary contrasted with the white rapids and the bright blue of the morning sky.

As the trail gradually ascended, it reached a point where I could see the Rocky Mountain giants through the tops of the pines. Their snow capped heights lookied so majestic. I soon came to the first lake- The Loch. The view was that of a magazine. Bold rocky tops swooped down and reached tall as they surrounded the lake. In crevices, all around, snow slid down the mountain heights. At the lower levels thins pines congregated quietly and uniformly. And then at the very bottom of view, the cold dark lake water lay with tiny little ripple-like waves from the gentle breeze.

It was a very serene place. Except for one other hiker, a middle-aged man, I was alone. I faced the lake, closed my eyes, and took in a deep breath of the cold refreshing mountain

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The Loch

air. Although often times I look for symbols in the landscape around me and the voice of God to meet me out in the quietude of the wild, other times, like this one, I’m just filled of thankfulness. I am speechless, and in my mind, I just keep saying “thank you, God.” I celebrate who God is,  one who shares his beautiful creativity with us. Physical beauty and the pinnacle of artistic expression is found in wild natural places like this.

As I had paused here to take in the beauty, the sun reached higher in the sky, and positioned itself in such a way to permit the mountainscape to reflect perfectly the lake. After my rejuvenating and invigorating pause, I continued on my hike to Sky Pond.

As I was reaching higher altitude, the landscape became covered in snow, and no thin layer of snow by any means, but feet of snow. Most of it was well compacted and icy, making it easy to stay on-top. I also took on the strategy of placing my feet in the footprints of hikers who had traveled on this days prior. Their footprints had turned into icy pads I could ground my feet on.

For a significant portion of trekking over snow, the land was level and tame, then I looked up to see a large incline completely covered in snow. To one side was a  steep rockDSC05120 wall- to the other, a jungle of rocks and Timberline Falls. The way up had to be between the two. The ground became steeper, and the snow, harder and icier. The only hint of a path was the footprints of others solidified in the snowmelt. The path curved around between the rock wall and the waterfall. The incline caused me to hunch over, leveraging my weight and using my hands on the ground for balance. I wasn’t just following footprints. I was carefully placing my feet into small icy steps created by the trod of those who came before.

My heart began to race  in nervousness. I was alone. I didn’t know if this hike was supposed to be accomplished in such conditions. I didn’t trust the terrain, and I didn’t want to end up in my National Parks Search and Rescue book I had told Dom about. If snow and ice had slipped out from under me, or I had lost my footing I would have gone tumbling and sliding down on the icy incline, and I wouldn’t have slide exactly the way I came up. I wouldn’t have slid down at such a curve. Instead  I would have slid straight down in the jungle of rocks and into the Timberline falls. It would not have been good. I would have ended up in the book for sure.  Times like these, though, call for the trekking pole. Thank goodness I had saved it from the depths of Bryce Canyon. It came in handy here, as an anchor to hold onto.

Eventually the icy footprints  I had been following diminished. They led me right into the upper portion of Timberline Falls. Hmm, am I supposed to climb up the waterfall? I thought. I observed my surroundings. There was absolutely no other way. I didn’t come all this way to give up now, I thought. Onward I must go!

There were parts of the waterful I would not set foot on, like the parts almost entirely covered in snow, where I could hear the rush of water but could not see it. However, the section I was taking on was the exposed and clearly frozen part of the falls, where icy rocks were jungled together, and the collection of rocks was enough and varied that there were places to put my feet and grab onto to hoist myself up. I had worked up a sweat on this journey, and the sun was getting warmer, so here I was maneuvering through a frozen waterfall in a tank top, but my hands were cold. I wanted gloves.

There were a couple movements I needed to make, to hoist myself up rocks, in which I had to stop myself from letting panic set in. Instead, I relied on my animal instincts of survival. I would climb up this waterfall! I would see Sky pond!

And I did! It was amazing. It was similar to the Loch, but at this altitude much less trees

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Sky Pond

remained, and snow and ice melt reflected so artistically on the lake. I climbed up a large nearby rock. From here I stood and looked behind at the beautiful valley I had traversed to get to this point. I could see the pine forests squeezed in between rock giants, one of the lakes already passed, and the other mountains in the distance. Up here the beauty was so transcending, the air so brisk, but the sun so warming. It was all so relaxing.  It put me at ease. I decided to place my backpack down as a pillow, put on my light hoodie, and lay down, hugging myself and deeply breathing the rich air. I didn’t think it was possible here but I fell asleep for a good twenty minutes. I awoke to greet the beautiful view with a renewed lens. I don’t ever recall, waking up to a sight so beautiful in my life. This was pure bliss. I sat there, quietly taking it all in.

Other hikers had arrived. It was a family-  mom, dad, brother, sister, and grandma. I had my moment and I decided I would venture back down on the trail, but I didn’t want to descend the ice waterfall and the slick snowscape. There must be another way, I thought. And so I started down the other side of Timberline Falls. After climbing and scrambling down immensities of rock, my efforts proved fruitless. I wouldn’t be able to get down successfully. The terrain became impossible, so I backtracked up to Sky Pond, and by this time the family who had also been enjoying the lake had begun their descent. Perfect, I thought. I will follow them, and see how its done. They carefully and successfully climbed down the waterfall and then, on their behinds, they went sliding down the snowscape. I was the caboose, trailing grandma, and I’m glad I was, because I thought to myself “If grandma can do this, then certainly I can.” And P.S. What a lady! Grandma and I got into a bit of small talk until I squatted down, and slid on my boots back to level ground. The family was very pleasant and clearly adventurous. On the way back we all helped each other out, finding the the best routes over the snow and through the woods. At this time of day, other hikers had engaged on this same adventure. We gave warnings of the challenges ahead as they inquired.

Eventually, about halfway in the return, I arrived back at the junction with the path that leads to Jewels Lake. I decided to take the side trip and check out Jewels lake. It was a crowded area, with a smaller, but nevertheless beautiful lake. Many tourists were taking photos of themselves and each other. I was clearly not the only hiker in a tank top and shorts, later I would find a photo of my mom’s dad, Grandpa Wolf, in the same location.

When I got back to my car, I checked my GPS, my 9.8 mile hike, had turned into around 14 miles. I added that to my hiking miles tally and was glad to bump my miles hiked up significantly. I was surprised at all the miles hiked, because it was still only early afternoon.

Immediately I was able to determine that this was my favorite hike to date. The amazing views, matched with the snowy challenges, and traversing a waterfall, just made it so unique and such an experience. To me, one of factors that makes a good hike, are the challenges it presents, whether climbing up a waterfall, descending by rope, crossing riverbeds, scrambling up rock faces. It’s the challenges that add a sense of accomplishment and create stories to be shared. This hike had topped my list. To me, in my limited experience, it was like I had summited Mount Everest. I had endured the snowy expanse, and all the perils, and lived to tell about it.

The rest of my day was largely uneventful. I had driven into Estes Park, which was very crowded, touristy, and untasteful for my liking. The only thing I left Estes Park with was a Subway sandwich. I returned to the the National Park, and sought out a picnic area to enjoy my sandwich in. I ended up just eating it in a parking lot at one of the overlooks in the alpine tundra, because the view was exceptionally breathtaking this time of day. A large capstone like cluster of clouds had congregate to cover the sun and darken the sky, but a break in the clouds allowed for light beams to shoot down and illuminate the snowy mountains.

I hadn’t thought about it in the moment, but now as I observe and reflect over the photographs, I draw parallels to the light beams shining down and illuminating the dark canyons in Canyonlands National Park. I wonder if, in this moment, God was trying to speak to me, telling me, I will take those canyons and turn them into mountains, taking the deep dark broken places of life and building them up to strong unwavering peaks.

Finding my way out of these canyons in life could be like this day’s hikes- a journey met with challenges, but the challenges not setbacks, and the challenges not hindering but rather spurring me on to overcome. As I embark on a quest to traverse and confront my canyons, I will approach them with the attitude of today’s hike. I didn’t come all this way to give up now. And when it’s complete, and my canyons are raised to mountains, I will reflect and gaze upon the new beauty, feeling the accomplishment and wonder. Greatest of all, I will have a new story to tell of the power and beauty of God.

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Read the previous entry “Starstruck at Rocky Mountain National Park,” here: https://joshthehodge.wordpress.com/2018/01/05/starstruck-in-rocky-mountain-national-park/

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Starstruck in Rocky Mountain National Park

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“There’s a moose on the road!” the lady exclaimed.

There are no moose in the Rocky Mountains of Colorado, I thought.

“Just up ahead on the road you’ll see him.”

Poor lady, I thought. She doesn’t know the difference between a moose and an elk.

However, in my ignorance, I was wrong. She was right.

I had just gotten out of my car at the Kawuneeche Visitor Center in Rocky Mountain National Park. I had been arriving from the West via Grand Lake. She had been arriving from the East. Apparently there was a moose to look forward on the road up ahead, but I missed it and stopped in the visitor center. I didn’t bother asking about hiking trails. I had done my research online, and I knew what I wanted to do, and I was very excited about it. This was the Rocky Mountain National Park! It’s one of those rare places you hear so much about and can’t believe you are actually there when you arrive.

For me Rocky Mountain National Park stands in a prestige collection of National Parks. Some National Parks just certainly have more fame than others. This was one of the big ones. I’d file it along with Yosemite, Yellowstone, Glacier, and the Great Smoky Mountains. I had made sure before arriving I had planned out this visit. I needed to be assured that my Rocky Mountain experience would be full and complete. I didn’t want to miss anything. I felt my plan was solid. And here, meeting Rocky Mountain National Park was like meeting a very famous celebrity. There was sure excitement, a bit of nervousness, and the whole fascination from being starstruck.

Leaving the visitor center I made my way on the park road to the alpine summit. Along the way I made a few stops. I had gotten out of my car at Coyote Valley to gaze across the Kawuneeche Valley, where meadows of green grass were adorned with clusters of pine.  Along the valley edges, the terrain gradually rises and stretches. It grows with thickening dark pine forest until it can reach no further and mountaintops peak with bald rocky tops capped with snow.

Next to me, just meandering right through the meadow grass, at level with the rest of the ground, was the Colorado River. It looked like nothing but a stream. It was quiet, humble, unannounced- except for a small sign labeling it. I stood there in astonishment. This little river is the same one that carves the immense depth and grandeur of the Grand Canyon. Incredible! It all begins with ice melt from the Rocky Mountains. This took me back to my parallels I had made while in Canyonlands about how in our lives there can be canyons, dark areas of sin that can be corrosive. I had previously concluded that canyons sometimes are formed by something so small and seemingly insignificant and sometimes in our lives small it’s those little things which over time can eat away and corrupt a person. Here this was super evident. This dainty little stream, meandering so carefree through the sunny meadow, would become extremely powerful and corrosive, tearing away the land, creating profound depths and forming one of the greatest natural wonders of the world. This realization was a lot to take in.

I continued on my drive up Highway 34, Trail Ridge Road, through the pine forest. The drive took me over the Continental Divide and into altitudes well into the 11,000s which turned the landscape into alpine tundra. Here no trees nor shrubbery grew. The ground was either blanketed with short grass or covered in snow. I was up amongst mountain peaks, looking down into massive pine forests and valleys.

As I reached higher altitude, the road became something of a challenge, because it narrowed and hugged nothing. From the edge of the road dropped dramatic distances down into valleys. On top of it, it was a busy road, with cars in sight in front of me, cars lined up behind me, and cars passing by very closely on my left. I needed complete focus. I was uneasy, clenching my steering wheel tightly. This road just didn’t seem, by any means, safe. However I had no regrets. This was part of the adventure.

The climax to the drive was arriving at the Alpine Visitor Center. It was a break, a place to breathe at ease. It was also very busy. I drove around the parking lot several times, before I found an open space. On one side of the parking lot was a snowbank reaching well over 20 feet tall. Snow also blinded half of the windows at the visitor center. Getting outside my car, I noticed everything was kind of wet and dripping. It was a bright sunny June day, and temperatures had to be in the 60s. It was surprising to see that such an enormous snow bank still remained. It was telling of what the snowfall must have been like here in the winter.

From the parking lot I walked up a short trail to a mountain summit where many tourist stood around in shorts, taking photos of themselves and the great distances around them. I could feel the altitude. Breathing up here was not as effortless as it typically is in the world below. I then went into the visitor center which was joined with a large gift shop and a cafeteria. I checked things out briefly and then walked across the road to the Ute Trail. I began my first planned hike and started it off running. It was a great feeling to be running on top of a mountain, but snow was becoming deeper, slowing me down. Also, the temperature was dropping, out on the frozen expanse. I then realized with the snow how long this would take me, and how I could easily lose the trail. I reevaluated the situation and decided it was a little too ambitious for the moment. I returned to the Alpine Visitor Center. I found a Rocky Mountain National Park t-shirt tye dyed in the design of the Colorado flag. I bought along with it a hat and a book about the first 100 years of the National Park Service. Then it was off to find my campsite.

On the drive up in the alpine tundra I saw lot of wildlife. I saw mountain goats, elk, and many marmots. I had gotten off at one overlook, and a half dozen marmots were crawling and flopping around. This was my first ever time seeing a marmot. Frankly, I didn’t know what a marmot was but had just learned to identify one in the visitor center. To me, they look like a cross between a beaver and a woodchuck. In the eastern United States  we don’t have marmots, and it’s not a very popular animal, thus its not built into our vocabulary. However, I love marmots. They are such goofy-looking animals with a cute charm about them and a high pitch short squeal that sounds like a smoke alarm when the battery needs to be changed. At this particular overlook, the marmots came very close to the tourists, perhaps looking for handouts. It led way to me being able to get some great Marmot pictures, not only capturing the image of the animals, but the beautiful landscape in the background as well. I took one of the marmot stately posing on a rock with the most majestic valley and mountain view behind him. It was quite a photo.

I had descended the heights to Moraine Park Campground. My particular site, which I had reserved online, was one of my favorite campsites to date. From the car, I had to walk a short distance to the edge of the forest where the trees led out into a prairie with a view of a mountain on the other side. The campsite was very private. I felt as if I had the whole prairie and mountain view to myself. I set up camp and, while doing so, made acquaintance with my  neighboring campers. It was an elderly couple camping out of a small fancy lookin retro camper connected to their vehicle by a hitch. They were from California and cleary had experience doing this. They were preparing dinner out of a kitchenette accessible from the outside on the back of their camper. I inquired if there were bear boxes or any food storage instructions I needed to be aware of. They assured me that bears wouldn’t be a problem and nothing was out of the ordinary.

After camp was set up, I drove a short distance to the small Bierstadt Lake. I took a peaceful walk around it on the trail loop. I observed a few men fly fishing, sporting their rubber waders and standing in water up to their waists. The late evening sky was clear and crisp and I admired the pristine reflection, in deep rich colors, of the mountains in the lake.

I felt a feeling of accomplished arrival. I knew I would be staying here for a few days, so I felt like I had fully checked in. I was successfully making my acquaintance and was at ease, knowing this would be a good stay in Rocky Mountain National Park.

I returned to my camp, to my secluded little hideout at the prairie’s edge. I heated a can of  soup and cooked oatmeal over the fire, while writing a few postcards. I watched the moon and stars come out and enjoyed the heat and crackle of my campfire next to me. I then retired to my tent where I had a relaxing readathon, reading over the park newspaper, another chapter in my book about the West, and the intro to my new history book about the National Park Service. All during this my campfire continued to subtly crack and send flickering warm glows across the side of my tent. This was a quintessential end of a day and included what I love most about camping- the beauty, the quiet, the simple comfort of nature, and the prospect of adventure in the day to come.

Read the previous entry “Arriving at Black Canyon,” here: https://joshthehodge.wordpress.com/2017/12/31/arriving-at-black-canyon/

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Arriving at Black Canyon

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Something was wrong, and I wasn’t quite sure what it was. I noticed the hubcaps on my rental car looked warped and out of place. I shouldn’t have gone on those rough roads in Saguaro and Capitol Reef, I thought. I’ve knocked the hubcaps out of place. This had been on my mind for a few days, but there was nothing I could do about it until now. I was finally amidst real civilization. I was in Grand Junction, Colorado with all the amenities of corporate America at my fingertips. I pulled up to a Walmart Auto Care Center to inquire about my hubcaps.

“Can you just have a look and tell me what’s wrong.” I guided the mechanic across the parking lot to my car.

“Oh, well they were put on wrong in the first place.” He informed. He peeled the hubcaps away from the rims of the wheels. “You should be fine now.” I was relieved that it was an easy fix and to see normal looking hubcaps again. I thanked the man and went into the Wal Mart to stock up on supplies. I felt I owed them a purchase. Just prior I had eaten at a Del Taco, one of my go-to places when venturing out West. Those in the rest of the country wouldn’t know that a Del Taco is like a step above a Taco Bell, with fresher ingredients and more healthy and filling options, with fresh avocados and tomatoes. I sound like an advertising spokesperson when I talk about them, but I’m just a fan.

Prior to rolling into Grand Junction I had left Manti Lasal National Forest in Utah and had driven about two hours from Utah into Colorado. I had stopped to visit Colorado National Monument which largely sits high on a mountainous plateau of red rock, looking down across flatlands of colorado. I didn’t have much time to spare, but checked out a few view spots, including the popular Coke Ovens, which are large rounded rock formations that stick up in a row in a canyon.DSC04842

In my planning of these summer adventures I recall being first confused about what a National Monument was. In my mind a monument was a statue or some mounted object in honor of a specific event. This is not what a National Monument is. Rather they are very similar to National Parks. Most National Parks first start out as National Monuments. I once inquired about this to a park ranger. He explained that really the only difference is that a National Monument is a park unit created by a president, and a National Park is a unit created by an act of Congress. The major difference between the two is that National Parks tend to gain more tourism simply because of the title.

Colorado National Monument was my first ever impression of Colorado. I had seen photos of the Rocky Mountains and the Maroon Bells of Colorado, and I was heavily influenced by the pine trees, grey rocks, and snow-capped mountains. I was surprised to find so much red rock in Colorado. However being here, it just made sense, given that it lies right next to the red rock wonderland of Utah. Despite seeing beautiful photos of Colorado online, I had read several negative things about Colorado in the wake of it being the first state to legalize recreational marijuana use. 

Despite my preconceived notions, Colorado was surprising all around. It borrows from that which is beautiful in Utah, but adds in its own unique natural beauty. It has more people that Utah, with more frequent towns and cities and less feelings of isolation, with a population at 5.54 million, nearly doubling that of Utah. After visiting Colorado National Monument I descended into the city of Grand Junction, Colorado, with population around 61,000. The part of the city I saw appeared new and clean with wide and smooth properly constructed streets.

After spending days in remote areas, I always become so very appreciative of places like Grand Junction. Although in the course of typical life-living, supermarkets, fast food, restaurants, air conditioning, and all the amenities of modern America, become common place and stale, when I’ve been isolated from them for days and I come upon them again, it is genuinely exciting. In the moment there seems to be nothing better than the feeling the brisk  air conditioning, to feel the refreshing coldness of ice in my beverage and an unlimited supply of cold water, to find food already prepared and available in bounty. The ease and accessibility of all of these goods is make possible by corporate America, which is something to be grateful for. These businesses, despite recently being attacked, labeled, and stereotyped, provide incredible service, and are only possible in this great nation. Getting away and spending time in nature helps me become more appreciative of the simplicities of modern life that we enjoy and are so fortunate to have in the United States.

After having the hubcaps on the car adjusted, dining at Del Taco, and restocking on food at Walmart, I was ready to proceed as planned with the day’s agenda- to shower and workout in Montrose, set up camp, and do a little sightseeing in Black Canyon of the Gunnison National Park.

The drive took me through the small town of Delta, which to me felt like stepping back in time to an era I wasn’t even alive to witness. Although it was a quiet place, its mainstreet had many businesses, not for tourism, but simply placed ordinarily with vintage looking facades. There was a general store, a fabric store, a jewelry shop, a small grocery store, and numerous little Mexican restaurants. Here I felt far away. The uniqueness and old timey feel made me aware of the distance I had traveled.

I proceeded into Montrose where I purchased a day pass to the Gold’s Gym. I was surprised that such a large and nice gym was located in such a small town. As I was working out, doing a little bit of everything, I observed the locals around me, wondering what life might be like for them, and wondering what they might do for work. I’m sure I didn’t stick out and that I blended in as just another guy at the gym. As they were doing their typical gym routines, going about ordinary life, here I was on an epic adventure, just paused for a moment in this small seemingly insignificant town, which really drew me to it for only one reason- a gym with a shower. How peculiar my situation was but well planned and executed.

After my workout and shower, I dug into my food supply in my trunk and enjoyed a cinnamon raisin bagel and a Muscle Milk. I followed it up with a grilled chicken wrap at the nearby McDonalds. I sat there in McDonalds and for a moment, I did feel a bit of loneliness. I remembered the lost opportunity to connect with the other solo adventurer at the McDonalds in Moab. I saw a family on the other side of the restaurant eating together. I wasn’t in some major touristy spot where I could relate to the gamut of people around me on adventures. I was in a small town. People were about ordinary life. I thought of many times I had tried to form friendships and relationships with people, but how they always bailed out on me. I thought about how long I had waited for people to go on adventures with and the reason I found myself out here alone was because I became tired of waiting and decided to move on alone. I thought about how all the incredible memories made would be mine and no one else could recollect them with me. I also thought about how all efforts to connect with people were not completely lost. There were my postcard buddies I had been writing. My two postcard buddies were new people to me. I wondered would this effort to connect with them be fruitful or was it all done in vain?  

Then I came back to my senses. I didn’t come all the way out to Colorado to sit in a McDonalds and feel sorry for myself. To make it out here alone, seeing so many beautiful places, and finding my way so effortlessly was an accomplishment of independence and something to be proud of. I picked myself off of that plastic McDonalds booth, emptied my tray into the trash and then it was onward to Black Canyon of the Gunnison.

Approaching the park it was really hard to anticipate anything, because the terrain and the small town surrounding it were just so typical. But rather suddenly I came upon a giant break in the terrain, an enormous open wound in the landscape. A dark ominous gap dug sharply into the ground. I realized Colorado has surprises.

I have mixed feelings about this National Park. The canyon itself is surely impressive.  There is nothing I have seen quite like it. It is a very dramatic canyon with very sharp edges and rocks pointing and jutting up from it. The rock looked as if it had been violently chopped to carve the canyon. Standing by it, looking into it, I received the kind of awe I might encounter if i were to gaze upon the fictitious castle of a vile king. It is beautiful if you take the time to admire all its special peculiarities, but at first glance it looks rather uninviting. It’s not inspiring to me. It’s not like looking up at a mountain and losing yourself in the beauty of the moment. Black Canyon seems more like a warning from the forces of nature, a display of its violent ability. It’s dark, sharp, gaping, and hollow.

Prior to my trip I had entertained the idea of hiking down into the canyon to greet the Gunnison River, but I had read too many warnings of poison ivy overgrowth and how the descent is not much of a trail but a free for all which at parts require the hiker to lower himself by holding onto ropes and traversing the steep slopes of the canyon. I had not ruled out the possibility of descending into the canyon, but when I looked at it, I came to a conclusion. Sometimes I’ll see a mountain and have the nagging desire to summit it, like in Manti Lasal, but there was little to no desire to put myself at risk to place myself into a dark and ominous abyss.

“Will you take our photo,” a man asked me while I was looking over the edge into the depths.

“Sure,” I snapped the photo.

“Let me do the same for you,” the man offered to return the favor.

“No, it’s okay.” I replied.

“Oh come on, you need a picture,” He insisted. He struck me as very friendly. He took my photo, and it came out really well. I noticed his hat sported an Indiana school. I had to ask him where he came from. I met a couple from Indiana. When he asked me where I was from, I claimed Kentucky.

I proceeded further into the park to the visitor center. The park film was chock full of lots of interesting history about the canyon. This provided much more richness to my Black Canyon experience. I learned how the canyon was largely avoided until the 1900s. It’s river waters were so violent that wooden boats were turned to splinters by explorers. One successful survey of the canyon was done by a couple of men floating on a mattress.  Also the history of a railroad stretching along the sides of the canyon and the effort that went into constructing it was incredible.

History here is rich, but I was surprised to find that this place beared the title National Park. National Parks to me usually boast numerous features and plenty of opportunity for recreation. This park is small. There aren’t many trails, and the different features seem to be limited to view spots at just various angles of the same canyon and river. It seems unjust to place it in the same category as places like Yosemite or the Great Smoky Mountains or any National Park I had visited up until this point.

After squeezing in my stop to the visitor center before it closed, I backtracked a little bit on the road to set up camp at the South Rim campground. The terrain was part woodsy, part deserty. I wasn’t sure what animals might be around at night. Ever since I visited Sequoia National Park and was warned about black bears breaking into cars, I have become extra careful not to leave food items out in my vehicle. My campsite, which I had reserved online, was very private. The fire ring and picnic tables were in an open exposed area, but behind a row of tall shrubbery, was a place to set up the tent, completely shielded on all sides by growth. I quickly pitched True Blue and continued on the park drive, stopping at numerous viewpoints.

The two most notable view spots for me were Pulpit Rock, where long ago a minister
used this rock to deliver sermons to his congregation, also Painted Wall, which is a section of dark rock with bright white stripes running through it. This is another geological landmark I hadn’t noticed before, but afterward have seen it in ads and billboards. I had all intentions of being at Warner Point for sunset, seeing that right next to it on the map is labeled “Sunset View,” but again I was moments late for the sunset arriving at the point. It was okay. I was tired, and what I wanted most of all at this moment was a good night’s sleep.

I returned to my campsite in the dark, got ready for bed, and without reading, without thoughts to ponder, I flipped my switch and fell asleep.

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Read the next entry “Starstruck in Rocky Mountain National Park, ” here:

https://joshthehodge.wordpress.com/2018/01/05/starstruck-in-rocky-mountain-national-park/

Read the previous entry “Exploring the Uncharted,” here:

https://joshthehodge.wordpress.com/2017/12/27/exploring-the-uncharted/

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Exploring the Uncharted

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“There are no maps of that area,” she informed. “I keep asking them to make maps, but I work for the government. We can never get anything done. It’s basically uncharted area, but you are welcome to explore.”

I had stopped by a small visitor center in Monticello, Utah next to the mountains of Manti Lasal National Forest. When I had camped up in the mountains two nights before, in the aspen forest, I had noticed some trails off to the side of the road, surely the visitor center would have some maps, I thought. I was wrong.

She kept repeating herself and was very apologetic. I was a little disappointed until the words “uncharted area” sunk into my mind, and I realized that this was a prime and rare opportunity to explore.

“Thank you,” I replied, walking outside with a skip in my step. I was on the brink of some serious adventure, about to take on uncharted area.

I drove up into the mountains, and pulled over and parked by the lake I had sat and had breakfast by the day before. There was a gate open to the gravel driveway, I made sure to park before passing through the gate, over to the side of the road. I was by no means in a parking spot, but I hadn’t seen a single vehicle up here. I felt pretty confident that my vehicle would be fine.

Unsure of what to expect, I applied mosquito repellent, filled up my hydration pack, and packed away a Clif bar and a long sleeve shirt. I turned on my GPS, walked down alongside the road about a fourth of a mile, and began one of my favorite hikes ever!

It started out as a wide unmarked trail, that had clearly been used for four-wheeler ATVs. The path at times dipped down into the ruts from the tires. Trees were sparse at first, and rock and grass dominated the landscape. The sun was bright and the path was dusty, painting into my memory a landscape of bright warm yellow. Then my memories turn into rich greens and the vibrant white of a young aspen forest. I was fully intrigued. I had been hiking in many types of forests before- in the pine forest of the northeast and the Sierra Nevadas of the West, the subtropical forest of Kentucky and Tennessee, down to the tropics of Florida, but I had never been in an aspen forest.

As silly as it may sound to those so accustomed to aspen, to me it was like stepping into another world. I thought I knew the forest, I thought I knew trees, but here I was with my concept of a forest challenged and expanded. It was an entirely different environment than anything I had ever seen before. I had camped in an aspen forest two nights prior, but it was different to be hiking out in one, noticing the forest floor fully green and covered with thick wispy grass. The branches of the aspen wait to sprout towards the top of the tree, leaving the hikers range of view immense, with a seemingly endless display of tree trunks congregated together.

There was something very calming, comforting, and strangely eerie about the aspen forest. Although I am a fan of all types of forest, typically the forests I venture into have a certain sense of expected mystery about them, because dark, large trunks, obtrusive branches, and wild undergrowth, keep secrets and stories hidden. Typically my view in the forest is limited, for there is so much space for things to be out of sight. But the aspen forest is different. It’s very open. The forest floor is one sheet of wispy grass, everything is visible around these slender trunks, and nothing is hidden and mysterious. Instead, bright and cheerful trunks invite your into the gathering, accepting you as one of the party, but after making acquaintance, and being invited inside, the trees at times can feel like pale white ghosts, only a mirage of a true forest. But then you stop and this is when you listen to their millions of small leaves rattle against each other and sing, telling you that they are alive.

This particular forest I was exploring, was young, so the Aspen’s weren’t very tall, giving me a larger than life feeling. I felt almost like a giant, trampling through a world of my own. I stopped here at the beginning of the aspen forest for maybe a good twenty minutes, taking photos with the trees.

There is something extremely pleasing and satisfying to me in discovering new terrains. Every different type of terrain I explore, challenges and expands my perception of the world. I recall my first experience in a forest of palm trees, walking out on desert plain for the first time, gazing through the ponderosa pines of Yosemite, and looking down into canyon depths. Every time I experience a new type of terrain, the richness of my life increases. It opens new pathways in my mind, to ponder and explore in memory and imagination. It shows me the diverse nature of the creativity of God, and I am simply swept away in blissful wonder and enjoyment.

After my impromptu photo shoot in the aspen forest, I returned to the trail  and decided to pick up the pace. The trail eventually came to a fork. It was my goal to summit the mountain before me. There was a sign, and I chose the direction with the name that sounded more like a summit of a mountain to me. I chose the path to my left. Clearly ATV time was over for this path was much smaller. I followed alongside the sound of a stream, which I never could see. It was down in a ravine.

DSC04786 copyShortly the forest changed. Tall older aspen mixed with robust ancient pines. Eventually the aspen were left behind and I was in the company of dark, rich, wet pines. The smell was sweet, tremendously pleasing. It smelled like fond memories of Christmas, and soon enough I found snow to accompany the sweet aroma. A mound of unmelted snow rose up mid trail. I was so excited to come upon it. So far on my trip I had been venturing in dry hot desert, even just this morning I was trekking along the red hot rock of Canyonlands National Park. Now here I was in a cool, aromatic pine forest, climbing up a pile of snow. I took snow into my hands and through icy snowballs into the forest.

I felt like I had jumped from summer into winter in the matter of an hour  – and not into any gloomy bitter wintertime, but a festive, picturesque, quintessential, Christmasland of sorts.

I checked my GPS. Time was ticking. I was five miles in. Time and distance had passed so quickly. The day was by no means young anymore, evening was upon me. Because I had no map, no insight to these trails, I was unsure where exactly this trail was leading. I couldn’t gage if it would lead to a summit or simply meander around the mountains. I also considered that everything I hiked had to be re-traced, and I did not want to be stuck in uncharted wilderness in the dark. I had a resolution. I would pick up the pace, run through the forest, and at every mile, I would reassess the situation.

My blissful run through the pine forest, took me to an alpine tundra. Trees were left behind, and tundra prairie spread across the mountain. The trail was but a narrow pathway making steep inclines up the mountain. Around me I looked down to dramatic valleys and ravines, with tall pines looking as tiny figures. The excitement propelled me forward at incredible pace.

Around me, every so often, Utah prairie dogs poked their heads out of their burrows as if to check to see if the world around them was still present. I ran past them leaving the trail behind me to summit the top of the world. Reaching the mountaintop was a grand climax as I could look out and see the cavities of canyonlands as a miniature little wonderland below. I was on the cool green tundra, looking down into the hot, dry, desert. The contrast was remarkable. A small cluster of pine trees huddled together just near the summit  pointing to the sky but also further drawing out the stark contrast of the pine forest and the beautiful canvas of Canyonlands in the background.

What made this moment all the more exciting and special to me is that I felt like I had truly discovered this place. There were no tourists, no signage, no constructed platforms nor overlooks. It was truly wild, and secret, and entirely a new experience for me.

It would have been enjoyable to have spent more time up here, looking around and taking in the scenery, maybe sitting down and enjoying a moment of quietude, but I knew there wasn’t much time to spare, since I was eight miles up a mountain and wanted to get back before dark.

I stood atop that mountain feeling powerful, invigorated, and accomplished. Then I turned around and ran back down. I was pleased. I had done it. When I set out on the path, I wasn’t sure where I was going, then as I ascended I knew I was getting closer to the top. Doubt had set in at a few times. I was wondering if I would be able to make it to the summit. But I did, and the view not only on the top, but on all my journey to the top, was rewarding.

This mountain and this Aspen forest continue to linger in my mind. It’s a place I couldn’t easily direct anyone to. It’s mine. It’s my secret. My cherished memory. I’ve tried looking at a map and identifying exactly what mountain I summited, but it’s unclear, so it remains only a place I can describe, only a place I understand, and my hike up that mountain was so full of adventure and wonder that it almost seems like a dream- a moment I escaped reality and pulled myself from the troubles of the world to look down on it with solitude and awe.

Hiking on trails alone, as on this one, has never given rise to feelings of loneliness. Although I’ve at times wanted to share beautiful vistas and moments with people, I’ve never been overwhelmed with loneliness. Instead, these moments of solitude remind me that in our lives we all walk a path no one else has trodden. No one will fully understand and no one can ever recount my journey but myself and the one who created me. For each life is uniquely different, made up of different experiences filtered through our own unique perceptions. I imagine that, even in companionship, complete and true understanding of my life, despite how close one may be, can never be reached, for we are limited by our human capabilities. But God knows truly what it is like to walk my path. He has been and is with me the entire way. So in these moments, when I hike alone, I find incredible intimacy with God and comfort in knowing that, even though no one else can fully understand the life I lead, my path in life is not walked alone. He knows it completely, before the dawn of my existence all the way to the end of my days, and He is with my every step in the present to assure me purpose and understanding. In that I find peace.

That evening I quickly ran eight miles down the mountain, speeding like Sonic the Hedgehog. Back at my car, I checked my gps to log the numbers of miles hiked. I was excited to add sixteen miles to the tally.  I then turned my car around and went back to Buckboard campground. Two days prior it was a strange forest to me, but now it was understood. I could find comfort in it, my secret apsen hideaway in the mountains. I crawled into True Blue, pulled out my book on the West, and shortly drifted to sleep.

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Read the previous entry “Arriving at Black Canyon,” here: https://joshthehodge.wordpress.com/2017/12/27/exploring-the-uncharted/

Read the previous entry “The Canyons in My Life,” here: https://joshthehodge.wordpress.com/2017/12/27/the-canyons-in-my-life/

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The Canyons in my Life

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I looked down over an expanse and saw a whole different world. Perched on its edge, I knew that it would only be a matter of time before I would explore its grand expanse and profound depths. For now, the vista in front of me was so massive and colorful that my mind couldn’t take it all in, but I could admire the thousand shades of color, from rich red, to golden orange, pale brown, and deep purple. I entertained thoughts concerning the world below me, all the different nooks and crannies, all the different riverways, and the solitary towers of rock leaving islands in the sky. I could conjure up stories of adventure in the depths and speculate the history of people living in and passing through the narrows. Canyons are rich for the imagination and profound for inspiration.

At just around sunset I started this hike along the canyon rim at Canyonlands National Park. It had been a full day of hiking many trails and covering many miles. I felt accomplished, but I was getting tired and I wanted time to wind down, so just a leisurely stroll along the canyon rim at sunset seemed perfect.

When I go hiking I always end up taking away more than I can imagine, nothing physical, but rather inspiration, reassurance, and healing. Nature has a way of bringing about these things, and I’ve lived enough life to know that nature itself is not some mystical magical entity, but rather I believe nature is a creation designed purposefully to appeal to man and take him to depths of self-actualization and to intimacy with God.  Often times when I go hiking alone, I find it to be the perfect time to pause, reflect, and just be in the presence of God. Out in the solace of His natural beauty, it’s sometimes easier to hear God speak. I have seen this evident in my own life in many instances, God uses natural beauty to speak to me. The rocks, the trees, the towering mountains, and canyon depths are designed to have meaning. They are symbols.

As I was hiking along that rim, I was reflecting on my life, trying to pinpoint where exactly in my life I was feeling a corrosive emptiness and deficit, despite my fleeting feelings of accomplishment. I was pouring out to God this discontentment and feeling of inadequacy. This was something that had plagued me for a while. I felt I was just not doing something right, that I wasn’t living up to my potential, and that my character was lacking something.

While I was feeling these heavy emotions, the sun was hidden behind a cloud and therefore the countless canyons of Canyonlands were dark, mysterious, and seemingly bottomless. Lines separating the sections of the canyon were blurred from lack of sunlight. In this moment, suddenly it hit me, the realization that my own life has a number of canyons- deep and dark places where light just doesn’t shine, where the lines are blurred. I wasn’t sure exactly what those canyons were and what was the cause of them, but I knew there were dark places in my life where lines that separate truth from lies had been blurred, places that were corrosive that continued to grow deeper and darker. I asked God to show me the canyons in my life.

Canyons are very interesting things in relation to life. They are cavities in the earth’s surface caused by erosion over time. They are huge but can begin forming by something so simple as just a crack. Water eats away and erodes the trivial into something massive. However other times the impetus for formation is the land itself shifting as plates collide and move. And so the dark places in our lives can form very much like canyons. They may start as something trivial on the surface, a seemingly harmless sin, which over time can erode a person’s life. Sometimes those cracks we aren’t even responsible for, but they are caused by the abuse of others which start to erode our very being. Other times these canyons are formed by major life events, with loss or dramatic changes, when we feel the earth is pulled right out from under us.

As I was reflecting on canyons and their relevance to life, inspired by all the metaphors I could apply to life, suddenly the sun broke through an opening in the clouds. Beams of warm yellow light shot down and reached a number of canyons. The beams of light were situated at just the right angles that they illuminated the deepest canyons. And just like that a number of dark and dreary canyons became strikingly beautiful and awesome, no longer dreary and dark but rich in color and light.

At this moment God spoke to me, not in any audible voice but rather more directly, right to my soul. He told me that he can take the canyons in my life and turn them into something beautiful. Tears began to roll down my face in response to the beautiful parallels God was making and hearing His voice, which had seemed absent in my life for quite some time.

My first response was thankfulness, thankful that God met me here, literally out wandering in the desert. Secondly, I began searching my life for canyons. That evening I wasn’t sure of the canyons in my life, but I was ready to face them. I was inspired to seek change in my life and let God illuminate those dark places in my life.

Since this evening I have been able to identify some canyons in my life. I know one of my most profound canyons is selfishness, which is a complex and sprawling canyon.  I am still on a quest to find the rest of my canyons, confront them, and let God’s light transform them into something beautiful. I love how God is transformative and resourceful. He doesn’t let bad experiences and choices in life exist without redemption. God uses the dark places in our lives and illuminates them to bring him glory and fulfill his purpose.

If you are reading this I encourage you to take a hike out in nature and talk to God and ask him to show you your own canyons. I am uncertain of all my canyons, but I know God will lead me to them, and he can lead you to yours too.

I encourage you to try this whether you have faith in God or not. Just go out in nature and reflect on the places in life you need to work on to be a better you- the “canyons”. I pray that on your quest to find your canyons that you encounter God, because I’m telling you, there’s nothing more powerful.

Read the next entry “Exploring the Uncharted,” here: https://joshthehodge.wordpress.com/2017/12/27/exploring-the-uncharted/

Read the previous entry “Canyonlands and Dead Horses,” here: https://joshthehodge.wordpress.com/2017/12/27/canyonlands-and-dead-horses/

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Canyonlands and Dead Horses

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One of the reasons why Canyonlands National Park is recollected with such fond memory is that the history here is real and apparent, exceptionally believable and imaginable, as if you can reach out and touch it and bring it back to life. History is something that intrigues me, especially history of the West, of the Cowboys out on the plains with chuckwagons and cattle, pushing themselves to extremes, kicking up dust, and taking with every quench of thirst a side of desert grit- also the natives connecting with the land, battling their rivals in bloody encounters, carving their tales into the rocks around them, forming, creating, and leaving mysteries of their existence. Just days prior to visiting Canyonlands, I began reading the book “The American West,” and here in Canyonlands everything was put in its place, in scene, in context. I was here in the midst of what I was reading. These lands held the routes of the early cowboys, the homes of the Utes and Navajos. They ventured through this rough terrain and endured the harshness of the desert. Still to this day, surrounding the park on many sides are pastures of cattle, modern day cowboys, and Native Americans blending tradition and culture.

When you’re traveling from point A to point B, outside of the park, and pass over many cattle gates and plains stretching with herds, the west of Cowboys and Indians, which has often been elevated to the point of near folklore, is true, embraceable, and able to be seen.

In my wanderings around Canyonlands, I took a short hike long a trail that passed by a rock overhang. In the shelter of the overhang was equipment and items left by cowboys of the past, including tables, trunks, saddles, cups and cans. I remember in that moment, I paused and I tried to imagine the transient life of the cowboy out in these harsh canyonlands of intense heat and dryness. The amount of bravery and perseverance of the cowboys is incredible. 

Just next to the boundary of Canyonlands National Park is Dead Horse Point State Park. Here I took a morning jog along the canyon rim, which ended right at the overlook of the Dead Horse Point itself. In front of me was a wild expanse of canyons and an elevated peninsula which the Green River dramatically curves around. The air was dry but the desert was not yet sweltering. Everything around me was painted in vibrant shades or orange, red, and pink. When I was done admiring the scene, I went into the visitor center. “So tell me, what’s with the name Dead Horse?” I asked.DSC04660

The park employee gladly explained, “cowboys traveled long distances out in the desert with little water. They were very thirsty and their horses even more so. They followed the sound of the river to the outcropping of land you see at the bend of the river. When they arrived There they stood right next to the river but far above it. They could see it and hear it,  but had no way to get down to it, and so their horses died, thirsty, looking at the unreachable river.”

In the gift shop I bought a book called “Down the Great Unknown: John Wesley Powell’s 1869 Journey of Discovery and Tragedy Through the Grand Canyon. The employee informed me that there was the John Wesley Powell River History Museum not far away, unfortunately I didn’t have the time to visit.

Although I had debated even stopping at Dead Horse Point State Park, I am glad I did. It compliments Canyonlands National Park and the views of the Canyonlands and Dead Horse Point were alluring and picturesque views. Something very unique about this region is you have Arches National Park, Canyonlands National Park, Dead Horse State Park, and numerous other parks and natural features all within close distance, with Moab, Utah being the central town, the hub, in the middle.

Back in the National Park I didn’t see much during the day. I was out on a small trail of barren rock faces taking photos over at the beautiful spiky rock formations in the Needles District when an angry looking storm came rolling it. I could see it moving, and see the sheets of rain it carried and the bolts of lightning it send snapping to the ground. In this moment the sky and scenery were perfect for photo taking, but some dust was stuck in my camera lens and I realized the approaching danger of the storm. I quickly satisfied my need to take photos with a few good shots and returned to my car just in time before the downpour. In the West storms are much more frightening, with the knowledge that water is not soaked into the land but rather travels across it, and also because in the desert there is rarely anything taller than your vehicle. So you and your car stand out, exposed, and are in plain site for the storms and all its bouts of lightning. With what I’m used to, a car provides adequate shelter from a storm, but not in these parts. I took more trustworthy shelter in the visitor center.DSC04533

When I was at Arches National Park, just days prior, I had heard about the Summer storms in the park film, which endangered some of the arches in the park, but I had no way to fully understand them. The land seemed so dry and the sky unyieling to any clouds. Trying to imagine a storm in these parts was difficult. Now, in the midst of one, It was completely understood. This storm just wasn’t any storm. It needed a modifier in front of it. This was a “Summer storm.” But like all Summer storms on these barren planes and canyonlands, it didn’t last long. It came and went, in a quick heated tantrum.

Canyonlands National Park is composed of three districts, each with unique lands features. There is Island in the Sky District, the Needles District, and the Maze District. In the visitor center in the Island in the Sky District  I inquired about hiking down into the Needles District I had seen from my hike. The park ranger took out a white binder with photos slid into plastic sleeves. He turned to a specific page and pointed to it. “Well this is the Needles District.” He paused for a moment, as if the photo itself would be a deterrent. It wasn’t. It looked amazing. “There is no cell phone service out there…” Fine with me. He proceeded, “…and GPS devices won’t work in that area from the rocks blocking the signals.” His last piece of information successfully deterred me from exploring the area. I had read online that it was ill-advised to go alone, as all the rock formations which stick up like needles create a maze-like environment, and it’s very easy to get lost. It was advised that you take pictures at turning points in your trail to be able to navigate backs to your starting point. That knowledge paired with the fact that my GPS would not work, resulted in the decisions to not explore the Needles District. I had already been hiking in the area enough to know the heat and dryness was a serious thing. Being lost here could be deadly, and I didn’t want to end up like the horses of Dead Horse Point.

When the rain had resided I made it to Mesa Arch- the most iconic feature in the park. It’s a small rock arch right on the edge of a canyon cliff. It’s not much taller than myself but what makes it so appealing is that it frames the canyonlands behind it perfectly and is positioned at just the right angle that sunlight always brings out color in the landscape, making this location an exceptionally good photo spot at sunrise and sunset. Now, after having visited Mesa Arch, I notice it frequently in screensavers, calendars, and different pieces of publicity.  While I was there, a group of young adults from France asked me to take their picture. I had seen them the day before in Arches National Park. There was a small crowd of people gathering, but everyone was very respectful, stepping aside for each other to take their pictures of the arch.DSC04581

At one point in my day I took a break and went into Moab for lunch. I ate at the Moab Diner, which was a very pleasant experience. I would recommend it to anyone in the area. Not only was the food delicious but the service was unparalleled to anything else. The waiters were extremely attentive, and I must have had my glass of water refilled at least five times without any wait. I had gotten the Kokopelli Chicken Sandwich. It was here I was also able to make the association that Kokopelli is the flute player in the petroglyphs. His image is reproduced all over merchandise and signage in the area. He is a fertility deity and represents the spirit of music. I don’t know much else about Kokopelli, except his chicken sandwich was delectable.

Nearing the end of the day, I returned to Canyonlands to walk to Grand View Point at sunset. This walk would prove to be a pinnacle of self-actualization and discovery on this trip, and will be outlined in my next chapter, but after my hike along the rim, I began driving back to my hideout in the mountains of Manti Lasal. Shortly outside the park I drove by a Bureau of Land Management sign for Horse Thief Campground. Weary from a full days adventure I thought I would check it out and entertain the idea of camping here instead. Sure enough there were campsites available. I decided I’d rather dish out fifteen dollars then drive 60 more miles in the dark back to Manti Lasal. Although my tent was all set up in Manti Lasal, I had my spar tent, Kelty, and an extra sleeping bag in my car. I also had one of my compact camping pillows. I would be alright. I sent up camp there in the flat exposed plain. The sky above me was extremely huge. Clouds were long gone now, and stars filled the sky. I was able to purchase some firewood on the grounds and quickly had a small fire blazing. I was camping, like the cowboys I read about, out on the expansive plains, with the whole sky above me.

I realized here that I could position a flashlight underneed my glow-in-the-dark Nalgeen bottle, and the bottle would disperse the light, creating a calm but sufficient glow by which I could eat a snack and write a few postcards. When my writing was complete, and the air grew cool and hollow, I crawled into my airy tent, pulled out my book on the West, and read to the sound and glow of the fire next to me and the brightness of the unhindered moon and stars above me. I was at peace.

Read the next entry “The Canyons in My Life,” here: https://joshthehodge.wordpress.com/2017/12/27/the-canyons-in-my-life/

Read the previous entry “Camping in Strange Woods,” here: https://joshthehodge.wordpress.com/2017/11/12/camping-in-strange-woods/

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Camping in Strange Woods

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The sun had set, but there was still enough light  for me to barely see some of the wildlife around me. I passed nearly a dozen deer alongside the road. I was driving slowly, ascending an unknown mountain. An eerie unsettling sense of skepticism crept in. I was 60 miles removed from the bustle of Moab and just south of Canyonlands National Park. I had no framework to understand exactly where I was heading. I had a campsite reserved somewhere out here and had the coordinates entered in my GPS.

“You have reached your destination,” my GPS cordially sounded. There was nothing there, so I continued on. After a few miles later up the mountain, I decided I better head back down and have another look.  Sure enough, the second time I noticed my destination. There was a road. It was hard to see, and the entry onto it was through a cattle guard that had been nearly hidden with vegetation. Grass was growing up in the middle of it, and vines were wrapping around it. Furthermore, the branches of the trees hung low, and my vehicle would likely brush up against them. I eyed the thing for a moment. There was a sign “Buckboard Campground.” This was it. The grate of the cattle guard was very wide. Will my wheels get stuck on that, I thought. There’s only one way to find out. My car shook violently as it crossed the guard and shimmied through the tunnel of overgrowth. Then I was in.

There is no point in trying to recollect and recount my camping experience that night in the mountain, because in the intensity of the moment, I documented just what was going on:

Let it be documented that if there is ever a night I go strangely missing, it is tonight.

I am at Buckboard Campground in Utah. I found it impossible to find a campsite in Moab, so I’m sixty miles south in Manti Lasal National Forest.

To arrive, I entered into the middle of nowhere and ascended thousands of feet into a thickly wooded forest of some sort of non-pine tree with a white trunk. I think they are aspen. I have never been in a white forest before. I’m sure in the morning light it is beautiful, but at night the unfamiliarity is eerie. The moon is super bright and it makes the trees look as if they are glowing.

Because this type of forest is new to me, I don’t know what dwells in these woods. Are there bears? I just bought a ton of produce, being sick of granola bars, dried nuts and berries, and jerky, and my sleeping bag smells like Subway. I bet my feet smell delicious too.

And I’m all alone. No one else is up here at this campground. So it is the perfect place to be kidnapped or snatched by Sasquatch, or Scarfinger, or the aliens in the petroglyphs I’ve seen today and yesterday. They may come to abduct me.

There are so many possibilities for my demise and disappearance. I’m trying to make light of the situation, but in all sincerity there is uneasiness and concern. I am completely isolated and alone in a strange place.

I quickly built a fire and turned on five flashlights, establishing my neck of the woods. And I tried to bear proof my car, but I’m simply carrying too much food. I am looking forward to sunrise. Please come soon.

Despite my trivial panic, I survived. To calm myself and make myself feel more at home, I broke open my new book about the West and I became intrigued and lost in it’s great story. I occasionally kicked the sides of my tent to create noise and scare off intruders, whenever I heard leaves ruffling. Despite my initial fear,  I slept very well.

I awoke the next morning in an absolutely beautiful aspen forest, and two deer nonchalantly walked right in front of my tent. I opened my tent window and talked to the deers for a moment. Tree trunks were vibrantly white and the leaves of the aspen created a glowing green canopy just above me. I fell in love with the aspen forest. I’ve been a huge fan of the aspen ever since.

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Read the next entry, “Canyonlands and Dead Horses,” here: https://joshthehodge.wordpress.com/2017/12/27/canyonlands-and-dead-horses/

Read the previous entry “Seizing the Moment,” here: https://joshthehodge.wordpress.com/2017/11/12/seizing-the-moment/

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Seizing the Moment

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“A whole month of camping! How do you stay clean?” This is a question I often get asked. There are a couple of answers I could give: “I don’t” or “let me tell you…” I have gone for a week without a shower, but that is pretty much my max. I find ways, maybe not to stay clean, but to get clean from time to time, when opportunity affords it.  Most National Parks in the West do not have shower facilities, unless it’s a largely popular National Park, then you might find a coin shower, like in Bryce Canyon or Yellowstone. There’s a zero chance of finding a shower in a National Forest facility, as their standard is just a vault toilet and maybe, if you are lucky, a sink. Last year, when I was camping in Sequoia National Park, I counted a swim in a river enough of a bathe for me, but you should never bring soap or shampoo into a river. It can be harmful to creatures who inhabit the waters.

When no park shower facility is available I get creative. Often times I resort to getting a day pass to a gym and taking full advantage of the shower in the locker room. Gold’s Gym’s are popular throughout the West, and a day pass is well worth it. For Moab, I had to do a bit of prior investigation, but I did had a shower planned in my itinerary. Online I had found Moab’s Recreation and Fitness Center. They expect visitors and charge solely for shower use, but they also offer a day pass to the gym. It has become my practice that If I’m going to shower at a gym, I’m going to get a good workout in too. As someone who is tall and lanky, with a fast metabolism, days on end of hiking, causes me to lose muscle weight. I try to salvage some muscle by tearing it up in the gym and making sure I follow up with enough protein and nutrients to repair.

Moab’s Recreation and Fitness facility  was tucked away in the neighborhood in a very residential part of town. It was insightful to gain another perspective of Moab, apart from the Main Street of tourist shops and restaurants. The neighborhood was clean, quiet, and simple. I parked alongside the road and went in to workout and get cleaned up. The facility was sleek and looked very new. The receptionist was very friendly.

When I workout in the gym, typically I target one or two specific muscle groups. Since this was my first gym workout in a while, and would be the only one for days to come, I decided to work a little bit of everything.

When I’m back in Kentucky on normal time, I value lifting and working out in the gym for a multitude of reasons. One of them is that it keeps me physically fit to have these adventures. Pulling myself up and over rocks, climbing up steep slopes, hauling around large and heavy backpacks for miles, and the rare occurrence of holding onto a cliff edge for my life, requires that I have exceptional upper body strength. Also the self discipline developed in the gym, allows me to keep pressing forward when things get difficult.

After my workout, I was off to the shower. It felt absolutely amazing, as the salty sweat, layers of sunscreen, and desert dust was washed away from my face. I took in the comforting sensation of  warm water relaxing my back, which had become so accustomed to carrying a backpack.

Coming out of the shower, there were others moving in and out of the locker room, having just finished their own workouts. There were also kids having just finished swimming lessons going about in all directions. Wrapped in a towel, I laid my sitch bag on the counter next to the faucet and pulled out my shaving cream, razors, toothbrush, dental floss, and mouthwash. I had lots of personal maintenance work to be done. I felt rather awkward shaving in the midst of a bustling locker room. I remember when I lived in Houston, Texas, people would shave in the locker rooms, but that was in a major city. Much more is acceptable in big cities than in small towns. I didn’t know if this was socially acceptable here, but I went with it anyway. Even if people were to have passed silent judgement on me, it didn’t matter. They didn’t understand how valuable this opportunity was for me, and, plus, I was truly a stranger. I was here one day, but would be gone the next. I would make sure I cleaned up after myself, so what difference did it make?

When I left the recreation center, I felt clean and refreshed. Evening was approaching. The sky was clear and the air was hot but dry. The harshness of the sun had resided. An overwhelming sense of peace met me in this moment. There is a certain sense of accomplishment obtained from being able to live out of a car and travel wherever you want and still keep healthy and get clean. I remember returning to my car parked alongside the road and just feeling very pleased with life and myself. I felt good about my body having just cleaned, worked out, and shaved. I felt healthy and ready. I had some amazing things planned and adventures to be had. I pulled from my food supply a Muscle Milk and a protein packed crispy rice bar. I was relaxed yet ready for the evening ahead of me.

Before heading to my campground, I needed to run a few errands. I stopped by Walker Drug Company, which was a very impressive general store. It had a little bit of everything carefully and purposefully stocked- food, clothes, camping gear, souvenirs. In the East, the general store is pretty much nonexistent, except for the chain, Dollar General. In the West, the general store is still alive. I bought one of my dietary staples, Greek yogurt, to get some additional protein after working out, and I purchased a dual prong USB charger for the car. I was impressed because I had never seen a dual prong USB charger. Later this would prove to be a nemesis, blowing a fuse in my car.

From the general store, I went to City Market, Kroger rebranded for Utah. I was feeling sick of eating Clif Bars, jerky, and dried berries. I wanted some fresh food, So I bought some apples, oranges, bananas, and peppers, as well as stocked up on the usual. After loading the groceries in my car, I was feeling hungry and also wanted to find some Wifi to share the photo of myself by Delicate Arch. I stopped by a McDonalds. I got an Egg McMuffin (taking advantage of McDonald’s new all day breakfast menu) and an iced coffee. I pulled out my Chromebook, inserted my SD card, and began searching for the photo of me next to the arch. This was a tedious task, as the machine was very slow, with it’s memory at near full capacity, housing all my photos from last summer’s adventure.  While I was fumbling through the machine in search of the photo, a young man with hiking boots that were plastered with dusty Utah soil, and a McDonalds tray in hand, took a seat right next to me. I looked over to see if he was going to say anything, but he said nothing. I found this very peculiar, because the McDonald’s was very spacious, and numerous tables were open all over the place, but he chose to sit right next to me, our shoulders nearly touching. I could tell by his attire of cargo shorts, nylon t-shirt, and dusty boots that he had been out hiking. For a moment, I thought about striking up conversation, but I was waiting for him to do so. After all, he is the one who rather awkwardly sat next to me, right inside my personal bubble.

My great fault of not taking initiative in meeting new people was on prime display here. I wanted to strike up conversation and hear his story. Was he another solo hiker by himself? What did we share in common? He didn’t seem like he intentionally wanted to make me feel uncomfortable. He didn’t seem very confident himself. It was as if he and I shared a lot in common. I imagine he had mustered up enough confidence to sit down next to a stranger, but not enough to engage in step two: initiating a conversation. The social complex between us was very complicated. I felt that he innocently and sincerely saw himself in me and wanted to start a connection, but both of our social insecurities got the best of us. I just tucked my face away in my Chromebook and neither of us said anything.

Whenever I recall my experiences in Utah, this comes to mind. If I had struck up conversation with him, I wonder what would have become of the conversation. Would I have made a new friend. How much did we truly share in common? As someone who lives a rather solitary life, the prospect of finding a new friend is exciting to me, and forming a connection with anyone is very valuable and a rare occurrence to me. People sometimes misunderstand me and my solo adventures, thinking that I just want to be alone. Although I do enjoy some moments by myself, the reason why I adventure so often by myself is because there is no one else to share adventure with.  Coming across another person who shares the same adventurous spirit, no matter who they are, is exciting to me. This young man in McDonald’s could have been a valuable connection to share adventures stories with.

I can only conclude that this was a missed opportunity, and although I do believe everything happens for a reason, I think the takeaway from this is a lesson learned. From here on out I promised that If such an opportune situation for a social interaction comes my way I seize the moment, and not let the opportunity pass.

Read the next entry “Camping in Strange Woods,” here: https://joshthehodge.wordpress.com/2017/11/12/camping-in-strange-woods/

Read the previous entry “Trouble at Arches National Park,” here: https://joshthehodge.wordpress.com/2017/11/10/trouble-at-arches-national-park/

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Trouble at Arches National Park

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My heart was racing, What do I do now?  I looked down. This was the third time on my adventure I found myself in the dilemma of being in a high-up location, looking below me uneasily, wondering how to get back down. The big difference was this time there was an audience of spectators watching me. I had to make a decision quick. I did not want anyone coming to my rescue. This was embarrassing. I found myself crouched down low, legs extending, and finger-tips trying to clench the rough steep sand paper terrain.

I was at the base of Delicate Arch- the most iconic geological feature of Utah. It wasn’t enough for me to see it and get my picture taken by it. I wanted to explore around it. As I went to hug the arch legs and shimmy my way around its base, I lost footing, gravity cleverly pulled me. I couldn’t stay standing any longer, and as my body and limbs were spread out across the terrain like a spider, I was afraid that any slight movement might send me tumbling into the desert bowl below me. The bowl just below the arch appeared as if years of weather and wind carved it out. Sandstone swirled around to form the bowl and reached up to connect to the towering Delicate Arch, where I was pulling my Spiderman moves, trying to hang on, hoping friction would be on my side.

I realized there was no going back up, because I would have to turn my body around, and there was no place to do so. I would plummet. So I had to proceed forward. I had to descend into the bowl. The only problem was that it was a long and steep way down, and it looked near impossible to descent without fall. If there were to be a fall it would be detrimental, for all of the ground was rock, and there was absolutely nothing to grab onto to break the fall. I would be sent rolling uncontrollably on the sandstone.

With wobbly legs and a queasy fear of the heights, I brought myself back onto two feet and immediately began my descent. I was running, trying to pair myself with gravity and avail a complete fall. My feet stopped forcefully on the sandstone, as I speedily propelled down into the bowl. My focus was staying on my feet and not falling out of control. With each passing second, as my feet stomped their way down into the bowl, I wasn’t sure if I would remain standing.To quote famous cowboy, Woody, you might say I was “falling with style.”  Despite my clumsiness, I made it! I was in the rock bowl looking up at Delicate Arch, relieved, thankful to be unharmed, and gaining a view probably not too many people get to see of Delicate Arch.

When I first set out to explore around Delicate Arch, I thought it was normal, but now judging the terrain, I knew this was not something people do. Furthermore, it was probably off limits. The last thing I needed was to get in trouble by the National Park Service, an organization I volunteer with and so admire. I needed to get back on trail and blend in. I felt like an offender of the landscape. I was thoroughly embarrassed, knowing that my whole shenanigan was witnessed by dozens of tourists. Finding the trail involved hiking down into another bowl and climbing a much shorter distance up and out onto the trail. Once back on the trail, I felt like I needed to hike back to Delicate Arch and bid it farewell.

Thus was the extend of my main adventure in Arches National Park. The trail to Delicate Arch was one and a half miles and decently strenuous, working the calves and thighs as it is mostly an ascend on bare rock face. Near the trailhead, there is a little off shoot trail that leads by some petroglyphs. I took it in on the way back, and met a couple from Cincinnati, Ohio. I overheard them talking about the horned looking monster in the petroglyph and how they noticed the same creature in the petroglyphs in Capitol Reef. “Aliens. They have to be aliens,” the wife informed. Since I had just been to Capitol Reef, I found it would be interesting to engage them in conversation. We talked petroglyphs and the nature of our trips, and they said they applauded me for venturing out on such a trip alone. In addition to this main hike, I also pulled over and took the very quick hikes to Double Arch and Balanced Rock. At Double Arch I was recruited by a small group of Chinese tourist to take their picture. I was asked through a series of gestures, since we couldn’t verbally communicate. Pointing at my camera and then myself, I was able to get them to return the favor. This park was very busy and full of people from all over. I had noticed many tourists from China and Germany. Parking was very tricky, but I was lucky.

Prior to arriving at the park, as I was approaching, I had tuned into an AM radio station designated for the park, which was warning tourists that the park was expecting a large number of visitors and not to stop on the highway if the entrance to the park was backed up. I did not have this problem, as I had arrived fairly early in the morning. Once in the park boundary, I ascended a large switchback road to higher ground where I stopped at the visitor center. I watched the park film and bought my customary souvenirs. It was a very nice and modern visitor center, and the park film spoke a lot about the summer storms and how Delicate Arch was just one summer storm away from being broken and knocked down. It made me speculate that perhaps in my lifetime Delicate Arch would be no more, just like the fate of the Old Man on the Mountain in New Hampshire, whom I visited as a child but who no longer exists.

Also in the visitor center, I decided to take care of my bookless dilemma. I bought a 448 page book called The American West, a general history of the region, and a book about coyotes, geared towards kids, but it had a lot of great coyote picture and facts that informed my purchase. Throughout my travels, coyotes have come to be my favorite animal, and I wanted to learn more about them. Not being a bearer of a smartphone, I relied on old-fashion methods to gain my knowledge while traveling.

Just outside the visitor center there were two water fill stations- spickets attached to pillars. Hikers gathered around and lined up to fill up their water bottles and hydration packs. There was definitely a spirit of adventure in the air, being surrounded by people with hydration packs and bottles of all shapes and sizes, all gearing up for their own explorations, I figured I should fill up on water as well, so I brought over my nalgene bottles and hydration packs and became fully stocked up on water.

After Arches, I headed into Moab, the nearest town, and epicenter for outdoor adventure in Utah. This town is a major hub for the outdoor enthusiast. Everything is geared toward, and accommodating for, the adventurer. The town itself is very small. According to a 2016 census the population was 5,242,  but the number of outdoor adventurers visiting is great and probably outnumbers the people living there. Although tourists were coming from all over the world to experience the wonders of Utah, bringing their own culture and customs, adventure and discovery bound us together, and because of that it was as if we all spoke a common language.

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Read the previous entry “Coming Back to Life,” here: https://joshthehodge.wordpress.com/2017/11/06/coming-back-to-life/

Read the next entry “Seizing the Moment,” here: https://joshthehodge.wordpress.com/2017/11/12/seizing-the-moment/

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Coming Back to Life

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It was only supposed to be a two mile hike, but it felt like twelve. It was day two in Capitol Reef National Park, and I had set foot in the morning on the Rim Overlook Trail to catch a view of Fruita from above. Never before had I been on a trail that was so short yet seemed so long. I believe this perception was gained in part from the tedious task of maneuvering my feet around rocks, watching out for rattlesnakes, and searching for cairns to keep me en route. On top of that, add extreme heat and sun exposure. There was also the repeatedly false perception that the trail was coming to an end. I would see an outcropping of land along the rim, and assume it was the end, only to find out the trail wound around and kept going. This happened maybe a half dozen times.

 

The trail eventually ended at Fruita Point, and I looked down into the canyon. It wasn’t the viewpoint that was the highlight of the trek, as it was forgettable, but what stays with me most vividly in my memory is the hike there, through shambles of broken rocks, across expansive sun baked rock faces, and through indentations and coves of sand. At one point I rested, stretching myself out in some soft sand, as if reclining at beach, but I was really in a sunken cove, hidden by desert brush. At another point I sat in a smooth rock cavity, just my size, to find shelter from the sun.  Although seemingly long, the trail was fun, interesting, and throughout the whole trek I was accompanied by small lizards who would blend in so fine with the landscape but suddenly scurry upon the approach, causing me to flinch at their surprise.

 

When I was back down in Fruita, after my hike, I was very hungry and felt I had burned enough calories to earn a fruit pie sold at the little gift shop in Fruita. The town has a history of fruit harvesting and pie and jam making. I figured that in order to have the full Fruita experience, I needed to have some pie. I bought an individual blackberry pie and a small cup of ice cream (the kind with a wooden stick), and I enjoyed it on a picnic table out front. This area of Fruita was quite busy now, meaning there were a few families on the premise, but it was obvious, from overhearing their talking, that they were just day visitors. I was able to tune out all the noise around me and write in my notebook about my experiences in the Petrified Forest.

 

After eating my pie, I went for a walk around Fruia, I walked past the old school house, down by the river, and to a large section made into what sort of looked like a city park, with a mowed lawn and picnic tables. There I observed some very old girthy cottonwood trees. There was a placard explaining their significance, showing photos from back in the pioneer days of the same trees. Leaving this lawn area I walked by the orchard. I had read online and heard on the Rock the Park show that you could pick fruit from the orchard, but it didn’t look like they were allowing it at this time.

 

As I was walking by the orchard, some mule deer walked right up to me. I was not used to deer approaching me. Deer to me have been some of the most easily frightened animals, but these deers were approaching me, I had to curve my direction so they wouldn’t walk into me. I am used to deer in the Midwest and South, where they are so frequently hunted. Perhaps, because of this, they have developed knowledge and instinct to avoid humans. But here, tucked away in a desert oasis, protected by the National Park Service, humans are not feared.  Wherever humans go, they usually bring food, and in this area food was not in plenty, so perhaps the deers welcomed humans in hopes that humans would provide for them. I’ve observed in my travels that desert environments bring out boldness and aggressiveness in all creatures.

 

I myself was ready to aggressively search out food and water. I was craving with great intensity cold water. I was prepared with water, but my water was hot. I wanted cold water,  and I craved food other than nuts, berries, and jerky that I had packed away in my car. I searched in my GPS for restaurants. The nearest was a Subway, thirty miles away. Typically, by no means, would I drive 30 miles just to go to a Subway, and furthermore it had been my tradition that once in a National Park for a stay, not to leave it. However, the thirst and hunger was so present and nagging, that I decided that even for just a sip of cold water, 30 miles there and back would be worth it.

 

The miles went by quickly, and I found the Subway located inside a gas station. That Subway sandwich and water mixed with artificial lemonade syrup made me the most appreciative of beings. In the gas station I also bought a bag of Muddy Buddy Chex Mix. The sweet powdery crunch was so satisfying and so memorable, that it created a powerful association in my mind, so much so, that from that point on Muddy Buddy Chex Mix has become my preferred snack on summer camping road trips.

 

On my way back into Fruita, I stopped at the entrance sign to Capitol Reef National Park to take a picture and then I pulled over at Sunset Point. I thought the sun was soon setting, and here I could take it in. I came to discover that the sun had already set behind the reef. Nevertheless Sunset Point proved to be a beautiful viewpoint. From here I looked down into deeper canyons and up at mountains in the far distance with the giant walls of Capitol Reef to my left. I thought that this place was beautiful, and it was one of those moments in which I really became aware of not only my existence but my own presence in this place. I closed my eyes for a moment to attune my ears to the quietness around me. I opened them to rediscover myself in this amazing and strikingly different landscape from what I was used to. I recollected where I came from, all the hardships of life I have endured, and here and now I was with the will and aptitude to have brought myself to remote Utah and immerse myself in natural beauty. With all the peace surrounding me, and the spark of adventure now ablaze, I realized I was still on the front end of a large summer adventure.  But already I was feeling restored, alive and free. Nature always has a way of bringing me back to life. (The Subway sandwich also helped.

Read the previous entry “The Way of the Pioneer,” here: https://joshthehodge.wordpress.com/2017/10/29/the-way-of-the-pioneer

Read the next entry “Trouble at Arches National Park” here: https://joshthehodge.wordpress.com/2017/11/10/trouble-at-arches-national-park/

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The Way of the Pioneer

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“Oh you’re from Kentucky? That’s different,” the hiker responded. I wasn’t sure how to interpret this at first, but really I understood exactly what he meant. It happens to me all the time when I travel. “I’ve never met any visitors from Kentucky” a few rangers have told me before. Having lived many places, I don’t always claim I am from Kentucky, but when I do, it always summons an interesting response. Among the responses is often, “You don’t sound like you are from Kentucky.” This is true, because I am not, nor ever will be,  a true Kentuckian. I was born in Chicago and raised primarily in Massachusetts. However, my family roots run deep in the fertile soil of Illinois.

Despite not originating in Kentucky, I am quick to defend Kentucky within reason on many accounts, but I cannot deny that on large, many Kentuckians are not known for venturing out, and if they do it’s usually to the same few places. On top of that, Capitol Reef is really venturing out- the most remote National Park I had been to thus far.

I came upon this hiker and his wife who inquired where I was from, coming out of the Pioneer Register. The Pioneer Register is a slot canyon graffitied by carvings of pioneers and their dates of passage, dating back to the  early 1800s. The Pioneer Register is an incredible place because of hundreds of names of people who passed through the narrow canyon. It’s also fascinating to consider how they were traveling on stage coach, over rough rocky terrain in the desert heat, squeezing their way through rock walls. I’d want to reach out to them and say, don’t lose heart, you are almost to Fruita.

Walking through the canyon, I imagined the fear of flash floods must have been very real for the pioneers. There would have been no escape from flood waters down here, and flash floods truly do come unexpectedly. In Utah, where much of the ground is hard rock, water is not absorbed into the ground, instead it moves and can travel from a stormy location to a place where the weather is blissfully fair. These pioneer would have had no warning of flash floods.

Looking up and marveling at the extensive register of names I noticed how some people chose to carve their names in beautiful cursive. Others had left their names carved into the wall by series of bullet holes. It would be painful to imagine how loud it must  have been, with the sound of the gun echoing off the canyon walls. An aspect that makes this location all the more interesting is that it is unmarked. It’s not behind a fence or protected in glass. It’s just there, exposed on the canyon walls, and you can walk right up to, and walk through the canyon, seeing the same views and experiencing the same journey as these brave pioneers.

This was around mid day of my first day in Capitol Reef. I had just previously hiked up to Cassidy Arch, but now was down on the low lands. This couple I came upon asked me to take their picture inside a hollowed out hole in the canyon wall. I too asked for them to take my picture, but it didn’t come out well. I am particular about my photos and my artistic eye is not always pleased when another attempts to capture my vision. We got to talking and these people told me they were from California. They had been to Death Valley, and the wife was wearing a Death Valley shirt. I took notice because that is my favorite National Park. Inquiring about what I do for work, we eventually got on the topic of Mexico City. “What’s that neighborhood in the city, that’s very beautiful with the home of Frida Kahlo?” The man asked. “Coyoacan!” I exclaimed. Of course! The topic of Mexico City is also one of my favorites. I’ve spent a lot a time there as a student and also on various vacations. The husband advised that if I loved Mexico City  I would love visiting Buenos Aires, Argentina. It just so happened to be one place I was already interested in visiting.

Upon bidding farewell to the couple, I returned to my car and the adventurous dirt road back to Fruita.  I had completed my hiking agenda for the day, was tired and just wanted to rest in my little desert oasis. I had new appreciation for Fruita, having been to the Pioneer Register and trying to put myself in the perspective of the pioneers. Fruita would have been, in some ways, a paradise, with  trees providing shade, the Fremont River flowing nearby, orchards of fruit, and villagers to accommodate. Despite the excitement Fruita may have been to pioneers, at my campsite, I found myself bored, which is a very rare occurrence for myself. It was too late and I was to tired to begin another hike. I had studied the park map, read the newsletter, and didn’t know what else to do. I recollected my experience in Saguaro and wrote a brief poem. After lying restless in my tent, craving some relief from the valley heat, not knowing what to do with myself, I realized what was missing in my life- a book. I needed a book. I wanted to read. Reading in relaxing, distracts from the discomforts, in this case heat around me, and put me in a place of peace. But I had nothing left to read, except I recalled I had my novel in the works saved on my Chromebook. I fired up the machine and started reading my own work. At this point I had twenty five pages written of the novel.

Despite its comfort, reading didn’t last long, as hunger was nudging me to start the fire and eat some food. I got out of my tent, started a fire and heated a can of chicken noodle soup. In the heat of the valley, soup was not the most enjoyable of meals, and all my water supply had turned hot, from the day’s sun. Also, during my meal, flies started to pester me to the point of irritability- the annoying buzz and humming around my ears, the occasional attempts to dart at my eyes. These little flies were not my friends. I didn’t want to spend all evening in my tent, so I figured if I climbed up to a higher elevation, I might escape them. They seemed to thrive among the greenery and water of the Fruita valley. So, I filled up a  hydration pack, threw on a long sleeve shirt- anticipating the weather to cool down soon, walked across the road to a trailhead, and took a very short hike halfway up a trail leading to the plateau above. I was very tired, my legs feeling weighted. I sat down, rested, and looked down into Fruita at the campground and an old barn next to a small field for horses. It was scenic and picturesque but despite my attempt to escape, the flies followed me. Heat, wasn’t so much the problem, but the dryness, thirst for cold water,  mixed with the pestering  flies, made me into a highly irritable creature. I realized the remedy I really needed was a good night’s sleep. I had not caught up on any of the time lost after skipping over two time zones. I hiked down to my tent, brushed and flossed my teeth in the campground bathroom (because dental hygiene is never compromised when I camp) and checked into my tent for the night. I read over the poem I wrote about Saguaro as well as a few from previous summers, and I fell asleep.

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Read the previous entry “Utah, My Love,” here: https://joshthehodge.wordpress.com/2017/10/17/utah-my-love

Read the next entry “Coming Back to Life,” here: https://joshthehodge.wordpress.com/2017/11/06/coming-back-to-life

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Utah, My Love

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Utah is an incredible place. Although it’s a popular place for hikers, in my travels it has often seemed like I’ve had the whole place to myself. On my way to Capitol Reef National Park I hadn’t passed another car in a long time. Civilization was becoming sparse. I was filled with excitement to go to this lesser known National Park.

I first learned about Capitol Reef from the Rock the Park show in which Jack Steward described it as a “gem.” It was an intriguing episode, because the park was portrayed with such a unique balance of history and nature. Jack also described it as “The real wild West.” Growing up in, and always being confined to, the Northeast and Midwest, the wild West always seemed so unreachable and too legendary to bother with making my acquaintance, but here we were, about to meet!

Prior to my arrival, I knew some basics about Capitol Reef. It was a supposed hideout for outlaws, including the infamous Butch Cassidy. It also included a commonly traveled pioneer wagon route and the restored Mormon ghost town of Fruita, situated in an oasis tucked down between the giant rock walls. It was named Capitol Reef after a giant rock feature on top of the Reef, which pioneers thought resembled the U.S. capitol building. I wanted to see it all for myself and was very curious what the “Reef” itself would look like- a 100 mile outcropping of earth pointing to the sky.

The two hour drive from Bryce Canyon to Capitol Reef was very peaceful and marked by tranquility, yet unbridled anticipation. I was driving down the long wavy landscape, swooping down and rolling up to see new marvels at each crest. I had gotten another early start as to be able to secure a campsite in Fruita. As I was traveling down the open roads, the morning sun was still waking up, slowly peering over mountainous deserts and lush fields of the remote Utah farmland. The temperature was brisk and in the lower fifties. The sun didn’t seem to be in a hurry but stretched casually, illuminating the beauty around it, turning dark grey areas to vibrant oranges and greens. As I approached the park, red giants stood up all around me. They announced their existence boldly and reached dramatically into the sky- some layered with colors, others monotone. Between the road and these giants were just fields of sand and rocks mixed with typical desert shrubs. It very much reminded me of the landscape in Disney Pixar’s original Cars movie. It felt like in any minute I’d be pulling up to Radiator Springs.

The Reef itself jutted diagonally up into the skype, as an immense rock ledge. In the park film, I learned that it is believe it was formed by plates of land colliding, pushing one plate up into the air, creating this massive wrinkle in the earth’s crust.

I was traveling alone. Dom had taken off in a different direction. He had forgotten to pack his camera battery and had found a place online in Moab, Utah that sold it. He was going to seek that out. When I rolled into the park, I passed the small visitor center and headed straight to Fruita. I didn’t have much pick of a site, because the campground was small and many sites were taken.

The whole campground was flat and had a mix of green grass and desert dust. It was all fenced in, so it did not have much of a wild feel. Roads were paved, sites plainly arranged. It was a very civilized campground, yet very scenic, because it was tucked away between giant red walls situated in small and picturesque Fruita. I chose a site in the front left corner of the campground. I quickly set up camp. Knowing I would stay a few days, I decided I would rest spaciously in True Blue. I then purchased some firewood from the campground host and headed back to the visitor center, as always to watch the park film, purchase a pin and sticker, and ask a ranger for hiking recommendations, despite already having an agenda. I then hit the park road.

The first hike on the agenda was to Cassidy Arch. It was a 6.6 mile round-trip hike. The trail arrived at a place believed to be a hideout spot for the infamous criminal it’s named after. To get there I drove on a extremely scenic dusty dirt road in an expansive area between enormous rock walls where my little rental car kicked up a large trail of dusty clouds. I stopped at numerous spots to take pictures. The giants walls, and bold rock formations around me, made me feel so small and as if my car was just a spec of dust. I had never seen anything like this. I carefully maneuvered my car around some sharp turns, paying attention to the location of my tires, making sure they didn’t fall into any ruts or run over any sharply protruding rocks.

I came to a dirt parking-lot. There were maybe a dozen other vehicles that had ventured out here. I got out of my car, took off my shirt to cover myself in sunscreen, and made sure my Camelbak was at its water holding capacity. The sun now was fully awake and wasn’t holding anything back. It was raw, sharp, and felt closeby, without any filter. I began my hike on a river wash, and shortly took a turn left to start ascending, hiking between a multitude of fallen rocks and desert shrubs. I remember looking up in amazement, wondering why I had not heard more about this place. It reminded me of the awe and grandeur of looking over Yosemite Valley, just in a different color. Mountains rolled around in every direction and rocks abruptly and strikingly reached up into the sky. The reds, oranges, browns, and even whites were layered, and at other times they swirled around.

I remember looking across the distance in awe and thanking God for the adventure and acknowledging his awesome creativity. The more places I visit and new landscapes I see, the more I get to know God, as I observe the creative expressions He has poured himself into.

As I was ascending from the canyon along this path, which hugs and meanders around cliff edges, a group of three young teenage boys passed me…and then I passed them. This became a pattern until it started to become a bit awkward. I decided to let them establish a lead, as I knew I’d be stopping many times to take pictures.

As the trail reached higher ground, much of it was on open exposed rock face, and the only way to know where I was going was to look for cairns. Some were small and inconspicuous, so my eyes were constantly scanning in all directions, and a few times I had to trace my steps backward to find the cairn.

After 3.3 miles, I reached Cassidy Arch. There was one family there, and separate from them a group of about 10 boys and a couple of men. I quickly figured out that it was a Boy Scout group that had beat me here. How cool it would be to take a Boy Scout excursion to Capitol Reef! Anyone that lives in Utah is spoiled with exquisite landscapes. Utah is my wonderland and favorite state. I was able to recruit a Boy Scout leader to take my photo with Cassidy Arch behind me.  I then sat down and rested there at the end of the trail, on the open rock face, facing the arch. Here I was having already seen Saguaro, the Navajo Nation, Horseshoe Bend, and Bryce Canyon, yet my adventure was still young. I already felt accomplished, yet there was much more to see and adventure to be had. Here in Capitol Reef, tucked away in Utah, I truly felt off the grid, away from it all, hidden, just like the outlaws. I had escaped the troubles of my world and was free. As always Utah makes me feel at home. Although some may dread the heat of the desert, Utah to me has always felt comforting.

I have noticed many times, hiking in Utah, that my skin, after being exposed to the summer sun, takes on the same color of much of the rock. Utah is a place in which I could go camouflaged.  It reminds me of the piece of scripture that says God formed man out of the dust of the earth. If God were to have formed me out of the dust of this earth, he picked up a scoop of Utah and molded me, and maybe that is why I love the Utah landscape so much- maybe coming to Utah is in some ways, coming home.

I let this sink in, as I sat there facing Cassidy Arch. I felt that making acquaintance with Capitol Reef was more than a mere polite gesture. Capitol Reef had spoken. “Welcome…” it said, “…just make yourself at home.” And so I did.

 

Check back for my account of hiking to the Pioneer Register in Capitol Reef!

Read the previous entry “Recollection and Wonder,” here: https://joshthehodge.wordpress.com/2017/10/14/recollection-and-wonder

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