Early, before the sun even breaches the horizon, I’m up and packing: I don’t want to pack with the desert sun. I have no chores this morning, just the road that leads to Capitol Reef National Park.
On the stunning Hwy 24 the earth’s geology changes again – I leave the red and beige of the desert; the land rises and colour seeps back into the earth. The valleys are green, the air is fresh.
I camp at Fruita, a historic village with massive trees, apple orchards, deer, pie, and plenty of grass for picnicking and relaxing. It’s been a while since I’ve had dessert, so when I get a warm strawberry and rhubarb pie I eat all of it in one sitting. The rush of sugar gives me a pleasant buzz.
Because there is no threat of rain, there is no threat of a flash flood, so I head for the Grand Wash walk. It’s already gone noon, and the sun is high enough that there is very little shade in the wash, and no breeze; I am walking, and baking, in the sun. Sometimes there’s a slither of shade next to the rock; other hikers, myself included, hug the rock to get a respite from the sun. The heat defeats several hikers: they walk in, take a few photos and walk out.
Water does magical things to the rock: best of all, it creates nooks that are perfectly sized and curved for a human body. The nook I find resembles a hammock and it beckons me to come and lie inside of it. It takes a bit of a clumsy scramble to get into the nook, but once I do, the sun’s eager rays can not reach me. I lie down, perch my feet on the ceiling, feel the blood rush away from my hot, swollen toes, and rest.
I spend the afternoon driving the scenic route through Capitol Reef National Park, exploring some of the shorter hikes before the sun begins to set and my stomach grumbles.
The campground in Fruita is fairly busy: it must be the shade and trees that draw travellers here – it’s a rare treat in southern/central Utah. The other campers are mostly solo-male travellers; I’m surrounded by them. The man camping behind my site is from Nebraska. When he sees me examining my atlas, he waves me over for chat – he’s travelling south to California and does not want to spend all of his time on the interstate – what’s there to do and what roads can he take? The man across from me is travelling on a motorcycle. Every time he passes by my site he waves hello. Another man is in a van, on top of which is strapped a bike, a surfboard and a kayak. We nod hello. I wonder what his story is; he looks ready for all sorts of adventures. He grills a steak that smells delicious (it’s been over a decade since I’ve had a steak.)
In the morning, deer graze at the campground, picking at the grass around our tents. Rabbits come too, and there are many birds out, in particular hummingbirds. Sometimes they fly and hover around my site. Magical.
It’s good the animals are out – it takes my mind off the pie that I am eager to have for breakfast, but I have to wait until 8am when Griffin House opens. When I get there, just past 8, there is already a line up. People are purchasing many pies, stocking up for the rest of their day. I imagine, like me, they’ll hide some pies away to be eaten today, tomorrow and maybe even the day after. I get a peach pie and an apple pie, and promptly dig into the peach because it is still warm. The stuffing oozes with juice, but the peaches aren’t mushy – they’re juicy, and covered in sweet sugar.
Jazzed up on sugar, I climb up to Chimney Rock. It’s a delight to be out when the sun’s not had a chance to warm the rock, and many parts of the hike are still in the shade. I’m only the second person out on the walk, and I do not see another person until my descent when a stream of people is starting the uphill trek: sadly, they are already hot and sweaty.
After leaving Capitol Reef National Park I stop in Torrey where I stock up on petrol, hiking snacks, and eat a deliciously greasy grilled cheese sandwich at the diner; the grease is especially pleasing and I wonder if I’m missing something in my campground diet.
I’ve finally reached Hwy 12.