Hwy 12. There’s something special about it because I’ve heard about this highway before I ever thought of Utah, and Torrey is filled with Hwy 12 kitsch. “I survived” is the saying on most magnets and stickers.
The first part of Hwy 12 runs through the Dixie National Forest. Though I stop at the pullouts, today’s views are obscured by the smoke blowing in from California. I visit a ranger station, a little cottage that also serves as a home for the lovely couple that man it. The man’s family used to live in New Hamburg, not too far from where I live now, and so we strike up a chat about Ontario and such. They are cute, and fit their surroundings perfectly. On my way out he hands me a wooden spoon that he has himself carved, on it inscribed the date and location: it’s a lovely memento.
The couple suggest I visit a reservoir for a swim, and since it has been a summer without any swimming thus far, I accept the challenge of driving down a steep, sandy descent to get to the edge of the water. Sadly, the reservoir is surrounded not by sand, but mush, and it smells too. It remains a summer without swimming.
In Boulder I stop in at the Burr Trail Trading Post and can’t resist a hot ginger-chai, and sandwich packed with all kinds of fresh vegetables. I’m thrilled at how delicious carrots, cucumber, zucchini, spinach, dill, pepper and other vegetables taste: I guess I’ve been neglecting this food group.
At Calf Creek, just off the highway, I set up camp. The cool creek keeps the air fresh, and the night is welcomingly chilly, which makes it easy to get up in the morning and start my hike: with all the ‘heat kills’ warnings, I am up at the break of dawn, eating porridge with bananas (self made, not that instant stuff), drinking warm coffee, and heading towards Lower Calf Creek Falls. Another group has started before me, but it isn’t long before I am ahead of them. The trail is fairly flat, but it is hard work walking through the soft sand, hence, I suspect, the ‘moderately strenuous’ tag for the hike. Shadows lets the cool night air linger, and I have to put on my sweater and keep my hands warm in my pockets. It’s nice to be a little chilly, knowing that in a few hours I’ll once again be hot.
It’s good to get up early and be the first one out, because you’re the first one to get to the falls. The water is beautiful, clear and the sandy approach to the falls means I take off my hikers and wade in. The water bites. It is freezing, and perhaps if I was hot and sweaty this would be refreshing, but this morning, my feet quickly scream in pain as they begin to numb. There are plenty of rocks, with dry tops, in the water: sit on one and listen to the water as it splits into a thousands streams and rolls along slick, moss covered rock, before filling the pool.
By the time other hikers arrive, I am thoroughly chilled and ready to head out. As I do, I pass several other hikers making their way in. Many ask how much longer it is to go, and I stick to 45 min for all of them. When I start walking, I go on autopilot and my long legs tend to speed a little more than others, so I am not a great person to ask such questions. Also, I don’t carry my mobile or watch, and care not for time: I’m on holiday where I have three times: morning, afternoon and sleep time.
At camp I wash my face, drink lots of water, pack my tent and by 10,30 am off on another adventure.
Along Hwy 24, I stop in a Kiva Koffeehaus. My intention is to have a coffee, but when I spot “Spanish rice with grilled vegetables” on the menu, my stomach grumbles. The coffeehouse is round, like a kiva, and the tall, wide windows let in the views of the boulderous mountain vistas. The meal is amazing, mostly because the dish it topped with grilled yellow and green courgettes. I savour each one.
At one of the scenic pullouts a man sees my Ontario license plate and comes over to chat. The usual You’re alone? Driving so far? Wow. Where have you been? Where are you headed? He recommends Kodachrome State Park, which is awesome, since that is where I’m headed. He does give me valuable advice though, to stay at the Bryce View Campground because even though it is further from amenities, it has the stellar views. Who needs to be close to a shower anyways?
The road to Kodachrome is rather abandoned. I like this: it means peace and quiet and abandoned hikes. The ranger at the entrance asks if I’m driving a standard; he’s a young boy, maybe still in college. My affirmative answer gets a, “I think girls that drive standard are hot.” It’s kind of nice receiving a compliment when you haven’t showered in a few days, have greasy hair, and have sand in your pores because you drive with the windows open.
Some of the wonderful spots in the area are outside of the park, and since the earth and rock are already saturated with heat, I drive the Cottonwood Canyon Road to Grand Staircase-Escalante National Monument: Grosvenor Arch, windows wide open to create a breeze. I have to stop in at the ranger station to get some directions, and when I tell them I’m headed for Cottonwood, they simultaneously look at my car.
One of the rangers looks dubious. The other says, “You’ll be fine. I took my Corolla down there and was fine.” Sold. The drive is bumpy, and at times quite slow as the car chugs up steep inclines, maneuvers its wheels over rocks, dips through sand and finds the needed grip to move on ahead. I’m perched at the edge of my seat, my head as close to the windshield as I can get it, too see the road in front and guide the wheels. It’s exciting. I see only two other cars on the road, and my mobile has lost reception.
I hike up Grosvenor Arch, up a trail that hasn’t been used in a very long time. Some of the climb is a scramble, where I’m nearly on my knees, or my butt, to get some leverage to move safely without slipping. The fear of danger is worth the views.
The landscape changes, as it does often and dramatically in Utah. Dramatic sharp rocks push out of the earth, either glowing white or red. I leave the car in a pullout, get out and walk, finding the trailhead for the Cottonwood Slot Canyons. I can’t stop smiling, and my excitement energizes me. Here lies another playground, and I’m the only one here! I try to think back to seeing the weather posted somewhere, and thinking sun sun sun, I venture into the canyon, believing there to be no danger of a flash flood. Still, I do listen for water as I walk deeper into the canyon.
I decide that I need to spend more than one night at Kodachrome, and when I go in to pay for another, the ranger introduces me to the scorpions that are chilling in his vivarium. They are about 4 cm long, and almost translucent. The ranger assures me that their venom is not life threatening, hurting as much as a bee sting. He warns that when I put my feet into my shoes in the morning, I might want to check that no scorpion has taken refuge in them.
I fall asleep to a story. The campground is only half-full, but next to my site, is a father and son. As the sun sets, the father tells his son a story about some alien walking into a gas station. I can’t hear the rest of the story; the wind blows it away.
My aim is to do all the hikes in Kodachrome – Panorama is the longest at nearly 10 km, while the others are 2.5 km or less. I’m up and out on a hike by 8 am, but by mid-day I’m ready for another go at a 4WD road and a slot canyon walk.
The ranger gives me directions, while another again examines my car.
“Are you driving in that?” he asks.
“She’ll be fine,” the other ranger affirms. The first ranger shakes his head a little, and tells me that when I hit the first hill, I must stay on the left otherwise I’ll hit a pile of sand.
“Just keep your tires rolling. Don’t stop.” This doesn’t fill me with confidence, but I guess if I can’t make the hill, I’ll just come back.
The road is choppy, and there are several sections that are very sandy, mostly at turns or going uphill. The orange “slippery” warning sign blinks on my dashboard more than it ever does during the Canadian winter. I am alert, and moving forward, always keeping my wheels rolling. There is a pick-up truck behind me, with passengers in the back, but it does not want to pass me. I wonder if he stays behind just to make sure I am OK – the people here are kind. It’s a long 6 mile drive to the trailhead, and when I pull into the car park I laugh: it is full of 4×4 pick-up trucks on big tires, and then there’s my Civic.
Willis Creek is mostly dry, so I wander into the slot canyons. The shapes of the rocks are incredible, soft, layered, carved out into bulbous spheres as they rise high over my head. I feel a kind of excitement I would have felt at getting a new Barbie doll when I was little: this slot canyon is an incredible toy. My muscles ache, but that only makes me want to walk on. I want to feel a little burn in my muscles, I want to know I’m working hard and playing harder.
FIY: Kodachrome’s best hike is the Shakespeare Arch return journey via the Slickrock Cutoff. If you’re doing it at sunset, the long shadows hide the cairns and there’s a good chance of wandering around a bit before finding your way again.