A Hike in the Utah Canyonlands

by Laurence Smith

UTAH CANYONLANDS - Escalante National Monument
Dry Fork, Coyote Gulch
Peekaboo Gulch
Spooky Gulch
4/8 - 4/9, 1999

Driving directions: Drive south for 20 hours or about 1100 miles, passing through the urban squalor and horrendous traffic of Salt Lake City. Continue down to the beautiful high desert of Escalante, Utah. Take the rough Hole-In-The-Wall Road south 27 miles along the eastern edge of the Kaiparowits Plateau. Drive the even rougher Dry Fork Coyote Gulch Road west about 1.5 miles to the parking area overlooking the classic desert highlands that slope down to the Coyote Gulch branch of the Escalante River. The 12,000 foot Henry Mountains form an incredible snowy backdrop against the desert environment.

I was fortunate enough to be able to accompany Don Paulson into this beautiful and new environment. His VW Eurovan gave us plentiful amounts of Bohemian comfort, easing our trip down through major snowstorms and blazing sun. It was luxury indeed to be able to pull off the road nearly anywhere and set up camp within minutes.

When we arrived at the parking area the sun was fading behind foreboding clouds. Wisps of fine snow were settling into the red dust and the wind was rising. Within a short time, the snow was slicing sideways. The van was rocking and rolling in tune with the blasts of frozen wind. We had already heard of the stories of hikers being stuck for days when the roadbed turned to tomato soup, so we shut 'er down and took the seemingly endless 30 mile drive back to Escalante for showers. Late in the afternoon the light switch came on again, and the sun was polishing the Kayenta sandstone into a bronze-red sheen. We rode along as the van slowly crawled back to the parking lot…

The evening stars were spectacular as I got my first good look at the clear desert night sky. Shining crater walls were biting into the smooth arc of the Moon's terminator, while Earthlight bounced off the shadowed plains. Venus showed its crescent phase. Mars cast a red glow, matching the color of the desert sand at my feet. The Andromeda Galaxy was visible as a faint smudge to the east of Orion.

We were up at first light. (We were nearly always up at first light - Don attacks the morning light with his camera). The Henrys were silhouetted against a pale green sky. The escarpment dropped below our camp into a kaleidoscope of desert scenes. Pinyon Pine, Juniper and Creosote Bush framed the spears of blue Agave against the burnished Orange Crush of deep sand. Animal tracks of unfamiliar origin laced the surface, reconfirming the vigorous nightlife that exists here. We dropped into the cream colored Navajo slickrock benches. Sensory overload prevailed, as Bonsai trees grew out of cracks in the rock. We followed the line of least resistance, dropping inexorably into the barely visible slash of the canyon below. The soft, quiet air seemed to mirror my anticipation of a unique day.

We finally dipped down into a final wash leading to the main streambed. Cottonwoods and willows showed their pale green buds against the khaki rocks. We entered the level wash of the Dry Fork as lizards squirted between our boots. A dark red slash bisected the opposite maroon canyon wall - Peekaboo Gulch. The unbelievably narrow and deep cleft caused me to ask Don, "Is this real?"

With hearts beating and adrenaline flowing, we entered the sanctum of the hanging slot canyon, climbing the 15 feet of smooth "pouroff" on steps carved into the gritty sandstone. Standing on the first little basin, we peered into the winding catacomb before us. Hallways of reflected light cast an unforgettable glow onto the rock walls soaring overhead. We dropped our packs, taking only our cameras farther into this narrow and wonderful realm. I experienced a slight claustrophobic tension until I reminded myself that this piece of geology is very old indeed, and probably would not pinch together all of a sudden. No sense thinking about earthquakes here…

We gasped with wonder at the many hues of red and orange. We gasped again with compressed lungs as we squeezed through narrow gaps. The water-carved solution holes and "washtub basins" acted as a recorded cast of the water that flowed through here. The striations in the rock showed exactly how the water surged and swirled. It seemed strange to be in a such a dry environment that was shaped by torrents of rushing water. We slithered, crawled and gyrated up this defile for about half a mile before it finally shallowed out onto the slickrock.

Back at the Dry Fork again, we headed downstream along the level "sandbox" toward Spooky Gulch, another branch slot canyon. We passed beyond the wash that leads to the gulch. The Dry Fork narrowed into its own beautiful defile, with the canyon floor about 20 feet wide and the cliffs soaring about 100 feet overhead. We finally came to a chockstone as big as a trailer, completely blocking the passage, with a dropoff of about 30 feet. We retraced our steps and turned into the Spooky Gulch wash, slogging through tons of sand toward the black slash in the rocks. From a distance, it looked like the canyon was only about a foot wide. Of course, when we walked up to this mysterious entrance, we realized that it was about two feet wide! This was going to be interesting…

This remarkable slot was only barely wide enough for a sideways squeeze. At times, we had to shinny up the walls, then stem our way through perfect little circular arches and holes. The walls nearly touched together 200 feet over our heads! The sunlight filtered into the recesses after being bounced back and forth from wall to wall. This curving and wandering crawlway gave us three hours of visual and tactile bliss. The lighting was sublime and the feeling was surreal.

Our final destination for the day was the slightly wider but no less spectacular slot canyon of the main bed of the Dry Fork itself. We sauntered up to the sudden entrance of this mile long box. This turned out to be a wonderfully easy and level walk through a cathedral of rock. The narrow tunnel gathered the light winds and amplified them into a fresh breeze. In the same way, one could realize that the gathered waters from a storm would amplify and expand into a roaring flood. Thousands of years of watery torrents carved this smooth-walled tube into a curvilinear dream. Some of the flotsam was wedged between the walls thirty feet overhead. The floor consisted of clean-swept gravels and drifting peach-colored sand.

The peculiar quietude was mesmerizing. As I was wandering and dreaming, a sudden trill slapped me in the ears. I stopped dead in my tracks as a fanfare of birdsong sent a chill up my spine. A Canyon Wren! The melody was unmistakable - Do, Re, Mi, Fa, So -- sung in the key of C. However, this winged desert denizen sings it backwards: So, Fa, Mi, Re, Do -- in a descending series of perfect chromatic tuning, even lingering on the final note for emphasis! I staggered onward through the rock mosque, bouncing from wall to wall in synch with the glitter of sunlight. Each turn brought new surprises of color and texture. The shadow of an owl soared along the illuminated rock wall, nearly knocking my socks off with surprise. Once in a while, I could see stunted pine trees peering down at me as they guarded the canyon rim high overhead. As the day wore on, the shadows and light would trade places, changing the patterns of the walls into complex ornaments of stone.

The light was fading for the day as we finally exited the luxurious abyss. The air was rapidly cooling as we grinded our way up the sand hummocks and wavy rock formations to the van. The final rays transformed the Henrys into a chromium sheen against a cobalt sky. As we started to "wind down" for another evening of rest, the desert started to "wind up" for another evening of business…

About the Author

Laurence Smith (lovebuzz@oz.net) has had a 50-year love affair with the Olympic Mountains in Washington State (see Quinault Valley article under Larry Smith). He