It was 7:20 PM when Tangent suggested we scramble up a sketchy looking rockface to the top of Stevens Arch in time for sunset.
“Sunset is in 20 minutes. We aren’t going to make that.”
“It’ll be close!”
“Maybe… But where will we camp?”
“Last time I was up there, I noticed all sorts of flat spots to camp!”
25 minutes, half a mile, and 1000 feet of upward scrambling later we were walking under Stevens Arch. The flat campsites were slanted. There was prickly vegetation.
“Damn!” remarked Tangent.
—
My hitchhike from Green River into Hanksville went quickly. I metup with Tangent, who was sipping a smoothie underneath the awning of what was once a gas station but has undergone metamorphosis to emerge as a hip coffee shop.
After successfully losing my phone charger at the hotel that night (just found out now), we started our morning on the side of the road with our thumbs sticking out, looking for a hitch to trail. The 20-person prayer group finished their prayer in the parking lot, and jumped into their many large, lifted trucks. Tearing off down the highway with quads and boats in tow, but not even a nod in our direction. Bless their hearts.
It’s been a bunch of long, meandering days through spectacular desert scenery. We’ve plunged into canyons to wade through waist high water, only to emerge onto starkly arid landscapes. Cottonwood trees and dense vegetation surround sandy washes, marking ephemeral flows that are now quite dry.
Where possible, we’ve followed trails paved by our moo-nucipal engineers, who have built immense roads across Utah’s endless plateaus; often illegally due to barbed wire gates that have intentionally fallen into neglect.
Someone thet I met in 2023 at the South Rim of the Grand Canyon for a handful of moments is hiking a few days ahead of us. Her Crocs leave unique tracks on the desert floor. That makes sense, because deserts are known to house crocodiles!
On my birthday, I was able to celebrate with a cacophony of yelps from an alcove of carved Navajo sandstone. The yelps circled back, serenading us in high fidelity. Only the two of us were there to play audience in that 80,000-person amphitheater. The word “alcove” is depressingly inadequate to describe the square footage of these carved out, domed cliffs. Apart from the mesmerizing alcoves, the sandstone slab of Lower Muley Twist is cleaved in ways that are strikingly reminiscent of Yosemite Valley. The magic of the towers and slab would eventually turn into a system of slot canyons and a genuine oasis of drinkable water.
After several more miles of crocodile tracks, we found ourselves scrambling across the slanted surfaces of upper Stevens Canyon, steeling water from algea-filled pot holes. Slipping on sand during this traverse across the upper strata of the canyon would lead to one epic, high elevation slide! Unfortunately, you’d never have a chance to repeat it. It’s a good thing that rubber sticks well to slickrock surfaces!
We wetly ended an exhausting day, walking a mile down the middle of the Escalante river to check out Stevens Arch.
With sand-filled shoes,
Jeff
