Hiked 12 miles today, the first time in a long time. Tired and sweaty and sore, but it feels great! Hiking was the way to go, too. Canyonlands is a 34 mile drive from the highway. You wind through open range and rock formations that constantly change in shape, size, and color. Once you're in the park, canyons enter the picture as well. It was very beautiful, but I wasn't feeling the awe. I was feeling time-pressured, though, as a 2-hour drive was actually 3 (2 hours gets you to the turn-off), and by the time I consulted with the rangers and twisted over 3 miles of dirt road to the trailhead and ate lunch and packed a pack, it was 1:30. 5-7 hours, the brochure promised. They're usually conservative, but so is my hiking speed. I had a few misgivings, but chose the Druid Arch trail because it promised exceptional views of the Needles, with the added benefit of not being heavily traveled.
My average speed on a High Peak is 1 mile/hour, factoring in all rest stops. The beginning of the Druid Arch trail is steeply uphill, and I was mentally calculating a midnight return. The trail levels out though, crossing rocks, passing overhangs where it looks like stone-age spaceships landed and liked it so much they never left. The trail is split into 5 sections, and I was feeling pretty good when I reached the first signpost quickly. I felt far less good when, after navigating some narrow tunnels and scaling shale, I reached the first signpost again. ??? I must have doubled back somehow and been too dumb to recognize it. I was worried about time already, and that was without doing sections twice! On the second pass, noticed some steps down, which quickly led to the floor of Elephant Canyon, where I would be spending the next several hours trekking in veritable solitude.
There was much to enjoy on the canyon floor. Lizards scurried from underfoot constantly, hummingbirds fed on the misplaced-looking orange flowers that popped up here and there, the ground beneath my feet changed from sand to red dirt, to striped rock again and again. And on top of it all (literally) was a new vista at every turn--spires and rock formations of every description, mostly in a graduated red-white spectrum, and all with a swirly, water-washed texture. The rocks at eye level had holes and caves as if someone had gone at them with an ice cream scoop, or there were clay-y formations in the recesses that looked like miniature cliff dwellings. As I entered the final (and longest) section, I was anticipating the final quarter-mile, which the trail map described as extremely steep, with a ladder and some rock scrambling. Every time the trail rose off the canyon floor (which it did aggravatingly often, for no discernible reason), I wondered if this was it. At long last, Druid Arch hove into sight. Ha! I still had probably half a mile to go. There was no mistaking the last quarter-mile. Straight up a scree gully...is it still called scree if the rocks weigh more than I do?
At the top I found my awe. I stood beneath stolidly elegant Druid Arch, and looked back along the canyon I had just walked, this time from the top. Spires for miles. More canyons in the distance. Swirly ledges laced together like flower petals lining either side of the chasm. In every hue of red and pink Crayola has ever named. It was exceptional. Transcendent. I wanted to look at it forever. I was completely alone, and happy to be. It was pretty by car, but infinitely better on foot.
My average speed on a High Peak is 1 mile/hour, factoring in all rest stops. The beginning of the Druid Arch trail is steeply uphill, and I was mentally calculating a midnight return. The trail levels out though, crossing rocks, passing overhangs where it looks like stone-age spaceships landed and liked it so much they never left. The trail is split into 5 sections, and I was feeling pretty good when I reached the first signpost quickly. I felt far less good when, after navigating some narrow tunnels and scaling shale, I reached the first signpost again. ??? I must have doubled back somehow and been too dumb to recognize it. I was worried about time already, and that was without doing sections twice! On the second pass, noticed some steps down, which quickly led to the floor of Elephant Canyon, where I would be spending the next several hours trekking in veritable solitude.
There was much to enjoy on the canyon floor. Lizards scurried from underfoot constantly, hummingbirds fed on the misplaced-looking orange flowers that popped up here and there, the ground beneath my feet changed from sand to red dirt, to striped rock again and again. And on top of it all (literally) was a new vista at every turn--spires and rock formations of every description, mostly in a graduated red-white spectrum, and all with a swirly, water-washed texture. The rocks at eye level had holes and caves as if someone had gone at them with an ice cream scoop, or there were clay-y formations in the recesses that looked like miniature cliff dwellings. As I entered the final (and longest) section, I was anticipating the final quarter-mile, which the trail map described as extremely steep, with a ladder and some rock scrambling. Every time the trail rose off the canyon floor (which it did aggravatingly often, for no discernible reason), I wondered if this was it. At long last, Druid Arch hove into sight. Ha! I still had probably half a mile to go. There was no mistaking the last quarter-mile. Straight up a scree gully...is it still called scree if the rocks weigh more than I do?
At the top I found my awe. I stood beneath stolidly elegant Druid Arch, and looked back along the canyon I had just walked, this time from the top. Spires for miles. More canyons in the distance. Swirly ledges laced together like flower petals lining either side of the chasm. In every hue of red and pink Crayola has ever named. It was exceptional. Transcendent. I wanted to look at it forever. I was completely alone, and happy to be. It was pretty by car, but infinitely better on foot.
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