Jason and I are Moab junkies. Last spring, we decided to create an outdoor outing extravaganza by combining a visit to Moab with a visit to Goblin Valley. We also opted to invite some family members to join us for the Goblin Valley portion. All the above were excellent decisions. Others made regarding this vacation were perhaps less prudent, and some of humanity’s missteps witnessed during these travels even more so. I’ll get to those soon while covering the trip’s plentiful, mysterious slots and silhouettes.

Moab was the first stop on our destination circuit. Jason and I made it into town with just enough time to complete the short Sorrel Ridge Trail before dark, which is 1.8 miles in total. Sorrel Ridge, unsurprisingly, is a ridge overlooking the winding Colorado River. We found the views lovely in all directions and the desert wildflowers prolific on this easy trek. As I had injured my knee snowboarding only five days earlier and had an acute case of patellar bursitis, my knee was not in agreement with the rest of my body about the difficulty of this activity. Stepping up or downhill was not pleasant. Of course, patellar objections didn’t deter me in any way.

After getting some overdue sleep to counteract a couple crazy weeks, we headed into Mary Jane Slot Canyon the next day on the Professor Creek Trail. Professor Creek originates in the La Sals and travels to the Colorado River passing through Mary Jane on its way. The Professor Creek Trail follows that stream’s flow through Mary Jane. The majority of the canyon isn’t too constricted, but a section of it narrows to just 10 feet with walls towering over 100 feet. Amidst these confines, a 30-foot waterfall drops over a bulky chokestone. That waterfall was our destination and is the end of the hikeable portion of Mary Jane.

Reviews of this 8.4-mile route said hikers should be prepared to get their feet wet in multiple creek crossings. If by “multiple” the writers meant exactly 180, they were correct. Am I exaggerating? No, I literally mean there are 90 crossings each way adding up to 180 in total. Since temperatures reached the low 80s that day, those dips were mostly welcomed, except near the waterfall. There, we lingered too long relishing the echoing surge while the shade from the lofty walls and chill from the cool water dropped our internal thermostats to uncomfortable levels.

It took us about 5.5 hours to complete this trek. Apparently, most people take less than four, but we didn’t mind achieving slowpoke status, especially with injuries considered. For though it handled this long, flat hike better than our quick climb the night before, my unhappy knee turned bright red in patches from the activity. I thought maybe I had somehow found some poison ivy, but Jason theorized the blotches were related to the swelling. As the rest of my body showed no hints of a toxic interaction, Jason was probably right.

The next morning, it was time for a change in scenery and weather. Instead of 82 degrees, we got 61 degrees and 28 MPH winds. We left Moab in a rainy state and headed to Farnsworth Canyon near Goblin Valley State Park. Unfortunately, the storm did the same.

We chose Farnsworth Canyon because its slot section is limited, unlike many other trails in the area. With the rest of the canyon a low flash-flood risk, we believed we were selecting a path wisely. As the precipitation was supposed to stop by the time we started our hike, we assumed slot thoughts were only a secondary precaution. However, neither the timing nor terrain went as expected.

As anticipated, the clouds cleared, and the sunshine returned as we neared Farnsworth’s trailhead… and then the clouds came back about half an hour later. Just minutes after their arrival, thunder began regularly interrupting the tranquility with demanding crashes. Did I mention that this whole hike travels through a wash? While only a small section is confined enough to be potentially deadly during a flash flood, the wash looked like it had seen an outpouring mere hours before. I wasn’t keen on being caught in a surprise gush of water, fatal or otherwise, or, alternatively, serving as a lightning rod. Thus, what would have been a peaceful ramble turned into an unnerving march.

Constantly watching for signs of an approaching flood proved tiring. We thought about turning around several times but pressed on to see the Sunrise and Shadow Panel. One section of this panel doesn’t get nearly as much sun exposure and is therefore much better preserved than the other part. It gives you an appreciation for UV’s capacity to erase over time, but it does require some rock scrambling to see well. By the time we returned to the main route after viewing the pictographs, the thunder had dissipated. With the threat level reduced, we decided to go a little farther. We ended up doing the whole stick of the trail’s lollypop but not the lollypop itself.

We hiked 4.15 miles with me nervous for about four of those. Farnsworth’s slot section only lasts about 0.2 miles. Most days, we would have lamented its brevity; on this occasion, we praised Hephaestus. During our return, the weather being what it was, we practically ran through that segment completing it in four minutes. Clusters of tree branches perched high on boulders testified of the power of water as we hurried through, a power we were not keen on immersing ourselves in. Our omnipresent anxiety did nothing to keep us warm though. Despite the fretting, we had to wear two jackets most of the time and ended up with beanies and gloves on as well. I’d love to do this path again without overflow and amperage on my mind.

The next day, Jason and I hiked a small portion of Bell Canyon while we awaited the arrival of family members. We did about a mile and a half total, just enough to get into the real beginnings of Bell, wind around a bit, and appreciate what we wouldn’t have time for. We will certainly be going back to Bell and Little Wild Horse Canyons, which connect to form an alluring loop.

That concluded the confined portion of our trip. Afterwards, the landscapes expanded, at least above ground, and all the risk went below the water table. Likewise, our scrutiny of questionable human decisions expanded beyond those made by our group. Be privy to that scrutiny as we visit the holey temple in my next post.

Last spring, in a total last-minute whim with less than a 24-hour notice, we decided to join my sister and a couple of her kids on a weekend getaway to Capitol Reef National Park. Brief but beautiful could adequately sum the whole thing up… but I’ll go for completely average with my slightly lengthier account of the excursion.

We arrived in Capitol Reef late in the afternoon. That gave us just enough time to complete the Golden Throne Trail, 1.8 miles each way, before the arrival of night transformed the throne into more of an obscure sofa. The Golden Throne, an imposing dome, rules 1,400 feet above Capitol Gorge. Although it is comprised of Navajo Sandstone, a Carmel Formation topping supplies its characteristic yellow stain. From the Golden Throne Trail, much better views of this geological curiosity can be observed than from Capitol Gorge below. Getting to the trailhead does require a drive through part of that gorge, a surreal experience in of itself along a gravelly water-carved slot that coils between immense sandstone cliffs.

The next day, we strode three miles to the top of Cassidy Arch and back. Cassidy Arch hangs 400-500 feet above Grand Wash. Its trail gains 550 feet in roughly half a mile, which I suppose makes it somewhat strenuous, but it just felt like a steady climb to us.

The craziest thing about this arch is that you can walk out on top of it, which isn’t usually allowed these days in national parks. Further, the terrain around the arch slopes down into a sheer alcove with pocked walls that drop hundreds of feet. The setting makes the tummy tingle and the bladder want to tinkle, but it also makes for some intriguing pictures and memorable incidences.

Aside from some excellent conversations and a few fantastic meals at Capitol Burger, Curry Pizza, and Chak Balam, that’s all we had time for. Our trip was less than 36 hours from start to finish and less than 72 hours from ideation to completion. As it was short and sweet, I’d like to imagine this post was too.

For my birthday last year, Jason gave me a weekend on the slopes via a cabin rental close to the lifts at Brighton Resort. We had to make the cabin reservation six months in advance and just hope that snow would be there. When our allotted time arrived, fresh powder there was not. With cloudless skies and temperatures in the 30s, Jason and I wasted no energy lamenting that lack of new precipitate but got right to enjoying the surplus of sunshine. The weekend did crush others’ expectations though. Below is the story about how high hopes can sometimes lead to falling on your face unexpectedly and repeatedly.

Before we get into this trip’s elations and disgruntlements though, let me quickly address the virus in the room… aah, COVID. That pointy adversary continues to heighten vacation stress, and it did so on this occasion. I felt like I was getting a sore throat just as we were traveling up the canyon. Luckily, it was only another case of CRVIP (COVID-Related Vacation-Induced Panic). It’s a bizarre world where relief follows when an issue turns out to just be mental illness.

As I did not have COVID, and nothing else could impede our rush to the slopes, we flocked unblocked. Jason and I spent the first day boarding by ourselves. My boarding post will soon give you more than enough details on the particulars of those refreshing mountain loops.

That evening, some of my sister’s family joined us. Of the three kids, two would be attempting snowboarding for the first time the following day. They excitedly asked questions about carving that clearly denoted they had unrealistic expectations on how their riding was going to go. I tried to change those expectations to predominantly involve pain, falling, flailing, embarrassment, tipping, and crashing. Yet, they remained unswayed, continuing to envision shredding like Shaun White after a two-hour lesson.

Not surprisingly, things did not proceed as Whitish as they anticipated the next day, and their enthusiasm waned. Out of the two new boarders, the youngest was willing to entertain the idea of boarding again after her first experience. However, the oldest was overwhelmingly frustrated by his difficulties and lack of progress. He was also cold and soggy. The gloves we loaned him became threadbare and even spawned a hole during the course of the day. How? They’d only been worn a few times. Whatever the cause, leaky gloves aren’t classically considered morale boosters. After his span on the slopes, he was noncommittal about his readiness to try boarding a second time.

That evening, everyone was fairly lethargic, and some were downright demoralized, but we managed to muster the energy to go out for pizza, get through a game of Mysterium, hold a ping pong tournament, and undertake some spontaneous storytelling. Not too shabby a turnaround for a group that had only just given up its aspirations of buttering the slopes like instant Rice.

Although fresh pow was absent from our slope-side weekend, Jason and I altered our hopes to meet reality without significant angst. Some of the others in our party were more reluctant to let go of their overestimations of the outing and their abilities. Still, even those who didn’t achieve powder prowess reached great heights… which they fell from of course. On a closing note, I’m happy to report that the reluctant noob didn’t give up on snowboarding after this excursion and even purchased a season pass for next season.