Black Dragons and White Rims

Last fall, we traveled down to our usual haunt, Moab. This time, instead of whizzing past everything along the way, we explored the glorious regions in-between. Scrumptious sandy cream fillings should not be skipped.

Southern Utah is spectacular in the fall, but its daylight is short lived. Since Jason and I knew we would have limited sun by the time we neared Moab, we opted to stop on our way into town at Black Dragon Canyon in the San Rafael Swell. Never heard of the San Rafael Swell? Before this outing, I was familiar with the name but not the experience. Now I know it is a dome of shale, limestone, and sandstone that was thrust up 40-60 million years ago and later eroded into countless gulches, gullies, hoodoos, badlands, and buttes. As implied, we had never been to the Swell in all its 60 million years until that autumn afternoon.

big in the Black
Some of the anthropomorphic pictographs in Black Dragon Canyon are more than six feet tall.

Now that we’ve established what the San Rafael Swell is, let’s confront the Black Dragon. Yes, there’s a place called Black Dragon Canyon. As we are nerds, I’m going to assume you don’t need an explanation as to why this particular spot held greater appeal for us, and I’ll just move on. A 4×4 trail runs through the canyon. Along it, some rather remarkable scarlet pictographs can be accessed half a mile up via vehicle or foot. In the 1940s, someone chalked a group of them to transform them into a dragon (a damaging practice), hence the canyon’s moniker. These pictographs were created in Barrier Canyon Style, a category of rock art found primarily in eastern Utah mostly originating 1,500 to 7,000 years ago. Near these bright and larger-than-life figures, a wall of Freemont petroglyphs can also be seen dating back 1,000-1,500 years.

Black Dragon
This pictograph panel was chalked in the 1940s in the outline of a dragon, but it is in fact a group of two humans and three animals.

As we were examining these impressive panels, a hiker wandered by and told us of a cave at the top of some nearby scree piles amassed at the base of a cliff. Pass up a cave? Not Jason. We didn’t know if we would be able to find the entrance or, if we could, what we would find inside. It took some scrambling and exploring, but we located one of its small openings. The Dragon’s Lair (the cave’s unofficial name) was formed when the mouth of a deep alcove collapsed. Its cramped entries are at odds with its contents. It’s a spacious, slanted, dust-filled cavern that angles down as a winding trail runs through it. Although I am not often a cave fan, I’d say this one is worth the clamber and search required to find it.

Dragon's Lair
Here, Jason is pointing to the Dragon’s Lair’s openings. Can’t see them? Exactly.

The Dragon’s Lair proved quite engrossing, and nightfall crept up on us quickly. Hence, we turned around at a popular stopping point half a mile from the other entrance into the canyon. Since this trail is mostly flat, we were able to move speedily and only had to use headlamps for about 0.5 miles of our return. In the end, we ended up hiking 5.4 miles.

If you too would like to visit the Black Dragon and its lair, turn off 1-70 at mile marker 147 and take the gated dirt road. You’ll do a quick left, and then travel about another mile to the start of the canyon. If you have a high-clearance vehicle, you can drive through the canyon, but why bother with tires when you have perfectly adequate feet?

spectacles and tingles
Our endpoint on the Lathrop Trail was an overlook that provided astonishing views and some tummy butterflies.

With the limited supply of daylight considered, we debated the best hike for our next day. We chose the first half of the Lathrop Trail in the Island in the Sky District of Canyonlands National Park. The Lathrop Trail is passed by all visitors heading into Island in the Sky shortly after the visitor center, yet it doesn’t seem to interest many of them. We saw one or two groups our entire journey. For that perfect combo of a people shortage and a scenery excess, my feet are ever at the ready! Why does this path not get more foot action? I have no idea. Its panoramas are as delicious as anywhere else in the park.

slacks and sunshine
Since the weather was practically perfect, pants and an on-and-off-again jacket were all I needed to stay warm as we undertook the Lathrop Trail.

If you are ambitious, Lathrop can be taken for a 10-mile-roundtrip trek to the White Rim Road. If you’re very ambitious, it can be taken 10 miles one way to the Colorado River. It is the only path in Island in the Sky that reaches the river. However, we were not very ambitious or even ambitious. We opted to just walk five miles to a stunning and daunting viewpoint overlooking the White Rim and Canyonlands’ desolate expanse. The section we completed was relatively flat. Had we continued, we would have had to navigate a scree field that drops 900 feet in less than one mile. Yes, we picked our turnaround point prudently… due solely to the limited daylight of course.

lofty Lathrop
The Lathrop Trail is not for those particularly adverse to heights. I circled the point where the path crosses this corner to illustrate that fact.

Beyond the delight of being on top of the world with a matchless, barren paradise spread out beneath me, I loved this path because of the varied terrain it wanders through. It starts in rolling grasslands called Grays Pasture and then zigzags through a city of Navajo sandstone domes. Eventually, it passes through gravelly scrub and sand on its way to sheer sandstone cliffsides textured by rock rubble. Grays Pasture is the widest part of the flat mesa top on which Island in the Sky sits, reaching a width of about two miles. Gazing around this meadow, you’d never guess you were 1,000 feet up from the canyons on both sides, but you certainly appreciate that fact when you hit the canyon’s rim.

Grand View Point
Grand indeed!

After Lathrop, we didn’t have time for another hike, but we decided to do the two miles to the Grand View Point and back anyway. We had to navigate most of our return in the dark, which was generally easy with our headlamps and the giant cairns along the trail. We did get confounded in a couple spots but managed to not remain permanently lost or stumble off a cliff.

grand and dim
It wouldn’t have been a Sabin hike without some strolling in the dark.

On our way home the next day, we stopped at two spots. The first, Crystal Geyser, wasn’t far off the beaten path, but we had never bothered to take the 15-minute drive from I-70 to see it. Crystal Geyser is the strange result of natural and manmade endeavors. Unlike most geysers, it is powered by cold not hot water; steam is not involved but pressurized CO2 gas. Crystal Geyser is one of the most famous of these rare cold-water geysers and was created in 1935 when oil seekers drilling an exploratory well hit an aquifer saturated with high quantities of CO2 2,600 feet down. The geyser typically erupts every 8 to 27 hours. Sadly, we didn’t witness an eruption, but I don’t regret deviating anyway. It was uncanny to observe what seemed like a natural wonder coming from a pipe in the ground. You could hear the same whooshing activity in its vents as the geysers in Yellowstone. Likewise, it had a similar sulfur smell and series of travertine pools surrounding it. Occasionally, when humans interfere with Mother Earth the results can be beautiful… and apparently explosive.

Crystal Geyser
At Crystal Geyser, nature and industry mix in strange but striking ways.

Next, we paused to check out Spirit Arch in the same section of the San Rafael Swell we visited on our way down. Unlike the path through Black Dragon Canyon, the trail to Spirit Arch is solely for hiking. It goes down two short ravines in a Y shape, Petroglyph Canyon and Double Arch Canyon. One has, as you’d expect, two arches collectively called Spirit Arch. That gully ends in an alcove with abrupt stone walls on three sides. Spirit Arch can be seen high in one of these. While the arches are nifty, they are too far away to examine closely. In my opinion, they are overshadowed by the understated exquisiteness of the canyon’s striped sandstone and graceful curved walls.

Spirit Arch
Spirit Arch is actually two arches.

The petroglyphs in Petroglyph Canyon were not easy to locate even with the blog posts we found about finding them. They are not at the very end of the canyon as some online information suggests but near the end on the right side. The short side trail that leads to them doesn’t look like a real path, so it is easy to miss. They aren’t large but are quite distinct. What I thought most interesting about this panel were the lines of tracks the artist took the time to carve for each animal and human depicted. This two-canyon trail was two miles of easy hiking, but it took us about two hours to complete because we stopped often to appreciate our surroundings. We didn’t see anyone else the entire time.

We’ve wisely realized that Moab shouldn’t be our only destination when we go to Moab. There is so much to experience and appreciate between here and there. I’d wager we will find more enroute distractions with each visit whether there be dragons, wild horses, or sailor’s heads.

Elder’s 13

Last fall, a large group of my family hiked Box Elder Peak. For a couple years, I had been eager to climb Box Elder, a lopsided point sandwiched between Mount Timpanogos and Lone Peak that hasn’t gained the notoriety of either of those showier mountains. This desire began when a hike through the lower third of its trail proved unpeopled and appealing. Therefore, to properly explain the buildup to Box Elder, and because I haven’t written about our 2020 and 2021 treks, I will step back to all the steps before the steps up Box Elder. Then, I’ll explain how we ended up negotiating a mountain in the dark.

2020: Summer of Sanity’s Strides

During the worst period of COVID fears and inconveniences, hiking was our sanity. On countless evenings, Jason and I hit the hillsides after work. This repetition led to discovering many new paths within close range of our house and many ways these trails were connected. It also resulted in much hiking in dark’s cool shadows. Were those shadows foreshadows of hikes to come?

Willow Hollow
The Willow Hollow Trail leads through meadows and aspen-covered hillsides making it an optical indulgence in the fall.

Amongst the trails we traversed that summer were Pine Hollow Peak, Lone Rock via Jacob’s Ladder, Peak view, Two Hollows, Mercer Mountain, Eagle Crest, Deer Creek-Dry Creek, South Maple Hollow, Horsetail Falls, Maple Hollow, Mercer Hollow, Bonneville Shoreline, Telegraph, South Fork Little Deer Creek, Pork U Pine, Hoof and Boot, Hog Hollow, and Willow Hollow.

I can’t overstate how much these excursions got us through that period. Without the exercise and the variety provided by nature, my mental space would basically have been the psychological equivalent of a junior high school student’s locker stuffed with expired yogurts and gym socks grayed from lack of washing.

2021: Summer of Smoke

Last summer, COVID intermittently let up and reclaimed its hold on society in an indiscriminate manner. Jason and I found ourselves in the mountains often again, perhaps not with as much COVID-induced desperation but with an urgency all the same. In August, our air became unwholesome due to fires on the West Coast. So, every time it cleared a bit, we gushed outdoors to hike or run. We ended up doing more than 20 miles a week for most of August in this spontaneous state. I should mention, the year before had been smokey on occasion as well, but haze seemed less consequential than germs at that time.

Lame Horse
Lame Horse is not a lame trail.

We scrambled up the Dog Lake, Steep Mountain, Mill Canyon, Gloria Falls, Donut Falls, and Lame Horse Trails, along with many in the Suncrest and Sensei systems. Additionally, we participated in the Wasatch Trail Run Series at Solitude in the end of August. Despite the event’s name, this race wasn’t necessarily a run. Depending on one’s stance on darting 4.6 miles up a mountain, “swift hike” might be a more appropriate title. Apparently, I felt fairly casual about the idea because it took me one hour and four minutes to complete the course, which equated to a pace just over 18 minutes per mile (18:21). I finished 10th out of the 15 in my age group. Jason kept a pace of 15:22 and came in fifth out of eight at 53:48. On a side note, there was a 1% chance of rain that evening, but it 100% rained on us a bunch, and thunder was our start gun.

rain and run
The forecast said there was a 1% chance of rain, but this felt pretty much like 100%.

Now that you are up to speed on our backstory, affinity for darkness, and general lack of speed, let’s head back to Box Elder Peak and tie everything together. Box Elder Peak is 11,101 feet high, about 600 feet shy of Timpanogos’ elevation. The trail to it requires 11.4 miles of hiking and gains 4,931 feet, which doesn’t sound too bad except when you consider 1,500 of those are found in the ascent from the saddle. Parts of that section have as much as an 82% grade, but we’ll come back to that tricky portion in a minute.

Elder's 13
Our group consisted of 13 humans and one canine.

Although we did this hike in October, usually not the best time to exceed 11,000 feet, the weather was perfect, the scenery exquisite, and the crowds nonexistent. The fall leaves transformed the already striking hillsides like a shimmering frond prom dress. We only passed five groups in the first few miles of the trail and none thereafter. By the time we crossed an incredible knoll littered with massive granite boulders reminiscent of Middle Earth, all other trekkers were behind us. Shorts worked well as primary apparel up to the saddle. However, since it was nearly midnight when we finished, at that point temperatures were down into the forties, and jackets were appreciated. Why so late? That topic will be covered in due time gentle blog browsers.

lustrous slopes
The slopes were resplendent swathed in fall shades.

Let’s return to the area between the saddle and the summit now. As I already mentioned, this is a challenging segment. What I didn’t previously state was that our necessary pace made it much more difficult. We weren’t keen on trying to find the path across the ridge in the dark, and we were running out of time to avoid that scenario. Between the rush and the grade, we wore ourselves out. However, the exhaustion paid off, and we made it to the summit at 6:30, half an hour before sunset, at least six of the hardiest (or foolhardiest?) members of our group did. That gave us just enough time to descend back to the saddle before the blackness became absolute. Incidentally, we had a 13-year-old in our group, and he made it to the top without complaint, which was a bit uncharacteristic for him. “Are we there yet?” doesn’t count as a complaint, does it?

elevating expectations
Far from the top, the views still exceeded expectations.

How did we end up debating the approach of night near the pinnacle of a mountain? First, we started our hike much later than we should have due to several factors. Between kids with music lessons, traffic at the mouth of American Fork Canyon, and typical family tardiness, our trek didn’t begin until about 1:20 in the afternoon. Second, most people take between 5.5 and 8 hours to complete this trail, but it took us 9.5 hours. Yup, your math is correct; we finished at 11:00 PM. Since we had a lot of youngsters in our group, I’ll go with blaming the whole scenario unfairly on them. Works for me.

from steady to steep
The terrain was flattish for a while before the saddle. After the saddle, it was all the words a thesaurus would list as antonyms.

Frankly, I liked hiking back in the dark. The silence and focus were refreshing. With stars aplenty and the misshapen silhouettes of mountains forming a mysterious backdrop to the thickening shade, there was much to enjoy and absorb in the blackness. However, one unfortunate effect of the dimness was my father falling on some rough terrain. One of his grandsons was excited to help with his handy first aid kit. It turns out the kit was filled with Shout wipes instead of alcohol wipes. LOL!

from familiar to foreign
From the top of Box Elder, we saw familiar landmarks from unfamiliar perspectives.

A week later, Box Elder Peak was covered in six to twelve inches of snow. Man! We squeezed that hike in at the perfect time! With that, our topping finished for the season. Box Elder was two years in the making and one delicious fall afternoon (and night) in the undertaking. I hope it won’t take two more years to plan and embark on another such spectacular, if leisurely executed, summiting.

Perspectives on Kauai Part III

The Tide’s Perspective

The next morning, we joined a Hidden Valley Falls Kayak Adventure. This involved paddling two miles down the Hule’ia Stream through the Hule’ia National Wildlife Refuge, which protects a plethora of endangered bird species. This river was also used for scenes in Indiana Jones and the Raiders of the Lost Ark. While the water in the Hule’ia Stream is calm, the banks are unforgivingly filled with dense jungle growth making proper navigation a must. After a rough, uncoordinated start, Jason and I managed to keep our vessel away from those wild edges. One couple in our group did not learn as quickly and had unwanted bank encounters every few minutes. And yes, much cursing was involved in their frequent run-ins. The group went ashore and hiked through that packed forest to reach a series of small waterfalls and a pond with a rope swing. The waterfalls weren’t impressive compared to others viewed on our trip, but Jason did enjoy the rope swing. Unfortunately, our time at the pond was quite limited, less than promised, so I didn’t even get a chance to take a dip. Still, a cool outing.

Hule'ia Stream
Although called a stream, Hule’ia is more like a river.
craft cooperation
Operating a two-person kayak demands cooperation and patience.

After kayaking, we weren’t done splashing. We headed to Po’ipu Beach for some snorkeling. Here’s my take on Po’ipu Beach. The sand turns into rocky shelves and stabby coral very quickly. Those obstacles make it difficult to enter the water with fins on and painful to enter it without something covering your feet. However, the fish observing starts as soon as you can stick your head in, and there is plenty of ocean life in these shallow waters.

Jas of the Jungle
Jason missed this perfect opportunity to employ his best George of the Jungle vocals.

What I love most about snorkeling is that second when your face submerges, and the sounds of the waves and people talking on the beach instantly evaporate. A whole world appears beneath you, a world you were oblivious to just moments before. In that still realm, activity abounds. It’s a lesson on what we miss routinely in our surroundings due to our limited awareness.

Po'ipu Beach
Snorkeling requires curiosity rather than specific skills.

I came across at least 40 fish in the limited time we spent snorkeling, possibly much more. Am I a fish expert? No. Is there a good chance I didn’t know what I was looking at? Yes, but I think I correctly identified a substantial portion of what I saw. There were humuhumunukunukuapa’a, coronetfish, Hawaiian sergeant, spotted boxfish, enenue, lowfin chub, Hawaiian parrotfish, wana (long-spined) sea urchin, lined butterflyfish, goatfish, and Hawaiian cauliflower coral. I viewed many more species, but with my limited knowledge of tropical fish, I had no idea how to identify the rest of them.

The Pavement’s Perspective

The subsequent morning, we took a road trip up to the North Shore with Ha’ena State Park our primary destination. We didn’t let that main target deter us from many stops and detours. First among those detours was Wailua Falls. This 173-foot drop was all about power and volume. Our next stop on the other hand, ‘Opaeka’a Falls, was a willowy tress of a cascade. The contrast between the two outpourings was nearly as dramatic as their waterworks. Shopping, eating, and bathroom seeking consumed a bit more of our time until we ended up at the Kilauea Lighthouse, which represents the northernmost part of the main Hawaiian Islands and home to thousands of rare and endangered seabirds including red-footed boobies, wedge-tailed shearwaters, Laysan albatrosses, and Newell’s shearwaters. Afterward, it was back to more eating at Wishing Well Shave Ice and more gawking at the fabulous Hanalei Valley, one of Kauai’s many iconic vistas.

Wailua Falls
Wailua Falls often has two distinct streams pouring off it, but when waterflow is high it turns into this intense united spill.
'Opaeka'a Falls
‘Opaeka’a Falls’ pale chutes contrast the dark basalt from which they tumble.
Kilauea Lighthouse
The Kilauea Lighthouse was restored in 2013 after 100 years in service.

We also halted to investigate an opening in the vine-covered cliffsides near Ha’ena State Park known as the Manini-holo Dry Cave. This cave is 300 yards deep with an undulating floor. Light filters in, but the dips in the bottom bounced over by sunshine are impossible to see into making passage uncertain.

Ha'ena Beach
Ha’ena Beach Park offers captivating scenery but water too unprotected to safely swim in.
Ke'e bound
Exotic, thy name is Ha’ena.

We had passes for the Ha’ena State Park shuttle but purposefully missed our pickup time. We didn’t want to be tied to a schedule on our last day on the island. Instead, we walked from Ha’ena Beach Park, where we found a parking spot, down to Ke’e Beach. While this was only a mile, the shoreline in this area drops fast and rocks abound through stretches, complicating the journey. We passed a resting endangered monk seal, which opened her eyes momentarily and vocalized a little at us. Of course, we did not approach her as we strive to be good citizens of this planet. We made it to Ke’e Beach just in time for the towering cliffs of the Na Pali Coast to blush under the attention of the setting sun.

beach bark
Our walk to Ke’e Beach was a source of irritability for some in our group, but to me it was a source of interest.

The Ongoing Perspective

Our last morning on the islands, we attempted to complete the Maha’ulepu Heritage Trail again while waiting for our flight, tempting rain and wreckage. I wish I could say the third time was the charm, but it wasn’t. While we made it farther than our previous tries, we ran out of time to reach the mysterious Makauwahi Sinkhole or Waiopili Petroglyphs. However, a viewpoint overlooking Maha’ulepu Beach did make a scenic end to our final, unsuccessful shot.

leave a lei
Our hotel had a spot to leave your leis as a tribute to the memories gained during your stay.

With that fragmentary hike, our time on the Garden Isle came to an end. In our brief visit, we skimmed clouds, hiked into garish gullies, flitted along rims, floated on currents, sloshed through unshakeable mud, dipped in tides, and hovered over pools. In keeping with the great vacation paradox, we both slowed down to perceive our surroundings and sped up to perceive as much as possible. Our understanding of our world increased as did our acknowledgements of our limited insights. Vacation victory!