Members of my family have participated in a canyoneering adventure
every summer for a few years now. I suppose it has become a bit of a squelchy tradition.
This year, we did not one but two slot canyons, plus threw in a coupe plays,
some cliffs, and a little non-soggy climbing. We shoved it all into one packed weekend
in Southern Utah.
All ages and fitness levels were represented in our group.Though not particularly technical or overwhelmingly wet, Kanarra Canyon still provides a touch of adventure.
Kanarra Canyon, which is located just outside Cedar City,
was the first slot on our agenda. You can’t go to Cedar City in the summer
without going to the Utah Shakespearean Festival; it is technically impossible.
If you don’t believe me, look it up. Instead of trying to pull a Don Quixote
and fight the impossible, we went to two plays before doing any canyoneering. The
first was the best version of Hamlet I’ve ever seen, featuring Quinn
Mattfeld. We also partook of the flashy silliness that is Joseph and the
Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat. Its catchy tunes got stuck in my head like
always. Go, go, go Joe!
You’ve probably seen this scene a dozen times on Instagram, but this picture is totally different because it was taken by me. Slot canyons have a way of making you feel like an insignificant insect lost in a damp crevice.
The following day, we went on to Kanarra Canyon. During the
last 15 years, social media nearly spoiled this hike with its pictures and
praises. Kanarraville’s 350 residents couldn’t shoulder the 40,000 visitors
that trudged through their canyon and water source in 2015. Hence, the number
of permits is now limited to 150 per day. The trail felt a little crowded with just
that many; I can’t imagine how it would have been with 10 times more. Like
waiting in the line at Space Mountain? The temperatures oscillated between too
hot at our outset to too cold as the canyon deepened and tapered, but we were
easily distracted from this discomfort by the lofty walls and idyllic stream. Even
the youngest among us managed the terrain, yet it still felt like an adventure.
The trail through Kanarra Canyon crosses a series of waterfalls, some of them simpler to ascend than others.This seemed like a closed-mouth sort of pond.
After Kanarra Canyon, we traveled to Zion National Park. There, the brave cooled off in a pool along the Lower Pine Creek Waterfall Trail the speedy way, i.e. cliff jumping. Afterward, we had just enough time to finish the short one-mile Canyon Overlook Trail before it got dark.
This notch looked too tiny for cliff jumping, but no injuries resulted.As jumpers’ comfort levels increased, so did their theatrics.
The next morning, my sister and I stayed with a nephew too
young to obtain maternal approval to descend through Keyhole Canyon while the
rest of the group… obviously, they went through Keyhole Canyon. Keyhole Canyon
is reasonably short, about one mile, and unreasonably slim. Pictures alone are
enough to make the claustrophobic panic. Those that went described the stagnant
water they had to wade through as putrid and black in places, especially at the
top of the canyon. We are talking a Death-Star-trash-compactor level of repulsive
here. On the flip side, they said the light filtering through the crimsons of the
Navajo sandstone looked like a subterranean sunset. The group had to do three
rappels and completed the canyon in three hours. In the meantime, my sister and
I completed some window shopping and snack consumption with the little guy.
Keyhole Canyon is not much larger than a keyhole in some spots.Wetsuits seem designed to make their wearers appear dorky, but Jason looks rather fine in one.
Our weekend in Southern Utah was crammed with culture,
cliffs, canyons, and claustrophobia via Kanarraville and Keyhole. At least it
didn’t also include giardia or broken bones because those wouldn’t have sounded
right in my last sentence.
Hiking is an active pleasure that some prefer to forego. After
all, it is just a repetitive act of putting one foot before the other over and
over and over again. Yet, there is a certain splendor in that simplicity and a definite
splendor in the places your feet can take you. A segment of my family planned a
backpacking trip in the Uintas this summer. Somehow, that turned into an all-day
hike to Naturalist Basin, which is certainly a spot of splendor. This is the
tale of that trek.
The Murdock Fire burned for about two months last fall consuming over 5,000 acres.
Naturalist Basin, which is located in the High Uintas, is a
favorite amongst both Boy Scouts and bigger explorers. It features over a dozen
lakes and countless alpine meadows bounded by the jagged ridgelines of Mount
Agassiz and Spread Eagle Peak. Hence, its popularity makes perfect sense.
With shimmering scales, the trunks of scorched pines looked like they belonged in some gloomy sea.
Due to circumstances beyond my control, I only got three hours of sleep the night before our long hike. I was up at 3:30, a bit earlier than what was required for our 6:00 AM meetup. Still, Jason and I were prepared and nearly on time. Even the rain that wetted our drive, and hinted that much more would be forthcoming, didn’t diminish our eagerness for discovering what was around the corner… or mountain.
In the midst of blackened ash, life returns.It seemed strange to find a stream winding cheerfully through the fire’s devastation.
The Highline Trail starts at 10,350 ft. It descends for a bit before climbing again as it nears Naturalist Basin. We started our hike at 8:40 AM and finished it about 7:00 PM. That’s over 10 hours of hiking for those of you having difficulty with the math. In those 10 hours, we followed the Highline Trail past Jordan Lake to Shaler Lake, a total of 12.8 miles.
Naturalist Basin is considered by many to be one of the prettiest spots in the High Uintas. You can see why.
Roughly three miles into our trek we crossed the singed ghost
of a forest. A large section of the wilderness near Scudder Lake was burned by
the Murdock Fire last fall. For over a mile, we hiked through a landscape literally
enveloped in blackness. The contorted remains of pines and spruce scrutinized our
advance like iridescent specters. Although destruction and demise echoed on
those hillsides, green shoots were already starting to push through the charred
earth. It was both heartbreaking and beautiful.
Jordan Lake is the largest lake in Naturalist Basin.
Jordan Lake, the largest and most popular lake in Naturalist
Basin, provided our lunch spot. From its elevation of 10,630 feet, we ascended
another 350 to the upper portion of the basin. Although that difference in altitude
seems insignificant from a human perspective, not so for plants. The timberline
fell away from us as we topped the upper basin. It might as well have been
another planet.
From the comparatively-barren ground of the upper basin, the lower basin appeared spectacularly lush.
As I already mentioned, Naturalist Basin has a reputation
for being a little too popular for its own good, but we didn’t encounter the steady
line of people moving up and down the mountain we thought we would. The threat
of rain persisted the entire day, so perhaps the populace’s general aversion to
being soggy at 10,000+ feet did us a real solid. Showers were forecasted, and
we were prepared for a drenching. Instead, we got cool, cloudy weather and a
nice breeze with nothing more saturating than occasional sprinkles. We did have
to remove and replace layers rather frequently though… too bad I didn’t remove
and replace my socks. I had an allergic reaction to them but didn’t realize it
until after we were done hiking. By that point, I had a substantial rash. That’s
a new one.
Shaler Lake is one of five lakes dotting the upper portion of Naturalist Basin.
Those in our group were rather tired after about 10 miles. The
differences in the children’s reactions to this fatigue were fairly comical. Some
outpaced the group and didn’t complain once. Others grumbled frequently about
issues that were easily fixable. As in, whining about being cold instead of
just putting on the jacket wrapped around your waist. For the kids in the
latter category, bathroom breaks became a way of resting in the woods beyond
the eyesight of adults that would urge them on. Still, all protests were halted
by a meal at Hi-Mountain Burger in Kamas on our way home. Maybe it was the 13
miles talking, but that burger was one of the best I’ve tasted in a long time.
Our crew’s energy plunged to a disheartening low about three miles before the completion of our hike.
Naturalist Basin was gorgeous. My super useful tip for those
planning on visiting it? Wait until Mother Nature is all grumbly and ready to rain
havoc. Then, convince her to reconsider. That way, you will be able to enjoy it
with just the hardiest, or most unwise, of hikers.
As temperatures decline on their way to winter’s lows, my
mind can’t help but look forward to the snow that is to come and back on the
season that went before. Unlike some of Utah’s recent winters, our last deserves
a little reflection.
The snow last season was just what snow should be, plenteous
and frequent. However, those adjectives could also be applied to the crowds up
the Cottonwood Canyons. Why so many resort patrons? Well, since you asked so
nicely. In a word, Ikon. The resorts are turning snow sports into commodities
like massive mountain Costcos. I get that profits must be made, but I’m not
sure this is the answer. Still, as St. Flake 3:8 states, “No earthly impediment
shall halt the hallowed quest for powder.”
We first hit the slopes on a Sunday in the early part of
January. We headed up to Brighton shortly after 8:00, and the line to turn into
the canyon was already longer than a hotdog on a Smartie. It took us two hours
to get to the resort, and, after all that, the parking lot filled up a car or
two before us. Hence, we had to hike about a mile with our boards to reach the lifts.
Yet, despite all the vehicles, the runs and lifts weren’t crowded. Maybe eating
burgers in a lodge is the new thing you go to the resorts for? The powder was high
with 12 inches in 24 hours and 17 more accumulating while we were there. Runs
that are usually groomed were not, so we experienced plenty of the unrivalled joy
of dipping into unplowed flakes. However, our ride home did not bring us joy. It
extended to just over two hours due to a couple accidents in the canyon. I
would have been bitter about spending more time on the road than the mountain
that day, but we’d had too much fun to complain.
Buddies and boarding go together.Slope synchronization only requires an incline and an inclination.
A couple weeks later, we convinced four of our friends to skip
work and join us at Brighton. Why anyone would need convincing with 13 inches
overnight, 24 inches in 24 hours, and a storm total of 45 inches is beyond me. Owing
to accidents and plowing in Big Cottonwood, it took us about four hours to
reach the resort, a new longest-drive record. This isn’t golf, so no need to
clap politely about that. We took one of the last spots in the parking lot and didn’t
get on the lift until after 1:00. The weather was surprisingly pleasant as eight
more inches fell during the day. We focused on Rachel’s Run for most of the
afternoon. Did I ever tell you that a specific route at Brighton is named after
me? Well, at least five or six people on this planet know it by that name. My
favorite moment of the day wasn’t on my run though. During a lift ride, a girl exclaimed
to our friend J.R., a man who is always in the middle of chaos, “So much
disfunction!” This was regarding his clumsy tactics trying to get on the lift
and put his board on the rest bar. Even after her bantering, he somehow trapped
his board beneath mine as we were exiting, which nearly caused a pileup. This dude
is a snowboarding veteran of over 20 years, which makes his disfunction all the
funnier and more confounding.
It’s a good day when the snow sprays.Rachel’s Run is just as fun as its name suggests.
By the beginning of February, Brighton’s base depth was around 100 inches. Eight inches overnight convinced us to come up for a half day on a Tuesday. The storm total was nearly 40 inches following the additional seven that drifted on us throughout that morning. We got first tracks on part of Rachel’s Run, but after just hours, we were frozen… kind of literally. I developed “ice butt,” a sheet of ice that solidified on the seat of my pants. Yup, I became a pants popsicle.
A wall of white at the top of Snake Creek is a telltale indicator of an amazing season.
On a Monday near the end of March, we visited Brighton
again. The base depth was 130 inches. There wasn’t much powder, but we were
there for the sunshine. We got it. Temperatures in the high 30s prompted us to shed
jackets halfway through the day. Sunshine doesn’t bring in the crowds like
powder, so we didn’t have to fight swarms off with our less-layered elbows. Although
I’ve been to Brighton probably 50 times, I had never gone on the Milly Express
until this day. Shocking! We spent about half of our time there on runs like Backdoor,
Backbone, and Main Street.
A couple of weeks later, Brighton returned to winter. A
storm left 17 inches in 24 hours and 24 inches in 48. We braved temperatures
between the mid-teens and mid-twenties along with a vicious wind that sent
bursts of frigid air under our coats and up our icicled nostrils. The nastiness
must have made some less disposed to strap on skis or boards because we didn’t
have to wrestle with any alligators that day. We were on the lift 15 minutes
after the resort opened, and we got first tracks through all my favorite powder
places on Rachel’s Run. (Okay, I’ll confess one part had one track through it
already.) Awesome!
Whether the snow justified it or not, boarding on the 4th was still extraordinary.
On July 4th, we slid down the slopes again. That’s right, I said July 4th baby! Snowbird was able to hang onto its snow just long enough to be open on the fourth this year. The pack was considerably more questionable than the last time Snowbird was open on the 4th eight years ago. Only the Little Cloud lift and the tram were operating. Evidentially, virtually no one was dissuaded by this. We arrived around 9:30, just half an hour after the resort opened. Yet, it took over 45 minutes to get tickets and over an hour to wind through the tram line. Others waiting decided to utilize this time to consume a beer breakfast. As the tram rose to Hidden Peak, patriotic ditties were belted out by skiers and boarders who were already quite drunk. After all that, we savored our hard-earned ride down a slushy run that was missing snow in numerous places. It was a memorable experience though, rocks and lines and all.
And that concludes my comments about the previous season on Utah’s slopes. Please join me in preparing for the season ahead with a prayer:
May the flurries drift endlessly from heaven’s great snowbank. May the throngs be ever hungry for burgers and beers at the lodge. May the fluffy bliss of powder stay with me forever. Amen
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