«I hope there are no more storms in the next few days – we have too many canyons to go through!» he exclaimed, after a surprise storm at 10,000 feet in the Henry Mountains. Bailey and I are making the long descent down the west side of the range to Waterpocket Fold on the Hayduke Trail, an 800-mile route through Utah and Arizona. Due to storm potential, lingering snow, and gusty 30-40 mph winds, we have decided to skip the 4 mile hike up the exposed ridge.
The Waterpocket Fold is a massive geological feature in southeastern Utah, home to Capitol Reef National Park, named for the way the Earth has «crumpled» and produced a massive outcrop of eroded cliffs that run north-south for nearly 100 miles to Lake Powell, with Strike Valley and Grand Gulch beside it. I guess it’s called “Reef” because of the strange way the cliffs slope and look a bit like a coral reef. In person, the training is impressive.
Layers and layers of rock, including Navajo and Wingate Sandstone, rise at strange angles that make you contemplate the geological power and time it took to put them there.
Strike Valley/Grand Gulch from Waterpocket Fold.
Sections 5 and 6 of the Hayduke Trail take the hiker from the Henry Mountains into the «fold,» beginning with an exit from Tarantula Mesa. Two weeks after Hayduke, we’ve had a lot of practice with this sort of thing.
Still, there is a tricky move, where we have to slide down from one rock, feet extended, to the narrow top of another rock below. Losing the platform would result in a nasty drop into the cracks on both sides.
The movement is uncomfortable, but goes smoothly. It then descends an intensely steep scree field to the base of the mud cliffs in front of the mesa. From here we followed a washing place and some navigation directions until we found an old livestock track that would lead us forward. I stop to start making cold soaked rice and beans and realize we’ve gone too far in the wash and need to back up.
This mistake separates Bailey and me; We won’t see each other again until the next night, something common at the Hayduke. With so many trails leading to the same destination, don’t expect to keep up with other hikers around here.
A complicated descent from Tarantula Mesa
Bailey descending steep scree.
The next day, descend into another canyon: Swap Canyon, filled with cow pies and bovine stench. At some points in the canyon a slightly alkaline stream runs. I filter a liter and swallow it quickly, trying to avoid the salty aftertaste. Trudging through the sandy sand seems to take all day. The type of sand that your foot sinks into and that requires 3 times more effort to cross. But finally, I arrive at the marker for «Capitol Reef National Park» and in sight of the reef itself.
Up the curves of Burr Trail
As I make my way along the reef, up the switchbacks of the “Burr Trail,” a path that runs through the heart of the formation, the entirety of Strike Valley, the Henrys, and Tarantula Mesa become visible behind me—the view takes my breath away.
We then headed down Lower Muley Twist, a beautiful, deep canyon. Some rain falls on my head and it is the first time I sleep under my tarp at the Hayduke. I installed it well above the main laundry floor to avoid possible flooding.
At one point, I see a few quiet flashes of distant lightning, and my PTSD from last year’s Colorado Trail flares: memories of lightning striking just outside my tent on the exposed collets. To my relief, the storm is fast and can’t reach me.
The Burr Trail curves through Capitol Reef, with Swap Mesa and the Henry Mountains in the background.
Beautiful sandstone walls at Lower Muley Twist.
Through Strike Valley and Grand Gulch
Day 2 on the water bag takes us out of Lower Muley Twist back into Strike Valley and Grand Gulch. The only way to access this section is on foot; suddenly one begins to feel the remoteness of the area, how far it seems to be from civilization. Most of the day I spend following cattle trails for about 15 miles in and out of Halls Creek. This section is a little frustrating – every time I cross the creek I lose the cattle trail, having to look and guess where the trail continues on the other side. Removing thick, scratchy tamarisk trees is no fun.
Dark clouds begin to cover the valley mid-afternoon, and although my Garmin Inreach indicates a ‘0% chance of precipitation’ for all hours of the day, several heavy rain storms appear. I have never been happier to have an umbrella with me. Rain storms transform the Reef itself – the slippery rock becomes shiny with water, almost as if covered in ice or snow – and I can see waterfalls forming in front of my eyes – the main force that erodes the Reef into its beauty.
This spontaneous appearance of gushing water is not just beauty: it represents a serious risk for Hayduke’s hiker. Narrow canyons may experience flash flooding.
In fact, at the end of this 15-mile stretch, I have the option of traversing one of those canyons, Halls Creek Narrows, where I’ll be wading through water that’s already hip-deep, not a place to be when the water cascades down the cliffs, filling the creeks and gaining momentum.
Capitol Reef shines in the afternoon storms.
Once again I set up my tarp and hope the morning brings clear skies so I can get through the narrows and not have to skip what will be most of this section.
Most beautiful place I’ve ever been: Halls Creek Narrows
Day 3 starts just as I expected. The birds are singing and the sky is empty. Early in the morning I continue to Halls Creek Narrows. I am stunned by the huge ledges and undercuts that rise so high above me that I have to crane my neck. I can’t even capture the entire scene without using my phone’s .5 panoramic view. It’s one of those things you can only record and admire in person.
I wander through the curves of the tall, narrow canyon: the morning sunlight accentuates the greenery of the canyon’s red walls. Hummingbirds buzz with curiosity. The canyon wrens are singing. I realize that this is the most peaceful place I have ever been.
And it’s just me, walking through the cool water, taking it all in. I decide it’s also the most beautiful place I’ve ever been. I get to some deeper sections of water and as reported it is only up to my hips.
Soaring overhangs and undercuts in Halls Creek Narrows.
Reluctantly, I make it to the end and continue down the rest of Grand Gulch, toward Lake Powell. Now I have to climb *up* the reef itself, traversing cross-country up and into Steven’s Canyon, toward the Escalante River and beyond Coyote Gulch. I feel like I’m on another planet as I walk along the towering, twisted rock. It envelops me. I follow the bearing of my compass and can’t help but feel lost in the fold of rocks, making it impossible to see where I’m heading. I keep going up for hours. Approaching the top of the reef at sunset, I am once again shown incredible views of Grand Gulch and the Henry Mountains. Reaching the top, I look west to see the next canyon systems stretching out before me, with 50 Mile Mountain in the background. I’m getting closer and closer to the next stop in town: Escalante, UT.
I set up a cowboy camp in a sheltered spot, without seeing a cloud in the sky, to protect myself from the howling wind and sand. It’s a new moon and the night sky is unfolding: clouds of stars in all directions. I can see the shadow of the mountains on the horizon and I can’t help but feel proud of the effort I have made and how far I have come.
The Milky Way shines during the new moon over the water pocket.
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