Escalante Canyon Utah Sounds of Spring

We spent two nights, March 15 & 16, backpacking 15 miles down the Escalante Canyon, Utah. The birds called, we navigated over thick ice banks along Escalante's river banks and caught some warm rays and few rain showers. Escalante Partners Program, piled downed Russian Olive trees in clumps (on land) for easy traveling through the Canyon. Great camping at the confluence of Dead Hollow creek, where we pumped sediment-free water. Large fish darted up and down Dead Hollow creek. The second night we camped at Sand Creek where a clean spring gave us our drinking water, no filtration needed. Cache ruins still sit near Escalante's Natural Bridge. 

Listen to the sounds of Escalante Canyon and watch the springtime changes.

                                 Escalante Canyon Sounds of Spring

4-Wheel Driving Smokey Mtn Road Escalante, Utah

As of 1pm today, 78 miles of Smokey Mountain Road is open with some sections needing high-clearance vehicles. Its not everyday you can drive this dirt road along the Kaiparowitz Plateau to Page, Arizona. Rain, wind & snow play havoc on this slow winding remote road. You'll want to go slow because you can miss this cache along side of the road or other ruins on the way to Lake Powell. The rugged desert landscape had long shadows as we descended into Big Water, Utah.
After spending the night in Page, Az, we headed back in search of an interesting hike. There are countless old ranch roads that go no where and that was fine with us. We walked a double-track ATV road that seem to connect with Last Chance Canyon for over 2 hours. Perhaps next exploration we'll ride our mountain bikes and find where the ATV track meets Last Chance Canyon.
Closer to Escalante, we had a rare glimpse of the elusive "Fins," tall castle-like fortress, lit up in the late afternoon sun. We recognized our next adventure off Smokey Mountain Road: to find a route to climb these secluded rock fins.

Rain, Rain Go Away

The Monsoons have arrived & I have other newbies asking me (5 year full-time resident), "is this rain normal?" Yes & no. Previously, we bragged about not having to use our swamp-cooler because of summertime thunderstorms. With all the precipitation from cloudbursts this past week-end, we almost used our heater.

I admit I love the drama of thunder, lighting & the clatter of rain pelting down on the roof. Our rain gutters are linked to thick hanging chains directing massive flows of water from our house roofs to our greediest trees. Rain & dirt smells permeate all around us. We wonder which canyons will flash flood. The downpours bend the tall corn stalks in our garden. Lightening shows in the wee hours rival flashy rock concerts of the past.

And then the sun comes out. The corn & trees rise up again. Pools of water sink into the ground. Hummingbirds return to feed from the penstemons. We love the sun rays on our skin, the optimism of another hike & the wishful beauty from the lingering rainbows.

Little Big Rain

As I set off for a casual mountain bike ride, I didn't believe it would rain. How could rain come from such puny far-away clouds? Two miles down the dirt road big fat drops plopped on my bare arms. I welcomed any moisture and charged forward in the cooling wetness. Then I relented and put on my nylon "water-resistant" jacket. The sky above me was still blue. Thunder cracked above the side canyons. I found some shelter under the canopy of an old Juniper tree. The huge raindrops turned the dirt road into a bubbling mass of miniature suction- cups. I smelled the steamy mud. Twenty feet away a new channel of foamy water gushed over the road to force its way to Alvey Wash. This new water-channel was like a hunting dog on a scent. Nothing would deter its course. I waited for the rain to let up.
Ten years or so ago, a big monsoon rainstorm hit our desert home. Our boys played in the mud and tried to block the waterways that played havoc through our yard. The trenches still exist. During the storm we raced to Alvey Wash and was rewarded with red rapids of churning water. Debris of tree branches, pine needles, boulders, plowed through the once dry bed. It took out chunks of the banks as it curled around corners. Expert kayakers would have had a hard time navigating through this force of water. We were in awe.
Twenty wet minutes later I ventured from beneath the Juniper and pedaled my way back to the house. It was like parting the red sea as my fat bike tires split the water. A newborn river crossed my pathway that had taken out part of the road stopped my passage. Patience. I walked up and down this new watercourse to find a way to jump it. Ten minutes later I forged through this brooklet. I made it back home, albeit muddy and soaked, pleased the monsoons have arrived.