The End Is Never Quite Like The Beginning

Into the city we drove, but not without a search for the one stop on this trip that we'd been planning for more than a month in advance: lunch at the dreamy tex-mex fast food joint, Cafe Rio.  This improved love-child of Baja Fresh and Cold Stone Creamery is filled with containers of bright colored treats behind glass and smiling employees shouting urgent commands at you: "Red or Green?!", "Pinto or Black?!", "Indigestion or heartburn?!"  I think they aim to give you an involuntary twitch by the time you reach the register.  They ask.  so.  fast.

After Cafe Rio, we rolled our bodies back to the Caliber and somehow managed to putter our poor, now-vastly-overweight car back to the hotel.  After shimmying up to the desk and checking in, we holed ourselves in the room for the rest of the day, too bloated to go anywhere and too full to want dinner.  But there would always be tomorrow.

Antelope Island had been on my radar for a long time before this trip, years actually.  You see, my family (due to free, magical pass-riding with my dad's airline employer - which seems farther away with each time I hit "checkout" on Expedia) spent a number of February school-vacations skiing Alta and Snowbird in Little Cottonwood Canyon outside of Salt Lake. And there was always that darn island lurking in the distance.  And it was always February.

So this year, I was determined to make the pilgrimage.  It was outstanding, for two central reasons.  First of all, there are 500-700 american bison roaming around, stopping traffic and generally showing visitors their um, best side.

Which is huge, by the way.

Second, there is a beach, which is composed 70/30 or so of the most beautiful white sand (formed like tiny pearls around the fecal matter of brine shrimp) and heaps of molted shells left by brine flies.  If you have a choice, step on the fly shells - they're a lot softer.  The lake is between 4 and 28% salinity depending on the season and rainfall (for reference, the ocean is 3%), so apart from some algae and birds that feed on the previous two species, it's just me, you, and some veeerrry floaty water.  You can even sunbathe in the lake if you like - it's easy as pie.  Which we did.  And it was excellent, but you'll need a shower afterwards - like right now - or you'll stink like an evaporating city pool.

We hiked in the foothills of the Wasatch range, went to the Hogle Zoo, saw the Lion King 3D (I'll tell you about my Lion King life phase some other time... it is way too extensive to slide in here), and went to a Brazilian churrascaria to cap off our western vacation.  There's nothing like 9 types of meat and those little cheesy donuts to really say, "it's time to go back to oatmeal and vegetables".

And that was it.  Just an airport whirlwind and we were home.  Plus a 5.5-hour car ride, then we were really home - just where we started, only a little less pale.  I assume this is Nature's peace offering for the six months of winter she's about to hurl our way.

Thanks, but the gifts better keep coming.

I Once Was Lost... Again

Needles District, Hike #2: Druid Arch via Elephant Hill 11 miles

Let’s just start off by saying that I should never be allowed to navigate anything: an atlas, a road trip, a relationship, or yes, a hike.  My sister, parents and husband (as well as most friends) could tell you that my sense of direction is just terrible.  You’d be better off consulting a street map of the wrong city altogether than letting me guide you around my own neighborhood.  But sometimes, C lets me feel important by giving me the reigns for a bit.  Unfortunately, he chose the wrong day to let his crazy wife steer the ship.

We began our hike from Elephant Hill (a correction to my previous hike entry, which actually began at Big Spring Canyon Overlook).  From there we set off toward Druid Arch, a cool rock feature that is accessible by following a network of trails that trace a number of river washes in surrounding finger canyons.  This place was a total maze of deep crevices and lots of random footprints, reasons that are not a complete defense, but at least makes me feel less foolish and slightly more reasonable.

I started things off with a bang.  Rather than follow the given (read: boooring) route that would lead is to the arch in a generally direct path, I subconsciously chose to take us for a scenic detour, though an area called Chesler Park, following a 3.1 mile loop through an open valley, which was really very pretty.  We were still following signs for the arch, and were still headed in the “right” direction, but in a flash of irony, we found ourselves moseying down the path in Chesler Park in almost a complete ring. Were we going in circles? Of course not.  I laughed it off as someone’s bad attempt at trail design.  Clearly their fault.

We did make our way to the arch eventually.  It took us a little longer because not only did we add this Chesler Park deviation to the hike, but we also managed to follow some ghost tracks up a river wash for around a half hour before finding the real trail again.  When we reached the Druid, we scrambled up past the trail terminus, which offered a stunning view of the arch (pictured above) to a totally unnecessary perch high on the cliff above, all because we followed some stray, misleading cairns.  This is not a part of the world in which to mess with people’s cairns.  Come on.

So, 14.1 miles later, we arrive back at our car and returned to our sweet home in the desert.  By this time, we were verrry grimy - coated in the accumulated dust and sweat of the last four days.  So we did the only thing a pair of desperate hikers could do.  Remember those water jugs I mentioned in an earlier post?  And the campsite that was nestled in among some boulders?  Well, there was a small slit in the rocks behind our fire pit, with a dark space deep enough that we were mostly out of the line of sight of our friends and neighbors.  

So, we showered, one by one, by holding water jugs in the air.  It was hilarious and terrifying and cold, but we emerged refreshed and clean, which was worth every awkward glance we received from the older man and woman one site over.

This was one mistake I could live with.

A Little Rain Never Hurt Anyone

source

Speaking of firsts, about a month after C and I were married, we decided to go on our first overnight hiking trip together.  There are a few things in life that are guaranteed to provoke relational gunfire:  long periods in small spaces (planes, automobiles, family gatherings), tandem kayaks, bicycles built-for-two and bad weather.  We were about to experience two of those four.  And it wasn't the bike or the kayak.

We drove to Adirondack Park and parked at the trailhead to Snowy Mountain.  We laced up our boots, strapped on our packs, and took one of those “before” photos that is still a clear reminder of how naïve we were.  First, we had no idea the adventure about to be had, and second, those self-taken pictures are never as good as you think.  Soon we were ambling up the rocky trail toward our doom.

The hike up was pretty enough.  It was October, and the trees were lit in rusty orange and yellow – peak foliage was behind us.  We stopped to have sandwiches on boulders in the middle of the trail, a fact that should have surprised us.  When a trail is heavily used, one would rarely break for lunch in the midst of a thoroughfare.  We were alone.

We came to a rockslide near the peak, and as we were about to amble up it, C decided (wisely) that we should find some firewood before we got too much further.  While I was gathering twigs, he was strapping a tree limb to his pack with nylon string.  The thing could have held a tire swing it was so big, but it seemed to satisfy his need, so we pressed on, crawling up the rocks to our final destination. 

Upon reaching the ledge on which we would camp, we dropped most of our gear and ran to climb the fire tower on Snowy, which was rapidly becoming engulfed in thick fog and a light mist.  We got there just in time to see a gorgeous view of the surrounding hills and mountains, and got back to our ledge just in time to see that the clouds had moved in and feel the air misty with rain.  We quickly built a fire (this wet wood fire was my first proud achievement as a married woman).  Luckily the small tree that C dragged up the mountainside was breaking apart, so we boiled water and finished setting up our tent on a patch of grass nearby. 

And then it began to pour. 

We ate our soggy dinner and climbed into our tent.  It was about 5:30, and we didn’t realize we wouldn’t leave its walls until the next morning.  We spent the evening reading aloud (Toni Morrison’s The Bluest Eye), and hoping that the rain would mercifully cease, which it didn’t.  Finally we fell asleep, probably at around 8pm, and we awoke to another world.  We were both sleeping in at least two inches of water.  Our Thermarest pads were practically floating.  This makes for nasty cleanup.  Muttering under our breath, and wondering why on earth we hadn’t checked the weather before leaving home, we struggled to cram our sopping wet gear into our packs before eating cold oatmeal and stumbling down the mountain. 

At one point, I, with my now-heavy pack took a step down the trail only to find myself hip-deep in rushing water.  I stood there a moment in the icy river and laughed out loud, because really, how much more awesome could this trip get?  We soon emerged at the trailhead and slopped our way to our car that sat alone in the downpour.  I couldn’t believe no one else was out hiking – I mean, come on, the trail is all yours.

I’m pretty sure we made the drive back to the cabin in our underwear for the sake of being less drenched, and had to empty all of our gear before setting foot inside the building.  I took a bath that could have boiled pasta, wrapped up in the remaining clothes I packed, and fell asleep on the couch.  I don’t know what C did.  I’m not sure I cared.  

If you’re looking to for a good time, take a hike.  But if you’re looking to enrich your relationships, take a rainy hike.  You could always rent a tandem bicycle, but that seems like a shortcut to me.