A Sliver of Sky in a Slot

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We hiked for nine hours in what became a pretty intense midday sun. When my Chacoed feet hit the bubbling stream bed I was anxious to bathe my toes in the clear, tepid water. It was still morning when we started and my gut feeling to don sunscreen was overcome by a bravado desire to endure the trail without it. The first quarter-mile of the hike was invigorating. I tried to dig deep into my memory from five years ago when I originally hiked Mary Jane Canyon with my friend Christa. After only 20 minutes I realized that we might not have begun at the same place where Christa and I did. We were crossing electrified fences into and out of parcels of private property and at one point walked past an interesting looking resort peppered with full-size tee pees. My instincts were awry. I feebly fumbled through my mixed thoughts regarding whether or not we should turn back and pack it in or go on. I had a lot riding on this hike. I wanted to make sure I got in a solid day-hike that would make for good submission material to Backpacker magazine. I have yet to write that submission. I also had a friend along who was looking to experience a true Moab outdoor trek.

Breck and I decided to push on. After the first two miles I decided we should make our way to higher ground so I could get a better vantage point on our surroundings. We gained about 500 feet in altitude and I pulled out my trusty map. By that time the sun was at its apex and fiercely beating down on my naked skin. I finally gave in and pulled out the SPF 50 – later I would find that it was too little, too late. Climbing the ridge was a good idea that paid off. I was able to verify that we were heading in the right direction and found a small sliver of Professor Creek, the stream we were walking through in the first place, glistening in the distance. After scrambling down through the razor-sharp Chinle rock layer, we were able to bushwack our way back to the creek.

Another 30 minutes of wondering if I was crazy or knew what I was doing, and I was able to confirm that we were in fact in the same place that I graced with my presence five years prior. I told Breck not to worry, we were eventually going to see the epic waterfall at the end of Mary Jane Canyon. Mary Jane turns into a slot that weaves its way back for about three miles until it comes to a dead-end. It seemed like an eternity of twists and turns that all looked very similar to one another and, finally, I could hear the deafening gush of thousands of gallons of water crashing into a small pool. Before I turned the corner, I doubled back and yelled to Breck, “All I have to say is, ‘It’s about time!'” One leg of the canyon would be swathed in glorious sunlight and the next would be covered in ambient shade. The water was inviting and, just as I did the first time, I ducked my head beneath it for a brief bludgeoning by its rock-eroding force. It was certainly colder than it looked. I quickly walked 50 feet back into the sunlight to dry off and warm up. Breck followed suit shortly thereafter and found out how cold the water was.

It took us three hours to get back to the Jeep. On our way out, two Cliff Swallows played leapfrog through the slot, leading us back to the mouth of the canyon. It seemed as if the swallows were happy to have some company. Breck and I were the only people we saw all day until we got back to our transportation. It was nice to get away from civilization for a day. I have to say, though, I do not foresee myself hiking through a stream bed any time soon. My toes are still shriveled from walking in that water for so long. For anybody who is wondering, I got sunburned, but it was well worth it.

Anticipating a Vernal Equinox

I promised I would make my next blog positive, and I’m a man of my word. First I will provide a brief redress of my last post. I read a short blurb last night in yesterday’s Salt Lake Tribune that addressed the recently ended, 45-day general legislative session. The main topic was that even though legislators fulfilled most of their constituents’ desires, the public would focus on the negative products of the Legislature. The Tribune said it was “human nature.” Even though I don’t believe I am included, necessarily, as a constituent of the average Utah politician, this article caused me to reassess my attitude.

This is an especially big deal because I have recently been posting angry and flagrant messages of unhappiness on my blog – a space I usually devote to positive messages of hope. I noticed I was getting significantly more readers when I ranted on about what makes me mad about the world around me. While I can’t guarantee that this won’t happen again in the future, I can say “Shame on me.” I apologize to the few readers who enjoy my inspirational words. I will continue to write these things, but perhaps I will mix things up from time to time. After all, a writer needs readers.

Yesterday was a lovely day. The sun was shining all day, until it went down at seven o’clock. The beauty of daylight savings in the springtime is that even though we lose that hour of sleep, we gain an hour of daylight. I anxiously anticipate the vernal equinox and, with it, warmer weather, longer days and happily chirping avian creatures. This will be another year filled with road trips, river trips and long hikes in the mountains – hopefully with beautiful friends.

I decided last night that I was able to go to sleep before midnight, so I took advantage of it and did. I was able to wake early this morning, thus fulfilling the first sentence of Benjamin Franklin’s adage, “Early to bed and early to rise…” Now if I can live up to the predicate of that statement, I’m in good shape, “…makes a man healthy, wealthy and wise.”

I really don’t have anything more to say right now. I just woke up, Spring Break is over and it’s time to crank out the last six weeks of this semester. I promise to be more positive throughout my smatterings of political commentary and thoughts on text messaging 🙂

Still New to Cache Valley…Still Lovin’ it!

I love this place. The new world meets the old world. Agricultural enterprise fills the air with smells of hay-grass and fertilizer. I drive through my neighborhood and on either end are horses, cows, and wild turkeys. This makes for precarious driving at times when the animals want to share the road.

Mountains in all directions to remind us of how small we are…to remind us of how we are only important as parts of the bigger picture. So much to see, all of it making each day a new and appreciable experience. The mouth of Logan Canyon calls me, whispering its beckoning on the warm summer breeze.

This place radiates with hope and incubates my intrigue for new adventure. Look out Cache Valley, here I come!