Bees, Lizards, & Butterflies

The last several days have been warm-ish. Despite the cool breeze and snow still visible on the plateau, I'd think Spring had arrived...except it's mid-February.

The nice weather beckoned me out from behind the hotel desk, and taking full advantage of the few tourists in the region, I headed out to hike.

Thursday's hike found me at Devil's Garden, a short drive down the Hole-in-the-Rock Road, so named after some Mormon pioneers discovered a "hole in the rock" leading them down to the Colorado River below. To reach the "hole" at the far end of the road, you must travel 50 miles over bumpy dirt and rock. Without having that kind of time due to my split shift, I only went about 14 miles down the road to reach the Devil's Garden. (I know....I don't like the name either.)

The sign should also read: "Limited Cell Service."

The Devil's Garden is a collection of strangely shaped monolithic rocks rising up from the sandy desert. These sandstone rocks are maybe thirty to forty feet high. In places, there are small caves and arches. One rock even looks like Donald Trump!

The following day, today, I drove back down the Hole-in-the-Rock Road. This time I decided to go see Zebra Canyon, a striped slot canyon. I drove about eight miles down the road to reach the trailhead. With a well-marked trail, the place is a popular tourist spot during tourist season. Today, only two other cars were in the lot.

My first mistake is that I didn't bring a backpack, I'd have to carry Buena's leash, my purse, keys, and water. I stuffed everything I could into the purse and slung the purse across my body. It's the least annoying way of carrying a purse when hiking. But I knew I should take it with me. I didn't want to get three miles out and start worrying about someone messing with my car. That happened one time at Garden of the Gods in Colorado Springs. My friend and I left everything in the car for a quick jaunt up to see the twin rocks. We were only gone for 20 minutes, and the lot was right below, but we never heard the shattering windows of our rental vehicle. After having my purse, skis, backpack, and my favorite hat stolen, I'm very cautious about leaving things in the vehicle when I go on a hike.

I'd also have to carry my water in hand...the one bottle I had in the car. Why hadn't I checked to see how many waters I had before leaving Escalante? Second mistake. Good thing I was slamming the lemon seltzer waters on the drive. I'd be well hydrated for the trip in...I hoped! I'd just try to conserve water on the hike, and when the bottle became half-full, I'd turn around...even if I didn't reach the canyon. Dehydration is nothing to take lightly.

I started down the trail, wishing I'd thought to take one of the maps I give to tourists. Mistake number three. How would I know what to look for near the mouth of the canyon? The first time I hiked to Peek-a-Boo canyon, I couldn't find the entrance. As I stood near where I thought the entrance should be, two tourists--a couple of college students--pointed it out to me about fifteen feet above the desert floor. (And I was glad they were there! They offered to help me with the last stretch of that climb because my right hand could not reach the final indent in the rock. If I could have grabbed onto it, I could have pulled myself up. As it was, the young man held my right arm and gave me the lift I needed to get up into that canyon!)

With water in hand, I was just happy to be in the sunshine and out in the middle of nowhere...just me and Buena. Hiking. It was time to lose the poor-me-winter-depression weight, and this hike would be the first step of many along that trail toward summer.

While hiking, I found a large pocket I'd forgotten about in my black vest jacket. I put the water in one pocket and the cellphone in another large interior pocket. Hands free, I trudged along the sandy trail.

The sun felt good on my face, and I was glad for the vest to keep me warm against the cool winds. But, as I descended between some dirt and rock hills, the temperature changed. I rolled up my shirt sleeves and soon took off the vest.

I half expected to see hikers somewhere along the way, but...nope! The people from the cars in the lot were probably already down in the canyon.

The quietness of the place felt momentarily overwhelming. Without a breeze or the sounds of civilization, the silence resonated against itself. It was a strange feeling. I looked up at the hills and plateaus, hoping I wasn't being tracked by a cougar. Perhaps I should have brought the pistol. Mistake number four. Rookie mistakes all day long. What was the matter with me?

I'd just been thinking about the quietness of the world around me when suddenly the searing noise of a fighter jet tearing through the sky assaulted my ears. I looked up, unable to see where it was in the bright blue sky. High above a standard passenger jet chugged along, a white contrail slowly churning behind. That wasn't the plane making that noise. What I heard was distinctly a fighter jet, but I couldn't place it in the sky. (After having lived within five miles of St. Louis' Lambert Field for ten years, I had become very familiar with the sound of fighter jets from the base at the airport.)

Just as I hiked alongside a little rise of dirt, I saw it before I heard it: a second fighter jet. Only this one was flying at an angle through the canyon. I grabbed my phone camera and flipped it on. Just as it lifted toward the sky, I heard the noise.

After spending considerable time wondering why the military was flying so low through the Escalante Grand Staircase, I'd reached a field of sage brush. The trail cut right through the middle of it all. In this one area, the cacophony and fluttering of small birds made up for all the silence earlier on the hike. It seemed as if these birds welcomed the warm weather with their loudest songs. Buena hopped between the bushes looking for lizards and rodents, but ended up disturbing the birds, sending them upward from one bush to the next.

When I got about two or two-and-a-half miles in, I lost the trail... completely lost it. I'd been following the cairns (little piles of rock that serve as trail markers), and they suddenly ended at a sandy wash. I couldn't find a stack of rocks anywhere to indicate what direction I should take.

I tested the sand to see what my tracks would look like. If I could determine what a fresh print looked like in this sand, I could start looking for other fresher tracks leading to the canyon. I put my boot into the sand and sunk into it. As soon as I lifted my foot, the sand kind of puddled in on itself. There were no clean edges or sharp indentations of a recent track. My print looked like it could have been a week old.

I looked around for other tracks at different places where the slick rock met the sand. I found one just as the person wearing the shoe stepped off the slick rock and into the sandy wash, but after that, everything looked like sandy pot holes. In addition, it looked like some cows had come through the was because there were many smaller, hoof-sized circles. It was hard to tell which way to go to reach Zebra Canyon because at the base of the slick rock where the last cairn stood, muddled footprints went in both directions. A little further down the wash, several tracks crossed the larger swath of tracks and lead off over the next ridge.

I'd already hiked about two or two-and-a-half miles. I knew the canyon had to be somewhere near...really near...and it frustrated me because I began to think about how long it would take to find the canyon and how much water I'd use and warm I'd feel after trudging through all that sand.

No wind blew in the canyons, and it was the hottest part of the day. With little over half the water left, I made the executive decision...the right decision...to head back. Despite Zebra Canyon being somewhere close by, I didn't want to risk running out of water or possibly getting lost. Everything looks different when you turn around and go the other way. That's why all the old cowboy books have the protagonist checking his or her backtrail. The protagonist always has some type of bandito following, so a wary eye is needed, but in the Louis L'Amour books, the protagonist always notes a word of caution: The back trail always looks different. Be familiar with it so you know how to return.

Fortunately, I did heed that advice as I'd been following a huge slick rock outcropping and kept it in sight as I crossed the sage brush field to where the wash ran through slick rock outcroppings. However, where I now stood in the wash, I could see how it would be easy to confuse one side canyon for another side canyon if I hadn't kept a keen watch on the trail.

And...water. If I'd taken more water, I might have tried looking for the canyon a little longer. In actuality, I wasn't too terribly disappointed that I didn't find it. It just meant that I'd have to take another hike down that absolutely stunning trail. The only difference is that I'll be better prepared.

Oh...and the title of this blog post--Bees, Lizards, & Butterflies? It's all wildlife I've seen this week. Spring is coming on!