An exploration

An intense month of exploration in Southern Utah's canyon country has come to end. Back in the comfort of the casual Central Oregon landscape I am almost finding time to reflect on the very wild places we have been recently. We explored, I believe, the heart and soul of the mighty Colorado Plateau. We navigated into the most intricate of slickrock mesas and defiles. We descended canyons, made wild by the extreme nature of their terrain and later traversed every two-wheel drive road we could in search of the most open land.

Finally, we made ourselves psuedo-locals in the culturally bizarre small towns of Springdale, Escalante, and Page. The region is completely one-of-a-kind and beautiful, but most importantly, it is still wilderness. It has fought back against the spread of humankind and won. Its rivers have been tamed and exploited and cities continue to expand their tentacle but the harsh life this wilderness promises has helped maintain a wildness in the place.

When we first arrived in Zion on May 15^th the rivers were high and flowing thick with red sand. The desert sun was still tempered by the spring rains and everywhere was exploding with wildflowers. We counted up to fifteen different species in bloom on one trip into the Escalante. The winds were present too. We had read about the tortuous May winds of the desert in a couple of guidebooks but nothing could have prepared us. The desert is an exposed place and a strong wind just adds to the desolation and intensity of the landscape. There was no help from vegetation so you had to turn to the geology for reprieve. It is a rare day when reading the wind on the landscape in needed for your daily comfort and survival. Finding a spot out of the wind does not to prove to be as easy as finding a spot out of the sun for example – having the telltale sign of shade as your guide. With wind it is more subtle, you hike across a wide sand-blown valley to an alcove that looks great and its the windiest place out there. Where there is less wind, the sand drops out of the heavy air and onto you and into your eyes. There is no escaping the wind.

By June the desert was feeling regular again. It was hot, but not unbearable, there were flowers, but only those guarded by canyon walls, and clear, spring-fed streams replaced silty torrents. It was the quality and nature of the watercourses and the water within them that changed the most for us. The amount of silt carried in the creeks seemed to change the colors of the whole canyon. First torrential snow-fed maroon cream, then blue glacier-like pools and iridescent falls, then crystal clear mirror-like pools that reflected the ripples into magical orbs. The combinations of colors and light are infinite in a water-filled desert canyon. After a month of day-to-day experiences within these rare, remote canyons the seasonal variations that changed the entire nature the of the beast became apparent. In Escalante, where water is harder to come by than in Zion, the wildflowers and shrubs seemed to respond to the intensifying summer on a daily basis, tightening up their skins almost before your eyes. Every component of the desert wilderness is invariably teased or shaped by the Earth's most precious resource. Its hard not to notice the immediate and ancient role of running water in the landscapes' creation. We were there too, following its courses downwards towards the all-encompassing Colorado and learning about the coming and going of the land.

Photos: 1)The Waterpocket Fold 2)Descending into Deer Creek, Escalante, 3)Buckskin Gulch, Paria River 4)All the rocks of the desert end up in the ocean