We begin, nearly as we typically do, with an evening of packing and rushing. There’s never enough time to make sure you’ve got everything out of the garage and packed up, but at some point you’ve just got to trust your gut and go.
We depart around 20:00, and I’ve got it in my mind that I might just drive for the rest of the night, but come 11pm, right around our “pitstop” destination in Benjamin, we decide to call it a night and set up the rooftop tent in the driveway of my out-of-town in-laws. The rest is an odd, kind of transient adventure through time in which my Fiancé and dog get some pretty terrible sleep, and I fade in and out of consciousness for about 6 hours until we hit the road again at 0500. I’ve got to work remotely on this Friday when we get to the condo we’ll be staying at for the weekend, and I’ve got four hours before I’d be considered Late for work.
We pull into the cool little spot in St. George just in time to get all logged in, but it’s not long until that all passes by, and we snag a lunch with the better half’s old man. The rest of the day is spent having a few good drinks and stopping into the magnificent Indian restaurant, Red Fort. There’s been some confusion on the Red Fort’s up north in Ogden and Layton, and the difference in quality was stunning. Here in the desert, the food takes on a nearly revolutionary change, flavors popping, the location–one of the old Iggy’s spots, so you know it’s a cool vibe–presenting incredible hand-painted murals and stained glass, and the staff really putting on their best. It was a fantastic dining experience, and one I will always be visiting should I make St. George a regular trip.
But that’s not really why we’re here. Or at least, not why you’re here.
You wanna know about those sweet ass fishing spots, the secret sauces, right?
Well, I’ve got a few tips. First off, being a total tourist town for retired old white guys, every single reservoir or lake in the vicinity will only be stocked with Rainbows or Bass, so if that’s your kink and you love the overpopulated jet-boat cities with diaper-dotted shorelines, you’ll be right at home. But if you want to get out in the woods, in the small water, where sneaky Cutts eagerly take a bite only from a well-presented fly, then I’ve got a treat for you.
Leeds.
Leeds is home to a small canyon whose dirt roads wind deep into the Pine Valley Mountains and provide exquisite isolation for being so close to a destination town. Our first afternoon in the small, brushy canyon led me through tight fishing corridors, where even taking another step is a question of dexterity and guile. “Will it spook? Is the water too deep here? Is it worth it to get in there?” are all the questions you’ll ask when peeking around the winding Leeds Creek.
But the first afternoon was cut short, not too long in, myself having made a critical calculation error in thinking my Fiancé could handle a day without breakfast or lunch. When I’m on the water, hours can fly by before I notice hunger pangs, but it seems to be an entirely different ordeal for my betrothed, and thus, after hooking into what I came down here for in a hasty set, we turned back and ended the rest of the day in town, picking up a lunch in Leeds at the lovely little Casa Tequilana Mexican Cuisine.
On our last day, I was determined to get Taylor her first Bonneville for the cutthroat slam she is taking part in, but desert thunderstorms had other ideas. Once the storm passed on our way back down to a vineyard at the mouth of the canyon, a huge plume of smoke broke along the road back into civilization. This being the only road, I prepared for the worst, thinking we’d have to drive past an intense lightning-caused forest fire, but what we found was quite a different beast. A family’s car was completely engulfed in flames, the fire department present but simply watching until the flames died down a bit. After talking with many others present, they told us that the car had been filled with bullets and ignited “just after we started smelling gasoline”.
Quite an interesting way to wrap up a short trip down South, and my heart goes out to the family that was getting jerked around by their insurance company.