“What’s the holdup?” The message read, I trying my best not to sound as irritated as I was that we still haven’t left, an hour and a half after I said I was ready to go. The plan had been to leave yesterday and arrive in the dark, the trip itself was going to take us about 4.5 hours and we still needed to stop for fuel and whiskey—no camp with both Jlowe and Myself present would be complete without it— and I was still waiting on him to get back to his place. Not 5 minutes after I sent the text he rolled up on his mighty steel steed, a ravenous 650hp bike of belching fury, parked it and we rushed into his apartment to get loaded up and out. We had rushed so quickly that, by the time we were at the liquor store 20 minutes later, he turned to me nonchalantly and stated, “oh hey, I actually forgot to pack a sleeping bag. Think I’ll be alright?” “yeah, I’ve got a pad and a wool blanket you can use. It shouldn’t get too cold out there.” I replied.
As we burned down US-6—a road I’m well familiar with after getting skunked turkey hunting over and over in a canyon along the way—we can’t seem to stop getting paired up with the most formidable of assholes God or Bog has planted on his little green planet. Rows on cars stretching 8 vehicles or more seemingly all having grown up in opposite land (or California) rolling through passing lanes with big signs saying “KEEP RIGHT” but strictly adhering to the left of the road; Others still being the kind that likes to roll on at 55mph, 15 below the limit, in the single lane sections but immediately racing you to 85 preventing the pass. One white Ford, in particular, had a bone to pick with us for some reason —it must be my roguishly handsome features of course— but wouldn’t let us pass until we started rolling through Helper.
Finally getting to the start of the dirt roads, I thought for sure Google Maps must be wrong. We were blazing down those highways when we could, and it says we still have an hour and a half? We’re at the dirt! No way. Boy were we in for it. The road starts by winding over shallow badlands and plains, Antelope land, cattle land, wildland, our land. The parts of the state that really make you remember what 80% of Utah is composed of, endless fields and mountain ranges all within the hands of the Bureau of Land Management, pledging this land to you, to us, the people!
But the roads carry on, and we’re suddenly 30 minutes on this dirt lane cruising 55 miles an hour when the road starts to fall into this canyon that almost seems to appear out of nowhere. It starts with a couple of hills then suddenly we are surrounded by sheer cliff faces some 200 feet high, many soaring to heights over 500ft. Monstrous buttes begin to pop out between the cracks and valleys in the mountain, and just as soon as we were eaten up by this massive fold of land, we’re spat back out into a valley surrounded by colossal geographic behemoths. Millions of years of weather, mostly infrequent but powerful flash floods, have left this landscape eroded to extreme monuments to the perseverance of stone or the tenacity of water, whatever you choose to think of it as, the old rocks have long outlived homo sapiens and have the chops to show it.
We continue on the adventure along the winding road, now what I would call a “real” dirt road; that is, littered with rocks, small boulders, sharp dips and a whole ton of bouncing up and down. Seatbelts are irrelevant and are disconnected with pleasure, we step out for a moment to stretch out and I check google again; another 45 minutes? No fucking way, we’ve been on the road for ages! The idea is puzzling but taking in the vastness and remoteness of the location, I start to think it might be on to something.
We’re supposed to be meeting Parker —the Cactus Kid and organizer of our party— out here somewhere, and he drove a party van out here, complete with CRT TV set and VHS player. Justin and I both ponder through nervous laughter how he would have gotten past some of the terrain in the slug bus and with each heavy bump and moment of “oh I should have taken that slower” I start to think we might find a couple of fellas out next to a van, buzzards picking at their dehydrated bones. I’m glad we didn’t drive out here last night, or the road would have been hell to navigate.
We finally come to the last bend and we see it, a big black van with shag drape curtains and all, parked precariously over a bump nearly losing it’s balanced on a corner of the vehicle and looking like it’s ready to tumble some 30 feet into the ravine below. It’s only now, as I write this passage, I am filled with regret to not having taken a photo of the scene. Jumping out of the Murano, we look around and call out to the Kid, but no answer comes back.
I’m scanning the horizon but see nothing besides the landmark we are camping near, Mexican Mountain, and countless canyons that lead to the river that carved this place. I grab my nockers —that’s bino’s, people, get your head out of the gutter— and put eyes to glass. I’m still not seeing anything at road level, so I climb up on a ridge to get a better vantage point, and immediately visible just about a hundred yards away is Parker and Sam, chopping up some firewood and looking to prepare dinner for the night. I call out to let them know we’ve arrived, having only seen one other car many many miles before this meetup and no souls beyond that.
We drag our gear down and after introductions and catching up, we get to pitching camp up as the sun is setting fast. Once it hits the rocks, it’s gone for good and I’m racing against twilight to get setup. I have a new kind of camp today, one that I wanted to be a bit more prepared for and perhaps in the future will be. The idea was to pick up some rock climbing cams from REI on my way over to set up my hammock, but all the circumstances prevented it, and I had to run a risk of using my standard 1” webbing on the razor-sharp claws of the carved sandstone boulders around me. It’s spooky business, especially considering I’m sleeping over even more of the sharp rock and a 3 ft ledge that drops down to about a 5ft drop below my foot end. “Hell, at least it won’t slip away” I laugh to myself as I wrap the webbing around the rock, and the bowled teeth gnaw into the soft strap. I cautiously test the hammock and I swing to and fro with cautious confidence: I should be just fine.
The ante is up on this trip in particular, as it’s not just the hang that is different, but also the entire setup. The entire reason we were running a day late is that I had to wait for a package to be delivered, and now was the time to play with my new toys. A brand new Warbonnet El Dorado and Yeti underquilt, custom-built to my spec. 950fp with a 30F heat rating, tonight I should sleep like a baby.
The sun fades away and we all start cooking dinner. Ol’ Cactus Kid is cooking up some tasty burgers on a stone slab grill and offers everyone their own burger, which I must admit I didn’t expect but really enjoyed. It was a treat to have a burger out here, and even without a bun it tasted fantastic; freshly sliced tomatoes, mayo, ketchup, and the rest. If there’s one thing these car camper folks do better than your humble narrator, it’s over prepping with delicious grub. Not to discount my main course by any means, as just opening the cooler I brought reveals to the world an aroma of decadence reserved for special occasions—mine typically being “dinner while I am alive—a seasoned and salted, 24-hour dry-aged prestige ribeye. I grill in on the slab that was host to the burgers and let it sizzle away atop nature’s perfect slow sear grill, occasionally scooting coals under the rock to maintain a good heat. There’s only one thing I love more than a sous vide steak, and that’s a steak grilled anywhere for away from civilization.
After dinner, I begin to run around camp taking photos of the night sky. I came out here with high hopes of a good opportunity to take some astrophoto, and it was a real treat to have been there for this special night. Moody clouds and a crescent moon filled the early night but as Luna left us she corralled the clouds with her and we were left with a mostly cloudless night, revealing the Milky Way just over monolithic Mexican Mountain, and in plain view of our campsite. The stars were as bright as they could possibly be, and it’s now that I’m starting to realize the 4-hour one-way drive would be completely worth it.
The bourbon starts to flow and we’re all starting to get a little more cozy, still surprised at just how warm it still is outside. By 11 pm it’s still nice enough to keep sleeves rolled up and sit on stones, no jackets required. Between shots and stories, I try to snap more photos, frantically switching between lenses until I can’t remember what I used for which photos, not that it would matter as I fudged to 38mm Zuiko’s main function; keeping her aperture as wide as possible at f/1.8 to bring in all the light and all the bokeh. It’s a portrait lens, and I have it drawn to a measly f/4.0 for nearly the entirety of this trip. Whoopsies.
After a few hours, Sam begins to get ready for bed as the remaining three of us decide to set out on a night hike. I haven’t been on a good night hike in ages, and having far more nifty tech than I did in the past, I —perhaps foolishly— feel more confidant than ever about going into the labyrinth of canyons, drunk in the dark. I start up the GPS and we follow a wash for a measly half mile before coming to a steep drop-off, and we post up for a moment to watch the stars. A screech breaks out and I can tell my two friends are set to uneasy curiosity as they as what it was and begin to whoop and howl back at it. I asked them to quiet down and just listen, and I hear what is without a doubt a toad croaking in the night. It’s cool to shut off the headlamps and stare at the stars overhead in this little wash, with the ever-present idea that, should a trickle of water begin to puddle past us, we would likely all be dead within minutes if we didn’t high tail it out of there before the ensuing flood.
We head back to camp and even Parker is starting to get drowsy, so we down a couple more beers and pulls then head back to the van to get Justin set up for the night. It’s a comfy bed inside, limo lights and all as Parker throws on the battery and pushes a tape into the VCR; In no time flat, we’re out in the desert watching tonight’s headline feature, The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly. Lee Van Cleef, my boy, looking stone-cold as ever. “When I get paid, I finish the job”.
We make our way back to camp and put the Cactus lad to bed, and now it’s just me and the fella I rode in with. We get deep into conversation about serious this and that, future plans and how to improve, typical drunken camp duo talk, and we cook up some jet-boiled Oscar Myer’s on the side of a hill, looking out to our friendly mountain. Eventually, it’s time for Justin to hit the sack too, and then it’s just me, feeling more at home now in the middle of nowhere alone than I did with friends surrounding me. Don’t get me wrong, I certainly prefer having others with me when I’m on an adventure, but getting out is just more important to me than some others, and when I make time, many can’t, so I’m just more experienced on the lonesome trail.
Staring back up at the stars, I turn to the small butte outside our camp, and I’m greeting with a sight I’ve been wanting to capture for years now: The Big Dipper, Ursa Major, leaning atop a beautifully positioned terrestrial foreground to make the composition that much more interesting. Catching The Moon, The Milky Way, Jupiter over Mexican Mountain, Ursa Minor, Cassiopeia, and Andromeda all in one night was more than enough to send me to bed feeling accomplished as could be; This last blessing from the stars above me instead promises that I will have a hard time making a better astrophoto night than this without some serious planning and homework ahead of time.
Going to bed drunk at 4am means a lot of things, but in the desert, it means that you’re going to be rudely awoken by an unforgiving star in far less time than you’d hope to have slept. It starts at my eyes, my head being on the west side of camp, and I pull my underquilt up from beneath me as a sunshade over my bug net, but it didn’t provide shelter for long. before I know it I’m too hot to stay in bed, so I —very disoriented— fumbled my boots on, still numb and drowsy, and crawled into a nearby cave carved by flash floods. It was cool and even the sand felt cold compared to the air outside, so I hid in here with my water bottle for about a half-hour before I had the strength to go out into the sun and make some oats and coffee.
I came to my senses rather quickly after that, eager to go on a hike and explore the terrain. I wanted to make my way to the river further East, and soak my feet for an afternoon picnic. Attempting to wretch Justin awake played out the way it typically does, he’s the kind of guy that really likes to sleep til noon. I at least had to head up and open the van doors for him to get some air flowing or we’d be driving back a well-done friend, oven-baked. Sam, Parker, and I set out on our hike and pooled our collective knowledge of history, geography, and wildlife to everyone’s benefit, as I believe we all actually learned something from one another along that hike in the desert, about the desert. That’s a treat I never expect but am always more than happy to take away from a campout.
After a while on the trail, we came to a fork where one way went into the canyon and the other rose above it. I chose to take the high ground and the other two set out into the belly of the beast, now completely surrounded by the hallmark red stones of Utah and Colorado. I was happy to have filled my Nalgene with ice and cold water, as each sip was like a small rush of endorphins every time the cool clear water graced my parched tongue.
I had worn a tank top as long as I could but the sunscreen was starting to fail, and I had to layer up a light hooded jacket to keep from totally frying. I’m always surprised throwing the OR Ferrosi hoody on, because I’m expecting to be overwhelmingly uncomfortable, but it breathes so damn good it actually feels better under here. With the extra volume of the jacket now free in my backpack, I scope out a few cool-looking rocks and throw them in the pack for a friend back home who obsessively collects interesting stones. She’ll have a hoot with these ones, and I’ll have just as good a time getting the extra little workout in from hiking the weight another 4 miles.
As I peek over the edge of the cliff I’m caught off guard by just how high up I’ve risen. It seemed like such a short hike up, but now the canyon I once gazed up towards is all beneath my feet, and the horizon I walked from, where my camp is hidden, seems completely flat as if I could walk straight into oblivion and reach the coast with ease.
I had intended to reunite with Parker and Sam but I wasn’t really wanting to follow their prints into the canyon and head back to camp late, who knows how long we’d be out there, and Justin and I had to get back early for work and rest. We planned on leaving around 3, so I set back out to the river, took off my boots, rolled up my pants, and waded into the water.
Warm on the edges but refreshingly cool in the middle, I sat there for another 20 minutes, alone in the absolute serenity of the oasis. To be honest, I haven’t felt this kind of peace or tranquility in a very long time, having flashbacks to an imaginary past of being a westerner or native, passing through and being thankful for all the desert has to provide however sparse it may be. I can see a dead crawdad floating in the water and think about trying to find more, bringing them back for a midday freshwater snack but ultimately decide that the peace of the moment is enough. This feeling was for me, and I couldn’t have been happier. I take off my baseball cap and swish it in the cold water until it’s completely soaked and put it back on, a trick I always recommend on hot hikes.
After I get back to camp, we hang out for a bit and Justin gets a little climbing in, then we say our goodbyes and set off. On our way back we decide to comb a few boulders along the road and have as much fun as we can before hitting the long and boring highway back to town, and I’m able to snap some photos with that old Zuiko lens, fully dilated at f/1.8, and man are the shots dramatic. I’ll have to remember to keep it wedged right there because it’s simply stunning what kind of shots the old retro Olympus lens can dish out.
