April 4th, 2004

On the drive (4 - 5 hours) from Salt Lake City to the head of the trail which leads to Crack-in-the-Rock and, below, Coyote Gulch, the sky had darkened progressively. As we now stood at the trail head, it clearly was the "best practice" to don rain gear over the layers already worn for warmth. "Why am I doing this?" Nearing sixty, this Brooklyn-born, city-living, desk jockey wondered whether, once again, his imagination had overtaken his good sense. Resoundingly, the answer came a few moments down the trail of sand and slickrock, when a crack of thunder announced the transformation of a steady rain to a full scale squall - "I'm crazy! That's why I'm doing this."

Less than an hour later, as I took a step up on a beautiful wet outcropping of rock, another answer presented itself. "Wow! Look at that!" Staring a million miles down onto Stevens Arch, the Escalante River and various gorges, all cut from that deep red, varnished stone I've only seen in Northern Arizona and Southern Utah, I began to feel slightly more sane.

Two minutes later, we had lowered our packs over and squeezed ourselves through the aptly-named Crack-in-the-Rock (no fatties get through here) and skipped down a 1000-foot deep red sand dune (which, on the way back somehow got much longer and more difficult), crossed Coyote Creek and set up camp in a beautiful alcove which protected us from all elements for the next three nights. (O.K., those who were there know I left out my death-defying courageous crawl across some steeply declined slickrock, a fall from which would have resulted in instant death. P.S.: all others - there was a total of 9 -- merrily scampered across this 100-foot expanse; later DNA testing surely would have proven that they evolved, not from monkeys like me, but from goats).

The weather was not ideal for our trip. A bit too cold; a bit too cloudy; a bit of rain; only a little bit of sun, which never really seemed to warm the environment. One day, we went up Coyote Gulch to discover an arch high above us in a side canyon, some petroglyphs, a neat lake with a constant waterfall from somewhere high above, 5 mule deer, and Coyote Bridge, a span over the Creek. Some went further, all the way to Jacob Hamblin Arch. The next day, we tried to traverse down the Escalante River, but water levels resulting from the recent rain were a bit too high, wind was a bit too strong, and clouds were a bit too ominous. The adventure was curtailed, short of its side-canyon objective. Part of the group went up the Escalante for some breathtaking (I know about clichés - but this really was) views of Stevens Arch from below.

Over all, it would be hard to imagine a trip with a greater Reward to Effort Ratio than this one had: great rewards, very little effort, although it would have been nice of GCI provided mules, llamas or an escalator for the climb out. A 1000 foot sand dune is NOT easy walking!

So, to return to the beginning, "why take this trip?" Not only the scenery; not only the exercise; not only the camaraderie of traveling companions and the anthropo-morphized mountain goats who served as our all-catering guides. Although these had been some of my expectations before the trip; all might be available elsewhere.

For me, in retrospect, it was partially meeting the challenge of doing this. But, more importantly, I always will smile when I think of the four things I will remember most: the full moon rising over the canyon walls, a spotlight illuminating our camp; waking up to the serene sounds of a gurgling creek and the chirping of birds each morning; and the sheer zen-like tranquility of the place. The latter, I note, would not have existed a year or two ago, when Powell Reservoir backed all the way up the Escalante and Coyote Gulch and beyond, introducing the alien sounds of motors to what otherwise is a paradise.