Capitol Reef

My parents just flew back to Indiana from gaudy Las Vegas. They spent a week here: we hiked in Zion, Bryce, a bit of the Escalante Grand Staircase (Calf Creek Falls), Capitol Reef, and local spots like Three Peaks and the Parowan Gap. Our favorite: Capitol Reef, near Torrey, Utah (where we were entertained by a nameless, extraordinarily loud rock band at the Rim Rock Patio and Restaurant; the pizza was very late, but exquisite). We took highway 62 down through Panguitch on the way back. A lot of rock and rolling hills and cattle dotting the landscape, and the creeks were all flooding with Spring run-off. That's the big news these days: the flooding of creeks and rivers across Utah. On the way back, we stopped at the local park to view Coal Creek, which was rushing at 10 times its usual rate and power. During this visit, trying to find words to describe these lands, my father said, "Indescribably fantastic." I believe this was at the Rim Rock Patio near Capitol Reef. It was dusk, 9 p.m. You could see the band playing outside on the patio, silhouettes; the music pounded, muffled, through the window. Behind them, the Henry Mountains loomed dark and wonderful about 40 miles away. —5.05

Red Hill Trail, 5 minutes east on highway 14 out of Cedar City

Spring Canyon

Today, hours ago, after giant pancakes and blueberries on top and coffee, we drove down to Spring Canyon, 20 minutes south, near Kanarraville, and hiked Spring Canyon with Therese and her two boys, and Katie and Jim, and the three dogs. Cloudy at first, then bright sun on the pink rocks. The stream rushed out the canyon, and we carried the kids across the water in several spots. Back where the slot canyon began, where the cliffs soared tightly around you, cliff swallows flew high above us, chattering and doing loops in the unbroken flatness of the blue sky. At the halfway mark, we sat by the creek and talked about the possibility of rattlesnakes hiding nearby. I thought about what I've been reading lately, words from Wallace Stegner, who wrote so eloquently about the West: "You have to get over the color green; you have to quit associating beauty with gardens and lawns; you have to get used to an inhuman scale." It's greening now back in the canyon, and it's getting hotter now, too. My red faces grows more red every day with the sun, and we drink more water now. It's noticeable. Presently, during this Saturday afternoon siesta in the greenhouse/porch, we watch aspen leaves spin in the light breeze and sun. A cloud has been forming for about 2 hours to the west. I've been watching it build, changing shape, but seemingly not move anywhere. The traffic on the highway hums, a muffled everpresent voice. The dogs nap. Wallace Stegner says, "Scale is the first and easiest of the West's lessons. Color and forms are harder..." He says, "Sagebrush is an acquired taste..." Every time we go hiking, I stop and pick the light green leaves of sagebrush, and rub and rub it between my fingers, and put my fingers to my nose and breathe deeply and relish the scent. —5.05