Journeys

Escalante
Sept. 1, 2014

Hell’s Backbone . . .

Now that I have managed with difficulty to remove my heart from my throat and get it back into its rightful place, I will recount a few more adventures.

A day that began so peacefully and normally at a farmer’s market (more later) transformed in its later hours into the most hair-raising road trip I could ever have imagined. Okay, I’ve been on plenty of roads with scary precarious drop-offs, the kind that cause muscles to contract into tense knots and the breath to be held until danger is past, as if somehow that would make it safer, but this day takes the cake.

We are in Escalante, Utah - pronounced locally as Es-ca-lant (like pant) and determine to drive a route known as Hell’s Backbone. Boy howdy - if that name isn’t enough to deter a person, maybe they deserve to careen thousands of feet off into a canyon.

Initially, the drive was just your typical Utah awe-inspiring scenery, right up until about the turnoff to Posey Lake. After that, it was “Katy, bar the door!”

Stupendous, gorgeous, incredible, absolutely mind-blowing views right and left, but that road, oh that road. In the process of risking my life, I learned that the state of Utah is guard-rail phobic. One place only in that 40-mile distance was there a guard rail, except for The Bridge!!!, yet careening was a distinct possibility in a zillion other spots.

Around each bend in the road was another and another and another stunning scene, every one more incredible than the previous. Not only were the rocky vistas and canyons gasp-worthy, the thickly forested slopes, a Boreal lifezone (I knew that, of course, before he told me), were truly beautiful with an amazing variety: ponderosa pine, Douglas fir, blue spruce and aspen, understoried with ground-hugging manzanita, Gambel oak and a profusion of plant life.

Numerous deer jumped and bolted at our approach, only to stop at what they deemed a safe distance into the woods and turn to look us over.

I did at times speak sternly to Chris about driving more slowly, not because he was driving too fast but because I was scared; telling him to slow down somehow gave me a feeling of having some control over whether or not the truck remains on the road and I remain alive, a condition I've come to have great fondness for. When push comes to shove, I’d say driving Hell’s Backbone was worth the terror to behold the sights set out before us - once.

THE BRIDGE . . .

Now about that bridge: one lane, of course, and not for the faint of heart. We crossed the crevasse on that tiny span and stopped on the far side to behold even more eye-popping scenery. The bridge’s construction was worthy of an explanatory sign; the story it told was unbelievable. Seems a passel of fellers gathered together, dropped a couple of pine logs across the chasm and then the least bright of the fellers, Sixty by name, drove his bulldozer over the two logs, presumably holding his breath the entire time. The original logs are still visible below. They say Sixty lived to tell the tale.

Sixty's logs are still visible under the current-day bridge. Chris gets credit for this photo; I was smart enough not to risk my life for it.

On the far side, we met a couple who had driven up on dirt bikes from their camp back down the road. Dani was even more terrified than I, having experienced a recent serious run-in between a deer and her vehicle. Lucky for her, they were turning back; as I learned shortly, the stretch they had traversed was nothing compared to our side of the bridge. Her guy offered to take our photograph out on the crazy spot, after which we waited for Dani to get herself and her bike down the road. If it hadn’t been so far, I’m sure she would have walked it; she was near to tears.

That route was originally constructed in the 1930s by the Civilian Conservation Corps: mind-boggling they could accomplish it with their available means (but then they had people like Sixty).

Boulder to Escalante . . .

The Hell’s Backbone loop brought us back to the highway partway to the town of Boulder; of course I thought we should check out over thatta way before heading home despite the late hour, and am I ever glad we did.

Seems that Boulder was the very last incorporated town in the United States to have electricity and telephones, sometime in the 1940s and 1950s for various households. Its extreme isolated siting along with the incredibly rugged country on all sides accounted for that. Before the CCC could complete the highway between Boulder and Escalante - Hell’s Backbone - all communication and transport was via horse and wagon - a three bone-jarring-days trip.

Anyone who drives that route today would, as we did, marvel that the road could be constructed at all over solid rock. It is necessarily very narrow, no passing lanes, with nearly no pull-outs, and is a 28-mile twisting, turning, switchbacking, long steep grade; that was the road we had intended to take to Torrey when we leave Escalante. How fortunate that we drove it without the trailer; on the map, it looked just fine, but in reality, hauling the Totee on it would be nightmarish. So glad we’ve found another route, perhaps some longer in mileage, but surely easier on us all, including the traffic that would be poking along behind us.

Wide Hollow . . .

Wide Hollow Lake is a small irrigation reservoir right in Escalante and is incorporated into a State park that includes a petrified forest. Skirting around the back side of it to avoid park fees, we set up the spotting scope (from Jay’s Bird Barn in Prescott) to see what was to be spied in the waterfowl department. Although we could not approach as closely as we wanted, we did manage to identify Canada goose, mallard, pied-billed grebe, spotted sandpiper, osprey, blue heron, American coot, white-faced ibis, western kingbird, western grebe and killdeer. Others we got new on this trip include western scrub jay and black-billed magpie.

It would be a nice lake to take the kayaks out on for some fishing and for swimming when we return, which we surely shall.

Farmer’s market, RV park . . .

This small town, Escalante, has charmed me: Not only is it set amidst unimaginably breathtaking scenery with very high forested elevations in one directions and lower rocky desert terrain in another direction, but the folks we have met here have been 100 percent friendly and welcoming. After checking ahead, we knew a farmer’s market was in the offing for Saturday morning, so we were grateful to beef (pardon the expression) up our brought-from-our-home-garden veggies with produce fresh from the farm.

Four vendors only made up the market on a main street lawn, and a nicer bunch of folks I can’t imagine. We visited and bought and visited some more and were pleased to come away with home-grown seeds and crafts in addition to broccoli, squash, tomatoes, onions, peppers and pears.

We have ensconced ourselves in the Canyons of the Escalante RV Park. Here again, the proprietors could not be any more helpful and friendly - Toni and Andres go out of their way to make a person’s stay enjoyable. It is a tiny park for RVs, with several cabins, not much to look at, with few amenities, but I’m happy we found it.

There is so much to do in this region that an entire summer would be insufficient just for the main attractions, but in addition, there is the entire Dixie National Forest to explore.

Of course the drive here from Page traversed more fabulous country at every turn.

Red Canyon here and below.

I especially love the villages that snug themselves into every piece of arable ground available. Driving through the canyons of myriad streams and rivers of the region - the Mystic, Sevier and Asay to name a few - is pure pleasure, and I love the places where pioneers carved out a spot for themselves and their families, and where often their descendants continue that lifestyle away from the hubbub of mainstream civilization.

Those same descendants have learned to take advantage of the crowds that invade their homeland in a quest for a vacation taste of a more relaxed way of life. Isolated outfitters, restaurants and others cater to the tourist who wants to mingle with the locals; we are no exception. Roadside signs alerted us to watch for Backerei Forscher German Bakery & Restaurant. Ever the obedient one, I did just that. We stopped in to purchase breakfast pastries and came away with delicious Danish speckled with red currants - a real treat!