Tuesday Voice: Coyote Gulch

The author at work

By Chuck Smythe

As a certified geezer, I have accumulated several old backcountry buddies over the decades. Since the turn of the century, we’ve made an effort to get out together twice a year. This spring the company fit for service included Ed, who introduced me to climbing and XC [cross-country] skiing back in the 60’s, and Phil, Philosopher and Navy doctor from San Diego. And me. Our target was the lower Hole-In-The-Rock road, in the Staircase-Escalante National Monument.
    Ed and I left Boulder in the middle of a snowstorm, wondering just what the hell we thought we were doing. The roads were icy all across the Rocky Mountains, but as soon as we got past Vail things dried out, leaving us to cope only with a surly, cold wind. On our way in to Grand Junction, we called Phil, to find he was stuck in the storm at the Denver Airport. We went on to Fruita, the last habitable place in Colorado. It was crawling with disgustingly slender and fit young mountain bikers, as usual in the spring. Phil finally cancelled out of dinner, then admitted he wasn’t going to be able to get there that night.

First thing in the morning we drove back to the Grand Junction airport to wait. Phil finally flew in mid-morning, and we made haste to hit the road for Utah. On through Beautiful Downtown Hanksville (pop. 200), out through Capitol Reef, over Boulder Mountain. We got an excellent meal, as usual, at the Burr Trail Grill, then headed out Hole-In-The-Rock in the waning afternoon.
    The road had been decreed by Brigham Young, in a failed attempt to settle the San Juan River. A crew with wives and children worked for a year to force the route to the rim above the river. There they cut the Hole in the Rock, a slot down which they lowered wagons on ropes a thousand feet to the river. Past that they found the country got even less passable, and finally, exhausted, founded the town of Bluff.

Sign at the top of Hole-in-the-wall, to support the brief history

    We found that there were no sheltered campsites at all once we got out past Twenty Five Mile Corral, and no usable sites near our intended trailheads, so we took an unmarked ranch road out toward the Straight Cliffs and camped way out among the sagebrush and cows. It was a cold evening, with a biting wind off the snow up on the cliffs. Fortunately, I’d brought my big kitchen tent, so we were able to cook and swill wine out of the wind, and had a delightfully sociable evening over the first of Ed’s gourmet dinners.

The Straight Cliffs in the snow at 50 Mile Point; “There was a bitter wind....”

    Our gear was in chaos after the hasty late camp, so we spent a lazy morning over coffee and bullshit, got organized, then made an afternoon trip to the slot canyons of West Coyote Gulch. I managed to walk right past Peek-a-Boo and Spooky gulches, and got us all the way down to Brimstone Canyon. The guys finally got tire of slogging through loose sand, so we backtracked to Spooky and squeezed in. It quickly narrows to a foot, occasionally two feet wide. After we had to do an unprotected rock move into the upper section, it was agreed that this was getting a little too Spooky for our tastes, so we squeezed back out. The walls ripped several buttons off my shirt in the narrowest bits. Back to Sagebrush Camp for another luxury meal and good fellowship. The weather even got warmer.

Phil squeezing through Spooky Gulch

    We’d intended to start a backpack in the morning, but Ed reported that a recurrent infection had emerged during the night. Doctor Phil gave him some Cipro and advised that he not do anything strenuous that day, since steroids weaken tendons. After another lazy morning, we decided the best use for a rest day was to drive all the way out to the Hole In the Rock. The bottom of the hole is, of course, flooded by the Powell Sewer—which was surprisingly pretty at that point, for such an act of vandalism.

View of Lake Powell from the top of Hole in the Wall

At last, on the third day, we packed into Coyote Gulch. This is the prettiest side canyon of the Escalante River. The lower reaches are also flooded by the reservoir, but the best parts are higher up. I had been there once a decade ago, on the trip that celebrated Esther’s retirement. There were more people than before, but not intolerably. We only saw far too many down near the arches. Oddly, my vivid memories of the canyon didn’t match what we saw very well. A spooky thing, memory. There had been a two hundred year flood a few years ago, which did rearrange the furniture a bit.
    On the previous visit we had been able to step across the creek; this time we had to jump. We needed to do this roughly once every ten minutes. As we descended the canyon, the cottonwood and box elder trees went from winter to early spring.

Jumping across the creek

The first hint of green on the cottonwoods

    We set up camp on a fine beach away from the madding crowd. An immense pile of flood debris at its lower end announced that it would be a death trap in a flood, but the forecast was benign.

Camp on our dubious beach

The next day we hiked down to Jacob Hamblin Arch.

And on to Coyote Natural Bridge.

At last we hiked out, a long hot duty for old men. But look what we saw on the way!

A spectacular undercut wall downstream of the Arch

A typical view of the most spectacular part of the canyon

Heading out toward the Red Well trailhead on a hot, tired day

    It’s an easy hike as canyon country goes, but one of the most beautiful. I recommend it.
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Copyright © 2013 by Chuck Smythe

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