A short time later I-70 was speeding by beneath as I searched for my next exit, Utah Highway 24. Headed south winding around various Mesas and high plains I was heading towards Capitol Reef National Park. One of the lesser visited parks as a whole, Capitol Gorge has brilliant colors the defy the eyes ability to believe are natural. The reef was created what is called a water pocket fold, in which newer rock curled over the older rock in a S-curve from the same tectonic activity that ultimately created the Rocky Mountains during the rise of the Colorado Plateau. I started my time there with the usual drive to the end of the park, which takes you about twenty miles of the Reef, which stretches much farther, all the way to Lake Powell.
After driving for a ways down a single lane scenic road that leads up the spine of the park, there was a turn off onto a dirt road. Slowly creeping down the trail, I had to pay attention to the signs reading 'This is a flash flood wash, do not enter if storms appear imminent' – the sky was clear, so in I ventured. At the end of a mile of off road driving through the narrow and steep canyon you reach the area known as the Grand Wash. During a rain storm the run off of as little as a quarter of an inch of water will can create a wall of rushing flood fourteen feet deep in the Grand Wash. Hence the warnings! I headed out of this area and took another long drive through Capitol Gorge, which used to be the only way in and out of the park before the main highways were built. I left quickly as the sky became dark and overcast, in search of a nearby town.
Torrey is located eight miles west of Capitol Reef and is an incredibly understated town. Unlike Moab, there were no businesses set up to offer river tours or the rental of off road monstrosities. A few restaurants and campgrounds were all that Torrey had to offer. An amazing small town gem opposed to the commercialized mega stations that sit at the heads of places like the Grand Canyon and Rocky Mountain, it was a breathe of fresh air and was sure to offer a quiet, yet cold night of rest before the start of hiking in the morning.
It was brisk but sunny and sure to grow into a hot day when I set off on the first trail which was to take me to Hickman Bridge, a large natural sandstone arch like those found in Arches. A steep trail to begin with was tiring, but after climbing the first 800 feet of the trail it leveled out and led into a canyon invisible to the road below. Mostly dirt and rock trail led to the bridge and ultimately the end of the trail. Backtracking to the trail head I came across another path the led to 'scenic vistas and Fruita campground. Another steep climb was ahead of me, and once again, at the top a valley opened up. Part of a wash zone, the way was mostly a wide sand path, leading to to views of the Fruita portion of the Park.
The presence of the Fremont river cutting and winding through the heart of the canyon, and the temperate climate in the shaded valley section made this land quite fertile. Mormon settlers came into the area and started to build orchards and missions. Lush and shaded, it is an oasis in the middle of desert. There are trees that have been growing in the Fruita for hundreds of years and have grown to epic size. From the 1870's until the start of World War II the farmers of the area were able to earn a living selling apples and other fruits and vegetables grown in the lush orchards of the area. Today this area is still intact and remains in repair as part of the National Park.
At the overlook of Fruita the trail winds all the way down to a neighboring camp. I hiked down and photographed some of the large trees and the stable located at the bottom. The hike back up the way I came down was arduous to say the least. Once I reached the top I met up with an architect from Miami and his daughter. A twenty year veteran of National Parks, he had been to many more than I. As we moseyed along at the top returning into the canyon I noticed his daughter had gone missing, so I mention this to him. Only now do I realize that this isn't his daughter, but his wife. She was maybe about 30 years old and he revealed to me that he was 57 years old. After knowing this I heard her start to talk and gathered that she was Cuban. All the pieces finally came together in my mind. Together the three of us strolled to the fork that would take them to the scenic vistas I had visited earlier in the after noon, and for me the fork back to Big Red. I wished them well and suggested that maybe we would happen across each other again in one of the parks ahead as we were following the same route through Utah. After several miles of hiking in the Utah sun, I was done in and ready to get back on the road.
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