Davis Canyon

A weekend backpacking trip to Davis Canyon. I’d overlooked this corner of the Needles District of Canyonlands. A nine mile long 4WD-only road made it seem inaccessible.

It shouldn’t have since it turned out to be a pleasant walk. And some nice Ancestral Puebloan sites in the canyon.

After a few hours of walking, chasing butterflies, and botanizing, I finally got to the trailhead (and park boundary). A couple in a Jeep were just getting back after their dayhike. "Did you walk all the way from the highway," they asked (surprised). I nodded. "Are you on a pilgrimage?" I didn't know what to say. But the whole rest of the day I kept thinking about how neat that was. If I were on a pilgrimage, what kind would it be?

Seeker of red rocks and sand

It is true that I've been trying to hike every trail and non-technical canyon in the Needles. Not for any reason other than the pure joy of exploration and satisfying my curiosity.

Ancestral Puebloan granary

Is there such thing as a butterfly pilgrimage? The canyon was alive with flittering and fluttering. I always delight in just watching their various flight patterns and bursts of color.

Painted lady

Beyond the spring at the mouth of the canyon, Davis Canyon was bone dry. Not something I’d expected in this above-average snowfall year when everywhere else seems to be quite wet and saturated. Apparently, there are fewer Ancestral Puebloan dwellings and sites here due historical scarcity of water.

Target-style petroglyph

Still, what sites are here are very concentrated. And I was satisfying to see the well-known pictographs with a similar motif to the Four Faces and Thirteen Faces I’d seen in adjacent canyons.

Five Faces

Rather than explore the upper reaches of Davis Canyon, I was drawn to the lush riparian area near the trailhead.

Towering cottonwoods

Delicious spring water. Maybe it tasted so good because I'd been slogging through deep sand all day in the heat.

A few side canyons north of Davis Canyon beckoned as well. I scrambled up to a granary and shimmed along a ledge to get a closer look. Always when it’s time to come down, I wonder what-am-I-doing-up-here.

Natural Bridge up another side canyon

Climbing up high above camp

Sunset

Clouds had been rolling through all day but the thunder and lightening didn’t start until dusk. I found a sheltered hidey-hole tucked between junipers and settled in for the night.

There really is nothing like the sound of rain striking DCF. I smiled and fell back to sleep even more deeply.

While I missed having company for this trip, I admit that I savor my solo mornings. Waking before dawn, packing up quickly, hiking as I watch the sunrise.  A time I feel most at peace.

Evening primrose in the morning.

Instead of taking the 4WD road back, I decided to follow a purposeful-looking cattle trail. It took me to all the exciting places I’d missed— solitary shade-trees with thick carpets of cowpies below and extensive mudflats. It kept me above the wash for a more expansive view for several miles— much further than I’d have expected- before it veered off into another canyon. A fun end to the trip!

The very faint Cow-Pie High Route Alternate.

First timers to ISKY

Four of us start down off the edge of the plateau. This is M.’s first backpacking trip in Utah and C.’s first full day in Utah. Both are interns at the park.

Into the canyon

We are on the same loop I took during my first season as an SCA here. A place to make you fall in love with canyon country. At least it did for me. The expansive views still take my breath away. Seeing it through their eyes adds an extra dose of wonder.

Still there are surprises for all of us. The first few blossoms of spring.

Paintbrush

Mags and C. join us for the first part of the day. Enough time to plunge deeply into the canyon and see the water striders gliding across pools of water.

We joke about the relative pack sizes in our group-- the difference between backpackers and dayhikers.

And we wonder what other people must think as they walk by and see M. carrying so much and Mags with his tiny pack.

C. and Mags decide to turn around to allow extra time for the climb back out. I wish they could stay but they have to work tomorrow. At least we could hang out for most of the day!

Where we parts ways.

M. and I continue on. Down to the Green River where minnows dance in the shallow backwaters.

Water near the Green River.

Not as bad after the sediment settles overnight.

We make it much further up our return canyon than I’d expected. And finally pick a spot in a side canyon.

View from our campsite.

While moving rocks to hold down my ground cloth, a scorpion surprises me.

It seemed much larger.

I relocate the scorpion up the canyon. But are there other scorpions lurking under other rocks? I figure there is only one way to find out! And proceed to turn over all the rocks in the area. But how far do scorpions roam? I widen my circle as the sun goes down. As M. set us her tent. A tent with a full zipper and netting. Scorpion-proof. Oh why did I opt for a tarp with no bug netting?!

As I turn over more rocks, suddenly, I feel something tickle my arm. Later, M. says that she’s never seen anyone rip of clothes so fast. I toss my hoodie and shirt to the ground and examine every inch of my arm. Nothing. Nothing on my clothes either. Then I notice the metal snaps on my shirt. Ah the power of the imagination to turn a snap into a scorpion.

Just like a scorpion welcome-mat.

M. points up and says, “Look at the bats!” And we joke about how they are certainly the types of bats that eat scorpions (i.e. pallid bats). Even though I don’t really know how to distinguish bat species. And somehow the idea of protective bats flying about lets me sleep deeply without fear of scorpions in the night.

Rain arrives the next morning.

The ever-changing weather of springtime.

But then the sky clears again.

Nearly there.

Back at the top, M. remarks how much her perspective of the canyon has changed after experiencing the full depth of the canyon on foot and seeing what it looks like from down below. I am reminded how many people don't have all the time to see more than the overlooks. And I am once again grateful for my extended time here and for the joys of sharing this place with friends.

Back to the high point.

Solo backpacking in canyon country

Sometimes I just want to spend vast quantities of time traveling inordinately short distances (as the crow flies anyway).

Creeping along the edge.

Is this a way down?

Where the methods of locomotion involve crab walking and butt scooting. Where you can stop and look at everything. Like examining the spines of the prickly pears close up and watching the evening shadows drifting across the landscape.

The shorter, more numerous spines of a cactus are called glochids. Unlike the larger, easy to see spines, glochids are barbed and easily break apart so are nearly impossible to dislodge.

Shadows drifting across the canyoncountry.

Doing the Ledge Shimmy.

Winter seems to invite such types of travel. Ice makes me even inclined not to rush anything. Complete lack of people makes me feel more free to explore.

Snow/ slickrock.

My time isn't as vast as I'd like. I have to work Saturday morning so I don't get to the trailhead until afternoon. But slowing down and having solo time makes it seem more expansive. Normally the late start would annoy me, but I’m grateful for the extra hours of pay. Even though the government shutdown is now over, it will still take a while to get our paperwork though to get us hired back.

Utah ice skating rink/ swimming hole.

I head up a canyon and get my tent set up about an hour before sunset. Enough time to play on the rocks. I find a slickrock superhighway and follow it around twists and turns. I relish the feel of rock beneath my feet. The highway gets narrower and becomes a ledge, then opens up again. I love not knowing what will happen or if it will dead-end or if I will be able to go forever.

Following slickrock.

Surreal evening light reflected in a pothole.

The rock continues all the way out to a point where I can see forever. The La Sals, the Blues, and even ISKY.  Such expansiveness.

I love these long nights where I can zip into my sleeping bag by 5:30 PM. The forecast calls for lows in the upper teens and low twenties. Cold enough that my eyeballs feel like they are going to freeze. For the first 2 hours, I always wonder if I will be warm enough. But then something magic happens and I am snug and toasty. I drift off to sleep listening to “Podcasts with Park Rangers” which restores my faith in human goodness and makes everything seem right with the world.

In the morning I play “I wonder what’s up this side canyon” and “I wonder if I can climb up to that alcove.” Two of my favorite games. I realize I've spent all day going a handful of miles as the crow flies. Perfect!

I can!

So many possibilities.

 Views that make me want to go everywhere.

There is no one at the trailhead when I get back. Such a rare thing for the Needles. But I'm not complaining.

Not so solo

Bubbling voices and laughter echo down the canyon. I’ve stashed my tent and gear at my designated campsite, and have repacked for an afternoon of dayhiking. Just as I’m about to rejoin the main trail, I hesitate and consider staying out of sight so I don’t have to interact with the two hikers. Then I hear “JOAN!” and I look up and realize they are my friends/ coworkers!  I hadn’t heard where they’d decided to hike when I’d left work the previous day, but turned out we’d all decided on the same area. Perfect timing!

And we even find someone to take our picture all together.

Of course I wanted to tag along with them. Where were they going? Oh the Joint Trail/ Chesler Park loop, that’d be great.

Still laughing.

All that laughter I’d heard when I first encountered them wasn’t just a one time occurrence. Soon I am laughing too. Oh how I love hiking with people who “oh and ah” at everything and stop at every view and say that it’s like we are in a painting!

Painting-like landscapes.

It’s A.’s first time to the Needles and when we reach the 8-mile mark, we celebrate and congratulate her because this is also the longest hike she’s ever done. Way to go!

Arches

Portals

A. and E. start laughing again and they tell me they’d been listening to a podcast on the drive down (This American Life’s RomCom episode) and they can’t stop giggling about it. I check to see if it's one I've downloaded and sure enough it is. So I tuck it away for later. 

Haha snow.

Late in the afternoon, I listen to their laughter fading up the canyon as I head back to my campsite, alone. A. and E. are heading back home to warm beds and hot food. I’ve got my usual peanut butter and tortilla (no stove). Forecast said 18 degrees. The sky gets dark with clouds and the clouds fill my brain with dark thoughts.

I climb above camp. Scrambling up the rocks to watch the sunset normally makes me feel more relaxed. But the higher I climb the colder and more biting the wind is.

Up above camp.

Then higher still.

I get up high enough that I have signal so I check the weather and it says the low tonight will be 9 degrees and 30% chance of snow, which is even worse than I’d thought. My hands go numb from the icy wind that cuts right through me. As I scramble down, I get lightheaded and realize I need to eat more but I don’t have any extra food since I cut it to save weight.

Nothing about this is fun and sheesh how did I get up here?

There is nothing to do but get back to camp and get into the sleeping bag and not get more chilled than I already am. 

I totally miss sunset.

As I wait to see if I will freeze to death or not, I remember the podcast and put in my earbuds and press “play”.

Soon, I am shaking with laughter. Full on belly laughs. Then silent bouncing laughter. And rolling on my side laughter. Maybe it's not all that funny, but I am laughing too at the joy that comes from sharing a day with friends, and for the absurdity of being alone on a cold night and having it be the best and worst experience at the same time. Before I know it, my sleeping bag is toasty warm and the wind dies down and I fall fast asleep. 

When I wake to the sound of graupel hitting the tent, I’m so warm I don’t care and I just roll over and go back to sleep.

Not much graupel. Just loud.

Sunrise the next morning makes up for my lack of a sunset. The canyon wrens sing their song as if it’s spring.
 


Instead of heading back, I decide to check out a few trails I’ve never seen. My legs are more tired than they ought to be, but I’m still only 6 and a half weeks out from the surgery. 

I check out the Devil's Pocket Loop, which is awesome because you walk through a grabens (which is fun to say, and cool geologically too). Also there is a privy at Devil's Pocket campground, so if you time it right, you won't have to use your wagbag. Win!

Then I decide I might as well take the long way back since that’s all I need to complete all the marked trails in the Needles and ISKY. A little goal I’d been working towards. I am also thrilled when I realize I hiked 10 miles the first day and 12 miles the second day. Goals are arbitrary, but still satisfying nonetheless.

Laughter on this trip gave the extra boost that was needed. Life is so much better with chance meetings and silliness.

More information
Backcountry permits are required for camping in Canyonlands National Park. My route the first day in blue and the second day is shown in pink. I camped in EC1, which was not my favorite since it was so exposed but it had a good scramble spot and it was also nice to stroll down Elephant Canyon (north) from camp for a bit.