From Bryce to Boulder—and Hell's Backbone Bridge

I’m feeling homesick tonight, but I’ve had a wonderful few days.

Saturday, 11/3, was my last day in the Bryce Canyon area. I decided to go for a hike in Red Canyon, a nearby park that is part of Dixie National Forest. The Golden Wall trail, recommended to me by a Bryce Canyon ranger, took me in and out of three canyons over about six miles. It took me a good five hours, and was really fun. It was the first day since the beginning of the trip that I was able to hike without substantial discomfort, and so I felt lightfooted and happy. It may have been the particular combination of bandaids, moleskin, and adhesive tape on my blistered heel, or that the arthritis in my left foot was at bay. But my gait felt natural and easy and it was great fun going through the canyons.

Once again, I hardly ran into anyone – just one couple eating lunch along the trail. The path wound along the edges of red rock mountains, and was often hard for me to identify. Imagine walking a long a mountainside covered with red rocks, sized anywhere from gravel to boulders. The path is about 12 inches wide and not really level, covered with slightly smaller gravel than the surrounding area. It’s easy to get diverted by gullies that look just like the trail, or by following footsteps created by hikers who took detours. I found myself off the trail at least four times and had to retrace my steps to find it again. The signposts in this part of Red Canyon are not very helpful; I’d hike for two miles and come upon a little wooden sign that read “TRAIL.” Following a path that, according to the map, formed part of a big loop, I found myself at the summit of a mountain in front of a sign that said “TRAIL END.” Grateful to have a reasonably good sense of direction, I managed to find my way back to civilization before sundown.

Sunday morning I packed up and left Ruby’s Inn to begin my drive eastward to Boulder, Utah. My route took me along Scenic Byway 12, an amazing feat of engineering that carries you along narrow, winding ridges through sandstone cliffs. The 30-mile segment between Escalante and Boulder is considered one of the most beautiful highways in the country. Glad to have only an 80-mile trip from Bryce to Boulder, I took my time, enjoyed the views, and stopped at two parks en route for hikes. An interpretive sign at one vista claimed that it was one of the largest areas of wilderness anywhere on the continent, and that if you came there on a moonless night you would see no artificial light at all, for hundreds of miles.

My first stop was at Kodachrome State Park, twenty miles or so east of Bryce. I took a trail and once again lost it several times. But a nice man and woman from Wyoming were sharper than me and kept finding the trail that I lost. They were moving to Phoenix; they said they didn’t like the Wyoming wind anymore.

My second stop was Escalante State Park, which is known for its abundant petrified wood. I didn’t really know what was special about petrified wood until I saw it there; it looks more like rock than wood and is colored like gemstones. The hike I took led me up and down a mountain dotted with bench-sized hunks of this colorful wood.

I arrived at Boulder Mountain Lodge and discovered it to be a lovely, rustic ecotourism spot. Quiet and nicely blending with the surrounding landscape of mountains and farms, it is simple and quiet but extremely comfortable. The grounds include an 11-acre bird sanctuary that comes right up to my porch. The ducks are diving for dinner and the grasses are golden. On the property is the Hell’s Backbone Grill, a destination restaurant (if you’re in southern Utah) specializing in local organic food. Boulder is a tiny town, with just a couple hundred residents; it was the last town in the United States to receive its mail by pack mule.

Last night I went to the Grill and ordered the pork chop, which was the best pork chop I have ever eaten. It actually tasted like meat. I am certain that this pig spent its days grazing the hills and its nights watching HBO on Demand. It was a happy, juicy, flavorful pig. Tonight I went back to the restaurant for dinner but was disappointed; perhaps Monday nights the chef is off. The meal was fine but not memorable, and seemed overpriced.

Today I hiked the Lower Calf Creek Falls trail, which is well known in this area and tends to attract large crowds in the summertime. Today, however, there were just a few people, and the walk was beautiful. It ran along the bank of Calf Creek, inside a big, grassy valley surrounded by those outrageous Utah mountains. As I began the hike I encountered a sign that warned: “RATTLESNAKES LIVE HERE. Give them a wide berth and do not attempt to pick them up.”

So counterintuitive! My guidebook elaborated: “If you come across a dead or decapitated rattlesnake, do not touch it. Reflex snakebites are as damaging as those from a live snake,” It went on in encouraging tones: “Do not let your fear of rattlesnakes deter you from enjoying this beautiful landscape.”

I carefully followed the directions to avoid blindly reaching behind any rocks, and all went well. The trail was sunny and beautiful; the waterfall at the end of the trail was breathtaking. Crashing from a high mountain, it flowed into a clear pool at the bottom and ran on to form Calf Creek. Trout swam in the clear waters. Out on the trail it was hot and bright; by the falls it was cool and windy, a whole different climate. People put on the fleece jackets they’d been carrying in their packs, and no one, including me, stayed in there to eat lunch. But it was lovely to be there.

After the hike, which was about six miles, I decided to take a ride on Hell’s Backbone Road. The entire route runs for 45 miles through the Box-Death Hollow Wilderness (cheerful!); it’s especially known for the Hell’s Backbone Bridge, a 1930s construction feat that bridges a 9,000-foot high crevasse that looks like a giant gash in the earth. The bridge is exactly wide enough for one car, and hangs across a vast chasm. I drove about fifteen miles from Boulder to the bridge; it was impossible, on the gravel road, to go much faster than 20MPH. The road twisted along the rim of the mountains, rarely wide enough for two cars to pass each other, and climbed higher and higher. The temperature dropped twenty degrees during my ride up the mountain, which took close to an hour. I never passed another car during my trip, which scared me a little but was also a relief, since I couldn’t imagine how we’d get by one another. At the bridge I parked and walked around, overwhelmed by the chasm below that is so appropriately named Hell’s Backbone. The drive took a lot of courage for me, and total concentration; I stopped just before crossing the bridge. The sun was setting and I had no idea how much farther I’d have to drive before finding another place to turn around. I didn’t want to be on that road in the dark. I executed the most careful three-point-turn of my life, moving in tiny increments to keep away from the cliff edge. I’m sure that locals take Hell’s Backbone Road in stride; I was holding my breath the whole time. Seeing the view from the bridge was really worth it.

Tomorrow morning, I leave Boulder and head out to Capitol Reef National Park in Torrey, UT.