A Day at Bryce Canyon National Park

05/12/26

Woke up. Coughed. Rolled around. Checked the news. Ain't nothin' interesting on the news. Same old, same old. Gotta dig for the interesting stuff. Gotta put in some effort. But my eyes have grown accustomed to the sensational, homogenized, sterilized, quick-read, low energy headliner stories that require little to no effort to read. So I remained prostrate in bed, scrolling and scrolling and scrolling, no effort, no emotion, the tone set, the day slipping away. 

I was feelin' lazy. Didn't feel like doing anything stupidly difficult. Might as well go for a drive. Yeah. Go for a drive. See some places I ain't seen. Maybe see some places I have seen, but not for a long, long time. Alrighty then. It was settled. 

So I grabbed the essentials: day pack, two liters of water, mixed nuts, emergency GPS, hat, sunglasses, and a teency-weency internal desire to not let the day go completely to waste. Walked out the door. Started up the car. Ahh yeah. Time to go.

On the road, driving down the highway, the dotted yellow lines zooming on by. I drove into Zion National Park. Just drove right through it. I've been spending far too much time there. Ain't goin' there today. Nope, nope, nope. Just drivin' through it. Off through the west entrance, off through the tunnel, drivin' on the east side, a herd of bighorn sheep chillin' on the slickrock. Ohh. That's why everyone's stopped in the middle of the road. Gotta look at the sheep. Just gotta look at the sheep. Maybe take a picture. Take two pictures! Why not twelve? Hell yeah. And let's stop traffic for a good five minutes. Yup. That's a grand idea...

I digress. Got a little too passionate back there. I apologize. Gotta keep things cool, calm, and collected. Just like this damn drive. Oh yeah. The damn drive. Wheels turning, stereo bumpin'. Down State Route 9, the late morning nice and relaxed, the grass nice and green, the sky nice and blue. A good day, a lovely day. 

Hit the junction with Hwy 89. Mt. Carmel, Orderville, Glendale, Hatch. Tired little towns, sleepy little towns, towns with hardly anyone out and about, towns whose very existence is a big ol' fat question mark. Who goes to these towns? Better yet, who lives in these towns? What do they do all day? Move dirt from one side of the road to the other? Dig a hole? Drive a tractor? I can only guess. I passed through these towns like a fart in the wind; my presence ephemeral, fleeting, my knowledge of these places solely constructed out of fleeting images and quick visual snapshots. 

Windows down. Windows down the whole way. Radio loud. Almost as loud as the wind screaming through the open windows. Singing along to the songs. Screaming along to the songs. Checking the mirrors. Letting the local Utah speed freaks pass me by in their big ol' trucks. Clean air. Cool air. And then a sign for Bryce Canyon National Park. Well hot damn. There's a place I ain't seen for a fat minute. So I flicked on the blinker and made a right and drove up State Route 12, the scenery gorgeous, the gas prices obscene.

And there were peaks in the distance. Little peaks. Rugged little peaks. And there was a sign for the Dixie National Forest and I hooked another right and pulled into a parking area to a place I ain't ever been before. Bryce Canyon can wait. This looked mighty interesting.

Thunder Mountain trailhead. What could be up there? Only one way to find out. I hopped out of the car and immediately hit the trail, my legs stiff from the long drive. Dusty trail, sandy trail, bike tracks on the trail, horse tracks on the trail, horse poop on the trail, horse piss on the trail. I walked along, my legs loosening up, the temps hovering in the low 80's, the scenery fantastic; just me, the red dirt, the silent pines, the meandering trail and the occasional steaming pile of horse dookie. 

Along the Thunder Mountain trail

Very nice

A meandering trail, a fine trail. Followed it to a junction. Turned left. Started walking amongst some hoodoos. Not a person to be seen. And then there were these switchbacks and I gained a ridge of sorts and the trail zoomed along the ridgeline and the views came into play now, red rocks and little bitty hoodoos here, distant, snow-dusted peaks over there. Far over there. Really far over there. They got their own thing goin' on over there. Ain't payin' no mind to these red rock freaks. 

And I passed another junction and kept on goin' straight and I went up and up and up and encountered some folks on horseback and then some folks on bikeback and then I saw these two particular hoodoos, interesting lookin' hoodoos, the kind that make you wonder how they got their shape and why they're still there and what they've been doing all these years. Weird lookin' hoodoos, delicate lookin' hoodoos. Looked like you could just push 'em over. But this was not possible. You'd need some heavy machinery to push these bad boys over. Them's have stood the test of time. They ain't goin nowhere anytime soon.

And I decided to leave the trail at this point, heading towards a summit in the distance. I figured this to be the fabled "Thunder Mountain" of which the trail was named. Well, figure ain't exactly the right word. I'd taken a gander at peakbagger.com a little while back and found out about a peak called Thunder Mountain near Bryce Canyon National Park. Looked at some trip reports, saw some photos. Kept them things in the back of my mind. Saved 'em for a rainy day. And though it certainly wasn't raining when I went, they sure helped out a lot in getting me to the summit. So "figure" definitely ain't the right word. "Knew" would be a lot better. A brief off-trail romp from the peculiar hoodoos later, and I was on the manzanita-encrusted summit, the thing unremarkable, not a slice of thunder to be seen.

View from Thunder Mountain 

Not a whole lotta views. Went west. Better views west. Sat down. Drank some water. Looked at the red rocks, the green pines, the brown horizon, the dark mountains, the blue sky, the puffy white clouds in the sky. Not too bad, not too bad at all. But I had a day to kill and I certainly wasn't gonna spend it posted up on Thunder Mountain, as pleasant as that may have been. And so I took one last look around, gathered my things, and then retraced my steps off the mountain. Walked by the peculiar hoodoos. Met more folks on horseback and bikeback. Saw more horse poop. Saw more horse piss. Lots of dust. Disturbed dust. My shoes were coated in the stuff by the time I got back to the parking lot, the shins of my pants coated as well. I patted them off. Got in the car. Kept on drivin'. 

The peculiar hoodoos

Down the road, off to a roundabout, through Bryce Canyon City, the place poppin', people out and about, shuttle busses runnin' nonstop. And then I saw the ranger kiosks and I was finally in the park and I had a map and I looked at the map while drivin' down the road and I figured I might as well just drive to the end of the road and then stop at various points of interest on the way back.

So I drove all the way to Rainbow Point, the highpoint of the park. Lots of people at Rainbow Point. Small lot, too many cars. I drove around and around and around the small lot, cars leaving, cars nabbin' spots, cars with their hazards on, cars parked illegally, everything hectic, my patience wearing thin. I drove around for eight minutes until finally gettin' a spot. Hallelujah. I parked, hopped out, and then kinda just wandered around.

Stopped at Yovimpa Point first. Nothing much going on there. And then I hit the Bristlecone Loop and moseyed on over to Rainbow Benchmark, a small, uninteresting lookin' bump in the distance. I left the trail, following a use trail of sorts through the forest, the wind blowin' in normal intervals, no animals to be seen, at least none extroverted enough to want to be seen by human eyes. 

Rainbow Benchmark

I pranced through the woods, hit the incline, skirted on up to the summit. Found the benchmark. Touched it. Stood around. Hands on the hips. Yep. Decent little summit this one is. Decent. Not terribly interesting, but that was okay. I took a brief look around, touched the benchmark again with the tip of my index finger, and then set off back towards the trail. 

On the trail, the wind whipping in brief gusts as if the sky was belching the abc's, and I felt something sticky on my bum and the thing was covered in sap. Got sap on the khakis. Dang flabbit. How that happened I do not know. Didn't sit down on no sappy tree. Didn't walk by no sappy tree. Where'd this dang sap come from? Perhaps it manifested itself into reality; a spontaneous materialization, a blip in the space-time continuum, a hole in the fabric of existence, a perfect alignment of quantum entanglement that said, "Ahh yes, lets put a whole bunch of sap on this guy's khaki's for absolutely no reason at all." I don't know. Now I gotta buy some rubbing alcohol. Oh well.

Anywho, I walked along, sappy butt and dusty shoes, following the trail back to Rainbow Point. Still a lot of people at Rainbow Point. Pictures, poses, more pictures, more poses. I walked around, trying to find the true highpoint. And then I walked over to a viewpoint, lookin' out at the hoodoos. I saw a pointy, white, tiny ol' rise in the distance. The road went right by this thing; I recall seeing it on the way up. "Peak 9009." Very small. Barely even a "peak." But standing at that viewpoint I made up my mind, right then and there, that that would be the first pit stop on the drive back. 

View from Rainbow Point

Back in the car, driving down the road, away from all the riff-raff. And I found me a pullout and I didn't even grab my pack; just hiked straight up the thing. There was a use trail that led to the summit. Steep little thing, a bit of loose rock near the top, nothing too crazy. I stood on the summit, looked around. Yup. Same views I'd seen at Rainbow Point, although this time Rainbow Point was in the picture. How fantastic. Satisfied, I walked back down the use trail, back to the car. The whole thing took less than five minutes, up and down. The briefest "hike" to a "summit" I've ever done in my life. Don't ever see myself returning to this spot. It really ain't worth it in my opinion.

Peak 9009

Rainbow Point from Peak 9009

Down the road, coastin', windows down, the radio not as loud this time. Gotta be respectful. And I stopped the Natural Bridge with everyone else. How I found a spot, I do not know. The thing was packed. Cars, tour busses, motorcycles galore. I hopped out, stood behind a wall of people. Stood on my tippy toes. Saw the arch. Looked exactly as I remembered it. And then I hopped back in the car and kept on drivin', the sun slowly falling from the sky, itty bitty clouds breakin' up and turnin' into ittier, bittier little clouds. 

And then I stopped at Farview Point. Not a whole lotta people there. Saw the view. A far view indeed. Aptly named place, that's for sure. And then I followed a short lil' trail off to Piracy Point. Same views, same sky, same pines, same, same same. No pirates. Not a single one. 

And then it was off and away to Sunset Point, the most crowded spot of all. As luck would have it, I managed to find me a spot right next to the trailhead. Perhaps the sap was a good luck charm. Who's to say. I walked along the trail, saw the point. Lots of people. People everywhere. And then I got it in my mind to do a little ol' loop. Walk amongst the hoodoos. See some stuff I ain't seen in a good long time.

So I hit the rim trail and followed it to Sunrise Point, took some pictures, hoodoos everywhere. Saw Boat Mesa in the distance. I'd have to hit that later. Now it was time for a walk. A brief walk. A brief walk on a good trail in good weather with good views.

View from Sunrise Point

Boat Mesa from Sunrise Point

Down the trail, descending, walking off the rim and into the hoodoos. Hoodoos, hoodoos, hoodoos. Them's are the main attraction. It's what's on all the T-shirts and hats and mugs and stickers and pens and doodads and whatchamacallits in the visitor center. These things are world famous. Genuine celebrities. So I acted like the paparazzi and took pictures of them without their consent, descending the trail, down, down, down, snapping photo after photo, the lighting perfect, good vibes for all to be had.

And I walked along, shoes still dusty, butt still covered in sap. Followed the signs, followed the people. Made it to Wall Street. Yep. Looked exactly as I remembered it. Hadn't been there for a while so I stopped for a minute or two and gazed at the towering cliffs on either side of me, gazing at the thing blue streak of sky up above, everything obscured in shadow, everything nice and cool. And then it was time to hit the switchbacks and I zoomed on up the things and stopped at Sunset Point once again at the top, lookin' out at the tippity tops of the proliferous hoodoos. 

Wall Street

And I still wasn't entirely done just yet, so I decided to make the brief walk to Inspiration Point. I'd seen it from down below. Looked like a worthy spot. Looked like it would have some good views. So I put one foot in front of the other, walking along the rim trail, passing people, people passing me, the crowds thinning out, the day wrapping up.

And then I ran into a coworker who was just coming back from Inspiration Point. Golly gee willikers. What are the chances of that happening? About as much as getting sap on your butt if I had to guess. 

We talked for a bit, mostly of how weird it was to run into each other at this random spot on a Tuesday, wished each other well, and then set off on our separate ways. I made it to Inspiration Point. A European family was up there. They took pictures of each kid. Took pictures of each adult. Took combos of adults and kids, every possible combination. And then they took pictures of nobody at all. Just the views. 

I snapped a photo, looked around. Inspiration Point. What a spot, what a spot. Gotta admit, I felt a lil' inspired standing there. Inspired to climb Boat Mesa. I saw it in the distance. And so I walked on back to the parking lot and drove on over there, stopping at the visitor center for a quick whizz and snack break.

View from Inspiration Point. How inspiring...

And I drove out of the park and made a right towards Fairyland Point and there was a guy runnin' on the road with a headband and these expensive lookin' runnin' shoes and he was movin' like the wind and I rode on by him and I half expected him to keep up he was movin' so fast. But he didn't. The man was only human after all. 

Hit the parkin' lot, got out of the car, the guy showed up, kept on runnin' down the trail. I moseyed on over to Fairyland Point, found the highpoint, and then turned around and set my sights on Boat Mesa. Found me a use trail, took it to the top. Yep. Looked exactly as I expected. Wide, flattish, covered in brush, a noticeable highpoint nowhere top be seen. 

Boat Mesa

I wandered around, bobbin' and weavin' through the brush. Moseyed on over to the southwest side, descended a bit, took a picture of the view. And then it was back to wandering around, trying to find the highpoint. I found three good contenders, but I suppose I'd need a GPS in order to confirm. Strava wasn't exactly cutting it. Didn't have no service. 

A seldom seen view from Boat Mesa

And then it was back down the use trail, back to the parkin' lot, back down the road, off into the sunset. Drivin' and drivin' and drivin', windows down the whole way, radio turned to max volume. Drove on through Hatch, Glendale. Saw a guy drivin' a tractor in Orderville. Movin' dirt from one side of the road to the other. Saw another guy diggin' a hole. And I drove slow and turned off the radio and listened to the sounds of the town. Quiet town. No sounds to be heard. Was tempted to stop at a restaurant but checked my wallet and went "naw" and just kept on drivin', down into Mt. Carmel, out onto State Route 9, back through Zion, off and away into the evening. 

Got home. Took off my dusty shoes. Threw the sappy pants in the corner. Had me a nice shower. Cleaned up my dirty, dirty feet. What a day, what a day. Hadn't been to Bryce since July of 2021. And you know what? Looked exactly the same. Ain't nothin' changed. 

Wandering Around Checkerboard Mesa on a Tuesday Afternoon

05/05/26

I drove into Springdale on an empty stomach and purchased a couple bolillo rolls, a bag of trail mix and three big ol' cinnamon rolls. Most of that stuff was for me; the cinnamon rolls were for sharing. What am I, a glutton? Apparently so. I met up with Anner, offered him a cinnamon roll. He declined the offer. Unlike me, he'd responsibly consumed a large, healthy breakfast earlier that morning. I remember saying something like "Are you sure? These things are pretty good!" And he politely declined once again and so we drove off towards the east rim of Zion National Park, me stuffing my face the whole way. 

An excessive amount of carbs and sugar later and we had arrived at our destination: Checkerboard Mesa. We pulled into a small pullout at the base of the famous northeast face, the thing splattered with lines arranged this way and that, not exactly perfect squares but pretty dang close all things considered. I left the last remaining cinnamon roll in the backseat, straightened the tie, and then the two of us set off onto the colorful slickrock, wandering towards a steep looking gully to the south. 

Checkerborad Mesa

Entering the gully; we hiked to the saddle on the right

The itinerary for the day was to wander around and climb as many summits as possible. Checkerboard Mesa was first on the list. One of the most iconic formations in Zion National Park, Checkerboard Mesa is more known for its interestingly patterned northeast face rather its summit. There's a climbing route that directly ascends the face, but, as enticing as it looked, we had to give it a pass since neither one of us had any gear, let alone a rope. And so we were left to wandering east of the mountain, entering a steep, tree-filled, brushy-lookin' gully.

Cool springtime colors, smooth springtime lighting, fresh springtime air. New oak leaves, soft and silky and brilliantly green. Stately pines, rugged cliffs, slippery rocks. What a day, what a day. We trudged up the gully, finding a use trail of sorts. Sometimes it was obvious, sometimes not so much. We decided to follow it most of the way, leaving the gully at one point and side-hillin' it to the east. And then the use trail dumped back into the gully and we kept on trudgin' up and up, the going steep, a wee bit loose. We took frequent breaks, enjoying the peaceful scenery all around us. Kinda reminded me of Lodge Canyon on the approach to Mountain of the Sun. Quiet, secluded, up and away from all the hullabaloo zooming up and down SR-9. And we continued on and hiked through some spacious brush and finally made it to the saddle, views finally opening up to the south, a game camera posted on a tree. We saw it, did some silly poses, and then hiked west, climbing up above the mesa rim. 

Hiking up the gully

View south from the saddle

The use trail petered out once we were atop the mesa rim. Wide, flat, brushy, expansive. Yep. Sure was a mesa top alright. Heading north woulda revealed some pretty awesome views, but we were summit hungry and bounded off to the south to gain the highpoint. A flat, somewhat brushy walk atop the mesa ensued, the views few and far between. Eventually we saw a bump in the distance and figured it to be the highpoint. We climbed up the thing, reached the summit. No benchmark, no register, no footprints, nothing. Just a bunch of scattered rocks and sand and dirt and scraggily pines and decent views of Parunuweap Canyon to the southwest and the slightly taller, more interesting-lookin' "Crazy Quilt Mesa" directly in front of us, rising due west of the summit. We sat down in the shade, drank some water, pointed out various landmarks. And then it was time to go and we retraced our steps back to the saddle and set off to our next destination: Artifact Mesa.

The highpoint

Southwest

"Crazy Quilt Mesa" and the higher peaks of Zion

Heading back down to the saddle, view south

Back at the saddle, we headed east, climbing up some fairly steep terrain to the top of yet another mesa. Unlike Checkerboard, this one was wayyy more flat. Hardly a highpoint to be seen. And so we wandered to the south, careful to avoid patches of cryptobiotic soil, searching for a highpoint of sorts. We saw a slight rise, the top covered with broken, crumbly white rocks. Was this the "summit?" Perhaps. We continued wandering south, heading slightly downhill. Yep. That was the summit alright. Retracing our steps brought us back to the unremarkable place, the views minimal, Checkerboard Mesa dominating most of the scene. We didn't linger too long up there. Onwards to the next objective, the ominously-named "Misery Peak."

Checkerboard Mesa from Artifact Mesa

Heading over to "Misery Peak," seen center

Didn't have no route, didn't have no plan. We saw it in the distance, a brush-bespeckled bump. And we kinda just wandered over there, walking atop the mesa rim, meandering through trees and shrubs the whole way through. And then we descended a bit and entered a land of sagebrush and pine and the rocks sounded like broken shards of pottery and we wandered through the fragrant sage and Anner stuck a piece in his nose so he could smell it with every single breath. And then we began heading up again, walking upon loose dirt and crumbly rock, the brush not too bad, the views beginning to emerge all around us. 

"Misery Canyon"

The East Rim of Zion National Park

Saw "Misery Canyon" off to the south. Saw SR-9, a tiny reddish line cutting through the landscape, cars running along like so many little beetles. Saw the peaks of the east rim, saw the West Temple rising wayyy off over yonder, towering over everything, keeping an eye on things. And we continued up and up and the views diminished and we eventually made it to the wide, flat summit, the thing pretty unremarkable in my opinion. No benchmark, no register, no sign of any recent human visitation. Standing on the summit, not one of us could figure out why this peak earned the moniker of "misery;" the thing was actually quite pleasant truth be told. Perhaps there's another way to reach the summit that's a whole lot worse. Who's to say. We didn't wanna find out.

Instead, we ventured off the summit to the southwest, finding a spot amongst the square-shaped rocks with an excellent view of "Misery Canyon." We sat down, soaked up the ultraviolets. I ate an expired ProBar, Anner munched on some grapes. We lingered a moment or two, talking of various things, the conversation ephemeral, nothing but auditory vibrations slowly spilling from our dry lips and evaporating into the empty air.  

"Misery Peak" summit

A better view of "Misery Canyon"

And then the conversation came to a close and it was time to head on back. We retraced our steps, followed our footprints, boot-skied down the steep parts, took our time on the rocks that sounded like broken shards of pottery. Those things sounded so nice, so nice. Tickled the brain. Made the legs go fuzzy. And we walked into the sage again and then climbed back up atop the mesas and wandered in and amongst the pines. Found a deer skeleton. Stumbled upon a freshly killed rabbit. Thing was just lyin' there with a gash leakin' blood. Not even the flies had found it yet. Whatever killed it had done it very, very recently. Was probably watchin' us right then and there, wishing us to just go away so it could finish its lunch. And that's exactly what we did. 

We breezed on past the dead rabbit, climbed back down to the saddle, picked up the use trail, followed it through brush and trees and silky green oak leaves and dust and dirt. And we lost it for a minute, side-hillin' just a tad too high. But no matter. Slid on back down into the gully, following it the rest of the way to the pullout. 

Heading back down the use trail...

Into the gully...

Threw the packs in the car. Sat down. Drank some water. I grabbed the cinnamon bun. Thing smelled damn good. I offered it to Anner. The man still declined. "How about half?" "Nope." "Alright, it's going away forever." And I shoved it down my gullet and we drove off down the road, finding another pullout and beginning the hike to our next destination: Antler Point.

On the way to Antler Point

Didn't really know how to get there. I glanced at the map the day prior and saw a canyon in between Checkerboard and Crazy Quilt Mesa that looked like it led to a saddle. Antler Point sat a tad to the south from this saddle. Seemed like it was an easy walk. Seemed. Looks can be deceiving, especially on a map. We'd have to see the terrain for ourselves, put an image to all those crazy contour lines. 

And so we hiked into the canyon, steep and precipitous sandstone walls towering above us. This thing was much more scenic than the gully that led to the saddle between Checkerboard and Artifact Mesa. Much longer, much larger, more open, more "wild." We sauntered on through, avoiding pools of water, sticking to a well-worn use trail most of the way. Why such a well-worn use trail existed in a canyon such as this is beyond me. Perhaps it leads to something interesting. I don't know. Certainly didn't lead to Antler Point, that's for sure. 

Sauntering though the canyon

The saddle appears

Looking back at the canyon from the saddle

Antler Point from the saddle

Clouds began to inhabit the infinite expanse of blue above our heads, casting dark shadows on the precipitous walls around us. We continued along, following the use trail as it snaked its way up the canyon. The saddle came into view, the whole thing painted in shadow from an overhead cloud. Nearly there, nearly there. And we approached the base of the saddle and the use trail kinda disappeared for a moment, but sticking to the right seemed to do the trick and we found it once again and followed it the rest of the way to the top. Once there, we could see our destination rising in the distance, shining bright in the afternoon sunlight, still a good ways off. We took a small break, snapped some photos, and then proceeded down the saddle, leaving a couple cairns on the ground for our return. 

Off the saddle, down the use trail, walking from shadow to sun to shadow. The use trail curved to the left and we decided to leave it at this point, traversing across some colorful sandstone, making a beeline towards antler point. Through slickrock and sand we climbed farther and farther, eventually cresting a small rise and getting our first close look of our destination. Still a ways off. Man. This thing plays tricks on the mind. No matter how far we went, the thing never looked any closer.

Leaving the use trail, heading across slickrock

Lookin' back

Antler Point

But like all mountains, Antler Point is simply mound of earth and stone and not an illusion of the mind that one cannot reach. Putting one foot in front of the other got us there soon enough, the two of us scampering up to the top lickety split. There was one, very brief section of easy class 3 near the summit; this can likely be avoided. But we were impatient and kinda worn out from the sandy, brushy trek through the high desert and a bit of scrambling simply seemed like the most pleasant thing in the world at that point. So we scampered on up the stone, obtained the pointy summit, no register, no benchmark, no sign of any recent human visitation, no indication whatsoever as to why this peak earned the moniker "Antler Point." 

A strong breeze kicked up, clouds raced across the sky to the north, the things big and dark and vomiting rain in short little bursts, bumbling around the sky in a lackadaisical manner. Storm clouds they were, storm clouds with a heavy hangover. Nothing much to worry about. We didn't pay them no mind. 

Easy (probably avoidable) class 3

Nippletop and Co. from Antler Point

Parunuweap Canyon

East

Crazy Quilt (left) and Checkerboard (right)

Everything was sunshine and brightness off to the east, west and south, the colors of the desert dazzling and vibrant, the views of the surrounding country the best we'd seen all day. We lingered for a few moments, snapped more photos. Coulda stayed there the whole rest of the afternoon. But there was more to see, more to do. I asked Anner if he was down for one more summit. He looked around, shrugged, and said "yeah." And so we gathered our things, said goodbye to Antler Point, and continued our aimless wandering through the high desert, moseying along through sand and dirt and and gullies and hillocks and brush and pines and sticks and cactus and flowers and animal footprints and thorns and pokey things and soft things, hard things, slippery sandstone, colorful sandstone, sandstone with lines in it, sandstone so brittle you could break off a piece and crumble it into dust between your fingers.

Wandering towards "Artifact Arch Peak"

And what was it that we were wandering to? Where were our desert ramblings taking us? What was this final summit of the day? Artifact Arch Peak. That's what. Seldom visited. Hardly known. Not too prominent, not too noticeable. Just a big ol' mound of crumbly sandstone. As we wandered over to it I began to feel some slight apprehension. Its west face looked sketchy as all get out. Super steep, super crumbly. If the rest of the mountain looked like that, then there was a good chance it might've been out of the cards for the day.

But mountains are peculiar and where one side is terrifying the other could be completely mellow. Artifact Arch Peak was no different. Anner and I climbed up out of a wash, wrapped around the southern side of the peak, and then began ascending it from the southeast. A wee bit steep, but nothing too insane. We wrapped around to the east, found a steep, wide gully of sorts, the terrain on this side much more agreeable, the going no worse than class 2. Loose, steep, crumbly class 2, but class 2 nonetheless. Aha. We were gonna make it. 

Ascending from the southeast

Class 2 on the east side

Heading up the last little chunk to the summit

Onward and upward. We gained a ridge, following it north to the summit. Like all of the other peaks that day, this one was unmarked, registerless, not a single sign of human visitation anywhere to be seen, recent or otherwise. Makes sense though. Why anyone would want to wander wayyy off the beaten path to climb this jumbled mound of crumbly white sandstone is beyond me. I don't even know why we climbed it to be honest. 

But we had done it and we were satisfied and we wandered a bit to the north, descending a bit, heading to a shady spot underneath a scraggily pine with terrific views of Checkerboard Mesa and the namesake arch after which the peak was named. 

The summit

The namesake arch

Crazy country, big country. Checkerboard Mesa dominated the scene, the thing looking like a gargantuan cruise ship, an impossibly sized cruise ship, one so large I had to take a panoramic photo just to capture the whole thing. And the small peaklet just south of Artifact Mesa rose directly north like a huge, bulbous skyscraper, the arch near its summit a looking glass through which we could spy the drunken clouds dancing around in the sky. Artifact Arch Peak itself has no arch, which makes the name a tad confusing. Maybe "Arch View Peak" would be a better fit, but I ain't good with naming things. 

We sat around, poured the sand out of our shoes. The day was growing long, the shadows increasing. Time to head on back. And so we stood up, grabbed our things, waved goodbye to the arch, and then set off down the mountain, taking a different line of descent. A loose, crumbly, slightly precarious moment later and we were back to wandering in the desert, wrapping around the southern tip of Checkerboard Mesa, heading back towards the saddle, back to the canyon, back to the car.

A lifejacket in the desert...

Heading back to the saddle...

And it was a long walk and an uneventful walk and the sky turned gray one moment and was blue another and the hungover storm clouds were polite enough to hold their stomachs while they passed overhead and then they disintegrated into nothing, the party over, the day coming to a close. And we made it back to the car and I offered Anner some trailmix and he finally accepted my offer and we munched on honey roasted peanuts and pumpkin seeds and pretzel sticks the rest of the way down the road, out of the park. 

And it was Cinco de Mayo after all and what better way to celebrate than to drive into town and get some good ol' Indian food. And we drove into town and the parking lot was empty and we walked up to the door and it said that they were closed Tuesdays. Damn. And so we drove farther into town and stopped at a Thai place and munched on some pineapple fried rice and green curry and massaman curry and that was that. 

'Twas a day well spent. Lots of scenery, lots of brush and dirt and ups and downs and aimless wandering and rambling. Wouldn't have it any other way.