T-Bone Hill, Yellow Knolls, Snow Benchmark

05/21/26

I was drivin' down a dirt road, Shuggie Otis on the radio. I'd woken up that morning, downed some chow, looked online, saw some spots near St. George, thought, "hmm, well that looks interesting" and then I grabbed a pack and some water and set off to go see what they were all about. T-Bone Hill. Yellow Knolls. Snow Benchmark. Each one offering something slightly different, all of 'em fairly close to one another. Figured I'd make a loop of sorts, starting with the easiest spot first, saving the hard stuff for last.

T-Bone hill was first on the list. I found the trailhead, parked the car, started down the trail, the afternoon sun beating down on my head. I soon left the trail and started heading up a steep little ridge, hopping up huge, hot, sun-baked volcanic rocks along the way. 

T-Bone Hill. I ascended on the left.

I began heading towards the highpoint once atop the summit plateau, the thing flat, wide, mostly devoid of brush. No footprints. No use trail. Just dirt and rocks and prickly plants. A slight downhill here, a slight uphill there. Volcanic rocks, hot to the touch, baked by the sun, off to the side, minding their own business, not bothering nobody. And I moseyed along, still walking towards the highpoint. And then the brush kinda disappeared and it was back to walking on those hot, hot, hot volcanic rocks. And the going was easy and I reached what looked to be a highpoint, located conveniently at the bottom of the "T." 

Looking at the "T" from the highpoint

I stopped. Dropped the pack. Took a gander. Yep. Looked exactly how I imagined it would from the trailhead. A funny little summit in a funny little place. I looked east, looked at the "T." Pretty accurate "T" all things considered. Don't see that too often in the wild, probably because Earth can't write too good. Never did went to grade school after all...so can you blame it?

A funny ol' hill in some funny ol' light. Cars zoomed up and down the road to the west, a black line cutting through a bunch of red rock. I plopped down on my haunches and watched them like a buzzard watching a group of well-dressed schmucks playing croquet in the park. Buzzards have no interest in well-dressed schmucks playing croquet in the park. If they did, all hell would break loose.

And so I watched the cars uninterested and then decided to take a different way down, scrambling off the highpoint to the south, finding the remnants of an old summit register, the tattered remains of some underwear and an empty, dried-up, partly sun-bleached tortoise shell. Funny little things in a funny little spot. 

And I cut across to the trail and got back in the car and then high-tailed it up the dirt road to the 2nd destination of the day: Yellow Knolls. From the trailhead, these things did, in fact, look quite yellow. But as I approached the illusion was shattered and I saw them for what they really were: reddish, whitish, crumbly mounds of reddish, whitish, crumbly rock. But they looked cool as can be and I'm all for things that are cool as can be, and so I walked down the trail, left it at a random point and began scrambling up to the summit of the southernmost knoll.

Yellow Knolls

Scrambling up the southernmost knoll

Steep, loose, crumbly class 2 was the name of the game. Just ziggin and zaggin'; a simple, foolproof method for climbing most mountains. Most mountains. The rest require zaggin' and ziggin', but that's an advanced technique that takes years of practice and is only utilized by the most experienced of mountain climbers. 

So I zig-zagged my way up the thing, keeping it class 2, the going steep, the rock crumbly. And I topped out on the summit of the southernmost knoll and took a gander and went "yup" and snapped some photos and then decided to do a lil' traverse, walking from the southernmost knoll to the northernmost knoll via an interesting lookin' ridge. 

View from the southernmost knoll

The interesting lookin' ridge

Gotta love a good ridge. I descended from the southernmost knoll, weaving in and around rocks and shrubs and stuff, some mild scrambling here, some mild scrambling there. Walking along, I kept expecting things to get spicy, things to get wild. Kept expecting to get to a point where the fun would stop and I'd have to lock-in and turn on my brain and route-find my way through a maze of sheer, crumbly rock. But that never happened. The ridge goes. And it goes well.

And I'd scramble here and scramble there, none of it too challenging. Down the ridge, up the ridge, a grand ol' time. I walked along the sandstone, the afternoon sun still nice and hot, the wind nice and warm. And I scrambled up to the northernmost knoll, sticking to the ridge the whole way, hopping from one rock to another.

Almost to the northernmost knoll

Looking south from the northernmost knoll

Atop the northernmost knoll, gazing out upon the others, observing the strange landscape that surrounded me. Crumbly white sandstone, crumbly red sandstone, black volcanic rock, dying grass, yellow grass, prickly, pokey shrubs. And interesting scene; so much to see, so much happening at once. So I sat down and felt the warm breeze pass over me and I took a gander and a glance and went "yup" and then set off to the northwest knoll, the final stop on this romp through dirt and stone before heading off to other things.

Interesting sandstone

Heading towards the northwest knoll

I descended a different ridge, walking straight to the northwest knoll. I looked off to my left, to the east, gazing upon strange, intricate sandstone that looked like the scales of a dragon. Snapped a few photos, took a lil' break, and then carried on with my rollick through the hills. And I approached the eastern base of the northwest knoll and immediately began scrambling to the top, some of it class 3. I'm sure there were easier ways to reach the summit, but I'm an impatient sod and I was in a scramblin' mood and so I went up the thing no questions asked, see you later, goodbye. 

And I reached the top and it definitely had the least interesting views of the three, in my opinion. Stood around for like two seconds and then started heading off the thing, trekking southwest. Steep, loose, crumbly class 2 greeted me, and I skirted down the thing lickety-split, deciding to scramble down some fairly precipitous sandstone slabs near the bottom in order to avoid the boring, loose stuff. And then it was back to the trail, back to walkin' through the desert, back to walkin' next to more volcanic rock, huge volcanic rock, big ol' boulders, the sun high up above, backing everything to a nice crisp. 

Heading down the northwest knoll

Back on the trail...

And I got back to the car and started 'er up and continued driving up the road, stopping at the Mesa Rim Trailhead to check out some bonus peaks before heading over to Snow Benchmark. I'd seen them on the drive up, seen them from the summits of the knolls. Two little knobs of volcanic rock, situated right next to each other. "Twin Peaks." I figured they'd be interesting to visit, and so I did. 

Yellow Knolls from the Mesa Rim Trail

Twin Peak #1

Walking along the trail, dry shrubs, low shrubs, grass and sticks and rocks and dirt and foxtails gettin' in my socks. And the taller of the two peaks came into view and I left the trail and walked straight to it, more grass, more sticks, more foxtails. And the going was mellow and I reached the base of this mellow little peak and mellowly climbed up the mellow slopes through mellow volcanic boulders to the top of the mellow summit.

And there was a tiny little mellow register up there with tiny little mellow entires in it. Not a whole lotta entries in there. Very few people visit this spot. And I sat down and spun around and looked at the views whilst munchin' on brazil nuts and cashews, the desert expansive, never-ending. Off to the northeast rose the massive, prominent bulk of Signal Peak, the thing completely dominating the whole scene. Looking east revealed the high peaks of Zion National Park, the West Temple standing tall and proud, clearly visible on the horizon. Off to the south lay the urban sprawl of St. George and Washington, Mt. Bangs hazy in the distance. Southwest revealed T-Bone Hill and Yellow Knolls, both of them looking quite small. And off to the northwest rose Snow Benchmark, a brushy ol' knob that looked mighty mighty interesting. I took some photos, signed the register, and then set off for the 2nd, smaller summit.

Signal Peak

West Temple wayyyy out there

Southwest

Twin Peak #2

Down through volcanic rock, out across foxtails and dried grass. And then up volcanic rocks again, these a little steeper, although I did see an easier route a little to the south. Refused to take it. Like I said, I was in a scramblin' mood. And so I scrambled. 

Not a whole lot going on up at the summit of Twin Peak #2. No benchmark, no register. Didn't linger too long. Took one single photo and then set off down the volcanic rock, walking in a straight line back to the trail. Things were cooling off now, the afternoon growing long, the breeze not so warm anymore, the sun not so intense. I got back to the car, rolled down the windows, and then drove off and away on dirt roads through dry, desiccated country, slow and unhurried, the afternoon casual and relaxed.

Twin Peak #1 from Twin Peak #2

And I drove through a lil' ol' town called Diamond Valley and I saw a cinder cone rising in the distance, the famous "Diamond Cinder Cone" no doubt. Since it was right there, I decided to give it a visit before heading over to Snow Benchmark. Wouldn't take no more than half an hour, tops.

And I walked up the trail and I saw the first people I'd seen all day. And then I started jogging up the trail and I reached the summit in just about 10 minutes, no diamonds to be found. A quick aside, nothing to write home about. And then I turned around and ran the whole way back, got in the car, drove up the highway, finally heading towards the last stop of the day. No more side trips. No more brief asides. It was time to finally get to Snow Benchmark. I'd procrastinated long enough.

Diamond Cinder Cone

Turned off the highway, parked in the expansive dirt lot. And I began walking on the trail, the thing nice and wide and rocky, not a soul to be seen. And on and on and on and on, walking along dirt and rocks, walking amongst the birds and the scraggily pines, the sun goin' down, the shadows growing long. I crossed a wilderness boundary, following footprints on the well-trodden trail towards my chosen destination.

There, in the distance. I saw it poking up. Still a good ways off. But nothin' I couldn't handle. Put the legs in cruise control and chugged out the miles, one step at a time. And I reached a junction and made a right, walking towards the peak, stepping through the crunchy dirt and slippery sand. 

And then I started heading downhill and I walked a little ways off the trail and I saw a tremendous view of Snow Canyon, half of it in shadow. I stopped for a minute, took a few photos, said "wow" or something brilliant like that. And then it was back to the trail, back to truckin', walking along, gettin' closer and closer to the summit.

Snow Canyon

Snow Benchmark

And I had no beta and I didn't know when to leave the trail. But then I remembered what I had been doing all day; just had leave the trail whenever I felt like it was right. Did it for T-Bone Hill. Did it for the southernmost Yellow Knoll. Did it for Twin Peak #1. Didn't do it for Diamond Cinder Cone though. That sucker had a trail all the way to the top. It don't count. It was a distraction. An interruption. A brief amusement, a digression from the pace of the day, a small tangent, extra, extra credit, the kind that only the teacher's pet would complete for little or no reward. 

So I left the trail when I felt like it was right, walking up a brushy gully to a saddle of sorts. And then I scrambled up some class 2 stuff, more loose rocks, you know, the usual. Dodged some yucca and pinyon pines and the occasional spider web and I walked straight into the sun, Snow Benchmark dead ahead. Nearly there, nearly there. A hop, skip and a jump later and I was on the rocky summit, a small cairn marking the highpoint. At long last. I'd seen this thing for most of the day, and here I was, finally, standing on the summit. Good times, good times...

Walking up the gully...

A quiet summit, a peaceful summit. No sounds, no breeze, no bugs, no nothin'. And it was almost seven o'clock and the sun was well on its way to the other side of the world, slowly falling out of the sky, the shadows on the canyons growing longer and longer with each passing second. And I stood there and looked at the ruggedness, looked at the tall pines and the short pines and the white rock and the red rock and the jumbled, broken scar of Snow Canyon cutting through the scene, breaking up the pace, the flow, and off and away rose Signal Peak, keeping watch over everything. Quiet, quite, peaceful, peaceful. An interesting summit. An interesting place. An interesting way to end an interesting day spent wandering around some interesting places. Yup. That's what it's all about. 

Signal Peak

Snow Canyon

West

Northwest

And I'd had my fill and started heading back down, retracing my steps. Back on the trail, now completely in the shade. Ahh. How pleasant. And I walked over to the viewpoint for Snow Canyon, and I drank the rest of my water and ate the rest of my food and just sat and stared, sat and stared. But it was almost 7:30pm and I had some miles to eat and a longsih drive to top it off and so I got up, took one last look, and then set off down the trail.

Headin' back down

Back at the car, the sun hovering on the horizon, the temps finally starting to cool, night on its way. No more hikin'. Thank goodness. All together it was something like 16 miles with 4,000ft of elevation gain. Not too shabby. But more than expected. I was nice and tired, my mind looking forward to the long drive out of the hills and into the lower desert. 

A simple day, clean-cut and straightforward. Found the places online that morning. Hiked to them that afternoon, with a little extra along that way. Bing, bang, boom. That's how I do. 

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.