Almost Too Much Adventure in Capital Reef - But Not Quite
Capital Reef National Park... Yeah, you've probably never heard of it. I hadn't either until I starting mapping out our route for this trip and saw in Google Maps that there was a national park right in the midst of the road trip that I, and hardly anyone I mentioned it to, had heard of or been to. So, if you know Alyssa and me, you'd guess that we put it in the plans and were looking forward to it with great anticipation, especially after being in the crowds of tourists at Zion, The Grand Canyon and even Bryce Canyon (less people, but still very popular for it's size).
Capital Reef is a strange name, it refers to a great up uplift in the earth's crust. The majority of the nearly 100 mi long up-thrust formation is also called the waterpocket fold. Its a giant cliff in the desert that has no river or canyon. The park also contains a huge wilderness to the north where the Temples of the Sun and Moon reside, two great monoliths (cliff like mountains that rise out of the flat desert) that seem a mystery in their origin. Why are they here, these amazing geological features? They seem only fit to bring glory to this land and the one who brought forth their splendor.
Our first hike in the park was an epic one. Navajo Knobs is a ten mile out and back hike that rises to one of the highest points in the park. The five of us had debated for a while, whether we should do a flatter easy hike with a view looking up at the great Waterpocket Fold or if we should load out packs with food and water for another full day adventure in the sun and peer down on the world below. This time, I won the debate. Don't listen to the others if they say I tricked them. Well, I may not have been completely forthcoming with the elevation gain, lack of shade and total number of miles. But, I think this hike was one of the most memorable of the trip. There has to be some fear, pain and maybe some existential dread to sear a really good hike in your mind, and this one did all those things.
According to Wikipedia: "Existential angst", sometimes called existential dread, anxiety, or anguish, is a term that is common to many existentialist thinkers. It is generally held to be a negative feeling arising from the experience of human freedom and responsibility. The archetypical example is the experience one has when standing on a cliff where one not only fears falling off it, but also dreads the possibility of throwing oneself off. In this experience that "nothing is holding me back", one senses the lack of anything that predetermines one to either throw oneself off or to stand still, and one experiences one's own freedom. Angst, according to the modern existentialist, Adam Fong, is the sudden realization of a lack of meaning, often while one completes a task that initially seems to have intrinsic Meaning.
It was at about the half way point when we saw two hikers who had just turned around to go back to their starting point. They were hot, sunburned and sweating. Assuming they'd been to the top I asked how it was. "Well, we made it to the first over look and it was well worth the hike." "Did you go all the way to the top?" I asked. "Oh, no way" they responded laughing at my ridiculous notion. That was not what the kids needed to hear, I realized, as I saw their incredulous looks coming my way. "Dad, we're turning around," Lyle mumbled under his breath. But, we hiked on. At that first big overlook we found a beautifully gnarled juniper to seek shade under near the edge of the cliff that I begged Alyssa and Lyle to not get too close to. I always like to ask the kids to thank whatever tree gives something of itself for us. This one gave us a lot, it was very hot, and we needed shade. But, in the distant sky some clouds were forming, at first a welcomed site. But quickly it reminded me of Angels Landing and our hike it the Grand Canyon, both of which brought a serious threat of thunderstorms. Until Navajo Knobs, every storm had skirted by us, bringing delightfully cool breezes in the desert dryness. This time, my coaxing of the family to keep pushing forward may not have been the best decision.
After we'd crossed half way to the summit we figured there was no turning back. Lyle was not happy with me for pushing us along, really none of the four of them were happy, especially as the first thunderstorm approached. In the desert it's hard to find shelter from a significant storm. Luckily, I spotted an overhang in the cliff. We scrambled up to the overhang and spread out across it as thunder and lightening came closer and closer. I'd taught the kids how to count between seeing lightning and hearing thunder to judge how far the strikes were happening and if they were getting closer. Sure enough the storm was telling us it was coming our way. We sheltered there for around a half and hour, rain streamed from the sky just like it does in Pittsburgh when a T-storm opens up. Small streams began flowing. I filled my water bottle with fresh rainwater streaming off the ledge over our heads. In a longer storm I think the stream of water falling in front of us would have turned into a full waterfall.
The storm subsided and we hiked on. Another storm came, this time with no lightning, so we hiked through. Later, another one with all the bells and whistles forced us into another cave in the side of the mountain. Finally, just steep rock scramble from the top, the forth storm let loose. This time we all huddled between huge boulders that made a perfect size shelter for the five of us. The kids remember of these experiences of caves and hiding out with great joy. I know that they were fairly dangerous situations that I put us in. And yet, that final scramble after all the storms to the summit of Navajo Knobs was amazing. The very top was just the right size for all of us to sit, me doing breathing techniques because of the sheer drop on all sides.
Wilderness is like that. It's unpredictable. It is not tame. Its beauty is in its struggle to survive and its unmanageable danger. Wilderness seems to often provide what we need, but only on its terms, not on mine.
Wilderness is such a prevalent and important spiritual practice or experience in scriptures and in the life of the desert fathers. Huddling in those caves and rock crevasses I was reminded of those early desert wanderers who left "civilization" to experience God, nature and themselves in the rawness of the North African desert. Now, back at home, sitting in a soft, cushy chair in an urban coffee shop, remembering an adventure, I'm thankful that we pushed on. I thankful that we were able to find safety. I thankful that we made it to our goal, and we didn't do anything stupid, but were able to find shelter when we needed it, we prayed together when we needed it, we read words of Edward Abbey when we needed some of those words, and we reflected on a creation so great and big and encompassing. We felt like we were a part of the wilderness, not just outsiders... at least for a few moments.
And that was the first adventure in Capital Reef.
Capital Reef is a strange name, it refers to a great up uplift in the earth's crust. The majority of the nearly 100 mi long up-thrust formation is also called the waterpocket fold. Its a giant cliff in the desert that has no river or canyon. The park also contains a huge wilderness to the north where the Temples of the Sun and Moon reside, two great monoliths (cliff like mountains that rise out of the flat desert) that seem a mystery in their origin. Why are they here, these amazing geological features? They seem only fit to bring glory to this land and the one who brought forth their splendor.
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| View from the top of Navajo Knobs, we started down at the road. The cliffs you see are the waterpocket fold of Capital Reef |
Our first hike in the park was an epic one. Navajo Knobs is a ten mile out and back hike that rises to one of the highest points in the park. The five of us had debated for a while, whether we should do a flatter easy hike with a view looking up at the great Waterpocket Fold or if we should load out packs with food and water for another full day adventure in the sun and peer down on the world below. This time, I won the debate. Don't listen to the others if they say I tricked them. Well, I may not have been completely forthcoming with the elevation gain, lack of shade and total number of miles. But, I think this hike was one of the most memorable of the trip. There has to be some fear, pain and maybe some existential dread to sear a really good hike in your mind, and this one did all those things.
According to Wikipedia: "Existential angst", sometimes called existential dread, anxiety, or anguish, is a term that is common to many existentialist thinkers. It is generally held to be a negative feeling arising from the experience of human freedom and responsibility. The archetypical example is the experience one has when standing on a cliff where one not only fears falling off it, but also dreads the possibility of throwing oneself off. In this experience that "nothing is holding me back", one senses the lack of anything that predetermines one to either throw oneself off or to stand still, and one experiences one's own freedom. Angst, according to the modern existentialist, Adam Fong, is the sudden realization of a lack of meaning, often while one completes a task that initially seems to have intrinsic Meaning.
 |
| Seeking what shade we could with the help of a juniper. |
After we'd crossed half way to the summit we figured there was no turning back. Lyle was not happy with me for pushing us along, really none of the four of them were happy, especially as the first thunderstorm approached. In the desert it's hard to find shelter from a significant storm. Luckily, I spotted an overhang in the cliff. We scrambled up to the overhang and spread out across it as thunder and lightening came closer and closer. I'd taught the kids how to count between seeing lightning and hearing thunder to judge how far the strikes were happening and if they were getting closer. Sure enough the storm was telling us it was coming our way. We sheltered there for around a half and hour, rain streamed from the sky just like it does in Pittsburgh when a T-storm opens up. Small streams began flowing. I filled my water bottle with fresh rainwater streaming off the ledge over our heads. In a longer storm I think the stream of water falling in front of us would have turned into a full waterfall.
The storm subsided and we hiked on. Another storm came, this time with no lightning, so we hiked through. Later, another one with all the bells and whistles forced us into another cave in the side of the mountain. Finally, just steep rock scramble from the top, the forth storm let loose. This time we all huddled between huge boulders that made a perfect size shelter for the five of us. The kids remember of these experiences of caves and hiding out with great joy. I know that they were fairly dangerous situations that I put us in. And yet, that final scramble after all the storms to the summit of Navajo Knobs was amazing. The very top was just the right size for all of us to sit, me doing breathing techniques because of the sheer drop on all sides.
Wilderness is like that. It's unpredictable. It is not tame. Its beauty is in its struggle to survive and its unmanageable danger. Wilderness seems to often provide what we need, but only on its terms, not on mine.
Wilderness is such a prevalent and important spiritual practice or experience in scriptures and in the life of the desert fathers. Huddling in those caves and rock crevasses I was reminded of those early desert wanderers who left "civilization" to experience God, nature and themselves in the rawness of the North African desert. Now, back at home, sitting in a soft, cushy chair in an urban coffee shop, remembering an adventure, I'm thankful that we pushed on. I thankful that we were able to find safety. I thankful that we made it to our goal, and we didn't do anything stupid, but were able to find shelter when we needed it, we prayed together when we needed it, we read words of Edward Abbey when we needed some of those words, and we reflected on a creation so great and big and encompassing. We felt like we were a part of the wilderness, not just outsiders... at least for a few moments.
And that was the first adventure in Capital Reef.
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