A Grove In A Graveyard: Capitol Reef National Park
July 31st, 2022
Travelers named this desert Capitol Reef before they’d known water once dwelt here. As we drive between the towering red cliffs that once barred ancient wanderers passage, I imagine marine wildlife swimming alongside us through the mummified ocean. Our campsite lies nestled against lush fruit orchards planted by Mormon settlers—an unexpected oasis amid the scorched, dry land; a grove in a graveyard. I smile at the familiar agricultural sight, as a horse trots picturesquely around the pioneers’ historic barn—so out of place against the copper desert backdrop.
After setting up our tent, we hike to Cohab Canyon Trail to see what this National Park less traveled has to offer our senses, besides the blazing heat that burns my brow. My trekking poles click into the gravel and my lungs heave as we wind our way up the steep switchbacks. There is nothing but purplish-brown dirt and rocks as far as I can see—that is, until I reach the top and turn around.
The view is an astounding array of color: from the pale gray road that snakes through parakeet-green pastures, at the bases of cardinal cliffs that fade from red to blue as they melt into the hazy horizon. You usher me onward lest we lose the light of day, though it is hard to turn my gaze from such a sight.
Atop the plateau, we search for an entrance into the great wall of stone before us, where we were promised a hiking trail. We are happy to find that the shade here is soothingly brisk, and we sit a while to cool down before wandering into the secluded narrow valley. Inside, it is quieter than a library. The only life to accompany us are the quick-footed lizards that dart in and out of scraggly bushes. There are no other hikers to disturb our solitude: just you and me, happily in our own little world. It does, after all, feel like we are on another planet, or the set of an old Star Trek episode.
All around us are sloping cliffs—some jagged, some smooth and waving, others dripping like cooled lava—all pocked with gaping cavities in stripes of red and tan. Orange flowers and turquoise cacti litter the floor of the ravine, which splits off into occasional slot canyons. Beach-soft sand wiggles its way under my soles and coats the patches between the straps of my Chacos, giving my feet mock tan lines.
As the gully opens up and the path dissipates, we decide it’s time to turn back. Sun pierces through gray storm clouds to kiss the draping edges of the solid dunes, their countless eyes watching our return to camp. Some resemble morphing skulls, pleading that we take them with us. A hummingbird dashes in and out of their empty sockets, breaking the quiet with its hovering hum. It lets out a trill, and another answers with a high-pitched chirp, the two calling back and forth from either side of us.
When we return to camp, the sun has set and brought with it a cool breeze that rustles the leaves above us. Our campfire illuminates the “Just Married” tea towel I’ve hung from our orange tent. As stars begin to peek through the veil of night, I lie on my back and watch tiny bats do backflips against the pale blue sky that features a silver crescent moon. You bring me a s’more and lie beside me, wrapping your arms around your new wife, and our new life.
