Chesler Park Backpacking Trip, Canyonlands National Park

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1. Elephant Hill

My sister Alisa, her husband Kevin, and I left at about 6:00 AM on Friday morning from my house in Utah County. We made good time along highway 6, whizzing through the canyons and small towns along the route (thanks officer, only a warning this time), and it seems like we got to the trailhead at about 11:00 AM. There was no time to delay--we had the powerful draw of Canyonlands and the desert pulling us like gravity towards the Elephant Hill trailhead in the Needles Section and our ultimate destination, Chesler Park.

I packed all three of my canteens, plus my camelback, so I had about 1 ¾ gallons of water. Alisa and Kevin each had more than that--about 2 ½ gallons each. So I thought we would have plenty of water, even in late May. In addition, I also emptied our ice out of our freezer into a 5-gallon water cooler, and filled it with water. We used this to fill our camelbacks with ice cold water as we started our hike, which stayed cool until about 9:00 that evening. In addition, there was still a tiny bit of ice floating in cold water when we returned to the airtight, steamy car Saturday at 4:00 PM, for post-hike refreshment. I may never go on another desert hike without the 5-gallon cooler again.

There were thunderstorms over the distant mountain ranges, which provided not only a dramatic sky for the east-ward pictures I took on Friday, but some partly-cloudy conditions to hike in, which was a blessing. With all the water and the rather un-careful job I did packing my backpack, it weighed about 55 pounds, which is a non-trivial load to carry through 90 degree desert heat, especially for only an overnight trip.

I was in charge of the menu, and considering the fact that I was out of practice for planning backpackable, no-cook meals, things turned out pretty well. There were even some new innovations which I thought are worth noting for future reference. For both lunches we had chunky peanut butter on raisin bagels (very satisfying and yummy the first day, but not tempting on Saturday in the dry heat), and for dinner Friday night we had a box of wheat thins, a jar of soft cheese (melt-resistant) made from real sharp cheddar (not nasty Cheeze Whiz), plus two cans of tuna. Putting a spoonful of cheese and a spoonful of tuna between two Wheat Thins fifty times made for a very satisfying and yummy meal. In addition, we had bananas, apples, oranges, applesauce, pudding, and string cheese (also melt-resistant), plus sweet rolls for breakfast. As you can see, the menu planning also contributed to the 55-pound weight, but we had plenty to eat and it all tasted very good. Plus, the simple, quick meals provided for more hiking and sleeping time.

The first steep ascent of the hike is right at the parking lot, at a location called "Elephant Hill." The parking lot is right at the base of one of the most difficult 4WD roads in the broad region, but the dirt road is 2WD up to that point. We saw a few jeeps maneuvering up switchbacks, but couldn't see enough detail to make it very interesting. This first ascent climbs up out of the canyon bottom to what I would call "ground level," the same basic level of Chesler Park, our destination. From ground level, canyons cut deep ravines, and red-and-white striped towers and buttes jut skyward to break up the horizon in any direction you look.

These sandstone marvels are what gives the area its name of "the Needles." Though the rock formations of the area look like Arches' fins on a much grander scale, "the Needles" is actually a pretty good name due to one important difference between this area and Arches-the nature of the holes in the rocks. In Arches, they tend to be circular or oval, beautifully carved and delicate, as if first cut by a word-worker's router and then further beveled and smoothed by hand. Though there may not be quite as many, the quantity of natural arches in the Needles is also great, but nearly all of them are rather unspectacular, vertical shafts that cut straight through three-hundred foot high towers. You might be looking at a solid rock mass and be surprised to see a vertical, thin line of blue running right through the middle of it, realizing that you are seeing a rare sliver of sky, which at your particular viewing angle is aligned perfectly through cracks in two or three layers of rock which might otherwise make the hole indiscernible. These vertical shafts break up the rocks into the interesting formations of spires, cracks, and canyons which one could argue loosely resemble needles.

One such shaft formed a passageway straight through the huge monolith which our campsite backed up against. Once I realized that it went clear through, I wanted (of course) to see if I could walk or crawl through it and poke my head out the other side. I could have easily, too. It was probably eight feet wide and nearly 50 or so feet tall, and the passageway was probably 30 feet deep, and all of it at ground level (on my side of the crack, at least). However, at the entrance to this cavern there was a large rock pile, and on, around, and above this rock pile was the most disgusting collection of bat guano I have ever seen-three to four feet thick in places, as far as I could tell, and going from the ground up to the top of the crack. There must have been an incredible quantity of bats living there to produce such a prolific pile of poo (After having read Edward Abbey's Desert Solitaire, I am inspired and deranged enough to believe that I am a great writer--even employing alliteration to describe a fetid bunch of bat feces).

Once we reached the top of the parking lot canyon, we were able to walk on level ground for quite a while, passing large, brilliantly-colored towers on the right, and intriguing canyons on the left. Intriguing only because this was the beginning of our hike--by the time we passed by the same canyons on the way back the next day, the intrigue of exploration had been replaced by a realization that this area is so huge, hot, arid, and difficult to traverse, that a hiker had better just stick to the trails and hope he brought enough water for that. Exploration might be more palatable in the earlier spring or late fall when water stretches a little farther, and with more than two days at one's disposal.

At one point we came to an outcropping of white biscuit-shaped rocks over a deep canyon, which I believe is the general area of one of the most famous (and my favorite) of the postcards and posters that are available at the park visitor's centers. What surprised me seeing it in person though, is that the particular angle the shot was taken at makes it almost look like the red-rock needle formations are sparse over the broad landscape. Seeing it in person, one realizes that the layers of towers and buttes jutting out of ground level are stacked deep in any given direction, providing an utterly confusing, wonderful, picturesque landscape in any direction you look. I took over 40 panoramic photos on this trip, far more than I have ever taken on any other trip-there was so much to see and the scale of the rocks and canyons was so grand that the ridiculously small square frame provided by the camera for a regular shot could not do the landscape justice in any sense of the word. Unfortunately, due to the limited time I had, I could not plan most of these shots and the light angles were poor for most of them.

Though the scenery was spectacular, the bulk of our hike in (with the full 55 pounds) was in the heat of the day, with very little shade. There is quite a bit of distance on open ground to cover between the striped buttes and canyons, and the only chances for shade were when the trail descended in a crack between two marshmallow biscuits on the rim of elephant canyon, and when it passed immediately along one of the cliff faces. Crossing Elephant Canyon, the main canyon in our path on our way into Chesler Park, was steep, hot, and really not much fun. But hiking down the dry wash of the same canyon on our way back out was much more enjoyable, though the sheer distance we had to walk, fully exposed to the sun, was a little excessive. After climbing the far side of Elephant Canyon, we made a final ascent up towards some cliffs and passed through a break in the fins and into full view of Chesler Park.

2. Chesler Park

Chesler Park was used for cattle grazing until the late 1970's, and it is obvious why. This egg-shaped valley, nearly completely surrounded by high fins and cliffs, has some strange properties which seem to pool an unnatural amount of water in its sandy soil. At this time of year, the whole valley floor was carpeted with wildflowers-sparse as they always are in the desert, but full of reds, oranges, yellows, whites, and even occasional blues. As we started to circumnavigate this large crater, we could occasionally see through and beyond the cliff layer and realize that we were up on a plateau of sorts, with dramatic drop-offs into canyons on the north and east. In the east portion of Chesler Park was a particularly lush area, with the same type of cracked earth in large, heavy clumps that is more characteristic of an alpine meadow than the exceedingly dry, hard, cracked sand typically found in Canyon Country. This area was covered with bright green, soft grass and daisies, which looked quite out-of-place compared to the rest of the landscape, covered with drier grasses and flowers. Since this area was probably ½ mile wide and had just as much sun exposure as the park in general, I have to conclude this area probably had poorer drainage than the rest of the park, most likely with a nice layer of bedrock that held the water close to the surface. It was truly a meadow, a green oasis in the desert. If I were a cow, I would be happy to graze here, surrounded by such beauty.

In the middle of the oval-shaped park was a line of towers and cliffs that runs from the southern end to within about ½ mile of the northern end. Along this row of rock, on the west side, was our campsite. By the time we finally arrived at our camp (Campsite 3) at about 3:00 PM, taking off that heavy pack was welcome relief. When we cleared the ridge of rock in the middle of Chesler Park, we were suddenly exposed to the wind, which blew sand everywhere, including into our Peanut Butter bagels. We were so tired and hungry that we really didn't care that much; sand-laced pudding is very delicious after a five mile hike with backpacks in the heat of the desert sun.

Our choice of sites for the tent was fairly limited due to the wind, and we selected the only suitable place within the markers of the boundary of the campsite-inside the shade of small grove of large juniper trees. The oversized tent (a tall, comfortable, four-adult tent, not really meant for backpacking) had about one foot of clearance on all sides and on top. The most treacherous part of the site was a thick juniper branch that stuck out horizontally at about chest height, about one foot in front of the door. We all agreed that someone was going to get clocked by this branch, as we all had several close calls getting up and out of the tent. Alisa was the only one who hit it head-on, giving her a nasty bump and as she found out later while washing her hair, a large bleeding gash across the top of her head. But that did not slow her down while we were there (she is one tough cookie). Setting up the tent was a bit of a trick in the wind, but once we staked the corners down, it quit trying to be a kite, and we rested in the shelter it gave from the wind, dozing off for about 45 minutes.

3. Joint Trail

When we awoke, the sun was starting to fall in the afternoon sky, and feeling refreshed, we decided we had better head out for our evening hike around the south and west sides of Chesler Park. We crossed the grassy plain to the southern cliffs, and pausing on top of a slight rise, I attempted to take a panoramic shot of the beautiful crater we were in. The only trouble was, there was no natural stopping point. So about 24 shots later, I had 180-degree coverage of the area. My favorite portion of this panorama is looking back towards the ridge of rock and our campsite in the middle of the park.

We walked to a viewpoint on the southern end, and then descended down into the Joint Trail. This trail leaves Chesler Park by following a perfectly straight, three-foot-wide joint in the rock on the southern end. The uniformity of this passageway is remarkable; smooth white sandstone walls like rough sheetrock, stretching up to an unknown height and the mostly flat, sandy floor. The passageway extends for several hundred yards this way without variation, except for a few points where it is intersected at nearly right angles by uniform passageways heading in perpendicular directions. Traversing through the heart of solid rock like this is something quite unique. The cracks I have previously explored in places like Arches were much shorter, and never with the strange right-angled intersections seen here. The desert canyons I have hiked are sculpted and rounded by the flow of water. This channel seemed to be cut with a giant table saw at right angles, beginning and ending suddenly at the edges of the sandstone block.

Once we came back into daylight to the south of Chesler Park, the landscape was suddenly changed. The ground-level terrain is in a state of decay, falling in large chunks into broken boulders and collapsed valleys, and the needle red-rock formations are few. The terrain seems more accessible for exploration, and for the first time on our hike we join up with the jeep trail that began at Elephant Hill. If a jeep can make it over Elephant Hill, it is only a few miles' ride to this spot, within easy access to Chesler Park. An inexperienced jeeper will have to ride 30 miles to approach from the east, I discovered by inquiry at the visitor's center on the way out. The setting sun cast warm, long shadows on the rounded bluffs that looked appetizingly like baked bread loaves, and the air was cool and pleasant.

At this point, the hiking trail and the jeep trail merged for a mile or so as we rounded the southwest corner outside of Chesler Park. Then the trail made a steep climb up some rocky terrain and put us up back into the tableland, and back in close proximity to the salmon cliffs, now glowing brilliantly in the setting sunlight, segmented by deep shadows, now turned black. This section of our Canyonlands hike reminded me most of the red-rock fins in Arches that I love so much. If we had had time, I would have loved to spend some time exploring the many cracks and towers that most likely lead to nowhere.

As the trail wound through this maze of rock, down through a crack, and back into the open grasslands of Chesler Park, long shadows overtook us as the sun disappeared behind the buttes of Island in the Sky on the far western horizon. The pink afterglow of evening set in, accompanied by the sacred silence of dusk. We decided that rather than hike the mile and a half along the perimeter of the park back to our site as we had done earlier in the day, we would just cut cross-country, sticking to the bottom of washes as much as possible. Unfortunately, this proved difficult to do, but we figured we would do less damage to the terrain than a herd of hungry cows. As we approached the central towers of the park and our campsite, the last shades of color flared up in the western sky as the remnants of the day's thunderstorms caught fire and were consumed by darkness. Below, a nameless black sandstone metropolis was silhouetted against the fading light. As the earth prepared to renew itself with the dawn of the morning to come, the bats came out to cleanse the spent desert air of unwelcome pests. The numerous cotton-tailed rabbits that before had bounded away from us in the brush even seemed to lose their fear temporarily and stopped to watch us as we passed, so complete was the peace of night.

Back at the tent, we ate our supper mostly in silence. The only sound to disturb us was the late-arriving party bound for campsite 5, who shined their headlamps at us and offered cheerful hellos as they passed. I fell asleep to the sound of the light breeze rustling the branches of the juniper above the tent, my last images being starlight, bright enough out here to be seen through the filters of both tree branch and tent screen.

4. Druid Arch

I awoke early. Not as early as I had planned, but early enough that the shadows were still long and the air was still cool. I put on my crusty, cold shoes and stepped out of the tent. I could see the sunlight streaming onto the grass and flowers through the gap in the rock wall near our camp site, but as any sensible man knows, I needed to do more than just go stand in the sun: I needed to stand in the sun 30 feet up, on top of some place suitable for chest-beating and perhaps a good yodel. So I climbed up the only chunk of the wall that looked reasonably climbable, and was greeted at the top with a brilliant massage of warmth and light on my ground-stiffened body. Standing there I could see about 270 degrees of the circular walls and battlements around our huge, private fortress. I don't know how, but I somehow resisted the powerful urge to burst out into song. Something about the stillness of the morning helped me keep my enthusiasm for life contained at that moment.

It is quite a marvel to stand alone in such a place, where the clear desert air is free from civilized haze and allows awe-inspiring views dozens of miles away. Incredible vistas are there for the taking in, but they are no more interesting than noticing the blues of the shadows of individual bumps and ripples on the massive, white, rounded rock at my feet. The texture of rock, the pattern of far-away cliffs, the hushed activity of this living desert community all combine to give a powerful reminder of the value and power of silence and solitude. I wonder at those children of the information age who try so hard to stay tethered to their various devices (incessant beeping included), when the option exists through silence and solitude to be in communion with the ageless.

Reluctantly, I realized that I could not stay forever suspended in the heart of Chesler Park, that island oasis of grass and flower, so I descended to breakfast and break camp. I agreed to take about ½ gallon of Alisa's water because I was consuming mine ahead of schedule, and she was behind schedule. We refilled our camelbacks, packed up our noticeably lighter backpacks, and headed out the east side of Chesler Park towards upper Elephant Canyon. The way out of Chesler Park on the east side was even more interesting than the way in on the north--a fun trail that descended through cracks, ran along pothole-laden slickrock, and ultimately landed us at the bottom of the wash in Elephant Canyon. The moon was still up and visible, having spent the night away.

We stashed our packs underneath some flat rocks along the bank of the dry wash, and started the climb upstream to where the canyon rose steeply upward, eventually ending in a huge, double box canyon that was bisected by a massive fin containing Druid Arch. Along this path we saw the only visible water in the 15 or so miles of trail we traversed, in the form of a couple of deep, dark green stagnant pools, with a 12 foot dry fall on the upstream side. I suppose we could have approached the pool from the bottom if needed, but I would have had to have been more than a little desperate to drink that water, even with the filter that I brought along. We informed a couple of backpackers of the existence of this pool on our way out, when they inquired about the availability of water-after only about two miles in. Hopefully they didn't need it. It was definitely hotter on Saturday than it was on Friday when we hiked in.

When we reached the end of the box canyon, the trail turned steeply upward, and we climbed out of the wash, up one level, then another, and ultimately to the top-most level of flat ground at the base of vertical, two-hundred foot walls. Sticking out into the middle of the canyon at this level is Druid Arch, aptly named because of its resemblance to Stonehenge. Looking at this spectacle in a small photograph, it is impossible to comprehend the sheer size of it. The larger of the two main arches must be forty feet wide at the base, and close to 120 feet tall. This turned out to be the most congested of all the places we visited-we saw well over a dozen other people while we stopped to admire the beauty of the scene. But even here, it was easy to get far enough away from the arch that the people became insignificant specs in the foreground, allowing me to photography the arch and canyon in relative solitude.

After we hiked back to our packs and ate a quick lunch, we finished our hike out of the Needles, which whizzed by with lively talk of politics and philosophy (a constant throughout our journey), and arrived at the car with just a little water to spare and a cooler half-full of ice water waiting for us. We stopped at the Needles Section Visitor's Center on the way out to use the facilities, and that is where I bought Desert Solitaire at a ranger's recommendation, and hence you can blame that ranger and Edward Abbey for the length of this report.