Hotel Rock

2024-05-26

Bears Ears XIV

Having changed our plans to explore Arch Canyon, Utah, I must make alternate arrangements. There are several hikes and archeological sites in the area. We can remain busy, but I have to research routes particulars and make some strategic choices.

We’ve taken an evening after dinner walk to the top of the local hill next to camp. Up here, we can be alone, bare ourselves to the lovely elements and watch the 360 degree panorama changing with the fantastical coloring of the sunset. Our western view leads up the white, now turned blue, ridge of solid rock. It looks like a small mountain, but we know that it turns into a plain above the cliff walls of Arch Canyon and other canyons in the region.  

There is a surprise. We notice a small white light up there. There gives no sound with its movement, it is simply just too far away. Could someone be camping up there?

As dusk’s light fades into darkness, the light begins to move down the long slope. We watch a steady stream of ATV lights snaking down the hill of stone. Perhaps they have been having a sunset cocktail party up there. So there must be some sort of road, or road-like route. One map showed the possibility. One crude drawing showed a route roughly to Hotel Rock, simply a black line.

When these vehicles finish their descent, we can see where the road meets the turnoff below us. This is clue enough. Tomorrow, we’ll explore. At the least, we will find a stunning view and get our exercise, naked. On the other hand, we may have found the way to Hotel Rock.

In the tent, I get out a crude map under the night light.

Morning:

We take off from camp on the quickest route, a dusty dirt road, to get to the base of…well, probably a disturbed, yet passable, path of 4×4 destruction. Yet, we don’t know that, as we walk along the pleasant level dusty sand road, which rounds our camp’s adjacent rock tower. There is a sense of beginning in the quiet calm of the morning air. Very soon, I realize that clothing type coverings are not needed and I’m feeling pleased in my liberation.  My inner sense of freedom stretches out mirrored in the several miles that I can see under fluffy clouds resting in infinite turquoise skies.

As I turn around and take in this vision, the silence reeks of solitude. It’s just us. There just isn’t anything placing boundaries around me and my nature.

As the clouds occasionally take away the sun that warms us, there is still a nip. I’ll give my long sleeve T a bit more use.

The turnoff soon takes us out of the orange sand with grey green brush and abruptly onto a solid rock surface. It is disturbed enough to see that many vehicles have passed this way. A tough climb to drive, there are rubber marks from hotrod rails with no fear, reveling in the challenge of their carnival ride glee. It is wide and straight.

I suggest that we get some exercise. The solving of my curiosity makes the top of the hill into a goal and the pace quickens into a march, a determined climb with some cardio effects. It’s just enough stress. We must take care with our footing, without losing out on the magnificence of the vistas that appear as we rise.

The Comb stretches out miles more, its cliffs diminishing in size, each way.

Eventually, we can see over the top of the long landmark strip of cliff. The vision of the distance expands, opening up to a sight of tremendous breadth and deep into the next state.

We trudge up and up, until we are at the edge of a cliff and looking down into Arch Canyon, but the road, well sort of road, at best “maybe,” ends.

I know that there is a route to Hotel Rock somewhere up here on this ridge.

It has to be to the north of here, further along the fields of stone. Perhaps we missed a fork in the road in the unmarked wildcat clutter and in our enthusiastic push. Perhaps there is yet another unknown route entirely. I do know it is out there and if we just head that direction we’ll find something, eventually.

This is a solid rock surface with little vegetation. Bushwhacking is more a matter of finding the most level route over the surface. This is more like a huge poorly constructed sidewalk than the obstacles of vegetation. We’re not ready to give up the elevation that we have already gained, by retracing our steps back down the hill, looking for something that may not be there.

It is good and healthy, this walking on the uneven, but dependable. This rock is not slippery, or crumbling. It is pristine.

After a good quarter of a mile, I find a disturbance. The surface is kicked up and there are rubber marks. A few hundred feet more and a few cairns appear. This has to be the route.

Soon there are incredible obstacles. Vehicles have been crawling and jumping up, or down, rock walls, literally.

These have to be special rigs. 

Only rock hopper jeeps and certain ATV’s could negotiate things like this. I’m imaging people doing this in roll bar cages. The risks look stupid, some kind of crazy.

In many places, the “route” (I won’t call it a road, or even a jeep trail) is so devilish, there is no way to change course, or to back out. People having once traversed the route this far for a distance, like a railcar in the demanding terrain, absolutely must commit to completing the trip. One debacle of a challenge leads to the next. There is just no turning back.

After a while, tall stair steps begin to look minor.

I’m amazed at seeing deep gouges in the rocks.

People obviously have techy vehicles, but demonstrate very low tech skills. Where they could have just taken a different action, a slight angle, or a few feet over, Instead, I can see where they have just plowed ahead in a completely ignorant ill planned manner.

Car parts lay along the route, knocked off, ripped off, and rattled off. Spilt oil has been running down, staining the rock surfaces. This goes way beyond skid-plate intended function.

Twice, I see complete oil pan loss.

Have they have been ripped through, or knocked just off? A large splotch of mucky sand is soaked by several quarts. What did they do? They are left with no oil in their engine in a remote area. There can be no tow truck, no coasting home, no recourse. They are in a complete stressful headache, born out of stupid and bravado…and perhaps desperation.

DF and I often have to get on all fours to get up the steep slippery slopes that these people drove up or went down.

I have to just break out in laughter at times looking at the activity. “Look at this. All they had to do was turn the wheel, but they just hammered through.” “Look how hard this one hit and then how many others followed!”

Other times I am amazed. Fools are amazing. I find no evidence of tragedy, but would that show its self on the rock surfaces? This is part of the culture that has taken over Moab. There are other thrill seekers out there, looking for bragging rights from another challenge. “Whaoh dude!” Some beautiful places are destroyed, but they need a place for this.

Deep gouges and jaw dropping stupidity continue, as we climb about an hour and a half up the hill. There is another not as steep of a grade after that, which occupies another half hour. The route is obvious, thanks to the insanity of these drivers and the obvious, that is, “the only way that presents itself” rationale attached to this place. I have to ask myself, “Who did this first? Did they walk it out before they took the plunge?

When we turn around, looking at where we have been, a vast distance appears. The Comb stretches for dozens of miles before it gets tiny. We have seen our campsite for quite a while, but now the forest of trees is but a small green splotch.

As rise of elevation continues, there is a break. We are clearly seeing over the comb. Just seen as spots, are hanger buildings in Blanding. The telephoto on DF’s camera magnifies and defines the details. Beyond that, I can see white capped mountains in eastern Colorado. It continues to get more and more spectacular.

Eventually, we arrive at a plain.  I can see how it just drops off into the canyon nearby.

Here, it is a comfortable pleasant walk. The weather has given us a nice day, perfectly suited for our lack of attire. There are occasional light breezes.

As we walk, we are surprised by the strong fragrance of flowers caught on the breeze. We stop after sniffing our way down an invisible trail to pleasant yellow and white flowered plants.

Even the mallow smells good here.

There is different vegetation.

Pinion pines pop up every so often. There is evidence that someone had taken heavy machinery and destroyed a forest of them. I had read of this guy in a travel book. It was done in 2010. It just made no sense.

To be continued, (in just a couple of days, Hotel Rock):

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