#rtueller

Lifting my gaze to the twinkling stars above I breathe deeply and drink in the silence that is at once soothing and peaceful. I fill my lungs slowly, deliberately, with fresh, crisp mountain air and exhale watching my warm breath rise in the cold air and form wispy, cloud-like tendrils that twist and drift heavenward. Wooden boards stiff from the cold, creak faintly beneath my feet as I cross the porch to the wood box to fill my arms again with logs for the fire. The screen door claps lightly behind me as I quickly, quietly close the door to keep the biting cold from stealing away the warmth of the cabin’s cozy living room. There, by the little black stove, my coworker and friend Iris Picat, slumbers in a deep, soundless sleep resting happily from an exhilarating, unforgettable day.

I add small, neatly chopped and quartered, chunks of wood, furnished by the Forest Service, to what’s left of the fire, poke the grey embers with the wrought iron, and blow gently until the embers glow red. Soon flames rise beneath the pile and lick at the wood that crackles and pops in the growing heat.

Mesmerized by the dancing flames, my mind drifts and catches hold of my fondest moments of the day. Skiing the short, mile-long hill to the cabin with a delightful crew from the Dixie National Forest’s Pine Valley Ranger District who helped us get settled. Justin Laycock’s kind and generous offer to tow the purple kiddie sled laden with our water and supplies up the hill behind his skis. Topher Mason’s good natured mini tutorials that helped us improve our cross country skiing skills. The willingness of our gracious hostess, Marcia Gilles, to lead and organize such a trip, and Jodi Hamels’peaceful presence. The bliss of gliding quickly and smoothly across the snow, with muscles and limbs stretching and extending in natural, synchronized movements. The rich sound of skis rhythmically swishing in the snow. The way the pure, white snow sparkled and glittered like a million diamonds in the sun.

Enjoying a piping hot meal heated on the cabin’s electric stove that took the edge off the cold. Falling fast asleep by the warm fire, contented from long bouts of laughter with Iris as we tell tall tales sprinkled with humor.

Refreshed by the morning, we’re ready for a new day of adventure on the trail. Yesterday’s jaunt to the Mitt Moody Trailhead proved an excellent preview of the endless possibilities that lay ahead today. Dozens of tracks, all shapes and sizes cross our path along the serene Santa Clara River Trail, turning our attention to the trees and leaving us to wonder what stories the tracks could tell of those that made them. For a moment, I stop in a place where bright bars of sunshine gleam through the trees and light up the snow. I turn my face to the sun and welcome the rays that warm my lips, cheeks, and eyelids. Fewer people travel the trail on this side of the Pine Valley reservoir so our presence seems relatively unknown to others who snow shoe and ski nearby.  As we near the trails’ end, I’m reminded of the simple message of a sign near the cabin that brought a smile to my face that read; “so all may enjoy this area.” Surprisingly, the message appealed to the idealist that I thought had long been buried deep. The one that appreciates the ideal behind public lands that allows me to venture out and enjoy many breathtaking natural beauties I might not otherwise see, that are contained within the broad swaths of land that we all share.

The Cabin “Forest Haven” at Pine Valley Recreation Area is available to the public to rent and reserve. For more information go to: http://www.fs.usda.gov/recarea/dixie/recreation/camping-cabins/recarea/?recid=71230&actid=101

One section of the formations looked like miniature ski slopes that incited a playful response in me and I found myself bounding to the top of the little pinnacle where the cool wind whipped my hair and filled my lungs with sweet, fresh air. At the far western edge of White Pocket, I was caught up short by beauty so shocking and intense I can remember few other moments as lucid. Once, while white water rafting the Colorado River in Grand Canyon and another, aboard a catamaran, sailing along Kauai’s majestic Napali Coast. Ironically, our fortunate gift that day came with the very weather that left me wondering early on if we should reschedule a venture out that far. Rather than the havoc I anticipated, those thick, menacing clouds created an outrageous contrast of dark shadows and shafts of brilliant sunshine. The kind of contrast that can create a new drastically altered perspective that lends itself to pure inspiration.

As we departed, my companion and I marveled at and reveled in the delicious freedom areas like White Pocket creates for its visitors. For us, this natural wonder had peeled away mundane concerns and left us with nothing but pure, childlike adoration and wonder for the natural world.

But at the top of the rise, I found the weight of responsibilities that clouded my mind slowly begin to slough off layer by layer; with each sandy step I made. There’s something about the rigorous physical labor and sacrifice of sweat that’s made in the backcountry that leaves me feeling I’ve truly “earned” the supreme rewards of observing the kind of breathtaking and unique beauty I re-discovered in Coyote Buttes South. It was as though the sweat and exertion cleansed me of the stress and cleared the cloud of duties from my eyes as I began to truly see that desert landscape in all its beauty. I was enthralled by the hundreds of tracks from critters which I could scarcely imagine. After all, what kind of creatures would choose to call this rugged, unforgiving terrain their home? My mind raced in wonder of the tracks and a smile slowly crept across my lips as my vivid imagination began to take hold and piece together a fantastic, fictional story of the possible desert dwellers who ventured there. A scorpion may have scurried up the slope here, a jack rabbit might have scampered to the safety of the brush there—and what kind of injured animal made those awkward tracks? Could a red fox have crossed the path there? The tracks drew me into the present and the concerns of my work-a-day world and its’ associated chaos vanished.

One set of tracks led my eyes to a stunning splash of purple that shot up from the coral pink sands where a beautiful, fragile looking flower grew up from the bone dry soils. I dropped to my knees in the soft sand forming a human tripod and used all my patience to steady the Nikon to capture the flower’s brilliance, beauty and contrasting color. But no matter how I tried, I struggled to capture the true essence of the tender plant that inspired such wonder in me. As I tightened the focus of the lens down on its’ bright yellow stamen, I wondered how such a tender flower could grow with such beauty and grace in such harsh, taxing circumstances.  I was filled with fascination by the simple lessons nature teaches individuals on our own terms as we discover how the stories of living things in the backcountry oddly seem to parallel the stories of our own lives.

When I caught up to Wright he was silently, almost reverently drinking in the beauty of the swirling red rock Coyote Buttes is known for. As he quietly snapped pictures of fragile, awe-inspiring sandstone fins, I marveled at the swirls of white and orange sandstone formations that curled above his head that reminded me of fanciful, whipped cake icing piled high in luscious, layered waves.  A memory from my Recreation Technician days came back to me followed by a twinge of regret for those who I had assisted and had been so adamant to obtain a permit to reach the Wave in Coyote Buttes North and wouldn’t consider “settling” for anything less. Coyote Buttes South, after all, is much easier to obtain a permit to hike, even if it requires a bit more effort to reach. Still, these wonders that stood before us in all their magnificence were the features those travelers who’d come from distances as far as Japan, Germany, and the Netherlands had missed. Sadly, a feature such as “the Wave,” leaves a few to lose sight of the joy of the journey with their extreme focus fixed on one renowned destination.

After venturing through the wonderland of Coyote Buttes South, we returned to our vehicle and encountered a very happy and satisfied hiking group that included 69 year old Ed Ptak, 58 year old Iris Ptak and their friend Helga who they teased that at 72 had been the quickest hiker of the bunch. Iris shared that the region was “breathtaking—it’s absolutely worth it,” she said, “you really need time here.” Ed added that they were “grateful it’s protected,” and that it hasn’t become overrun with throngs of traffic.

As Wright and I left the Cottonwood trailhead I felt refreshed and ready to face another week of deadlines and responsibilities. I committed once again to return to the outdoors where the natural landscapes can renew my perspective and restore my strength to continue to deliver in my daily duties while seeking more rejuvenating adventures ahead.