Kane Gulch, November 25, 2007
I have been estranged from the desert, the red-rock country of southeastern Utah, since the autumn of 2006. It rained on me then as I lay alone in my tent before dawn in Owl Canyon nervously listening for sounds of flash flooding, and later that morning as I climbed out, covered by an awkward poncho, yet still damp and miserable, a tiny organism in the vastness of the Grand Gulch Plateau where hundreds and even thousands of years earlier, ancient puebloan peoples would have huddled together under alcoves and inside tiny adobe rooms that are now the many ruins I saw among the cliffs in those canyons.
Today, we were reunited. Kane Gulch begins as a nondescript cow pasture that opens and descends gently into the canyon. It is typical of canyon country with soaring cliffs, arches, windows, red slickrock, et al. “Typical” by no means suggests ordinary or uninspiring. The spirit of the desert cannot be described and quantified by mere land formations; it is in the dry air and deep polarized blue of the sky, the aroma of sage, the sway of the tamarisk in the wind, the cold feel of mammoth boulders in the creek bed, the morning shadows on vermillion cliffs, the history of prehistoric peoples who lived here and the vagabonds and misfits who found solace, beauty, and adventure here.
Several interesting waypoints can be found in the first five miles of Kane Gulch. Junction ruin, a small grouping of cliff dwellings positioned in an impossible-looking location in an alcove, can be found at the junction of Grand and Kane Gulches. Stimper Arch is located exactly at the five-mile point and isn’t magnificent compared to others I’ve seen, but was a nice destination nonetheless. The real gem of the canyon is Turkey Pen Ruin which sits in a vast bend in the canyon and consists of two levels of dwellings. Tucked against the canyon wall are the remains of several single-storied dwellings, many of them in fairly good shape with roofs and the vigas intact. A partially excavated kiva was here as well as a “turkey pen”, or the remains of a free-standing room apart from the cliff with vertical sticks and branches which would have stabilized the inside of the adobe-covered wall. The second level, a high alcove, contained more substantial ruins but it was closed to access due to a recent rockslide. The dwellings had become too fragile to approach closely. There was a plethora of rock art, both pictographs and petroglyphs hundreds of years apart. The dwellings were supposedly 800 years old, although some of the rock art, I believe, was dated to the ninth century(?). There were more ancient corn cobs here than I have ever seen, and lots of potsherds, a few bones, and other artifacts.
We ate lunch at the ruin before rounding the corner to see Stimper Arch and then climbing back out of the canyon. We saw only one other couple—backpackers on their way out—the entire day, and that was in the morning. The remoteness was palpable and, for me, very welcome. The desert, in my experience, offers what the mountains cannot, and that is barren, sweeping desolation, the epitome of impossible beauty, a vastness with a gravity so immense it could almost swallow a passing human soul.
"Again I am in the desert--the desert that I know--red sand, cedars, great spaces, distant mesas..." - Everett Ruess, 1932
We encountered some snow and ice here and there.
Morning shadows in the canyon.
Deeper into the canyon.
What looked like an arch was disconnected at the top.
The "Watchtower" at Turkey Pen Ruin. There are "peep holes" positioned inside the structure, strategically placed to view crucial points in the canyon.
The two levels of ruins: you can see the ones on the first level behind Kathy, and the watchtower at the upper right. More lay in the alcove behind the camera. The "Turkey Pen" can be seen at bottom middle.
The watchtower at Turkey Pen Ruin.
Some pictographs at the lower ruins.
The watchtower from a ways back into the Canyon.
A collage of some of the rock art we discovered at Turkey Pen Ruin.
Stimper Arch, where we turned around. This trail alone continues for miles and miles, probably filling at least a week of backpacking.
