Today was our last in Moab and we had an ambitious schedule. Our goal was to beat the heat by getting on the trail early, so we grabbed a free continental breakfast at the motel before driving up the UT 128 along the Colorado River one last time to the trailhead for the Negro Bill Canyon Trail. It was going to be a five mile up and back hike and we figured it would probably take about an hour and a half to reach our destination, the Morning Glory Natural Bridge, at the head of the steep canyon. The red sandstone bridge has a span of 243 feet, making it the fifth longest natural rock span in the United States. And it’s stoner as hell!
We arrived at the trailhead a little after seven and the place was completely empty. The air smelled cool and sweet and the entire canyon was in full shade. Perfect!
The trail ran along a very lovely shallow little stream that sang to us the whole way. There were lots of shade and places to chill as the canyon wrens practiced their morning songs.
I knew from past hikes in Negro Bill that there were over ten stream crossings and we were going to get our feet wet eventually so just I bit the bullet and got my feet wet at the first crossing. Of course, I was wearing Teva sandals so it really didn’t matter, but Jimmy played the rock hop game, trying his best to keep his fancy hiking shoes dry, until we finally came to a spot where we had no choice but to wade through the water.
In the Southwest it’s no big deal if you get your shoes wet because you can dry your shoes in the car quickly. The hot sun turns your car into an oven and quickly bakes them dry in a couple of hours.
There was Poison Ivy along the sides of the trail in some of the wet spots. There was even a photo sign at the trailhead warning people who didn’t know what it looked like. It didn’t grow over the trail, so there was no reason for a hiker to ever come in contact with it. I guess the BLM just wanted people to be aware that it was there.
I’m one of the lucky ones who isn’t allergic to PI, so I didn’t pay it any mind. But Jimmy was very careful about steering clear whenever it popped up along the trail.
We couldn’t have timed our little hike any better. We arrived at Morning Glory Natural Bridge just before the sun came over the rim. The sandstone bridge was almost black against the blue sky of morning.
Jimmy and I sat on some large flat stones by a rainbow seep that trickled down the wall at the head of the canyon and it felt like we were going to early morning mass.
And when the sunlight hit the desert varnish-stained sandstone the whole bridge came alive. Desert varnish is a blackish manganese-iron deposit that gradually forms on exposed sandstone cliff faces as a result of weathering and bacteria. Standing directly under the massive natural bridge, which was only separated from the rim by a mere 15 feet, it looked like the leg of the world’s biggest dinosaur.
The hike back was mostly in the sun, but it wasn’t hot, so it was all good. In fact, it was like doing a completely different hike because everything that had been in the shade on the way up was now all lit up and shiny.
Almost as soon as we left the bridge and started back down-canyon, we began running into other people, mostly smiling young hikers sporting dreads and sandals. Then came the dog walkers, followed by the screaming kids. Jimmy and I slapped five that we had gotten an early start and experienced the canyon and natural bridge in peaceful silence.
I don’t want to come across like I’m better than other park visitors. Everyone has a right to experience nature, and I would rather they hike the canyons of the Southwest than sit on their couches watching football or Oprah. And I have no more right to solace than the next numbnut. BUT, it is just more enjoyable when you are the only one there. You feel like it’s all yours. That’s all I’m saying.
I’m sure that you have been wondering about the name Negro Bill Canyon. In these times of political correctness, it has, of course, become embroiled in controversy.
How did the canyon get such a curious name, you ask?
William Grandstaff was a cowboy who was half African-American and half Native-American. He hailed from Alabama and was one of the first settlers in the Moab area around 1877. He came with his buddy named Frenchie and they set up shop in the abandoned Elk Mountain Mission Fort where they scraped out a meager existence together.
Frenchie soon moved on but Grandstaff stayed until 1881, farming, ranching, and prospecting. He built a cabin and two ice houses in the canyon that bears his name.
In 1881, there was an infamous Indian uprising and Grandstaff was accused of selling whiskey to the Indians. He feared there would be repercussions. So he quickly abandoned his cabin and forty head of cattle and told no one where he was going.
He eventually popped up in Colorado and settled in Glenwood Springs where he became a welcome member of the community until his death in 1901.
Early settlers in Moab called the canyon Negro Bill Canyon for obvious reasons. Well, actually, it was originally called “Nigger Bill Canyon”, but after the first round of historical revision, it was softened to the more palatable “Negro”.
The Moab City Council recently failed by one vote to change the name of Negro Bill Canyon. Interestingly enough, the NAACP opposed the name change.
But they did change the name of the trailhead parking lot to the Grandstaff Trailhead.
Whatever …
After checking out of our motel, we stopped to get some incredible organic peaches from a lady who brings them in each day from an orchard in Colorado and then sells them from a truck on the north end of town. We bought a basket of about seven or eight jumbo peaches for $10 and had them for breakfast the next few mornings.
Our final stop in Moab was the Quesadilla Mobillia food truck. I’m not sure why, but food trucks are quite popular in Moab. And while they are each housed in a truck, the trucks never move. Quesadilla Mobillia had picnic tables under cottonwood shade trees and was really just a funky outdoor cafe. It’s pretty hard to screw up Mexican food. It’s equally hard to stand out. Quesadilla Mobillia definitely served some of the best Mexican food under the sun. The portions were huge and the spices were lively. And we got a great lunch for under $10. Hell, the peaches were more expensive than the lunch.
After three fun-packed days in Moab, it was time for us to get back on the road. Our destination was THE NEEDLES section of Canyonlands National Park about 80 miles away to the south. As usual, we would be following US 191 most of the way.
There were several eye-catching wayside attractions along the Spanish Valley way, including the screwball Hole in the Rock, one of those classic tourist traps filled with Chinese crap and bullshit stories.
A few miles further down UT 191 we came to the enchanting Wilson Arch (91 feet long by 46 feet high) nestled in a cliff face right off the highway. We pulled into the pullout and then stretched our legs and got back in the hiking groove, following a short, easy trail up to the base of the impressive rock window.
According to the sign at the pull off near the arch:
“Wilson Arch was named after Joe Wilson, a local pioneer who had a cabin nearby in Dry Valley. This formation is known as Entrada Sandstone. Over time superficial cracks, joints, and folds of these layers were saturated with water. Ice formed in the fissures, melted under extreme desert heat, and winds cleaned out the loose particles. A series of free-standing fins remained. Wind and water attacked these fins until, in some, cementing material gave way and chunks of rock tumbled out. Many damaged fins collapsed like the one to the right of Wilson Arch. Others, with the right degree of hardness survived despite their missing middles like Wilson Arch.”
Forty miles south of Moab, we turned off US 191 and headed west on UT 211 for twelve miles until we came to one of the most outstanding rock art panels in America: Newspaper Rock State Historic Monument.
There are over 650 distinct petroglyphs chiseled into the black stained desert varnish of a Wingate Sandstone cliff face that marks the beginning of Indian Creek Canyon which has been a major travel way for Native-Americans for the past 2,000 years.
The rock face was covered with pictures of humans, animals, and strange symbols. The later images depict men hunting on horses. And there is even what I can only describe as one of the first Native-American cartoons featuring a horseman shooting an arrow at a deer and the deer is shitting itself in fear.
Rock art experts have debated the meaning of every little picture and why there are so many figures on this one sandstone panel. I’m no expert, but my guess is that lots of people passed that way over the years and the mural was close to the trail and easy to draw upon. But in the end, it remains a cultural mystery because there’s no one living who can explain its original intent.
It was another 17 miles to the entrance of the The Needles, and along the way we passed through the lushly irrigated Indian Creek Valley where several huge ranches spread across the land like a green carpet of wheat and alfalfa dotted with munching horses and cows.
By now, the sun was low on the western horizon and our plan was to try and snag a campsite in the park’s stellar campground where we had camped many times before. The campground is quite popular so we were crossing our fingers that it wasn’t full.
We hoped to set up our camp and then catch what is always a really entertaining ranger talk that takes place each night atop a slickrock landing pad in the sky near the campground that is accessed by stone steps.
Then we were going to get up early the next day and hike the Chesler Park Trail, one of the finest hikes in the Southwest.
- Chesler Park & Joint Loop Trails – This is by far the best hike in the park. It will give you the best views and incorporate the best sections of the park into one LONG hike (10.4 miles). It is a strenuous hike, but not particularly difficult. There are some steep sections and it will definitely take you all day to hike its length. Chesler Park is right in the middle of The Needles, the pointy top rock formation that can be seen from all around the park, and it is way worth the effort it takes to get there.
The first loop of the campground where we usually camped was full, other than one spot right by the entrance road that would have been flashed with headlights every time someone drove in or out. But beggars can’t be choosers, so we pulled into the spot. As soon as we got out of the car we were engulfed in waves of nasty little gnats and we immediately jumped back into the car. We both agreed that we couldn’t camp in a place where there were so many buzzing insects. They don’t bite, but they fly up your nose and into your eyes and ears. Sleeping would have been impossible. So, we bailed.
But to where? A dark storm was looming in the west and slowly tracking in our direction. The sky was taking on a purple-yellow glow and The Needles looked surreal in the distance.
On the way out of the park, we stopped at Wooden Shoe Butte to assess our options.
I turned to Jimmy as I popped a beer and smiled. “That storm is going to blow itself out long before it gets to us. The sun’s going down and it’s already dying. Most of its rain isn’t even hitting the ground.”
At that point the sun dropped beneath the clouds and lit the world like fire.
I pointed back up the road to the east from where we had just come. “It’s all BLM land on the mesa top above Newspaper Rock. We need to boogie so we get back there before dark and I’ll find us a nice dirt road where we can camp.”
Twenty minutes later we came to a gravel road leading up into a wonderful world of slickrock and Pinyon/Juniper, my favorite terrain. We were in the Indian Creek Recreation Area a few miles from Newspaper Rock, so it is totally legal to camp anywhere we liked.
The storm had died, leaving no trace other than a few glowing clouds, the sun was setting as Juniper rose into the sky, and we were home free.
Next Stop – Monticello & the Abajo Mountains