When we finally reached Chokecherry Point, we could see that losing altitude would be accomplished in a hurry. A very rocky trough led to a steep switch-backing shelf road that literally dropped off the side of the mountain. The rocks on this descent were large enough and mobile enough to require care as we slowly picked our way down, down, down, and down some more. We shed almost 2,000 feet of elevation over the next 3 miles, suddenly emerging onto the pavement of Highway 12. We drove directly across the pavement, found a spot flat enough to throw our tents up in the gathering dusk, admired the mind-boggling view to the east, and called an end to a long, hard day of backcountry travel.
The next morning, we faced a dilemma: Although aerial photographs and old maps clearly showed dirt-road routes to the east, an administrative entity called Capital Reef National Park seemed to block our dirt-seeking path. We stopped at a nearby visitor's station to confirm our concerns. Although we could enter the park on a "back door" backcountry route, there were only two roads still available through the Waterpocket Fold, and both involved long stretches of pavement. The other roads and routes had all been blocked at the national park boundary. Sigh.
Since we'd driven the Burr Road on earlier adventures, we rejected that route. We dropped off of Highway 12 toward Bowns Reservoir, and continued our descent toward the west side of the great natural barrier posed by the Waterpocket Fold. The Waterpocket Fold is a 100-mile-long wrinkle in the Earth's crust. Erosion of the upturned strata of the "reef" has left an almost impenetrable wall of sandstone bisected by only a few narrow canyons. The road between Bowns Reservoir and the approaching reef was primitive and pretty enough that we mentally added the area to the "must explore in more detail someday" list we keep.
We entered the park via the South Draw Road, which definitely requires 4WD, but is passable for a stock vehicle in most conditions. Not having been to the north part of Capital Reef Park before, we were in awe of the violently up-thrust, colorful strata in the domes, spires, monoliths, and canyons of the Fold. The South Draw Road deposits visitors back to the pavement at a junction that leads to the upper end of Capital Gorge. Knowing that the gorge was a large, relatively smooth dry wash that cut all the way through the Fold, we eagerly turned east on the graded dirt road through the steep-walled canyon. After a few miles, the road "ended" at a picnic area. The ultimate government-sponsored incongruity confronted us. A well-documented and historical road through the Fold has been closed to "preserve" it for the public's "enjoyment." One of the signs even shows pre-depression cars on the then-highway in the midst of the canyon. Call us thick if you must, but we just didn't get it. We climbed back into the trucks and headed north on the pavement toward Highway 24, the only route still available to the east.
We followed the Fremont River through the Fold and turned back south toward Notom. We knew that not too many miles ahead we could lose the undesirable pavement beneath our tires and get back to the dirt we so eagerly sought. We turned off the Noton-Bullfrog road where Oak Creek cuts through a low ridge and headed for the distant heights of the Henry Mountains. We had recently explored the area (Mysterious Sentinels-Exploring Utah's Henry Mountains, 4WDSU May '03 issue), so we knew our route finding would be a bit easier. Our passage took us up from the dry and very barren flats and broken ridges along Sandy Creek to the high alpine ridges of Mount Ellen. We crossed the high crest between Mount Ellen and Mount Pennell at Bull Creek Pass.
Here, we were once again over 10,000 feet, on a high divide that provided unbelievably expansive views of southern Utah's deserts, both to the west and east. To the west, in the far distance beyond the Waterpocket Fold, we could see the dark outline of Boulder Mountain and our campsite the previous night. To the east lay the red rock deserts dropping toward the Colorado River. Beyond, still some 75 air miles distant, was the hot shower in Moab.
We headed down the east slope of the Henrys on a beeline for the lower elevations. We knew that our current road would take us straight to Highway 95 south of Hanksville, but well south of the beginning of the Poison Springs Canyon Road. We consulted our maps, dropped a few waypoints into the GPS, and headed off on a smaller road that appeared on the map to head almost directly toward our intended intersection.
Reading old maps will often lead to off-highway adventures and this case was no different. The "road" soon headed the wrong way, and some careful backtracking led to our selection of a less obvious route across the desert. It was plainly a road and had been graded at some previous time in history, but it showed no signs of any recent travel. It was on the correct heading according to the map, however, so off we went. The route took us through some rugged country that is rarely visited on wheels. We bounced across about 10 miles of desert, finally emerging onto the highway. We looked across the highway, but the entry into Poison Springs was nowhere to be seen. We shrugged, guessed south, and trundled slowly down the highway. We hadn't gone very far when the familiar landmark at the turnoff popped into view. We'd missed our target by less than a mile.
We dropped into Poison Springs Canyon, heading for a campsite 10 miles ahead frequented by Dr. Bob. We wound our way down the drainage, with the walls of the canyon creeping higher in the rapidly lengthening shadows. We stopped long enough to examine some excellent petroglyphs and an old enclosed spring before pulling into our campsite at sunset. We had now been on the road for 2-1/2 days and had covered 250 miles, 110 miles of it on this long but rewarding day. We settled into our sleeping bags under a velvety-black starlit sky after another perfect fire. We were halfway to our goal and looking forward to the second half of the journey.