It must have been the elk. Six or seven of them, making their way across the dirt in front of me, didn't even bother to wave. They didn't even care enough to give us a look. Yup, the elk did it. I was out there. I grinned. Probably one of those 'turd-eating grins' my dad always used to talk about. Finally. I had made it.
We planned on hitting up the Needles District of Canyonlands for Utah's UEA fall break. As my wife and I are both teachers, we have the time off and tend to travel south to escape every October. Our plan was simple, travel from Salt Lake to Blanding, and find the Cottonwood Wash road North into the Canyonlands National Park, and secure a camp spot just shy of the park's southernmost entrance.
We hit the dirt late. Much later than expected. We made our way up and over the Abajo Mountains, passing multiple camping spots along the way. "What's wrong with that one?" Hilary asked. "It is up too high, and the kids will be cold at night." was my best excuse. They were excellent spots, just not what I had 'envisioned' where we would be spending the next few days. Despite Hilary's 'looks' of "when in the hell are we going to get there?!" and such, I kept passing them. I wanted to find a good camp, dammit.
Then came Bobby's Hole. I had been warned. And they were all right. Each and every one of them. Bobby probably didn't clench up his butt cheeks more than I did though, as there isn't anything that can prepare you for driving down a loose, steep, rocks-as-big-as-my-tires rolling with the vehicle as we descend, hill. At night. Did I mention it had some big rocks?
It took me some time to relax myself.
But then we found it. The spot.
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