I’ve lived, hiked and camped in Utah for over twenty years now, and yet it was only recently that I had the occasion to hike to Calf Creek Falls.

So what, you say?

Well, you’d say that only if you haven’t been there.  If you have been there, your response would be more along the lines of, “What took you so long?”

Calf Creek Falls is a well known and loved southern Utah landmark and a major feature of the BLM's Calf Creek Recreation Area. Tucked into a pretty canyon along Utah State Highway 12, north of the town of Escalante, Calf Creek Falls is not the easiest place to get to.  And with Arches National Park, Canyonlands National Park, Zions National Park and Bryce Canyon National Park all within the same state, and quite frankly all much easier to reach, it’s easy to find reasons not to visit Calf Creek Falls. 

 Well, don’t fall into that trap.  Make the time to see Calf Creek Falls.

When you arrive at the trailhead you’ll begin your journey along a mostly level trail.  Over the course of the nearly three mile hike (one way) you’ll encounter very little total elevation gain.  However there are several rise and falls of 20- feet or more.  Coupled with the soft sand that covers a good portion of the trail, you may find parts of the trail to be more strenuous that you might expect.  The trail has significant southeastern exposure, so it can be a hot, dry hike in spring and summer.  Pack water.  As you walk the trial, you will have the opportunity to view many interesting sites before reaching the falls.

 

Beaver ponds, ancient Native American structures and pre-historic rock art sites are among the hidden delights the sharp-eyed hikers will discover as they may their way to the 126-foot-high Lower Calf Creek Falls.

In the early 1900s a local farmer grew melons in the area.  As you hike along the trail in the heat of the mid day sun you may wish to stumble upon one of those melons, which were referred to in the day as the best Melons in Boulder.  An old fence is all that remains of agricultural activity in the area, aside from the ancient granaries tucking in among the cliffs.

 

You will hear the falls long before you see them.  When you turn the last corner and walk up the short final portion of the trail you may feel you have entered a lush Hawaiian cove.  The mist falls, which tumble over 100 feet from the cliff above, combined with the shade from the trees, make you feel as if you are far away from the mountain desert.  The base of the falls is cool and comfortable even during the hottest of summer days.

 

The hike took this 47-year-old man just about an hour each way.  This takes into account about a half-dozen stops for photographs.  Plan to spend at least 20 minutes or so in the glen at the base of the falls.  Be prepared for direct exposure to the sun anytime before mid-afternoon.

Calf Creek falls is a hike well worth the effort you will put into it.

Last week we had the occasion to drive across the Hoover Dam, which I had always confused with the Boulder Dam.  Now, as a Hoover Dam veteran, I know why.  Hoover Dam is Boulder Dam.

 

I’d seen pictures of the dam, of course.  You can’t go through grade school without learning about the dam, and there’s always some kid who does a Science Fair project on Hoover Dam.  Even with all that, it was something special to see it in person.

The Hoover Dam/Boulder Dam confusion issue was resolved upon my visit.  The dam was initially called Boulder Dam because the early plans called for the dam to be built in Boulder Canyon. The dam site was later moved several miles downstream to Black Canyon, but the project was still called Boulder Dam.  So what’s Hoover got to do with it?  In January 1922, The Commerce Secretary Herbert Hoover met with the state governors of Arizona, California, Colorado, Nevada, New Mexico, Utah, and Wyoming to divvy up the water from the Colorado River.  The result was the Colorado River Compact. This agreement, also known as the Hoover Compromise, provided the green light for the Boulder Dam Project, which resulted in Hoover Dam.

 

 I knew, or I guess I thought I knew, that you could drive over the Hoover Dam to get from Nevada to Arizona (or, for that matter, Arizona to Nevada).   What I didn't know was how narrow, winding and dangerous that road is.  Well, I must not be the only person to think that, because even as I write this they are in the process of building a new road.  This new road will include a spectacular suspension bridge over the canyon. 

I have to tell you that I'm not a big 'heights' guy.  Or more correctly, I'm not a big 'edge' guy.  Looking over the edge of the dam made me tense.  Looking up at the guys working on the bridge made my sphincter tighten up.  Okay, that may not be a pretty visual, but that's the feeling I got watching those guys hundreds of feet in the air.  Now if you read the next post after this one you may wonder how a guy willing to go cliff jumping can not like heights or edges.  I don't have the answer.  But I do know I'd never in a million years work on that bridge.

  I'm serious.  You'd never get me on this crew.  No way.

It was a great deal of fun to see my kids reaction to the dam.  They were very impressed by how large the dam was and they thought it was cool you could drive a car over a dam.  They agreed is was a very big wall, and they were wondering how the bridge was going to be built.  They wanted to know how much water was behind the dam and how long it took to build the dam.  

 

So the next time you go to the local elementary school for the annual science fair, look for the kid who built the scale mock-up of the Hoover Dam. Who knows?  Depending up on which school you go to, maybe it will be my kid who did the project. 

He'll be the one with the blue ribbon!

 

Normally I avoid putting photos of myself on this site, partly because I'm shy, partly because I'm modest, but mostly because I'm not very photogenic.  As you can see from the photo here (yes, that's me) I could stand to lose a pound or 20.  However, unless you're a professional diver, an underwear model or some other freak of nature, most people don't look their best when they leap into space for a 30-foot drop where you cannot really see what is directly below you, into water you hope is there and, by the way, deep enough to support your plunge.

So look at the photo in that context and ask yourself, "Would I really look any better than that guy?"  If you can honestly answer yes, then I'll tell you how to get to this secret spot on Ennis Lake and you can show me what you got.

Oh, by the way, did I mention there is a wooden plaque bolted to the rock from which we leaped that is a memorial to a guy who DIED doing this very jump?  It's true.  It's hard to read the words on the plaque in this photo, but it gives the name of the deceased, the date of his death, and some kind words of remembrance in his honor.  The plaque is mounted in such a way that you cannot get to the jump point without walking right by it - undoubtedly in an effort to spare others the grief and anguish that his family must still feel.

So now that I've teased you into reading this post about our recent trip to Ennis to spend time with family by leading with these photos, I suppose a bit of background is in order.

My wife is the youngest of four daughters, all from a small town in eastern Montana.  Two of her sisters still live in Montana, and the third, with her husband and two children, have a beautiful summer home in, you guessed it, Ennis.  So over the 4th of July weekend we had a family get-together, with all four sisters and attendant families present.  We brought our Camping Machine up because our kids thought of this as a camping trip, and it allowed everyone else to have a bit more room in the house.

In addition to the normal family reunion activities, there were a few opportunities to break into smaller groups to pursue more individual activities.  So when my brother-in-law suggested we sneak away for a chance to go cliff diving, I, if you'll pardon the pun, 'jumped' at the chance.

My brother-in-law and I, along with his 13-year old son, drove 20 minutes around to the far side of Ennis Lake.  We crossed the bridge and turned down a narrow dirt road that leads toward the dam that forms the lake.  If you have never seen Ennis Lake, it's a large, beautiful body of water at the north end of the Madison Valley.  The lake is fed by the pristine waters of the Madison river, in which we would later float six lazy miles in tubes.  But as we approached the large rock cliff, the pristine waters appeared to me to be a menacing steel gray.

My brother-in-law and his son had made the jump a couple of times the day before, making them seasoned veterans.  And though they were extremely good-natured about it, they could not resist a bit of hazing for the newcomer.  As the car slowed and we approached the jump point, my BIL pointed to a tall rock pinnacle and said, "There it is.  I think it's no more than 50 feet high."  The rock in question was tall, narrow, and set sufficiently far back from the water that jumping to reach the lake appeared problematic at best, and all-but-impossible at worst.  Since our relationship is based in part on false bravado, I replied derisively, "You brought me all the way out here for that anthill?"  He simply smiled and laughed lightly, leaving me to think he was serious.

Of course it turned out the rock pinnacle was, in fact, about 50 feet off the water, but that was not the jump point.  I graciously conceded their small victory as they led me to the actual jump point, below the Pinnacle of Intimidation, but even so, not without it's own mystique - beginning with the memorial plaque in the second photo.  Yes, it really is a memorial for some guy who apparently died doing this jump, or some ill-advised variation.  It is a bit unnerving to walk past the plaque, out onto an uneven rock surface from which one will jump about 30 feet into the river.  The takeoff point is rounded, so you cannot walk up to the edge and see exactly what is below you.  Oh, sure, you can see water out there, but not where you will actually land - the entry point is below the horizon from your takeoff point.

Knowing my BIL and his son had made the jump (well, technically believing them when they TOLD me they had done it the day before) I was reasonably confident that yes, the water below was sufficiently deep and free of tree stumps and old refridgerators that a jump could be safely executed.  Still, I deferred to them as locals and suggested they have the honor of going first, and I would record their bravado for history with the camera.

They did jump - three times for my BIL and four for his son.  We captured the event in both digital photos and videotape.  At that point, having seen the succession of successful jumps, recorded them for their scrapbooks, and having run out of excuses, it was my turn to jump.  They graciously offered to record my attempt, and I accepted -which is what you are seeing here.

My first jump was a bit unnerving.  I stood along at the takeoff point, gauging how far I would have to leap to clear the rounded, protruding section of rock I knew was below, but could not see.  In truth it does not require much to clear, and I knew that from having watched seven previous jumps.  Still, it is one thing to know, another thing to be unable to see.  I took a few practice steps to the edge, measuring my strides much as a NFL place-kicker will pace backwards from the ball prior to kicking.  The last thing I wanted to do was lose my footing and stumble over the edge.  In the end, I did what all others had done before me on their maiden voyage - took a two-step run and lunged into the void.  As I cleared the rock and saw the water below I had two quick thoughts - first, I had successfully cleared the rock outcropping; and second, the water looked so much further away now that I was actually falling toward it.

That second of thought seemed to last for at least 5 seconds or more - but of course it didn't, and the next thing I knew I hit the water, more or less upright, went down several feet, never touched anything below, and swam for the surface.  I must have been 8-10 feet below as it seemed to take forever to get back to the surface, but finally I clawed my way to the top and took an exhilarating breath of air.

As I swam to shore I noticed that my nose felt as though it had recevied an enema - completely flushed.  Apparently I forgot to breathe out as I entered the water.  So on the second jump I made sure to put my hands over my face as I entered the water, as you can see in the last photo.

So if you are ready to head out on the highway, looking for adventure, point your vehicle toward Ennis, Montana and find the secret cliff jumping spot.  It's exhilarating!