Catstair Canyon

About This Experience

Catstair Canyon was one of those places where the distance on the map looked almost laughably short. After some of the long approaches and rough desert hikes we had already done in Utah, this one seemed as though it would be little more than a quick walk from the car, an easy detour before continuing with the rest of the day. And in terms of distance, that was exactly what it was. The problem was the heat. The moment we stepped out of the Jeep, the desert air seemed to wrap itself around us. There was almost no breeze, the sky was perfectly clear and the sandstone had been absorbing the sun for hours. Every exposed surface radiated heat back toward us, so that even though the walk into Catstair Canyon was short, it immediately felt far more demanding than it had any right to be. We carried plenty of water and started along the sandy path, telling ourselves that the destination was close and that we would be back at the car before the heat had time to become annoying. That optimism lasted perhaps five minutes. The canyon was beautiful, but there was almost no shade. The sun stood high above us and seemed to follow every turn in the wash. The sand beneath our feet was hot, the rocks were hot, even the air itself seemed hot enough to touch. We began looking at every small overhang as though it were a luxury hotel. A thin strip of shadow beneath a boulder suddenly became incredibly attractive, and whenever the canyon wall offered a few meters of shade we slowed down instinctively to enjoy it. It was almost comical. We had walked much longer and more difficult routes without thinking twice, yet here this tiny approach had us sweating as though we had been hiking for hours. Catstair Canyon gradually narrowed around us, however, and that was when the discomfort began to feel worthwhile. The walls rose on either side in beautiful layers of sandstone, their colors shifting from pale orange to deep red depending on the light. Erosion had carved the rock into ledges, alcoves and strangely shaped surfaces, and every bend revealed another little section of canyon that seemed hidden from the wider desert. The harsh sunlight that made the walk so uncomfortable also made the sandstone spectacular. Bright areas glowed almost orange while the recesses turned deep red and brown, creating a contrast that made the canyon look far more dramatic than its modest size suggested. We continued deeper, following the natural corridor between the cliffs. The heat remained relentless, but now curiosity was pulling us forward. There is something about these Utah canyons that makes it very difficult to turn around when you know there is something interesting just beyond the next bend. Every corner suggests another alcove, another unusual formation or perhaps traces left by the people who travelled through these places long before modern roads existed. Catstair Canyon was no exception. The farther we walked, the more isolated it felt, despite knowing that the Jeep was really not very far away. The sounds of the road disappeared quickly, replaced by the crunch of sand under our shoes and the occasional movement of a bird somewhere high along the cliffs. Even the heat seemed to amplify the silence. Nothing moved unless it had a very good reason to. When we finally reached the section we had come to see, all complaints about the temperature were temporarily forgotten. The sandstone walls surrounded us in warm, glowing colors, and the small canyon suddenly felt like a hidden chamber in the desert. This was exactly why we kept doing these walks, even in conditions that made sensible people remain inside air-conditioned vehicles. Places like this rarely reveal themselves from the road. You have to leave the car, accept some discomfort and walk into the landscape before the desert begins to show its more intimate side. We spent time exploring slowly, studying the walls and taking photographs, despite the fact that simply standing in the sun was enough to make sweat run down our backs. Photography in these conditions became an exercise in efficiency. We would step into the sun, frame the photograph, take a few shots and then retreat toward whatever shade we could find. The camera itself became surprisingly warm in our hands. At one point we joked that the sandstone was probably only a few degrees away from being useful for cooking lunch. Yet the light was fantastic. The strong sun revealed every texture in the rock, every fracture, ripple and change in color. Against the intensely blue Utah sky, the orange canyon walls looked almost unreal. We kept taking pictures even though each additional photograph meant another minute standing in the heat. There was also something satisfying about knowing that we had the place essentially to ourselves. No crowds, no paved walkway and no visitor center stood between us and the canyon. It was simply the two of us, the sandstone and an unreasonable amount of sunshine. That solitude made the experience feel much larger than the actual walk. Distance is a strange thing in the desert. A short trail can feel like a real expedition when the temperature is high enough, while a much longer hike on a cool morning can feel effortless. Catstair Canyon taught us that lesson very effectively. Eventually we decided that we had absorbed enough scenery and more than enough heat. Turning back toward the Jeep should have felt easy because we knew how short the return was, but by then the sun had managed to drain much of our enthusiasm. We started back through the sand, moving quickly from one small patch of shade to the next. The car was never truly far away, but it began to acquire the mythical qualities of an oasis. We could already imagine opening the doors, sitting down and feeling the first blast of cool air from the air conditioning. That thought probably increased our walking speed considerably. The canyon seemed even hotter on the way out. Perhaps the temperature had risen, or perhaps we were simply more aware of it now. The rocks reflected the afternoon sun from every direction, and there were moments when it felt as though we were walking through an enormous natural oven. We drank frequently and reminded ourselves that this supposedly easy little excursion had still taken us into an environment where heat had to be respected. Utah's canyon country can look wonderfully inviting beneath a brilliant blue sky, but the same clear skies that make the landscape so beautiful can turn even a short walk into something surprisingly exhausting. Then, finally, the Jeep appeared ahead. Few vehicles have ever looked more beautiful. We climbed inside, started the engine and immediately turned the air conditioning as high as it would go. For a few minutes we simply sat there drinking water and enjoying the cold air, laughing at how completely such a short walk had managed to wear us out. According to the map, we had barely gone anywhere. According to our bodies, we had just crossed half of Utah. And yet neither of us regretted it for a second. The heat had been uncomfortable, the sun brutal and the walk far more tiring than its distance suggested, but Catstair Canyon had been absolutely worth the pain. That was becoming one of the recurring lessons of our travels through Utah: the best places often demanded something in return. Sometimes it was a long hike, sometimes a rough Jeep road, sometimes a scramble over rocks, and sometimes it was simply the willingness to leave an air-conditioned car and walk through astonishing heat for a place that could not be appreciated any other way. Catstair Canyon had asked only for a very short walk, but under that merciless desert sun it had somehow made every meter count. By the time we drove away, cool air finally circulating through the Jeep, the discomfort was already beginning to fade from memory. What remained were the glowing canyon walls, the silence, the intense colors and the satisfaction of having gone in despite the heat. It had been hot, sweaty and slightly painful, but completely worth it.