A Desert Trilogy By Heather Hoechst

A Desert Trilogy

By heather Hoechst

When I moved to the Four Corners in 2016, it was mid-July. Hiking in the San Juans at that time of year is like being dropped into a dream. The wildflowers burst with shades of color you didn’t realize existed in nature. The skies are deep blue and the mountain peaks have shed most of their snow and ice and invite you up their dark green carpeted slopes. We savor these summer days and try to embed the beauty and colors in our minds to access on dark winter days. The summers always feel too short and before we know it, we wake up on backpacking trips in September to a chill in the air as the leaves begin to change and the skunk cabbage has all turned black. I used to feel a deep unease as the days shortened and the leaves dropped from the trees. Winter has always invited depression into my life and, while the sun shines more brightly in Colorado than Pennsylvania, it is always the toughest time of year. A few things have made winter easier on my warm weather loving brain: First, I have embraced winter sports and can now get down most blue ski runs at the local hill, have acquired some skate skis that make me feel like a newly birthed fawn, and have learned to love the suffering of skinning up steep slopes. Second, I have discovered late winter and spring backpacking in the desert. No longer do I have to wait for the snow to melt in June or July to load up my pack for a weekend adventure. While I may have fallen in love with Durango for its mountains, I have learned to appreciate the proximity to some of America’s most beautiful desert landscapes. 

The winter of 2024/2025 was warm and dry. While I was eager to continue honing my controlled sliding skills, the snow was scarce and conditions less than ideal. After a few months of wondering when winter would come, my partner and I took advantage of an unseasonably warm weekend in early February to pull out our backpacking gear and find a different winter adventure. A mere three hour drive away sits the Needles District of Canyonlands National Park. During the spring and summer, Needles is swarming with visitors. Permits are gobbled up months in advance and the chances of obtaining a backcountry site are slim. In early February, however, the Park is nearly deserted and, on a sunny Saturday morning, Drew and I filled out a paper permit like the old days, loaded up on water and wag bags, and set out through the rocky spires. As we hiked deeper into the desert, we were struck by how quiet it felt. So rarely do you find this in a national park these days unless you travel deep into the backcountry. After admiring the views of the La Sals and the Henrys from our desert perches, we located our camping site, dropped our packs and decided to go for a run. Drew’s knowledge of pictographs and petroglyphs off the beaten paths lead us down a sandy wash to a hidden overhang featuring hundreds of perfectly preserved handprints. After comparing our prints to theirs and wondering, as we always do, why here? we shuffled back through the sand and spires to our site. We saw approximately three people the entire day. February nights in the desert are long and chilly, but with the right gear (including, for me, a Kindle full of books), those nights can be deeply restful as you are forced to cocoon down into your warm bag shortly after dinner to wait for the sun to rise and thaw out the world. The next day, we took a meandering route back, cracking through ice to finally get some fresh water, and finding more ancient rock art to marvel and muse over. When we arrived back at our car around dusk, we both agreed to strive for at least one night out under the stars for the remaining 10 months of the year. 

March brings my sister-in-law’s birthday and another opportunity for a desert escape. We joined her and my brother in Bear’s Ears National Monument for some more ancient civilization touring and wash walking. We were lucky to have two nights for this adventure and the astonishing ruins and rock art began almost immediately. Bears Ears is an incredibly special place and is sacred to many Native American tribes. When you walk through its canyons, you cannot help but be at awe at the locations of the structures and how intact so many of them remain. On this journey, it was Daniel, my brother, who had the secret knowledge of which side canyons and and scrambles to take to find the hidden ruins.  The second day of our journey led us to an incredible panel with a figure known as the Green Mask. Its bright green colors stood out from the typical browns and dark reds that are typically seen in the drawings. Why? What does it all mean? Aliens- that’s what we kept coming back to. It had to be aliens. There was a beautiful clear pool of water near the Green Mask and we considered it before hiking on. After all, the map showed a spring right at the place we intended to camp…. Such is desert camping. What is marked on a map as a spring may in fact be a puddle of liquid so full of decayed leaves and debris that no filter would even touch it. After careful consideration, Drew and I decided to load our packs with empty vessels and hike back to the Green Mask and his sacred spring. A lesson in the desert- never pass up good water and assume every camp will be a dry camp. We celebrated Talena’s birthday with homemade cake that somehow remained intact after two days of hiking, though her candles succumbed to the constant spring desert wind. 

April. Drew’s birthday month. We must celebrate with one of his favorite activities- backpacking. After much deliberation, we headed off to Dark Canyon. We had spent his last birthday in a lower section of the canyon and opted this time for the Wooden Shoe-Peavine Loop, which starts at a higher elevation and drops down to the canyon floor. The first question- how much water should we start with? I opted for only two liters as we would be passing a horse trough around 8 miles in that was reported in all sources to be “completely reliable.” Dry. Completely dry. Having both done this loop before, we knew the next possible water source was miles away and completely unreliable. As we walked on, we contemplated our options for conserving our water- do we skip boiling water for dinner in favor of having coffee in the morning? A resounding yes to that question. While we weren’t concerned for our safety as we knew water would be found and we had several liters, I couldn’t help but be very aware of every sip that passed between my lips. As the trail dropped toward the canyon, we scoured every wash for traces of wetness. Finally, miles later as the sun started to drop, we saw a little trickle that turned into a larger flow and then, enough to sink a bottle in to fill. Hallelujah! Both dinner and coffee! The next day, I vowed that I would fill up my entire water capacity at every water source we found. The old adage of lightweight backpacking is that you carry your fears. One of my fears is dehydration and I decided many trips ago that I would rather carry the weight of the water than the weight of my anxiety about thirst. As it turned out, we passed quite a few water sources that day as we slogged through the heart of Dark Canyon. In fact, when we turned the corner to begin the climb up Woodenshoe towards the canyon rim, we found a flowing waterfall complete with pools deep enough for a soak. As I promised myself, I filled all my water to capacity despite the elevation gain that was yet to come. We reflected at this point that we had seen all of three people since we left the parking lot. We would see no more until we returned to our cars. I pondered the fact that an April backpacking trip in the Needles District, where we started this Desert Trilogy in February, would be rife with people. How lucky we are that we can almost always find these places where we can be mostly alone with nature, the trees, the wind, and our thoughts. We spent the last night talking about the desert trips that Drew had experienced, such as the Hayduke trail. How does one find one’s way in that environment, I asked? The washes look the same, the rocks and cliffs all beige to red, the sky an incessant blue. GPS was my answer. And instinct. I thought this through and all I could really think about was how much water would I have to carry to not also carry my fear… Deep down, I’m still a mountain girl- in love with the vistas as much as the flowing streams, but spring is for the desert and I’ll keep slogging these sandy canyons to find more rock art, more hidden waterfalls, and the emerging light at the end of the long winter.