Page 36 - HEF Pen & Ink 2022

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The Place that Calls Me By Miranda Sheafor
The drive from Montana to Utah is not a short one. A quick search will tell you it’s about 12 hours, not counting any breaks in driving, and it’s a journey that twists through a relatively barren landscape. The occasional flecks of wildlife and the flashes of small towns that all look the same from afar make for a fairly monotonous back- drop. But Capitol Reef is unmistakable. The vibrant reds and oranges that ombre over twisting mountains and stretching plateaus are distinct even in the fleeting glimpses caught through the window of a speeding car. But more astounding than anything to me was the emptiness. So few people, no matter where you looked.
Fruita is a shock of lush green amongst it all, like a strange oasis in an even stranger desert. Apricots were in season in the or- chard at the time, and they coated the trees in droplets of golden orange. I climbed a waiting ladder, gathering a bowlful of the soft fruits. Each bite was full of a gentle sweetness that kept me coming back for more. I reveled in the idea of returning the morning of our last day, but the trees had lost their shining jewels seemingly over- night. More people must have come after us, trickling away the fruits until all that remained were the unripe and discarded, left in the grass for deer to graze on.
Then there was the stargazing. I remember wanting to go out to the stretches of flat rock to watch the sunset after hiking for the entire day. Out there, the sky in its entirety surrounds each person and swal- lows them whole in a vastness that makes
all the ground just underfoot feel minis- cule in comparison. The sunset crests the infinite horizon, filling the canvas of sky with any color it pleases. I knew I had to come back to see the stars.
The rock is cold and jabs into your back as if it knows exactly how to irritate you. But the air holds a stern and thought- ful silence and
the sky itself is a blanket of darkness so deep it’s colored, dotted in so many stars it’s as if the universe is looking down on you
in her entirety. Everything blurred away and it was just the two of us, staring back at each other.
But Cohab will always be my favorite. The steps leading up to the canyon entrance are a sheer set of switchbacks ingrained in the cliff. They were exhausting the first time we scaled them, but the second time the challenge was thrilling. I hit every turn with a purpose and pushed past every step in a blur. The view from the top is like a bridge between two worlds. Facing one way, the park is visible for miles. Russet cliffs claw out and recede back in endless waves. The other way you see the canyon. The walls within are an ever changing and winding corridor. One moment, they hold shades of pale tan pocketed with small holes. The next they are a perfectly smooth surface coated in stripes of every warm hue from carmine to copper. Wildlife bursts from every crevasse and stretches out from any patch of ground it is afforded. The winding trail is composed of a cool dust that is as soft as silk and whose color shifts