Adventure In the High Uintas Wilderness

When we arrived, we thought it somewhat odd there were only two other cars parked at the Uinta River Trailhead last Sunday. About a half-hour into our hike, we encountered a day-hiker on her way out. She was to be the last human being we would see for six days.

Indeed, if one is seeking a combination of solitude and grandeur, the High Uintas Wilderness of Northeast Utah may be one of the finest destinations in the contiguous United States. Add the outstanding angling and abundant wildlife viewing and this was to be one of my favorite backpacking experiences.

Only two drawbacks: first, we live in Southern California, so it's a thirteen hour drive to the trailhead. Second, the trails are brutal. I'm used to the well-worn tracks of the High Sierra. The Uinta River trails, however, are faint, often difficult to follow and -- my God -- they are rocky! We walked for miles through rock-strewn paths: ankle-breakers to boulders the size of my dog, debris fields hundreds of yards wide, rocky and treacherous stream crossings. Never have I so had to concentrate on each step, and never have my feet so ached at the end of the day.

On day one, we aimed for the aptly-named Rock Canyon Creek, hustling to make it ahead of an impending afternoon thunderstorm. We were five minutes too late. The rain was intermixed with pea-sized hail, and I soon discovered my five-year old Gore Tex jacket was no longer waterproof (haven't worn it in the rain in three years). On the bright side, the weather only lasted thirty minutes, and we were able to collect enough hail from our tents to make iced cocktails before dinner.

The Uinta River gorge is deep and spectacular. The river was high and busy with snow melt, and the confluences with side creeks were violent and awe-inspiring. Particularly impressive is the view from the lip of the canyon where Atwood Creek pours in from the opposite side.

Day two brought us a brutal ten-mile climb to our base camp, a spot just east of North Fork Park. We spent three nights camped there, taking day trips up and down the North Fork Uinta and up to the twin Kidney Lakes. Angling in the river was outstanding for pan-sized brookies, and the Kidney's yielded one nice cutthroat and some huge brook trout. I caught my biggest back country brookie from South Kidney, a fourteen-inch monster that was a challenge on my two-pound test spinning outfit. Alas, I lugged my fly rig up the mountain for no apparent reason, having left my leaders at home. Sometimes I'm such a dimwit.

North Fork Park (out here on the West Coast we would call it a meadow) was pristine and beautiful. The river flows busily through it, but with enough pockets of slack water to provide good angling. Small side creeks flow into the main river from both sides of the valley in frequent intervals.

The camp site we chose was apparently a prime feeding location for mule deer, because we had visitors often. The deer would stroll right into camp, feeding quietly. They seemed almost tame. If the dogs were asleep (which was often) we could sit and watch them for as much as five minutes before they moved on. If the dogs were awake and barked at them, the deer never showed alarm. Instead, they simply shrugged and sauntered off, as if to say "fine, we'll eat elsewhere."

The hike out on Friday was noteworthy only because we finally ran into another hiker, at the Shale Creek Bridge. He told us he had been hiking throughout the Uintas for years and rarely did he see other backpackers. (An aside: my map of the High Uintas has a bunch of shaded areas labeled "Areas of Concentrated Use." As an experienced High Sierra backpacker used to dealing with herds of humanity, I can only conclude this term must be relative to location.)

The hoards of early-season mosquitoes we were promised never materialized, and after the first day the weather cooperated. We had the solitude we so crave. In all, I'd say my first foray into the High Uintas Wilderness was an unqualified success. I think I'll try it again next summer. Maybe two weeks this time.