Ramparts Overlook

This is not only a story about a hike we did today, but also a story about the first time I went to Ramparts Overlook two years ago.  It is a story about time, and love, and my best hiking dog.

Jay at Rose Creek Falls and the Stairway Portage, BWCA, September 2009

The weather was looking iffy again this morning.  I didn't wake up thinking we should do this hike, but when the sky cleared a bit, Jon and I set out.  Cedar Breaks National Monument is a spectacular place--one of my favorites.  It is a short drive, there are no crowds, and while some people will hike to Spectra Point, very few will continue on to Ramparts Overlook.  The amphitheater is roughly 3 miles wide with a 2500' drop.  You can hike a beautiful stretch of the rim without having to shuffle around anyone or be trapped behind a guard rail.  Fortified by not only Jon's arrival, but his arrival with WARM CLOTHES, we took off with our poles and braved long sections of mud to get to Spectra Point.

Approaching Spectra Point, trail is on the left, with the Twisted Forest and the North Rim Viewpoint in the distance.

Beyond Spectra Point the trail gets less use, but is always visible.  It leaves the rim and descends to follow Shooting Star Creek.  This is a very quiet and private stretch, with good smells, and Jon spotted several mule deer.  The creek, full with the recent rain, makes the descent peaceful and lush.

Dropping to Shooting Star Creek--too bad you can't see how much mud is on Jon's boots!

After passing bristlecone pines clinging precariously to the rim, we climb again to Ramparts Overlook.  Some people go off trail past this point, too, but the conditions today did not allow for that.  We stayed awhile before retracing our steps back.  Slipping and sliding much of the way.

A misty Ramparts Overlook

Back to my best hiking dog.

Jay and I hiked often, and would take hiking trips together in the fall.  He was a very intuitive dog, and he was very much my dog.  He loved nothing better than being in the wilderness with me, sleeping in a tent together, having a fire at night, reading a book by headlamp.  He was a steady and patient hiker.  I would be struggling with the map and he would be sitting up on a rock, or a stump--waiting for me to realize he was already on the right path.  He was quiet and respectful of wildlife.  He put up with my picture taking.  When I was hiking with Jay, he was beside me as a partner, as an equal.

Above Duncan Lake, BWCA 2008

When we bought our UT place in March of 2011, I couldn't wait to bring Jay here in the fall.  I had no idea I would lose him to hemangiosarcoma two months after the closing.

We came out to remodel in June 2011, and I drove up to Cedar Breaks.  I didn't even know what Cedar Breaks was, I was just taking the back road to Home Depot to buy paint rollers.  I pulled over at the North Rim Viewpoint, and from the parking area it just looks like trees and sky.  When I crested the rim, and saw the view, my heart broke.  All I could think of was how wonderful it would have been to sit on the ledge with Jay, how unfair it was that he was gone, how angry and bitter and sad I was.  Oh, it is so hard to set those emotions aside, even when we know we should. 

Now, I take Mac and Apolo there whenever I can, just because it feels like the right thing to do.

Mac asks, "Does this wind make me look fat?!"

Apolo photobombs the North Rim

Two years ago next week, I drove out to UT with Mac, and Jon and his mom flew out for a few days.  Grief is sneaky and conniving.  I kept thinking, "This was the trip I was supposed to take with Jay."  After Jon and Marian flew home, I went up to Cedar Breaks for the sunset alone.  While you can take a dog to the permanent overlooks, you can't take a dog on the hiking trails, so I had no choice but to head for Spectra Point by myself.  Once there, I figured the five people standing on the ledge were five too many, so took a hard left and kept going to Ramparts.

September 28, 2011

Something happened in that stretch.  Something happened when I got to Ramparts Overlook.  I sat there for a very long time; I am not sure I have ever felt so alone.  But it was then I could see Jay was not gone, because he is a part of me; he lives in my memories, and he lives in the person I became because he was my dog.  I carried him in my heart that day, and felt him on the breeze.  He was in the sunset, he was in my footfalls.  He was the sky and the trickle of the creek.  He was the raven on the ledge.  And so a place Jay never physically visited became a place where I can go to feel close to him.  If you have bothered to read this far, I am guessing you have loved someone who is now gone.  I wish you a place like this to return to.

It was good to be there today, and better to not have to hike it alone this time.

We might have to pressure wash these.