Mark Perkins and I were cruising down Provo Canyon on an idle Sunday when we first spotted the entrance to Slide Canyon. At first glance, the canyon’s understated presence belies its hidden intrigue. Judging by first impressions, the bored and shiftless are its only discoverers.

We had driven up the Alpine Loop past the Sundance Ski Resort, performing some personal reconnaissance on what the Wasatch had to offer. This was our first week in Utah. We each had arrived a few days early for our inaugural university classes. Mark swerved off the highway almost before I could register what he was doing. His Tracker clawed deftly up the mountainside, until thick gambel oak demanded a halt.

Stepping out of the car and into the canyon’s shadow, I noticed the cool flow of air washing down from the canyon’s hidden recesses. It won me over immediately.

The canyon was shaped like a wound left by a sharp knife pulled across the mountain’s hide. The canyon walls plunged deeply before knitting together underneath a steady trickle of water. The stream ran cold and clear. It runs year-round, save for the depths of winter when it lies frozen beneath the snow. We were surrounded by water. It poured over the canyon walls, dripped from moss-covered cliffs, and welled up from hidden springs.

We kept moving up the canyon, climbing over small boulders and rushing cascades, shouldering aside thick vegetation. Stretches of sharp grey rock alternated with lush greenery and wildflowers. At one point I turned around to see three waterfalls spilling down the canyon’s sides behind us. The golden light of evening etched the far wall of Provo Canyon in sharp relief. In those distant shadows, Upper Bridal Veil Falls shimmered like a pale strand of spider silk.

At each twist in the canyon’s course I felt that cool flowing air, pulling me onward and upward. We finally turned to head back at twilight, with the mist of yet another waterfall at our backs. Before leaving, I immersed my head and shoulders under the bracing, cold downpour of the waterfall. With cold mountain water running down the back of my neck, I realized that Utah wouldn’t be a bad place to call home.

Since that first detour five years ago, I keep coming back. Slide Canyon manages to lure me into its depths once or twice every year. It doesn’t matter if I’m intending to or not. I’ve explored it alone, and I’ve taken others along to share the experience. No two trips have been the same. The canyon presents a different shade of personality with each visit. In June, deep snow conceals the canyon floor like a vein of marrow. The snow is steep and buttery; perfect for tennis-shoe skiing. Melt-off in July reveals new topography, a result of the SUV-sized boulders plowed around during avalanche season. Autumn paints the canyon flaming red with the keratin of dying oak leaves. I have yet to be disappointed. Each time I visit, something tells me I won’t be let down any time soon.