Slide Canyon

Some friends 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 appearance belies its hidden intrigue. Judging by first impressions, I assumed the bored and shiftless are its only discoverers.

We had driven up the Alpine Loop past the Sundance Ski Resort, performing some reconnaissance work on what the Wasatch Mountains had to offer. This was my first week in Utah. We 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 old Chevy Tracker crawled deftly up the mountainside, until thick gambel oak demanded we halt.

Stepping out of the car and into the canyon's shadow, I noticed the cool flow of air washing down from 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 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 middle 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 the ground.

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 three waterfalls spilled down the canyon’ walls around 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 windblown 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 dunked my head and shoulders under the bracing, cold downpour of water. With the icy mountain water running down my back, I realized that Utah wouldn’t be a bad place to call home.

Since that first detour in Slide Canyon several years ago, I keep coming back. It manages to lure me into its depths once or twice each year. I've explored it alone, and I've taken others along to share the experience. No two trips have been alike. The canyon presents a different side of its 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 glissading. Melt-off in July reveals new topography, a result of the car-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. And each time I visit, I know I won't be let down any time soon.