Note: This is the latest in a series of first-person articles by Vernal resident Gary Lee Parker who writes about the outdoors and the area’s rich history.

Like luscious icing on a layer cake, the earth is frosted in a thick and rich buttercream, white as a veil, as I lean over the railing of an old wooden bridge in a vain attempt to get my camera into that sweet spot for a photo. But I’d need a ladder to get it, so I accept reality and snap “good enough,” before moving on.

The sun dances through rare broken winter billows that drift above our heads like amorphous jellyfish at the mercy of the ocean’s currents, and the pale cobalt sky reinforces the image in my mind as I rejoin the walking path and hurry to catch up to my hiking partner, Tom Elder.

It’s more than a path, really, this dirt access road running along the Steineker canal, but it is officially designated for walking, and sees plenty of use on summer days.

There are no other tracks in the snow today, however, and I’m left to assume we’re the only people who’ve walked the route in at least a month.

“This is the only canal route officially designated for hiking in the Uintah Basin,” Tom explains as I join him on the trail. “It would be nice to connect this all the way to the dam.”

I agree, and we talk of other drainages and flood plains that could be put to good use for the staunchly bipedal as we amble on, crunching through the ankle-deep snow.

“This could make a great loop route for those out for the exercise, if it were somehow connected with the Kid Canal walking path.”

Taylor Mountain glistens to the northwest, slashed by the spectacular wound of Ashley Gorge, beyond the new UBATC building and the burgeoning BEERC structure; the beginnings of a real university right here in the Basin.

The route we’re on runs just east of the new school complex, and as we cross the new Main Street extension we talk of the role it could play as the college grows and brings students to the basin seeking higher education.

A cow across the canal eyes us warily, then wanders along the fence-line, apparently deeming us harmless, chewing dry dug hay seemingly without a care in his head. Below his rambling pace, the far canal bank is split by a long, narrow ocher band of dormant grasses showing through collapsed snow, reflecting from the pooled water standing silent and black in the bottoms.

Little mounds of snow, like melting marshmallows, seem to float on pockets of higher ground in the winter ponds, and a flock of birds wings overhead, crying in some unknown language.

We pass an old hay barn, now half emptied by winter use, and another even older frontier-style barn, complete with antique automobiles rusting beneath snowy comforters across the barbed wire fence.

We see the dry husks of milkweed, and reeds, and grasses, and common weeds, all promising a verdant rebirth along the water line, just as soon as the earth decides to move a little more around the sun. But the thin layer of ice that rinds the creek says it’ll still be awhile.

Just beyond a row of houses there is a steady stream of traffic – huge pickup trucks, oil-field vehicles, and sporty little cars – but here, in the middle of it all, we’re alone and apart from it all; that hustle and bustle of industry. For a few moments, anyway.

And it’s good to step away for a moment or two. It’s good to re-center myself, to remind myself just what all that assiduity is for.

Oh, the journey is great. But sometimes we get on that treadmill and walk, and walk, and walk, until, at last, we forget why we first stepped on; until we’ve been walking so long we forget that innocent life before, what it was even like outside the grind. We get lost in the what and how, and forget the why.

These are funny thoughts, I know, since walking is precisely what I’m doing, and I chuckle to myself at the irony as I shuffle along the path, noting the sweet smells of cattle and decomposing vegetation.

This isn’t rugged mountain wilderness – not by a stretch – nor is it adventurous high desert hiking with the potential of rattlesnakes and scorpions and dehydration. The route is only 1.7 miles from end to end. It’s not what I would normally seek out.

But some days I don’t need high adventure, or I don’t have time. Or, perhaps I just want a little exercise and a brief breath of fresh air. And this place suits that bill just fine, for me as well as anyone.

gparker@vernal.com

The Road:

This week’s walking path is easy for anyone to enjoy. The trail begins on the east shore of the Steineker Canal near the junction of Highway 40 and Canal Road (S. 1750 W.) There is no official parking for the path, so find the nearest available site and cross the road to the trailhead, and follow the path along the eastern shore to W. 500 N., near its junction with 1500 W. The trail can be walked as a 1.7 mile through walk if you shuttle cars, or as a 3.4 mile round trip if you don’t.

The Details:

This is an easy hike that almost anyone can accomplish. It’s perfect for kids, and even pets (but, please, keep them leashed.) It’s a great path for families, with members of varying ages and experience levels, to spend an evening walking together. Wear at least tennis shoes in the summer, and waterproof shoes in the winter, and bring a water bottle to stay hydrated. Wear bug repellent in the summer months, as the canal encourages mosquitoes and other insect pests. And load up the family and hit the trail. A pleasant walk in the fresh air is just around the corner from you.