To Ibex for the Eclipse, October 14 & 15, 2023

 Ibex

We camped at Ibex to watch the eclipse on October 14th. Ibex is a famous bouldering/climbing area about 60 miles southwest of Delta Utah. We camped on the Tule Valley Hardpan, a dry lake-bed, near the most popular climbing area, with big boulders and serious cliffs. I use the term ‘camp’ loosely here, we hardly slept a wink even in our comfy camper, due to the ‘Burning-Man-ish’ shit-show of other campers who never shut the hell up. All night long they drove their four-stroke/two-stroke/no-stroke ATVs on the hardpan - all night, they shot their guns - all night (surprised no one was killed) and they yelled and screamed like it was a frat party, ALL NIGHT. I was naive to think we’d have a peaceful night at Ibex. The last time we camped there we were all alone. Maybe the eclipse had something to do with bringing in the noisy crowds? Of course it did, stupid! It’s an eclipse! And eclipses do strange things to people, it gives them an excuse to be dipshits when Kara is trying to sleep. We weren’t alone, there were other sincere folks there just to watch the moon pass a shadow across the earth. There were old folks like us and there were families with kids just trying to enjoy a spectacular moment in the desert. The tent-trailer right next to us was a young family with four kids, they all looked to be under the age of ten. It was so noisy I don’t think they slept either, I heard the baby and the three-year-old crying most of the night.   

It was a ring-of fire eclipse, the space and distance between the moon the sun and the earth meant the moon did not completely cover the sun, leaving a fiery ring of the sun peaking around the edges of the moon. It was beautiful but wasn’t as stunning as the total eclipse of 2018(?) when we went to Rexburg, Idaho to watch. Still worth it, even with no sleep and the noisy crowd. 

The eclipse began at around 10AM and we were so groggy we went back to bed just after sunrise when the noisy frats-boys and Barbi-girls finally fell into a silent stupor. We went back to bed to nap before the eclipse, and we almost missed it! But in my sleep I heard a young kid nearby yelling, “Its starting! It’s starting!” Panicked, it would last only about an hour, I jumped out of the camper and looked, the moon was just starting its path across the sun. A small bite into the sun had just begun to take form. I woke Kara and we sat there for the next hour, watching the moon in it’s slow dance across the sun. Very awe-inspiring, leaving me humbled to know we are really nothing at all in the broad scheme of things. It made me recognize my arrogance to think all those noisy people should go obediently silent at 10PM, just so I could sleep. It made realize that nothing humanity does is deep and powerful enough to compare to nature, or the earth, or the universe. We are temporary energy and nothing more. 

It looks like we’re alone but we’re not even close. Creative photography erases the riff-raff.

None of my photos captured the eclipse. The best shot I got is this reflection on a cloud.  

After it was done, I hiked up the rocky hillside above our camper (boxy thing sort of alone in the middle of photo), trying to find a way to the top without falling off a cliff. I got near the top but was turned back by a 20 foot vertical chimney. The chimney looked like an easy climb, but exposed enough that a fall would be deadly (40 vertical feet), so I turned back. As we were driving out, seeing the cliff from a different angle, I saw a large diagonal ledge that would have been an easy, non-technical walk to the top. I was surprised no one was trying it? But I realize my interests and hobbies are strange to most people, walk to the top of a mountain? Stupid! Oh well, the bit of climbing I did in my effort was fun, reminding me of a past life when climbing was everything. I miss it. 

Kara and our camper/truck, the white boxy thing, mid-right (there’s a gap in the cars to the left of our camp). My climbing route to the top roughly zig-zags above our truck, using the easy scree then zigging up the ledges. I was turned back near the top, at the shadow just below the top on the right (the small shadow on far right, not the big shadow mid-right). Just to the right of that shadow is the ‘easy diagonal’ ledge that would’ve been an walk-up. It can be seen trending right and down from the shadow, out of the frame.  

Life finds a way.

Notch Peak is the high point in the middle. Notch peak is said to be the largest and highest vertical cliff in the state of Utah, higher than the Great White Throne in Zion.

Best I could do without a tripod and filters. 

Notch Peak (only half)

The plan was to camp at the Notch Peak trailhead and hike Notch Peak the next morning, but when we arrived, there were cars everywhere, every semi-park-able spot was filled with five or ten cars. People everywhere.  Like Ibex, last time there I was all alone. There was no level parking, or camping, anywhere. Who knew Notch Peak would be so popular during an eclipse? We decided to hike partway up the trail, hoping that much of the crowd would leave while we hiked, then go back a find a flat spot to camp. Then in the morning I’d get up early and run to the summit while Kara slept-in. If you drive to the trailhead it's not a long or difficult hike to Notch Peak (8 miles RT, 3k ft vert gain), so very doable in the wee hours of early morning.  Driving to the trailhead requires navigating a rough, high-clearance road, so many people park way down and start hiking much farther away. In the Tacoma, with a camper, we had little problem driving to the trailhead. I was shocked to see some of the cars that drove all the way, most surprising was a Toyota Corolla and a Honda Accord. It’s no 4x4 road, but it is rough. Some of those cars undoubtedly high-centered and dragged oil-pans across rocks in many spots.

We found a side-hill and parked, barely off the road, and hiked about half-way up Notch Peak from the trail head. /the trail follows a cool, serpentine desert canyon, but as the sun was setting we turned back and headed down. Once back we knew it was hopeless, nobody had left. We would be miserable trying to sleep on that side hill, and we didn’t want another noisy, sleep-less night, so we headed home. No Notch Peak. A long drive home, but no bad Tacoma this time.      

Small arches are numerous along the Notch Peak trail.