Hiking the Entire Length of the Virgin River Gorge: Part 1

15 November 2023—Virgin River Gorge: St. George to Cedar Pockets

I met Rob at his house at 5 am and from there we drove to St. George where we met up with his brother, Hank. Hank's wife, Barbara, was extremely sweet and made us a breakfast of pancakes, eggs and sausage. We took twenty minutes of the predawn morning and ate a hearty meal at the kitchen table.

By 7:00 we were on the road and in ten minutes were at our drop-off point at the Ranger Bart Anderson Trailhead at the south end of town. It was our goal to walk from here through the Virgin River Gorge, all the way to Cedar Pockets and then from there completing the gorge and finishing in Littlefield, Arizona. We would break it into two parts, completing one today and hopefully the second half tomorrow.

Personally, I had never met another person who had hiked the length of the gorge. I couldn't even find anyone on the internet who had done it. We concocted the idea a couple years ago and just now got around to doing it. We didn't even know if it was possible. We were entering terra incognita.

The first four miles was uneventful. During this section we weren't even in the gorge yet and instead of staying down by the river we took a more direct approach that put us hiking over hills, on trails and along dirt roads. We finally arrived at the head of the gorge where the canyon walls began to narrow. From this point there would be no more roads. We didn't know what to expect.

Our first challenge was to cross the river. We wasted at least 45 minutes here and I was starting to worry that our entire hike would be doomed from the beginning. The day before at the Bloomington Gauging Station upstream the water flowed at 110 cubic feet per second. Although an important statistic, this number meant nothing to us without practical experience in the water. This section was particularly narrow, which meant it would also be deep. How deep, we didn't know. A jungle of willows and tamarisk grew so densely along the banks that it was nearly impossible to reach the river. When we finally found a place to cut through, the drop-off from the bank to the water was three feet. We didn't dare jump in because we didn't know the depth of the water.

We decided to stay on the left bank and take a faint trail that led down-river. Our worry was that it would lead up the hill and would eventually ledge us up.

The trail led us higher and we had a good view looking down. On the opposite side was a dirt road that came to the water's edge and ended. We also saw a gauging station which created a little dam with water spilling over a concrete edge. This was a gauging station they use to calculate the depth and current flow per second. [I later learned that from this gauging station at the time of our hike the depth was 8.23 feet and flow 159 CFS.]

Virgin River gauging station.

Entering the gorge.

Luckily for us we didn't get ledged up. After rounding a corner we were able to pick our way down. There was still no simple way across the river, but access was now much easier.

We let Hank cross first. He was the tallest. Then Rob went and I followed. I had two hiking poles, which were life-savers. The water came to my lower thighs and was cold, but not ice-chilling. Every step was calculated. I felt the placement of my feet before putting weight on them. The bottom of the river undulated, giving low points and high points. In some places the mud was thick and my boots began to sink, but as long as I kept moving it wasn't an issue. With every step I had to focus on staying balanced against the rushing current.

It was a relief when we made it across that first time. In a literal and figurative sense, we were happy to get our feet wet. From this point forward things moved much more smoothly. We didn't hesitate to cross the river and were able to make good progress.

Second crossing of the river.

I should interject that in two months Rob would be 67 and Hank, 73. They were no spring chickens, but doing excellent for their age. Hank was old enough to be my dad. Both of them still use flip-phones. I hope to still be doing what they're doing when I'm that age.

Although we were making progress, there was nothing easy about this hike. Occasionally we would find a cattle trail or break in vegetation. This, undoubtedly, would always come to an end. Numerous times we crawled on hands and knees below the tangle of tamarisk, still to have our packs and clothing snag on branches.

Virgin River.

Hiking through a jungle of creosote bushes.

The river weaved back and forth across the floor of the canyon and often we would have no choice but to cross. Backtracking to find a way into the water became commonplace, and even then our entry points were usually sketchy. Of the dozens of crossings we did that day, the highest the water ever got was to the bottom of my rib cage.

When we weren't choked by vegetation the hike was a pleasant walk. A few yellow flowers still lingered, as well as different types of cactus. I scanned the slopes of the canyon for signs of bighorn sheep or Indian etchings on the varnished walls. I knew there were treasures out there to be discovered, but most of them would probably require a more in-depth search than what we had time for now.

The only gate we had to pass through.

The history of the Virgin River Gorge is quite telling. For the most part, people tried to avoid it. Indigenous tribes that predate written history passed through here. We know that because they left drawings on the walls. When the first trappers and settlers passed through it was the Shivwits Band of the Southern Paiute Tribe that lived nearby.

If there were any Spanish that passed through, I don't know of them. Father Escalante and his group came as close as the outskirts of modern-day Hurricane, Utah, but didn't pass through the gorge.

The earliest written account I know of involving a white man traveling through is that of Jedediah Smith, a fur trapper. His 1826 trip took him through the gorge, but when he returned a year later he avoided it by traveling along the Santa Clara River and over Utah Hill, later reuniting with the Virgin River on the other side of the Beaver Dam Mountains. It is likely that the local Shivwits apprised him of this alternate route.

Three years later in 1830, Antonio Armijo led an expedition from New Mexico to the San Gabriel Mission in California. He may have read notes from Jedediah Smith or someone else because he avoided the gorge also and took the route over Utah Hill. The Mormons who settled Southern Utah a couple decades later would also use the same route. The Virgin River Gorge, it was decided, was just too rugged and dangerous to be practical.

Taking a break on the Utah/Arizona border.

Looking up-canyon.

We took our first real break at the Utah / Arizona state line. Here there were no signs to mark the boundary; just a dotted line on my map. A major canyon merged with the river at this point, coming in from the west.

Along the entire length of the hike there were a few landmarks we looked forward to, the biggest one being the I-15 freeway bridge that crossed the gorge. Surprisingly I was able to get a GPS location on my phone that placed a blue dot on the map where we were at. Because of that we always knew our location. I determined we had a couple more curves in the river and one pronounced s-curve before the bridge. Encouraged that we were getting closer, we pressed forward.

One of the interesting curiosities of this river is the debris scattered along the high-ground. There's not so much to make it look trashy, but it's definitely there. Being part of the American Southwest, the Virgin River is prone to flash floods. I remember one flood in particular in 2005 that began on the Santa Clara River north of St. George, but eventually coalesced with the Virgin. The flood was so intense that river banks eroded and entire houses collapsed into the river and were swept away downstream.

Among the items we found were pieces of lumber, a bike handle, rubber raft, milk bucket, fully inflated basketball, a bicycle tire, soda cans and of course lots of driftwood. In some places the driftwood had settled on a rock . . . a good fifteen feet above the river!

Lots of debris carried down-river.

We pushed our way down the gorge, oftentimes very literally as we pushed through tangled branches. It was in this area where we first decided to walk in the river for longer stretches rather than fight the overgrowth on the banks. Walking in the water for a hundred yards at a time wasn't too bad as long as there weren't too many rocks or rapids.

We passed a curious-looking rectangular arch. I also kept an eye out for Indian petroglyphs that I knew were somewhere in this area. Our journey took us through a pronounced s-curve and then past the junction with Black Rock Canyon. At last we arrived at the bridge with I-15.

The bridge spanned from one side of the chasm to the other, with two piers planted on each side of the river. Looking up we could see the beams and girders on the underside of the bridge. We marveled at the modern structure and took note that as dozens of cars rushed by on the freeway above, absolutely none of them had any clue that three worn out hikers stood below.

An interesting rectangular arch.

The long-awaited I-15 bridge.

Crossing under the only bridge of the day.

From here we felt like there was light at the end of the tunnel. It was 3 pm and we had about three more hours of sunlight. From here the gorge takes a sharp turn to the south and more or less parallels the freeway.

It was here I first noticed gathering storm clouds. We didn't worry too much because now we were within five miles or so from our destination and the canyon walls were more spread out. Although the thick growth along the banks was still an issue, it was no where near as thick as it had been earlier in the hike.

One of the neatest finds we came across was a baby turtle. Hank found it. He flipped it over with his walking stick and saw the legs and head retract into the shell. It was the size of a silver dollar and found on the shore of the river, just inches from the water.

A baby turtle!

A lot of caves and other places to explore later.

Inspecting the river.

Drops of rain began to fall but didn't amount to much.

Since this final stretch somewhat parallels the freeway, we often heard the sound of traffic in the distance. A person could park alongside the freeway and find a way down to the river if they so desired. Indeed there was much more surrounding area to be explored.

Here we noticed the first barrel cactus on the hillside. Another mile or two downriver we started spotting Joshua trees. Occasionally we stirred up quail nesting in the grass.

Barrel cactus along the route.

A crate from Summit Valley Milk, 1979.

Lots of walking in the river.

With a couple miles left to go the sun dipped below the horizon and we were now left to push our way in the dark. We all used a headlamp or flashlight. It now became more difficult to see ahead and strategize which way to go. Crossing or walking in the river was still a necessity. It was a miracle that none of us fell in.

By now we were very anxious to get this thing over with! Hank's wife, Barbara, was to meet us at the Cedar Pockets campground. Miraculously, Hank got cell service and told her to wait because we were running late.

As we got closer we could see the freeway traffic of I-15 in the north. To the west shined a lone light from the campground. That was our destination.

We crossed the river for the last time, then hiked up a hill and along a fence-line until we hit the campground road. Hank called Barbara and told her to meet us there. We were done!

Joshua trees silhouetted on the skyline.

This hike was one of the longer day-hikes I've ever done. In the end we hiked 17 miles in 13 hours; two of those were in the dark. There was very little about this hike that was easy. Much of it was spent walking in water or crawling on hands and knees.

We drove to a restaurant in St. George where three filthy and haggard men relished a meal of hamburgers and fries. Our plan was to finish the second half tomorrow, but we all agreed to do it another day. The hike had taken much longer than expected and there was also a chance of rain the next day. We certainly didn't need the river to be any higher.

To be continued . . .