A jewel in the snow

Why Nephi, of all places, someone might ask. I had never heard of this town and was intrigued by the name, which, of course, has its origin in the Book of Mormon: we were in Utah, after all, and the Mormon faith is inextricably linked with this state. The town itself has nothing extraordinary: the population is about 5,000, many of the houses the characteristic brick houses, solid and well cared for, main street wide enough to turn a horse and carriage without trouble (or a truck and trailer nowadays). The town lies in the shelter of a huge mountain, snow covered at the moment, whose top glowed red in the setting sun the night before and blazed, gleaming white, in the early sun the next morning. For the first time in a long time we had frost on the windshield. Conditions looked perfect for the hike we had planned for the day. 

Just like on the way south Johann had found one more hot spring for the way back, to make the long drive more palatable. We were not interested in the easily accessible hot springs, of which there are many, but those that require a hike-in. In the case of Diamond Fork hot springs, our destination for Friday, this didn’t seem to be a deterrent: all the information we found on the internet showed that this is an extremely popular place at any time of year, though slightly less so in the winter. Weekends, especially Saturdays, supposedly see so many people that the pools get crowded. It wasn’t quite weekend yet, and we were eager to get out on a trail, so we would see if we could get there. 

We skipped breakfast in Nephi and drove north to Spanish Fork, fueled up at Costco, had something to eat and continued on our way. To get to the hot springs one needs to take Hwy. 6 east for eleven miles from Spanish Fork and turn onto Diamond Fork road then. The trail is 2.5 miles (4 km) one way, not a big deal, but there was one big unknown. It takes about ten miles on a paved road to get to the trailhead – but for most of the winter the road is closed off by a gate after about six and a half miles. If the gate was indeed closed this would add at least twelve kilometres to the eight. Should we take the chance? We decided to at least drive in and see if the gate wasn’t open yet after all. 

Of course it wasn’t. Were we up to such a long march? We wavered. And then we put on our hiking boots, packed the small backpack with water, a lunch, towels and bathing suits (again these hot springs are clothing optional, although that is prohibited by law in Utah), put on sunscreen on exposed skin – face and hands only at a temperature of about plus six – and were on our way. We could, we argued, always see how we felt once we had reached the trailhead. Just to walk in this country, this beautiful sunshine, was a treat already. 

The paved road would have been perfectly fine to drive on for quite a while after the closed gate. Few sections were snow-covered, the pavement dry. A family of four overtook us, a couple on snow bikes with two young kids in a cart. It looked like hard work for the mom who was pulling the cart with her bike, but it would be a lot easier coming back downhill. The road climbed steadily, the river to our right our constant companion. Two bald eagles had lifted off a tree on the first few miles when we were still in the car; I was hoping for more sightings now that we were walking, but in vain. We passed several parking lots with camping facilities for group camps with room for 75 to 125 occupants. Scouts, maybe? Every time we saw a sign appear in the distance we were hopeful that we had reached the last parking lot, from which we would enter the trail itself. The rock walls rising to our left consisted of conglomerate material, quite crumbly in places, and with the recent snow and thaw it was rather unstable: rocks of varying sizes, some big enough to cause real damage to someone standing underneath, littered the road in a few places, so that I kept glancing up at every little sound that indicated something was on the move. Only pebble-sized rocks were slipping right now, however, and mostly everything was quiet but for the gurgling of the glittering water beside us. Finally a sign indicated that the road was going to narrow – now, most certainly, we must be almost there. But still it took twenty minutes or so until we reached the trailhead.

It was here where we would have parked had the road been open. Instead, we had the bigger portion of the walk up behind us already, our feet a bit sore from the hard surface. It was a bit tempting to just end it here, turn around and think of it as a nice (and, at twelve or thirteen kilometres, not inconsiderable) walk. We were tempted – but just a little. Although Johann was the one who had really been looking forward to the hot springs it was me who couldn’t imagine quitting now: the trail, from now on a narrow foot path with the river on the right, beckoned. Trees arched their limbs invitingly, the sun felt warm – how could we give up now when the most beautiful part was yet to come?

We sat on a big rock by the side of the river for a while, ate a couple of oranges, talked to the young family getting ready for the hiking part, watched two young women come down, plus a work crew of six with hard hats and tools for the removal of branches etc., and were on our way. 

The trail was a bit muddy on the first thirty metres or so, but soon we were walking on firmly packed snow. This was so much more pleasant than the asphalt! We passed through stands of shrub oak, Douglas fir, juniper and small-leaved maples, the air fragrant with the scent of trees warmed by the sun in early spring. The trail rose steadily but was not overly steep, dipping every once in awhile so that there was time to catch my breath. 

We reached a bridge after about half an hour and knew that we had covered about a mile now: a mile and a half to go, not so much at all anymore, especially since the hiking itself was a true pleasure in these surroundings. I stood on the bridge and watched the water's restless travel, tumbling over rocks above, hastening toward the valley below. 

The bridge crossed Sixth Water Creek, and we now hiked up a smaller tributary, Fifth Water Creek. Green soft-leaved patches of water plants showed up at its edge, and the higher we got the more algae clang to the rocks in the creek: the water must definitely be warmer here. Only a good hour or so after leaving the trailhead the path opened up and the trail became quite muddy now that it was exposed to full sunlight. We had arrived at our destination, it seemed.

Below us were at least three pools, each with a handful of people. We had just started to change when a group of three women came by, just starting on their way back. We chatted for a moment, our German accent of interest to them, as happens quite often, and found out that if we went a bit further we’d find the nicest – meaning, least populated – hot pool of all. We thanked them, put our shoes back on and continued on the slippery path to look for this ‘secret gem’. 

It wasn’t far, and they were right: this was beautiful, and only three people were here, two of which left soon after. The third, a fit-looking guy in his seventies, told us that he comes here twice to three times a week in the winter, using a snowmobile to get to the trailhead when there was enough snow to do so, a snow bike otherwise. He knew the other hotsprings we had visited during our trip as well, and told us of several more that can only be reached by hiking in, sometimes a fair distance. Maybe we are hooked now and will search out one or the other on another trip. It would be interesting to find some we could visit in the summer during one of our summer backpacking hikes in the mountains here in Alberta.  

We soaked in the clear 40 degree Celsius water, our limbs very grateful for the chance to get thoroughly warmed through after the long walk on the pavement – which, we were fully aware, we had to repeat soon – the rock wall and hillside above and below covered with snow. I watched the bubbles rising from the spring in one corner, still amazed how this is possible, and what a great fortune it is to have access to it. Our new acquaintance allowed cold water from the creek running right by the pool to enter through a crack in the wall from time to time when it got too hot, stuffing a rag into the crack when it was enough – a simple but effective regulating mechanism. Right beside this pool was another, hotter one under a rock overhang, too hot for me, and looking a bit scary with that huge boulder over it. 

The sun had long disappeared behind the steep hillside beside us, although it was a while before it would set. Knowing we would have a two and a half hour hike we finally, reluctantly, climbed out of the water and got ready to leave. 

Hot pool at the base of the biggest waterfall

 Apart from a few slippery sections where the soft snow had given way to mud the way downhill was easy. The late sun cast a glow on the red cliffs of the canyon and lit up the almost translucent pale leaves of the maples along the way. We crossed the bridge after forty minutes, and after another half hour or so we were back at the trailhead. Two groups of late bathers were only now on their way up, and we met a few more people on the last six kilometres of pavement. They all planned to come back down that night again, hard to envision for us when our joints ached even now, although we had had a good long session in the warm water.

Still, even though we were tired and the road seemed to stretch endlessly I enjoyed the walk back, too. The half-moon had reached its highest point, and the chain of snow-covered mountains in the west was silhouetted against the still-bright sky, the road and the river ribbons of light in front of us. 

It was seven when we reached the car. We had walked more than twenty kilometres today, and we sure could feel it. We were glad that we had only about half an hour to go to Provo, where we were going to spend the night. The next day would be a long day of driving. 

The car must be right around the corner(or the next, or ...)