Getting to the point: The grandeur of the Ruple Point Trail

By Gary Lee Parker

Outdoor Columnist

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.

“Look at this.”

“What?” says my hiking partner, a dozen yards down the hillside to the north and trudging through ten inches of crusted snow from last week's storm.

“The trail. I told you we'd find it again once we hit the top.”

I'm grinning like the Cheshire Cat; like a trickster who just pulled a favorite stunt, as my companion stumbles up and warily eyes the faint snowy track through the sagebrush ahead.

She's just happy to be on level ground again, trail or no trail.

We'd lost the path in the snow, shortly past its start at the Island Park overlook, and trudged through a deep ravine before ascending the steep slope up the other side and onto a long plateau-like mountain top heading west. 

Following a heavy trail of elk tracks, we carefully picked our way through the jumble of boulders and twisted junipers between us and our goal, finally clambering to the ridge out of breath and exhausted.

I had already shed my fleece shirt and vest in favor of a light tee-shirt, despite the 40 degree temperature registering on the miniature thermometer dangling from my zipper pull, but sweat still stung my brow at the operose effort up the hill. But the sweat and travail are lost the moment I catch sight of the main trail.

“Nice!” says my partner, smiling back as she recognizes the empty strip of white through the brush as a developed route.
Delighted, we push ahead, the worst of the trail – or lack thereof – falling behind.

We're following the Ruple Point trail, a four-mile-long well-maintained footpath that runs along one of Split Mountain's high ridges deep in the pulsing heart of Dinosaur National Monument. We were told the hike was desolate and uneventful, with the payoff coming at the end, but we look around and find fascinating details and inspiring vistas on all sides, almost from the beginning. 

To the north, the ridge falls away into a broad, deep valley, eventually dropping into the beautiful Island Park. Ramparts of golden stone run like a jagged saw from the ridge beyond, sharp against the rolling red-rock that paints the distant land.

Marsh Peak and the bald domes of the eastern Uinta Mountains rise in the west, white-washed with recent snow and sparkling in the low winter sun.

And all about us stretches a vast rolling expanse of sage and juniper, fragrant and beautiful in its winter serenity.

There are rumors of native artifacts in the area, and friends have hinted at mysticism and myth, and we talk of a haunted past as we wander on, loping our way across the steppe. But we see no sign of human habitation, and little sign of humanity at all beyond the trail on which we tread. Just one very old pole fence decaying from years of neglect – abandoned – cutting the trail near the halfway point.

With its bone-gray posts jabbing at the somber sky like warding skeletal fingers, the remains remind me of a thousand movie images of skulls on stakes and cursed tombs and secret societies charged with guarding ancient treasure, and we move warily through the gates.

Soon we drop into a high forest of junipers, their small, dusky berries bright against the dark boughs.

“Pine trees!” I exclaim, as I reach for a nearby branch covered in empty cones.

I hadn't expected pines here, but the junipers have given way to a scrub pine forest with short, bristling needles and wide, squat, saddle cones that drip with creamy amber sap become solid in the cold and dry weather; a frozen honeyed dew.

The thick trees shade the snow, and a dense blanket of white slows our pace as we trudge through the wood, each step sending glittering sprays into the bracing air. I kick out the path, clearing the trail a bit for my following friend as I go.

At last we break from the weald into an open sage-covered plaza, and, following a small sign bearing the image of a hiker, descend along a low drainage toward a knobby hillock framed by the upper edge of a massive auburn cliff.

We scurry ahead, knowing our goal is in reach, crashing through the far forest like a runner in the final stretch.
But we're brought up short as we step through the trees onto a sandstone ledge as the world abruptly falls away, and I gasp.

Below and before us lays the open wound of Split Mountain, the split that earned the name, running raggedly into the distance like a massive gouge in a red layer-cake; it's crimson layers coated in a white dusting of winter's powdered sugar.

Nearly two-thousand five-hundred feet below our perch twists the snaking verdigris Green River, winding its life-giving essence through the gauntlet of scabrous rock at its shore. Its beryl waters gleam in the wispy winter light like a pastel ribbon in an Irish maiden's locks, holding back the fiery tresses of the mountain.

I step to the edge of a spit of sandstone jutting into open air and gaze at the immensity of the drop, the vastness of the view, and my mind reels, struggling to take it in. And all of the beauty of the last four miles becomes nothing, swallowed in the grandiosity of this massive gorge.

I squat, fearing my timorous balance – fearing that I too will be swallowed up – then sink to my knees before leaning forward in a vain attempt to capture the scene in the black-magic box around my neck. But what is a photo before this? Nothing.

And we are nothing, small and insignificant, reminded of our place in the world and of the bounds of humanity's meager journey on this ancient land. And yet here we stand, at the edge of the abyss, and I do not feel powerless. In fact, I feel powerful indeed, inspired and renewed.

The Road:

From Vernal, travel east on Highway 40 to Dinosaur, Colo. Two miles past Dinosaur, turn north at the signs signifying the entrance to Dinosaur National Monument. This is the Harpers Corner Auto Tour road. Travel approximately 26 miles to the Island Park overlook, then park in the parking area at the overlook. The trail starts just to the left (south) of the parking area.

The Details:

This is high desert country. It is hot and dry in the summer, and cold and dry in the winter. Bring plenty of water and wear sturdy boots. Wear sunscreen, as the thin atmosphere at this altitude allows significantly more of the sun's harsh rays to affect your skin. Sunburns are a very real danger. Beware of cliff edges. Stay back, and keep children under control at all times. The trail is four miles long (eight miles round trip), and can be rugged and challenging due to the altitude and depending on the weather and your physical condition. Most importantly, bring a camera and spend some time enjoying this incredible piece of nature's majesty!