We're growing fond of the Bureau of Land Management (BLM). Although they're not without their critics, this government entity with a shoestring budget controls multiple uses and resources of 12.7 million acres, and some of it is amazing land. From their Kane Gulch Contact Office – only open from 8 a.m. to noon and staffed mostly by volunteers – you can obtain a permit to camp in Utah's Grand Gulch.  

But don't expect the kind of hand-holding you might come to expect from a National Park: Your fee isn't paying for very much. After the first few miles, you realize you've signed up for a self-reliant tour through undeveloped country.  The BLM even seems reluctant to let you know where you are: On our 30-mile trek we saw their informational signs only at the trailheads.

Yes, this was a different class of hiking. Trail junctions and other destinations otherwise marked on the map came and went unannounced. Detailed topo maps didn't help much, either:  Only the GPS waypoints I'd set before the trip began helped us figure out where we were in this serpentine gulch. Or it did while the batteries lasted...

We began our trip down Bullet Canyon, and visited Perfect Kiva and the nearby Jailhouse Ruin. After 7.2 miles, we came to Grand Gulch itself, complete with cottonwoods . . . and the caterpillars that were feeding on them. The caterpillars were everywhere:  In the trees, on the ground, and on the surrounding flora. We'd heard that most campers sought refuge from the caterpillars on the surrounding benches, and we did the same. There wasn't any shade, but we did discover a couple of ruins that we wouldn't have otherwise come across.

We'd have these bugs for the next 23 miles downcanyon.  While they slowed their crawl as night brought in cooler temperatures, they became active again shortly after dawn:  Crawling up anything in sight, including one's backpack, even if set down for only a moment. Thousands died, accumulating in clumps in the small stream, and hundreds under our feet, as their number simply couldn't be avoided. Caterpillar droppings fell on the dry leaves below the cottonwoods, sounding like a light rain, even though the sky was cloudless.

I was a bit intimidated at the thought of doing a 30-mile hike, but like most other seemingly daunting tasks, it becomes trivial taken in pieces. We averaged about 7 miles daily, breaking camp in early morning, and ending about 2 in the afternoon. Our bodies burned through accumulated winter fat, my own often audibly complaining just an hour after eating. The sun was best avoided, although "controlled burns" in the late afternoon sun seemed in order if you wanted to get some summer color back in your skin.

I adore long hikes. You get into a rhythm: You may not find it necessary to talk with your companions, because after 48 hours you're all thinking pretty much the same thing anyway. You wake anticipating the day's destination - places with names like Big Man Panel or Big Pour-Off Spring or JailHouse Ruin. And you come across the unexpected: Huge ruins that were not mentioned in any literature you'd read, and in almost any side-canyon you should choose to wander, small ruins and other evidence often marked the passage of some other ancient traveler.

Grand Gulch has some pretty remote trails – anyone in as far as we were probably wasn't day-hiking – and we quickly learned to share information with any hikers we came across. Those who frequented Cedar Mesa told us of other fascinating areas nearby. It was entertaining to study these hikers, because you could tell how long folks had been out:  Those who were at the beginning of their trek, pale and freshly shaved; and those speechless, determined souls at the end of their trail – weary and tan, and sporting a 5- or 6-day beard.