If you live in northern Utah County and own a dog or small child, chances are you’ve walked at least part of the Murdock Canal Trail. The 18-ish-mile trail runs from Clubhouse Dr. at Thanksgiving Point all the way down to 800 N. in Orem. It’s paved, multi-use, and has water and bathroom facilities every few miles; really the Cadillac of point-to-point trails, is what I'm saying. About 4 miles from the northern trailhead, the trail runs tangentially through a lightly-trafficked wonderland known as Highland Hollow. An underpass tunnel under 3200 N in Lehi feeds the path into the hollow from the north lip, winds down a hill, passes a bridge and construction site, then winds back up the hill on the hollow’s east face, then on to the path’s Orem terminus. Most folks seem to opt for this route, as any and all momentum built up from the initial downhill is going to be a most appreciated boon on the uphill; but to race past such a prime piece of parkland as Highland Hollow in haste is a waste of the highest order.
Located in a gulch directly behind and below a Smith’s Marketplace to the North and most accessible via a small parking lot on Canterbury Drive in Highland (not to be confused with Canterbury Way, Canterbury Place, Canterbury Lane, or Canterbury Circle, all in the same neighborhood, of course). Despite the proximity to civilization, walking through the trees and over the dilapidated bridges feels downright pristine and almost apocalyptic when you run across a broken down treehouse or lean-to. Once you find the carpark center of this Chaucerian labyrinth, an uneven, slightly gouged low-grade dirt slope takes you down to an immediate fork in the road. To turn right and head east puts you by a big, ugly dirt hill climbed primarily by mountain bikes and small children, overlooked by a big, ugly dirt slope. Within spitting distance from there is the Murdock Trail, which can be followed north up over the side of the gulch and out to the Smith’s-Kneaders-Costa-Vida commercial capital of northern Lehi or east to Mitchell Hollow Park (a nice park to be sure, but nowhere close to the naturalist’s respite that is Highland Hollow).
W/r/t general information, The park, built in 2016 by the Lone Peak mountain biking team and Eagle Mountain Projects as a trail park for, well, mountain biking practice, is latticed with trails that weave in and out of the trees and by Dry Creek, which runs right through the park is usually deep enough to soak one’s dogs in after a traipsing around for a bit. Aspens and cottonwoods line the trails and make some spectacular whiteish noise when the wind is blowing. To see all kinds of insects running about triggers something that, if not primal, is at least reminiscent of the entomology phase all of us go through at about age four, before we discover dinosaurs. Nevertheless, the joy of seeing a cool bug creeping or crawling alongside me is one I hope never to outgrow. To catch a glimpse of a doe picking her way through the undergrowth as you sit against the trunk of a shady tree by the side of the creek is a moment that could not be made more magical if the same doe handed me a cursed amulet. The park is open year-round and dogs are allowed in the park, provided they remain leashed at all times. Enthusiasts of mountain biking, hiking, hammocking, bird watching, and even primitive shelter building will find much to hold their attention. But even for those pointedly not wishing to do things, Highland Hollow provides a perfect locale to get centered and forget about the world. Word on the street is some city council is planning on manufacturing and stocking a small pond with fish in an effort to draw more visitors to the park, a technique not dissimilar from that used in Highland Glen Park to the east.
Turning west at the T-intersection finds you among low shrubs and patchy grass. Save for a couple of entangled clumps of bike circuits (which are real eyesores, frankly) off the main path, some scattered ramps and jumps (not professionally made, by the looks of them), and a pile of woodchips and sawdust, this area is truthfully not too easy on the eyes. It only serves as the veritable meat before the pudding of the Hollow’s west side. Soon enough, the tribulative journey comes to an end and you are face-to-face with a natural gateway of deep green boughs arching overhead. To walk over this threshold feels almost Narnian or maybe even Terebithian, in a curious way. Directly ahead, in near-constant shade, a short bridge crosses over Dry Creek. Crushed leaves and twigs fill in any open spaces on the rustically chipped and gouged wood slats and in the spaces between the painted metal parapets. The bridge creaks as you walk across, and the timbers on the southwestern corner of the bridge give slightly as you walk across.
The creek itself is a sight all its own. Fringed with a red, flowing, hairlike grass (Eleocharis spiralis, if my Wikipedia research pays off), it babbles around the park, making a little island here, a lagoon there, a swirling eddy or a debris-carrying current where it may. Past the bridge, the path continues west to 1200 East, just uphill from the nadir of a geographical feature I’ve never learned the proper name of (if it even has one) that is known ubiquitously as either “the dip” or “the gully”. The main path diverges a time or two into trails with names like “Knight Rider” and “Gregg’s”. The former is a particular favorite of mine that winds its narrow path close to the creek and under a lush canopy of trees, always occupied with songbirds. In winter, with a blanket of snow and the soft sounds of small things moving through cold air, this part of the park takes on an aesthetic describable only as Norman-Rockwell-meets-Peter-Brugel-the-Elder. The path also continues north from the bridge, and climbs and falls along the creek as it winds through tall grass and the ever-present gnarled trees. Eventually, this path falls sharply to the place where the creek is most accessible, then on, as The Man intended, back to the paved path and back to where you came from.
Highland Hollow Park provides a service of almost unparalleled rarity, that of being able, allowed, even, to feel as secluded as you would like. Whether you make the trek to be alone to to become closer with others, the choice is yours from the start. From a dense copse of trees, the chirping of evening crickets as your only company, one can emerge mere paces from the paved trail or plunge yet further into the undergrowth. Deep meditation and photo shoots take place almost side by side, but in a way that takes away from neither. So rarely can you feel so very far away from civilization while being within sight of a suburban development. So uncommon a gift it is to be privy to the gentle stirring of the call of the wild while watching someone re-inflate their bike tire at the provided red-painted metal rack, ultimately not too far from the provided restrooms and drinking fountains. So strange it is to be everywhere and nowhere, at your command.