The Utah desert stretched before us in waves of crimson and gold as we climbed into our rented side-by-side UTV from the Kanab Tour Company. Our destination: Peekaboo Slot Canyon, a hidden gem tucked into the BLM land north of town. What we didn’t fully anticipate was the journey it would take to get there.
After a quick rundown of the controls, we set off on our own—no guide, no backup, just us, a map, and about 670 square miles of interconnected desert trails to navigate.
The problem revealed itself almost immediately. To reach the network of easier trails that would eventually lead us to Peekaboo, we first had to climb a significantly more challenging route. The trail grew steeper, rockier, more technical. My knuckles whitened on the grab handle as Justin navigated between boulders and up inclines that seemed nearly vertical from my passenger seat perspective.
Mercifully, the terrain changed when we finally crested the top. I made Justin pull over. My hands were trembling. I felt nauseous. I had to get out of the vehicle. The adrenaline was real, and not entirely in a good way. This was not what I’d signed up for. When he asked what was wrong, I said, “I bit off more than I can chew”. He calmed me down, gave me a few minutes to collect myself, and we looked at the map and decided to keep going, the hard part was behind us (I wish I had a video of that moment — we talk about it all the time!). I took control to drive for a little bit, afterall, this adventure was my idea.
Once we’d conquered that initial ascent, the trails we chose flattened out considerably. The deep sand that characterizes these BLM routes—102, 106H, and the surrounding network—proved challenging in its own way, but manageable. And suddenly, I started to enjoy myself. The UTV carved through the powder-soft sand, junipers and pinyon pines blurred past, and the otherworldly landscape of southern Utah unfolded in every direction.
Peekaboo Slot Canyon was everything we’d hoped for. The narrow sandstone walls glowed in shades of orange and red, carved by millennia of water and wind into smooth, flowing curves. We parked and hiked the short distance into the canyon, marveling at the ancient Moqui steps carved into the rock face and the logs somehow wedged high above us between the canyon walls. It was intimate, uncrowded, and absolutely stunning—a stark contrast to some of Utah’s more famous slot canyons.
As we made our way back through the trail system, clouds began to gather. Within an hour, rain started to fall. We still had perhaps 45 to 60 minutes left on our rental, and we could have explored longer. But I knew what awaited us: that descent. The same challenging route we’d climbed at the start would have to be navigated in reverse, and I wanted no part of doing it in wet conditions.
“We should head back,” I said, perhaps a bit more urgently than necessary.
Justin agreed, though he noted that going down might actually prove trickier than coming up. “The angle’s different,” he explained. “You can see more of what you’re driving over.” I wasn’t sure if that made me feel better or worse.
The descent was, indeed, nerve-wracking for a first time UTV rider. Rain pattered against our helmets as we picked our way down the rocky grade. Justin handled it beautifully, though I could see the concentration on his face. Every rock, every angle had to be calculated. One wrong move and we’d be calling for a very expensive rescue.
When we finally rolled back to the rental yard, I was a contradiction of emotions. Relieved? Absolutely. Proud? Definitely. Would I do it again? That’s the complicated part. Justin loved every minute of it—the challenge, the views, the adventure of it all. For me, I loved most of it. The flat sections through the juniper forest, the sense of remoteness, the reward of reaching Peekaboo Canyon—those parts were magical.
But that intense ascent and descent? Let’s just say I’ve identified my limits, and they involve staying on trails rated “moderate” or below. Still, there’s something to be said for pushing yourself, for doing something that scares you a little (or a lot), and for experiencing landscapes so otherworldly they barely seem real. But the first time is always a little more nerve racking right? You only get more comfortable by doing it more often.
If you’re considering a UTV adventure in the Kanab area, here’s what I learned: First, be honest about your comfort level with technical terrain. The trail network offers options for all skill levels, but some routes are genuinely challenging for a newbie. Second, weather matters—a lot. Rain transforms trails and significantly increases difficulty. Third, while going solo offers freedom, it also means you’re entirely responsible for navigation and any problems that arise.
Would I recommend it? Surprisingly, yes—with caveats. If you’re up for adventure and careful about route selection, the Kanab area offers some of the most stunning off-road terrain in the American Southwest. Just maybe check the weather forecast, choose your trails wisely, and be prepared for your heart to race, one way or another.
Peekaboo Slot Canyon was absolutely worth the journey.
(we went before Utah’s Off-Highway Vehicle Education Course became mandatory in 2023.)
Read more about Denise’s bucket list adventures here.