Fort Desolation Fest: Big Music, Small World

A group of musicians and campers gather around a camp fire, singing and playing afterhours.

The days were bright and hot, but it cooled quickly when the sun disappeared behind the rocks. Jackets came out, fires were lit and the party moved between stages and campsites for both campers and artists. Photo: Cheryl Hunt

Concert

For one weekend each year, a quiet stretch of red-rock country in Torrey, Utah, becomes a small town within a small town. Regulars return to their usual campsites. Friends bring new friends. Musicians explore the landscape between sets. My family helps make it happen, so I spend the weekend pitching in when I’m needed and wandering around when I’m not.

Somehow, I run into more people I know there than I do here in “Small Lake City.” That’s Fort Desolation Fest. My stepdad, Jeremy Rawle, started it with partners including The State Room Presents in 2020. My mom, Leta Baker, joined the team early on as well. I was away at college for the first one in 2021, but haven’t missed it since.

About 300 people showed up that year, at a time when crowds were just starting to gather outdoors again. Since then, the fest has grown to a couple thousand, with Cougar Ridge Resort — a magical place to begin with — becoming part concert venue, part campground and part playground for a few days.

“We never wanted it to be a giant event where you disappear into a crowd,” Rawle says. “The idea was to keep it small enough that everyone could actually connect — with the music, with the place and with each other.”

The lineup is a big draw, but something else keeps people coming back. Plenty of attendees actually buy their tickets before they have any idea who will be playing.

This year, the fest happened in late September, with fall nipping at its heels. The days were bright and hot, but it cooled quickly when the sun disappeared behind the rocks. Jackets came out, fires were lit and the party moved between stages and campsites.

It takes quite a crew of volunteers to make Fort Desolation Fest happen, and I like getting to be one of them. My boyfriend, his brother and I hauled metal pipes across the property to hang a banner. Other family and friends staffed booths and filled in wherever an extra set of hands was needed. Somewhere in between, my stepbrothers took me off-roading, frisbees flew and a spontaneous soccer game broke out. I wandered around, danced and filmed clips for SLUG.

The music covered plenty of ground, too. Rayland Baxter delivered a knockout set, moving from laid-back grooves to full-throttle rock and roll. Coleman Jennings cast a spell with his rich voice and classic Western style. Grace Cummings’ otherworldly sound exploded into the desert. Salt Lake’s Pixie & The Partygrass Boys created an instant dance party. I loved them all, but my personal highlight was Andrew Bird.

My mom introduced me to his music when I was little, so I’ve spent much of my life mesmerized by his soaring violin and his impossibly beautiful whistle that makes me wonder if he is, in fact, a woodland cryptid. Seeing him onstage at Fort Desolation Fest at my quarter-life mark, surrounded by red rocks and people I love, felt surreal.

Two women cuddle together smiling under a full moon in rainbow light. — My mom (Leta Baker) and I (Ella BakerSmith) watching Andrew Bird under the full moon. Photo: Ella BakerSmith

For a few songs, my mom was just my mom, swaying next to me. Then she disappeared to handle something Fest-related. Luckily, we got another chance when Bird played a surprise, much more intimate set on the Black Feather Whiskey Campground Stage the next night. He had stuck around for the weekend, exploring the Capitol Reef area like many Fest-goers do. (While off-roading, we passed him mountain biking!)

By Saturday night — under a harvest moon, no less — friends I grew up with in SLC were dancing with a college buddy I had met on the East Coast, my boyfriend and our families, plus new faces that already felt familiar. At that point, some campsites had blended into neighborhoods. That’s what’s special about a festival this small: by day three, everybody kind of knows everybody.

It was a beautiful blur of sun and dust, twinkle lights and late-night music. Songs drifted across the campground long after the main stage went quiet. I still have dirt on the hems of my jeans.

By Sunday, the stages came down and artists, campers and crew headed out in every direction. Cougar Ridge settled back into its peaceful rhythm.

That little town in the desert only lasts for a weekend. Somehow, though, my world always feels a little bigger when I leave it. —Ella BakerSmith