Exploring Candy Cliffs & Yellow Top

In a state overflowing with natural wonders and geological marvels, Utah's Yant Flat remains strangely overlooked. Situated between St. George and Leeds, just a mile from Yankee Doodle Canyon, Yant Flat rivals many of the more well-known scenic spots southern Utah has in its arsenal. Its mesmerizing Candy Cliffs and otherworldly formation known as Yellow Top make hiking through Yant Flat an unforgettable experience, certain to etch lasting memories for all who visit.

Trailhead elevation 4,573'

Water Scarce puddles after heavy rain

Don't miss The views of Zion National Park to the east and Signal Peak to the north

Hiking to Candy Cliffs & Yellow Top

It’s my first day back in the red rock heart of St. George, and I’m craving a little magic to close it out. What better way to do that than by returning to the surreal beauty of the Candy Cliffs and Yellow Top? This time, though, I’m not just passing through—I'm backpacking in, determined to greet the morning light with drone in hand, capturing the land in its first breath of dawn.

As always, the road to the trailhead is a challenging dance of deep ruts and stubborn rocks, each dip and jolt a reminder that this place doesn’t give up its secrets easily. But through the grime-covered windshield, the desert sprawls out in cinematic wonder—desert flora blurring by in a sea of dusty greens. My truck hums along, unbothered, like it knows this road by heart.

I arrive at the trailhead around 5:30 PM. With the sun setting at 7:35, I have time to spare, and the light is already starting to mellow into that perfect, honeyed glow. The first half-mile rolls gently forward, the trail threading through a desert dreamscape. Juniper, manzanita, and cactus line the path, their silhouettes soft against the towering Pine Valley Mountains behind me. Off to the east, Zion’s mighty cliffs rise in quiet splendor, like ancient guardians watching over the terrain.

Soon the trail turns to deep, unforgiving sand. Each step becomes a small battle, my boots sinking and dragging, the pack on my back growing heavier with every stride. The wind sighs through the brush, stirring up ghosts of dust and memory.

And then—there they are. The Candy Cliffs erupt into view, a kaleidoscope of swirled sandstone, as if some divine hand had sculpted the rocks with a painter’s brush and a child’s imagination. I stop, breath caught in my throat, and snap a few photos. But I don’t linger. Their true show is reserved for the morning, and I’ll be there to witness it.

Pushing forward, I reach the far edge of the cliffs and begin the descent down a steep checkerboard slickrock slope, the rock smooth and sun-warmed beneath my boots.

At the bottom, a narrow ravine snakes eastward, littered with stones and echoing with the soft crunch of gravel underfoot.

And then the land opens. The ravine spills out into a wide clearing, and there it is—Yellow Top, rising a few hundred yards away, proud and solitary against the horizon near coordinates 37.2180704, -113.4568124.

I pause once more to photograph the moment, then hike up to a shelf just above Yellow Top. The view is everything I remembered.

With dusk settling in around me, I set up camp beneath a bruised sky and the flickering lights of Leeds. The desert falls silent, and I fall asleep hoping that tomorrow’s light show will be one worth remembering.

I wake later than planned, the sky already beginning to blush with the faintest hues of dawn. Still groggy, I fumble for my camera and snap a few moody pre-sunrise shots of Yellow Top.

With the first golden rays stretching across the horizon, I make my way back to the Candy Cliffs. There, under the spell of morning light, I launch my drone. The world transforms—the rocks ignite in shades of fire and rose, the shadows retreat like whispered secrets. It's a moment so breathtaking, so achingly perfect, I know it’ll haunt my memory in the best way.

Eventually, I return to the trailhead, brew up a simple breakfast with the kind of satisfaction that only comes after a good night's sleep under the stars. Then I hit the road, bound for Escalante—five days of backpacking through the wild heart of my favorite corner of southern Utah. I know I’ll return to Yellow Top again—maybe once, maybe a dozen times—before I find myself on the wrong side of the grass. But for now, I leave it behind just as full of happiness as my first time out.