The foreign-feeling, people-pleasing experience of NOLA.
New Orleans native Tennessee Williams is quoted as saying, “America has only three cities: New York, San Francisco, and New Orleans. Everything else is Cleveland.” Perhaps that’s a tad harsh, as there are a number of other wonderful and interesting cities in the U.S. (And the Cleve itself isn’t so bad! Just ask Liz Lemon.) But one thing the cities of New York, San Francisco, and New Orleans all have in common is their multiculturalism – something that I imagined inspired Williams’s quip.
New Orleans tree.
It may seem obvious, but one of the things I’ve come to value the most when traveling throughout this country is those areas where diverse cultures come into contact with one another, often creating something new and beautiful in the process. I currently reside in Oklahoma, a state that may seem homogenous statistically, but also one where a number of Native American nations and Latino and Southeast Asian cultures converge, creating some of the state’s most interesting traditions and neighborhoods. In our globalized world where you can find the same chain stores in every town, the influence of different cultures becomes more important than ever.
The Candlelight Lounge in Tremé, where musicians from the neighborhood gather on Wednesdays.
Everyone Loves New Orleans?
New Orleans is one of the first places I’ve ever visit about which I heard nothing but rave reviews from others who had visited. It’s certainly the only city of the three Williams mentions with such a positive reception – New York is often seen as too crowded and frantic, San Francisco too gentrified and taken over by tech (and both too expensive). But no matter what kind of person I asked – avid traveler, introvert, wealthy, middle class, culture vulture or party person – everyone liked NOLA. When people tried to explain it to me, they said things about the food, the friendliness, the diversity. But they also said this: “It’s like being in another country, when you’re still in the U.S.”
The famous Cafe du Monde at midnight, when the crowds are thin but the beignets are just as good.
This intrigued me, as person who spends much of her time trying to scheme ways to leave the country and travel abroad for cheap. But traveling abroad without even leaving the U.S.? That I hadn’t thought of.
“Like Being in Another Country”
And it’s true. NOLA has a wide range of cultural influences. The city began its life as a French colony, was ceded to the Spanish, and then returned to French rule about a century later. After the Louisiana Purchase, New Orleans saw an influx of Haitian, Creole, African and French immigrants; Irish, Germans, and Italians later joined. The confluence of all of these cultures made its mark on the city, which remains today. Some parts of New Orleans feel Caribbean, some Spanish, and some French. My friends were correct when they said it feels like being in another country – but a country wholly its own, where pieces of cultures have become integrated over the years into one ever-evolving whole.
Shot from the backyard of our New Orleans Airbnb – your classic colorful shotgun shack.
And everything else people said is true, too: there’s great food (especially seafood, which I greatly appreciate as someone from landlocked country), music, art, and history. It also has those great cemeteries that feel like ancient sites, ice-cold daiquiris and monsoons you can drink on the street, and – at the best bars – all the free red beans and rice you could want.
Lafayette No. 2 CemeteryFlowers at St. Louis Cemetery.Offerings at St. Louis Cemetery.
I went to New Orleans in March to spend a week with great friends who knew the area. We covered all we could – culture at the New Orleans Museum of Art, history at Lafayette and St. Louis Cemeteries, music at Candlelight Lounge, Vaughan’s, and One-Eyed Jacks and, of course, all the food we could eat and still live to be tourists another day. During this whirlwind trip, I had to agree with those I surveyed: while other towns might claim to have something for everyone, New Orleans truly does.
We had to try New Orleans’ famous Snoballs.Liuzza’s near the French quarter; a great po’boy.
Laundromat-bar Igor’sCrab omelet at New Orleans Cake Cafe.
Tennessee Williams was right – New Orleans is a true American city, in sense that it embodies all that the word “city” invokes: the community, the sense of excitement, and the unique vitality of a place so self-contained and self-possessed.
A friend’s farm in the 9th ward.Sunset in the Irish Channel neighborhood.
Even if you’ve never been to Arizona’s breathtaking Monument Valley, it likely lives in your imagination.
“a strange world of colossal shafts and buttes of rock, magnificently sculptored, standing isolated and aloof, dark, weird, lonely.”
– Author Zane Grey on Monument Valley
It’s been over a month since I returned from my road trip around Utah, but I wanted to take my time gathering my thoughts about Monument Valley, a famous park situated on Navajo land at the Arizona-Utah border. Monument Valley is a breathtaking place that invites a strange sensation: it’s totally unique and yet instantly familiar, even if you’ve never heard of it before in your life.
Visions of the American West
In my first post about our Utah trip, I wrote a little about the mythos of the American West, the way it exists in the minds of those of us who have yet to experience it in person. When I talk to friends, especially those from other countries, about where they most want to visit in the U.S., they usually want to go somewhere out west based on this mythos, what they’ve seen and heard and read in popular culture. As I took in the sites of Arches National Park alongside a number of tourists from Europe and Asia, I wondered if what they saw matched their expectations. but I realized that in this globalized society, we probably all have similar points of reference. So to understand what was in their imaginations, I needed to look no further than my own.
The monuments.
Monument Valley in Pop Culture
Though we may not realize it, when many of us picture the American West, we picture Monument Valley. I know I did, for the simple reason that it is far away the most frequently-filmed western location, appearing in countless films and television shows, beginning with John Ford’s 1939 John Wayne film Stagecoach (Vanity Fair published this excellent article some years ago on Ford and Monument Valley). Monument Valley’s pop culture path was forged by Harry Goulding, a rancher who moved with his wife to the barren valley in the 1920s and established a small trading post. When Goulding heard that United Artists was scouting locations to film westerns, he hired a photographer to put together an album, made his pitch, and the rest was history.
Harry Goulding’s former apartment, above his trading post at Monument Valley.
After Stagecoach, John Ford continued shooting movies at Monument Valley, returning again and again to the iconic landscape, and other filmmakers followed suit (and continue to do so to this day). Films featuring the Valley include 2001: A Space Odyssey, Once Upon a Time in the West, Easy Rider, National Lampoon’s Vacation, Thelma and Louise, Forrest Gump, and many more. But I have to attribute my mental image of Monument Valley to a decidedly less highbrow source: Looney Tunes. During the cartoon’s heyday in the 1960s, animators Maurice Noble and Chuck Jones – likely inspired by the western films that were popular in their youth – used Monument Valley as the setting for many shorts, most frequently the Wile E. Coyote and Road Runner cartoons.
A classic Looney Tunes short, with Monument Valley in the background.
It’s fascinating to consider how our expectations and conceptions of any particular place are colored by these sorts of tangled associations: my personal understanding of the American West started with Looney Tunes, which in turn was likely drawing from the early impact Western films had on the animators themselves. No matter how it got lodged in our minds, Monument Valley has become shorthand for “American West” for generations of people – not bad for a relatively small swath of land smack-dab in the middle of nowhere.
A Visit to the Valley
But I suppose that’s enough pontificating for now. What travelers should know is that Monument Valley is an incredible place to visit. It’s remote but situated near enough to Bears Ears, Grand Staircase, and even the Grand Canyon that it makes an excellent stop on a multi-park tour. One point to note: the park is on Navajo land and thus is officially a Navajo Tribal Park, not a national or state park. This doesn’t make much of a difference in terms of amenities, but it does mean there are more interesting culture facets to the experience – a Navajo museum within the Visitor’s center includes historical artifacts and art, and the two on-site restaurants both specialize in Navajo food. And it also means that there’s very little else nearby, which makes the experience more special, in my opinion.
The dining room at Goulding’sAmazing notepaper from Goulding’s
We stayed at Goulding’s Lodge, the cheaper of the two lodging options in the park (the other being the View Hotel, which has better views but a less charming decor). Goulding’s is on the fancier side of what I consider a “lodge,” and one of my favorite things about it was their amazing logo. Though I snagged some of the above notepaper, I was sad to discover this logo is not available on a t-shirt.
The Goulding’s dining room serves a typical diner menu with the addition of some Navajo dishes. Figuring I’d be a fool not to eat Navajo food while I had the chance, I ordered the Navajo fry bread huevos. The portion was uncomfortably massive, but I didn’t regret it. Later on, we tried the View Hotel restaurant for dinner, and I had a pretty good green chile stew. The View’s selling point is – you guessed it – dinner with an exceptional view of the monuments. But to get a window seat for sunset, it’s best to show up when they open at 5:00.
Blue-green plant life makes Monument Valley extra magical.My husband playing the part of moon-man among the monuments.
Monument Valley is different from many National and State Parks in the area in that there is only one hiking trail – this is really a driving park, whether you choose to do so in your own vehicle or sign up for a tour. We chose to combine our visit with a drive to Valley of the Gods, so we didn’t take the standard Monument-viewing drive. Though it was quite cold, we decided to take the full hike, which lasts a few hours and only features one truly difficult patch (walking up a steep hill in sand – something I’d never done before and wouldn’t necessarily like to repeat). We were the only two people out there on this particular cold Saturday afternoon, and the hike was nothing short of glorious – like being on the moon.
A juniper tree in the Valley.
There’s also a lot of kitsch to be experienced at Monument Valley. Harry Goulding’s old trading post and apartment is now a museum featuring film posters, Navajo art, and other artifacts from the Valley’s history. Goulding’s Lodge also has a screening room, naturally, where John Wayne films typically show, in case you want to pop in and see depicted on celluloid the very landscape that surrounds you. There are two massive gift shops as well with a wide variety of must-have junk. But due to the austerity of the surrounding area, none of this feels like too much, and it’s easy to ignore if you prefer a more nature-centric experience.
Morning view from Goulding’s Lodge
For my money, the biggest thrill of all was just waking up in the morning, glancing out the window of the lodge (camping would be amazing, if you come in warm weather), and seeing the sun rise over those mighty, wild towers of rock. It’s a vision that perhaps your mind already has stored, from Elmer Fudd chasing Bugs Bunny or John Wayne searching for Natalie Wood or Chevy Chase wandering, delirious, in Vacation. But to see it in person, to stand in the midst of it – you can then truly understand what Harry Goulding saw all those years ago. That this is one of the more special places in the world, and that it needs to be shared.
Last Friday, February 2nd, was a sad day for proponents of public lands: areas that were formerly part of Bears Ears National Monument officially opened for mineral leasing. This means that oil, gas, coal and uranium companies can now put in requests to mine these beautiful parts of Utah. Why? The usual – money, politics and shortsightedness. So how did we get here? For those who haven’t followed the story, in December President Trump issued an executive order shrinking Bears Ears (along with Grand Staircase-Escalante National Monument) – which was designated by President Obama in just 2016 – by 85 percent. What remains are two protected areas, newly christened Shash Jaa and Indian Creek, and among the rest there is some local protection, but mostly none.
This January, I visited the Valley of the Gods, a breathtaking valley of sandstone formations that is considered sacred to the Navajo. It is one of the areas that the executive order removed from National Monument protection. We went other places on our Utah adventure before we made it to Valley of the Gods – including Zion National Park and Monument Valley, which I’ll post about eventually. But the recent news of mineral leasing compels me to share my brief, memorable morning in the former Bears Ears, in words and photos.
I have to note one thing up front, and that is that Valley of the Gods specifically is still protected public land under the Utah BLM. It is a designated Area of Critical Environmental Concern, which I believe means there won’t be any mining or drilling on this particular spot. But this is just one small section of an area that is rich throughout in beauty, history, and archaeology. And some arbitrary parts of it are now free to be corrupted, disrupted, and exploited.
Throughout the debate over Bears Ears, some have asked: why the uproar over the reduction of the monument when it’s only been around for a little over a year? It was doing just fine before, wasn’t it? But the answer is no, it wasn’t.
For years, this expanse of land was subject to vandalism, looting of valuable artifacts, and even grave-robbing. It was this dire situation that prompted a coalition of Native American leaders to petition president Obama to designate the monument. As Jenny Rowland wrote in 2016 for the Center for American Progress, “The combination of Bears Ears’ vast size, number of archaeological sites, surge in looting incidences, and unprotected status make it the most vulnerable place in the United States for these kinds of activities.” Securing its protection was a great step forward in the preservation of Native American history as well as nature. But unfortunately, we’ve now taken a step back.
Exploring the Valley
Valley of the Gods is located near the town of Mexican Hat, just a 30-minute drive from Monument Valley, so it is one of the most accessible parts of the former Bears Ears. Reading about this area, we didn’t get a full picture of just how desolate and interesting it was, however. Once we drove out, it was clear we were in the honest-to-God middle of nowhere. In fact, the whole surrounding area, which is Navajo country, felt unique to me in its quiet – there are not a lot of towns and very few amenities, particularly in the off-season. It was just us, the land and the sky, and the occasional “rez dog” on the side of the road.
I was a bit concerned about exploring Valley of the Gods at first, because it’s only traversable by a rocky dirt road, and we were driving a 13-year-old Volvo sedan. But it was a dry day, so it turned out to be fine, if quite bumpy. Word of warning to those setting out – pay attention to the conditions. If this road gets muddy at all, you’re likely to get stuck. There are other amazing things to see in the area if you’re wiling to traverse the white-knuckle drive up the mesa called the Moki Dugway. Despite my husband’s attempts to convince me, I felt better keeping our little car on reasonably level terrain.
A Truly Alien Landscape
The formations throughout Valley of the Gods are both like and unlike anything else I’d seen in Utah. While the overall red rock and desert-like conditions were similar to what we’d seen at Monument Valley and Zion, the delicacy in the way the rocks seem to have been carved was something new. The name “Valley of the Gods” does it justice – it’s like some divine version of Mount Rushmore, with iconic and commanding figures staring down from a cloudy sky.
To invoke another strange visual comparison, our drive through Valley of the Gods also felt to me like a trip through the Disneyland Upside-Down. One minute we would encounter a bank of castle-like formations, the next a great craggy shipwreck, and later a field of alien pyramids. It was empty except for one or two passing cars, and at times we felt like explorers on another planet.
The “Why” of It All
The whole time, of course, we were asking ourselves one question: how could someone look at these lands, like a slice of Mars here on earth, and decide that they had been granted too much protection? That guaranteeing their longevity and accessibility to the public is a bad idea? That possible mining and development – or that thorny issue of states’ rights – could possibly take precedence over preserving the sheer wonder (not to mention historical value) of this place?
I’m glad to know that for now, the Valley of the Gods is somewhat protected by the Utah BLM. But Trump’s executive order regarding Bears Ears sets a dangerous precedent – that conservation is okay until we decide we want something else, namely money. And then these areas, so rich in history and majesty, are at risk of becoming as expendable as those in power want them to be.
Reading history through the pristine Cedar Breaks.
We chose Cedar City, Utah as the midway point on our Utah adventure—in part because we had friends there and in part to see Cedar Breaks National Monument before heading to the big kahuna, Zion National Park. Cedar City is a quiet town of around 30,000, but it is home to Southern Utah University, meaning it has a bit more to offer than just nature and sister-wives (it had to be said). There’s a quaint downtown with some cute eateries, as well as the Southern Utah Museum of Art, which is well worth a visit. In early January, Cedar City is typically a winter wonderland, and Cedar Breaks is often closed. But we lucked out with beautiful weather which allowed us to explore one of Utah’s slightly less famous (but no less impressive) natural beauties.
Cedar Breaks: Convergence of Landscapes
Cedar Breaks, declared a National Monument way back in 1933 by Franklin Delano Roosevelt, would be a major attraction almost anywhere else in the world. But with Zion and Bryce Canyon National Parks both nearby, it is sometimes overlooked. With almost no one in the park the morning of our visit—aside from one woman walking a small, whimpering mop of a dog—we had the parks’ roads and overlooks to ourselves. Cedar Breaks boasts a lot of geologic variety, and many different types of landscapes seem to converge here. The ancient Lake Claron created layers of red, pink, and orange rock over millions of years to create the park’s most impressive formations. Cedar Breaks National Monument is also home to volcanic rock from million-year-old explosions, various species of pine, and an alpine pond.
Cedar Breaks National Monument, Utah
Due to time constraints, we weren’t able to spend enough time at Cedar Breaks National Monument. I would love to go back in warmer weather for camping, and in particular for one of the park’s Star Parties (it is an official International Dark Sky Park). But while at Cedar Breaks my thoughts turned, as they often do when I find myself in National Parks, to twentieth-century American history, particularly the era of the New Deal.
For awhile I’ve had a fascination with FDR’s New Deal, particularly the Works Progress Administration and the Civilian Conservation Corps, both of which did an incredible amount of work preserving and improving our natural and public spaces. I wasn’t surprised when I saw a panel at Cedar Breaks National Monument describing the CCC’s history there. Its involvement was apparent from the resilient and character-filled infrastructure of the park, from the Visitor Center to the carefully crafted log benches dotting the overlooks.
The Civilian Conservation Corps: A Success Story
The CCC, for those unfamiliar, was a program established to put unemployed men to work following the Great Depression while at the same time striving to preserve, conserve, and make accessible some of America’s most beautiful natural places. Camps of workers were established at many national parks, monuments, and recreation areas throughout the country, with Cedar Breaks being one. The park’s Visitor Center, Ranger Cabin, roads, and scenic overlooks were constructed by the CCC in 1930s, and the structures possess that charmingly rustic, natural look we’ve come to think of as the National Parks aesthetic.
CCC information at Cedar Breaks National Monument
But the CCC was an effective program because of what it did for people, not just parks. The camps recruited men from inner cities—many malnourished due to extreme poverty and in low spirits due to chronic unemployment—and allowed them to see parts of their country they would never otherwise have seen while providing them wages, room and board., and education. Many enrollees wrote back to family members that they had no idea there was this kind of natural beauty in the world, and they fell in love with it.
Neil M. Maher’s Nature’s New Deal, a scholarly history of the CCC, he quotes writing from some of the young men in the CCC camps. “First of all, we are engaged in useful conservation work which will accrue to the benefit of both the present and future generations,” Carl Stark wrote in 1941. “But secondly, and far more important is the conservation of the individual” (p. 104). Another CCC enrollee named Paul Stone noted in the mid-1930s that the setting he worked in was “Not an artificial mechanical world like that of the modern city, but a world alive with more beauty than I had ever known” (p. 100).
The CCC wasn’t a perfect program, of course. But it was in many ways wonderful, educating young workers about conservation and even offering them career paths in areas like forestry. It’s difficult to imagine a program like that happening now. But it’s a notable part of our history—a success story to learn from.
Frozen Navajo Lake, Dixie National Forest
A Moment at Navajo Lake
Despite not being able to spend much time at Cedar Breaks, its already high on my list of places to revisit. And it’s in the middle of beautiful country, amidst a staggering array of other natural attractions.
After leaving Cedar Breaks we stopped at nearby Navajo Lake, a popular fishing spot nestled between lava beds in the Dixie National Forest. While it was nearly 60 degrees on the day we visited, the lake was still frozen over. There are sinkholes under Navajo Lake into which water drains, and we stood silently on the dry lakebed and listened to the low rumbling of water under ice—a sound unlike any I’ve heard.
Cedar Breaks National Monument and its surrounding environs, while popular in warmer weather, still offer a nice alternative to the massive crowds at nearby Zion. I can’t wait to return and further explore its history—both ancient and modern—its fascinating geology, and its sky full of stars.
Towns in decline can tell us a lot about who we were and who we’re becoming.
Small Towns in Decline
I have a fascination with forgotten places, particularly faded small towns. I’m not referring to ghost towns, which are much more rare. Faded small towns that still have people and life and schools and community and businesses, but they’re towns that once were something bigger and more prosperous, and they must wear their decline on their sleeves. They’re towns for which vacancy is a fact of daily life.
One thing I learned growing up in a larger version of one of these towns is that it costs more to demolish something than to let it sit empty. So all around my hometown of Galesburg, IL (which is currently doing okay but, like many towns of its size, declined in the latter half of the twentieth century and was walloped by factory closings in the ’80s and ’90s) there are empty buildings, shuttered and dusty. Some have stood, silently the same, since my early childhood. Their hopes seem to dim just a tiny bit each year, like they’re still awaiting the return of long-gone inhabitants.
Small towns all over the United States are currently in decline due to a number of factors: a loss of manufacturing jobs due to outsourcing and automation, a generational shift away from small communities and toward more urban areas, and the fact that national corporations and online retailers have taken the place once held by local mom-and-pop shops. I’m not here to romanticize the very real economic hard times that small towns face, but I do like to look for the beauty in these forgotten places. Empty storefronts and neighborhoods tell us about a town’s past and the people that have lived there. And the parts of the community that remain vital tell us about what the town is becoming, and how it reconciles the past and the future.
Green River, Utah
Our drive from Canyonlands National Park to Cedar City, Utah was one of the most beautiful – perhaps the most beautiful – I’ve ever taken. Each mile seems to bring more unusual redrock formations: spires, canyons, and mesas. It’s totally desolate, with no services for miles but a number of scenic viewpoints, an acknowledgement that sometimes you’ve just gotta pull off and take it all in. There are few towns along this route, but for lunch we chose Green River, Utah as our stop. And I’m glad we did.
Closed-up business in Green River, Utah
Green River is a prime example of one of those forgotten places that I’ve always found so intriguing. According to the town’s Wikipedia page, Green River was one of the pass-through areas of the Old Spanish Trail trade route in the mid-1800s. In 1876, it became a river crossing for U.S. mail and evolved into a popular stop for travelers. A railroad boom helped grow the town until 1892, when operations moved elsewhere. But the second boom in Green River – the one we see remnants of today – came in the mid-twentieth century, when uranium mining brought more prosperity to the town. In the 1960s, an Air Force missile launch facility was also established, and the population reached its peak during that decade. But once the mining industry dried up, the population dropped to around 900, where it sits today.
Currently, most of the town’s economy mostly rests on the shoulders of I-70, as it caters to travelers and truckers, as well as mountain bikers (the town is a popular freeride spot). There’s also a natural gas field nearby. The town is quiet but friendly, and by necessity welcoming to outsiders.
Poem inscribed on another abandoned storefront in Green River, Utah
Storefront Poetry
Downtown Green River has a large number of empty businesses, sprinkled casually between a few still-open restaurants and shops. Many of these are fairly well-preserved, with old signage still intact, offering a nice little slice of the past. The most inspiring thing I saw during my short visit to Green River was a poem someone had written in the window of an abandoned storefront. Composed by an unknown author, it reads:
Sitting on the river’s edge
The smell of driftwoo
(Not exactly driftwood; drift sticks
washed ashore from a recent
rain & subsequent flood).
Muddy water.
Sun sets behind the butte
Slowly, like when you sit [cut off]
bathtub and let [cut off]
drain, lying still, [cut off]
In small pulses as it drains
Pulling you down, increasing
gravity, pulling away the weight
of sadness, getting chilly but
also still warm on the bottom
half of you, if split longways.
It’s a small, personal poem. Maybe not a masterpiece, but way more moving than something I expected to read on the papered-over window of a shuttered business.
Ray’s Tavern in Green River, Utah – “the place for everyone”
The Place for Everyone
I can only imagine there are many other such instances of subtle beauty in Green River, one of Utah’s forgotten places. Though I only spent about an hour there, I sensed something special in this town.
We spent most of our time in Green River at Ray’s Tavern (slogan: “the place for everyone”), one of a few local eateries, with a charmingly brief menu featuring burgers and fries, beer and wine (a selection of various Franzias, naturally), steaks, chops, and apple pie.
After devouring our burgers, it was time for us to hit the highway. But Green River and its mysterious faded charm remained on my mind. It’s one of the many small towns in this great big country that seems easy to ignore, but deserves a second look.
The toughest thing about taking a road trip throughout Utah is that there’s not enough time, a fact that became especially apparent on day two, when we visited both Arches and the expansive Canyonlands National Park. To thoroughly explore even the southern half of the state would take months, some heavy-duty climbing equipment, an all-terrain vehicle, and some guts. My husband and I? We had a week, minimal hiking experience, and a 13-year-old Volvo. But even with only about a day in the Moab area, we caught glimpses of magic. And we promised ourselves we’d be back.
First Things First: Diner Love in Moab
Breakfast at the Moab Diner
The day started, of course, in our cozy room at the Big Horn Lodge in Moab, from where we adjourned to the connected Moab Grill. The place was fairly busy for a Wednesday morning in a half-empty town, and we were surrounded by what appeared to be locals carbo-loading on their way to do some sort of manual labor or another. After I helped myself to a delicious plate of corned beef hash and eggs and we went to pay, none other than the Moab Sheriff came strolling in the door, cracking jokes and greeting the elderly gentlemen drinking coffee at the counter (“And how’s Sheldon today?”) as well as the hostess (“Hi there, Brenda”). I don’t have warm feelings for Sheriffs per se, but it was pretty cute.
Balanced Rock at Arches National Park, Utah.
The north window at Arches National Park, Utah.
A Few More Hours in Arches
Having not see quite enough of Arches National Park to satisfy ourselves, we drove back in the morning, figuring we’d get a little more time in before departing for Canyonlands National Park. Arches, after all, contains the largest concentration of natural arches in the country – more than 2,000, formed from red sandstone deposited around 150 million years ago – and each is uniquely breathtaking. The scenic drive throughout the park offers views of countless cleverly-named formations, though we decided to take the brief hikes to just the Windows and Balanced Rock. Though it was still icy and fairly frigid, it was a nice, clear morning to stroll around a bit. There were not many others out, and a feeling of quiet hung over the park.
Sitting along the edge of the north window and taking in the remarkable view of the park’s outskirts, it was easy for me to understand why Arches is one of the country’s most popular National Parks. I was certainly glad we came in the offseason, however, as the sheer volume of spring and summer visitors would make it an entirely different experience. Crowds have also put Arches in danger: these landforms are not impervious to wear and tear from visitors. And while most people try to do as little harm as possible to the landscape, there is always an idiot or two who insists on climbing all over the rocks, despite the many signs forbidding this (as we unfortunately witnessed at Balanced Rock). The NPS is currently working on solutions to curb the crowd issues, but for now I’d certainly recommend visiting in winter, weather conditions permitting.
I would have loved to spend more time at Arches, particularly to see the petroglyph panel near Wolfe Ranch. But we had to be in Cedar City that evening, and we wanted to check out the comparatively mysterious Canyonlands. So off we went.
Island in the Sky, the most accessible part of Canyonlands National Park.
Canyonlands National Park: For Three Levels of Bravery
Canyonlands National Park, though far bigger than Arches (its canyons and mesas stretch over 527 miles), is less iconic for a reason: it’s nearly impossible to capture in photographs. While still popular, its size and layout allows it to weather the impact of crowds better than Arches. The park is divided into three parts: Island in the Sky, The Needles, and The Maze.
If I had the right gear, the determination, and the time, I’d go for the latter two. The Needles requires lengthy hiking and/or driving on rough roads, but offers incredible views of the colorful Cedar Mesa Spires and prehistoric petroglyphs. And The Maze is the most intriguing of all, so named due to its extremely limited accessibility. The Canyonlands NPS site warns that visitors rarely spend fewer than three days in The Maze, simply because it takes so much effort to get into and back out of. But this remoteness is key, as it offers protection from the kind of degradation Arches is suffering. Horseshoe Canyon, the most famous part of The Maze, houses some of the most notable and well-preserved prehistoric rock art in the country, including the Great Gallery, a detailed panel featuring both petroglyphs and pictographs of human figures.
Due to our short time frame, our two-wheel drive, and the season, we saw only Island in the Sky, which has paved roads, a number of scenic overlooks, and perhaps the park’s most famous trail, Mesa Arch.
Silent, Vast, and Beautiful
To say that Island in the Sky is simply third-best ignores its incredibly still, vast, staggering beauty. Even the drive out from Moab to the Island in the Sky entrance offers a meditative experience. While Arches is practically in town, the entrance to Canyonlands only appears after driving miles of empty, Mesa-lined roads. Cell service is gone in a heartbeat. Man-made structures of any kind and even livestock quickly disappear from the landscape. For miles it is just you and your thoughts, framed by jagged red rock as far as the eye can see.
The view from Mesa Arch at Canyonlands
Our first stop was Mesa Arch, to which there is a fairly easy trail (with a few ups and downs). This is the most classically picturesque spot in Island in the Sky, and the view through the arch reminded me of an ancient city, the spires of the canyon like precariously built castles and fortresses.
Island in the Sky also offers a series of overlooks (the view from one pictured at the top of this article). On this particular cold, sunny Wednesday, there were few visitors, so we were able to have some overlooks completely to ourselves. One of my favorite memories of our trip is standing stock-still next to my husband at Grand View overlook, trying and failing to take it all in, hearing nothing but the soft, flapping wings of the occasional raven circling overhead.
The experience we had at Canyonlands is difficult to describe and even harder to photograph. My advice is simply to go yourself, and be present in it – to look, listen and feel, to breathe the air and hear the silence.
Braving the ice and avoiding the crowds at Arches in the off-season
Utah: The Quintessential Western State
Growing up, I was pretty naive about the American West, picking up associations as I went from pop culture. I knew there were giant cacti and Joshua trees, mesas and red dirt, canyons and tumbleweeds, retro roadside motels and diners galore. I didn’t really know what was where, but I knew I wanted to go someday.
My first adult journey west of the Mississippi (not counting the distinctly non-western state of Iowa) was, at age 22, to New Mexico, a state that appealed to me but of which I was utterly ignorant. I was hosted by my then-boyfriend (now-husband), who grew up in Albuquerque, and I prepared to be wowed by the Land of Enchantment. I was picturing big mesas, red rocks and canyons of the type featured in Looney Tunes – but my bubble was burst. “That’s Utah,” he explained to me gently. And before I could even ask, he added, “and real roadrunners are small and brown.”
New Mexico did turn out to be as enchanting as advertised, but that’s a story for another post. What took me by surprise back then is that Utah — a state I hadn’t given much consideration — was actually the quintessential Western state. Thanks to the large number of classic western movies filmed there (those that inspired the iconic Looney Tunes backgrounds), when we imagine the “American West,” most of us will, by default, picture Utah.
Fast-foward 12 years, and I still hadn’t been to this mystery state. So when we were planning our recent winter break, my husband and I decided it was finally time. We would already be in relatively nearby Crested Butte, Colorado, where his parents had rented a cabin for New Year’s weekend. Why not take off from there, we thought, and embark upon a weeklong road trip through the heart of Western fantasies? There was the question of weather — we weren’t quite sure if we would regret venturing out in our 2-wheel-drive Volvo, given the January potential for ice and snow. But the forecast was clear, so off we went.
Ice-Hiking in Arches National Park
Our first stop was Moab, where we planned to spend parts of two days exploring what little we could of both Arches National Park and Canyonlands National Park. We rolled in around 2:30 p.m. – just enough time to see a bit of Arches before it got dark (which happened at about 4:30, it being January 2nd and all). After stopping at the Visitor’s Center (one of my favorite National Park activities), we set out on the scenic drive up to Delicate Arch, that most iconic of formations. I’ll admit I felt like a bit of a cliche going right for the money shot. But if Utah feels strongly enough about Delicate Arch to put it on their license plate, we figured we’d better lay eyes on it before sundown.
The beauty of Arches National Park in a winter dusk.
There are a number of ways to see Delicate Arch: two different viewpoint areas and a hike. We briefly considered the viewpoints, but we had been in the car all day and the weather was a balmy 40 degrees. “Let’s do the hike!” we said. The sign at the trailhead warned the hike was “difficult,” but the fact that we saw all manner of people on the return trail – children, the elderly, dudes in athletic shorts and young women in inappropriate footwear – we figured it couldn’t be that bad. We’re not avid hikers, but we’re in reasonably good shape. How bad could it be?
Truthfully, it wasn’t that bad. It is truly a strenuous hike, with a particularly lung-busting climb up a never-ending stretch of sheetrock and a final ascent up a gravelly cliff-edge to the arch, but it’s just 3 miles roundtrip. The issue – a drawback, I suppose, to visiting in winter – was the ice. The steep section leading to the arch was completely coated in the stuff, a fact that boggled my mind when I thought about all the people I had seen returning from the trail, including an elderly man carrying an enormous tripod. Had they turned back before reaching the arch, or simply scrambled their way up – and back – somehow?
The most insidious element of the situation was that but the time the ice became a problem, we were so close – you’d have to be truly terrified to turn back at that point. So we soldiered on at a snail’s pace, watching a number of the people around us (this time of year, the park was particularly popular with German, Chinese, Korean, and Japanese tourists, which made for a cool, sort of international experience) falling frequently in a cartoonish, leg-flailing style. My palms started to sweat and I clung to the boulders at my side, imagining the various ways I might slip and slide off the edge, just another footnote in one of those books about people who fall off of cliffs in National Parks (they have those). My story would be sold in the gift shop.
Actual footage of us on the Delicate Arch trail. Unfortunately, this sign was posted on a different trailhead – one that wasn’t icy at all.
Reader, we did make it to the top, where I observed the breathtaking arch (pictured at the top of this page), lightly snowed-upon and glorious, before a cloud-streaked blue sky. We stood for a few minutes, watching much smarter people than us strap on their crampons (duh! taunted the voice in my head, unhelpfully), and looked at each other. “We have to go back down,” my husband said regretfully, “before it gets dark.”
I have what I consider a minor fear of heights – nothing life-altering, but when I get close to, say, the slippery edge of something, my hands start to go clammy. I solved this problem on a 2016 trip to Ireland’s Skellig Michel (a subject for another post), by using a tactic suggested by the island’s intimidating UNESCO agent: “A lot of people just sit and scoot down the steps that way,” he said, no hint of a smile whatsoever. “There’s no shame in that.” As it turned out, there was in fact a fair bit of shame in that. But shame is preferable to ending up in a book about National Parks deaths, so down I sat for the second time in my life, scooting along the most treacherous parts of the trail, staggering to my feet, and repeating until I’d cleared the hairiest bits.
I couldn’t understand why no one else on the trail was taking this approach, as I witnessed at least 50 percent of them – my husband included – falling hard like amateur figure skaters. Pre-emptive falling seemed to me a superior solution – but it didn’t to others. During my brief scooting phase, I fended off help and pity from a number of strangers, who implored me to take their hands, to lean on them, even though moments earlier I was sure I’d seen them flailing, arms in a windmill pattern. I wasn’t about to take anyone over the edge with me, thank you very much. So I assumed the role of Trail Loser, prompting worried murmuring and the shaking of heads. Say what you will, but I went home bruise-free and merely a little damp, which not even some of the well-cramponed could claim.
A Peaceful Dusk in the Park
It was then that we came to my favorite part of any hike: the descent. My husband and I were both giddy after our icy escapade, so happy to be on familiar, less slippery ground that we could actually enjoy our surroundings. The sky was already darkening, casting a dark blue light on the snowy terrain surrounding us. While there were still some people on the trail with us, they were growing fewer and fewer. Winter in Arches National Park feels peaceful, vast and, in the dark, somewhat alive, the shadows of mesas, arches and other redrock formations looming like mystical creatures or fairy tale castles. Despite our harrowing hike, I was instantly glad we had come at this time of year, with smaller crowds, less heat, and the chance to see the beautiful sunset light play across the snow.
The Big Horn Lodge in Moab, Utah: a decent night’s rest and a great sign.
We’d be back in the morning to explore more, so on still-shaky legs, we checked into the charming Big Horn Lodge for the night, stopped by the delightful hole-in-the-wall El Charro Loco for delicious enchilada platters, and went to sleep knowing there were more adventures in store.
I’ve got more to say about Arches National Park and Moab in my next post. Stay tuned!
Specifics
Hike: The Delicate Arch is trail is 3 miles round trip, and it is categorized as “difficult” by the National Park Service. Take a look at the official Arches National Park page (which we failed to read) for details before embarking.
Eat: El Charro Loco, Moab is a delightful hole-in-the-wall Mexican joint that seems to be popular with both locals and tourists. There are not a lot of really good, cheap places to eat in Moab, so even though you may have to wait for a table, it’s worth it.
Sleep: For its low off-season prices and retro charm, we chose the Big Horn Lodge in Moab for our accommodations. It’s not fancy, but it’s clean, comfortable, and has a great diner attached (featured in my next post). In winter, rooms start around $60/night.
