National Parks Archives | In Lieu of Postcards

Communing with the Gods in (what used to be) Bears Ears

What we lose when we shrink our monuments.

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.

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Cedar Breaks National Monument & the CCC

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.

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, Cedar Breaks National Monument — 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.

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Awe & Tranquility in Canyonlands National Park, Utah

Winter at Canyonlands is beyond peaceful.

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

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 in Arches National Park, Utah. — 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.

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.

Sources:

https://www.nps.gov/arch/learn/historyculture/people.htm

https://www.nationalgeographic.com/travel/national-parks/arches-national-park/

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Winter Adventure in Arches National Park, Utah

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.

Sign warning of ice on Arches trails. — 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. — 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.

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