Monument Valley and the Mythos of the American West

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.
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 living room in his former apartment above the trading post.
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.
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's
The dining room at Goulding’s
Amazing notepaper from Goulding's
Amazing 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.
Blue-green plant life makes Monument Valley extra magical.
My husband among the monuments.
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.
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.

Our view from Goulding's lodge
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.

SaveSave

SaveSave

SaveSave

SaveSave

SaveSave

SaveSave

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.
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.

SaveSave

SaveSave

SaveSave

SaveSave

SaveSave

SaveSave

SaveSave

SaveSave

SaveSave

SaveSave

SaveSave

SaveSave

SaveSave

SaveSave

SaveSave