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
Breakfast at the Moab Diner
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 in Arches National Park, Utah.
Balanced Rock at Arches National Park, Utah.
The north window at Arches
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.
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
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.

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.
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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