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.

Cedar Breaks National Monument, Utah
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
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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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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