Trip Log: Utah
On the third of this month, I found myself in a rental car with my friend and former roommate, Haley, driving away from the Las Vegas airport in the general direction of Moab, Utah, with almost nothing planned beyond knowing we wanted to get there and back by the eighth.
I’m fairly laid-back and prefer spontaneity to structure, and I’m used to my travel plans sounding half-baked to others. But I’m going to shoot you straight: For the first time, I stressed myself out on this one. The trip was an idea Haley and I had thrown out months before, and we’d hemmed and hawed a bit on whether or not to really do it. But in a how the turntables move, she was the one to take the plunge and buy the tickets first, sealing the deal. I watched for a dip in tickets and followed suit.
And then, I kind of forgot about it?
My work is incredibly rewarding, but as we approach the final months of a big project, deadlines have gotten tighter. Whenever I came up for air before the trip and glanced at my calendar, Utah seemed far off enough in the distance to get to later.
Then, suddenly, it was later.
A week before our plane took off, I’d made literally no plans. I was giving everything I could to try and get extra work done, but no matter how hard or long I wrote, it seemed like we were right on schedule and not a minute ahead. In a span of, oh, about 45 minutes, I booked a couple of the cheapest Airbnb’s I could find in Moab for two nights midway through our trip — which, if you caught the dates above and are good at math, you will notice accounts for less than half of the nights we were there — and googled around for a scenic route from Vegas to Moab that would let us at least see a lot of beautiful land, even if we didn’t have time to explore it all. I also remembered to call ahead and rent a car the day before, amazingly. I also called my mom and several friends sobbing, less amazingly, about what a stupid decision I’d made to book a trip before I knew that I would be drowning work-wise and looked up Spirit Airlines’ cancellation policies many times. (They are Not Great, thanks for asking.)
Finally, through much kindness of my people (including Haley, who reassured me over and over that she didn’t care if we slept on a rock in the middle of the desert as long as we got to hang out outside of Texas) and logical assessment of my bank account, I accepted that I was going to have to just, you know, go. When Haley found me in McCarran International Airport, I was frantically typing curriculum in a corner and generally a basket case.
“I told the lady sitting next to me on the plane what we were doing,” Haley laughed nervously. “She was very worried for us.” I don’t remember if we verbally admitted it or not, but I think we both were, too.
One shuttle ride and near rental fiasco (but don’t worry guys it worked out) later, though, we were gunning away from Vegas towards mountains on the northern horizon. From the start, the landscape looked as foreign as Mars to me, and at first it unsettled me even more. We crossed a couple state lines and stopped at a Walmart in Saint George, Utah; filling our basket with peanut butter and jelly supplies and protein bars. I bought a toothbrush to replace the one I’d left at home. I felt like I was watching myself push our cart through the store — do you know what I mean? When you’ve had a weird day and not enough time to process it? I wheeled around trying to look and feel normal, and marveled at all the people acting like shopping at a Walmart flanked by red sandstone cliffs was an everyday, unspecial occurrence.
An hour or so later, we pulled into La Verkin and stopped at River Rock Roasting Company, which came recommended through a blog post I’d found the day before. I was more at ease as soon as we walked in; the walls paneled in heavy wood and lined with kitschy coffee mugs and t-shirts. I breathed in the warm scent of coffee and pizza, and we spent a few minutes sitting on their back porch before ordering anything, marveling at the view of the Virgin River cutting through a small canyon below. We wandered up the street with our coffees to the bridge far above it, leaning on the tall bars and staring down at the water.
I’d already decided that taking Highway 9 straight through Zion National Park and camping on BLM land somewhere on the other side was our best bet for the evening — Zion is notoriously busy, and I didn’t even try to land a camping spot in its borders on a fall weekend. I figured it was worth seeing, though, and after locating what looked like a good campsite on my map, we jumped back in the car and took off.
By the time we entered the park, massive cliffs had risen all around us, and it was fully golden hour. The walls and peaks of Zion started in purple shadow and burst into sunlight above, and the moon had risen to a perfect little crescent above. Haley and I alternated yelling and complete silence, the patterns of the rock swirling and slashing like nothing I’d ever seen before in my life. We passed desert bighorn sheep scrambling up scrubby boulders. We drove over the river and side-cut creeks, up switchbacks and through tunnels. We kept pulling off to take photos, and commenting about how the photos were never going to capture what we were really seeing, how it really felt to see it for the first time.
The dirt road I’d found on maps led to a great campsite, and by the time we got there a few campers and vans had already pulled off along it, too. We got settled in the back of the car and I took the chance to do a bit more work — less frantic, by now. When I finished, I got out of the car as quietly as I could and looked up. Tears immediately welled up in my eyes. We could see the Milky Way, frothy and bright in the a sky so dark and sparkling with stars it felt like, surely, we had gotten a few lightyears closer to them over the course of the day’s journey. I could see my breath in the cold night air.
Cold became the theme of the night, in fact, as we attempted to sleep with our car off having wildly underestimated just how low the temps would dip. Haley was wise enough to bring a sleeping bag, but I’d just layered up clothes and hoped for the best.
Both of us tried and failed to ignore our way to sleep, trading off brief naps before I finally moved to the front seat and edited photos for a few hours, then gave in and turned the car on, cutting the lights and hoping the sound of it running wasn’t ruining our fellow campers’ nights. One beautiful, three-hour heated nap later, it was light enough to convince ourselves that it was a reasonable time of morning to get back on the road. We cut our losses and took off towards Bryce Canyon National Park, stopping for a coffee in a tiny town along the way.
By the time we got to Bryce Canyon, we were ready to hike off our miles on planes and in the car. We settled on the popular Navajo Trail/Queen’s Garden loop, which would be about three miles down, around, and back up through the ampitheater.
I’d seen a few photos of the ampitheater and thought I was ready. But let me tell you: I was not ready.
We crested a hill from the parking lot and the earth fell away to a staggered, layered bowl of hoodoos, spiraling up on every side and looking like nothing I’ve ever laid eyes on before in my life. Hoodoos seem like one of those things that should be impossible to exist; but there they are, standing tall against the blue sky like castle towers. We followed the trail down into them, squeezing into narrow passages between and pausing every so often just to gape up. I never could decide if I preferred the view from above or below. They were equally amazing.
Boots sufficiently dusty, we decided to take the rest of the drive to Moab in a fairly straight shot; only stopping every now and then for gas and coffee. It killed me a little to drive through the Grand Staircase-Escalanate Monument area without stopping (especially given all the controversy that’s surrounded it in recent years — there was a part of me that really wanted to stop and take it in). Escalante itself seemed like such a cool little town, too, that I wished I had the ability to freeze time and wander around for a few days.
Capitol Reef National Park, too, made it tough not to put the car in park and run around for a bit. I think out of every national park we saw, actually, Capitol Reef felt the most foreign in a wild, beautiful way. Every other park had the signature red dirt and rock Utah is so known for, but in all kinds of variation — pale, almost white, sandy tones; deep oranges, dark streaks of burgundy verging on pink. Capitol Reef, though? Capitol Reef was red. Red with almost no differentiation — red soil stretching for miles, rising suddenly in rock walls, capping out in towering cliff-tops. The stark contrast between such solid colors in earth and sky looked like a picture a kid would draw of Mars. Completely unreal. (It also may have been the road we took, but we saw almost no one there — Haley and I spent a good half hour parked on the side of the road, just running up and down it, taking photos and laughing like insane people in our total delight of the place and how crazy it was to be there.)
I think the other thing that stood out to me most about the landscape in Utah — maybe more than any one characteristic, actually — was the wild variety in it mile by mile. The rest of our drive to Moab felt like a journey through seventeen different biomes. Sometimes I felt like I was in a true desert, as I imagine it anyway — warm and flat and wide. Other times we were in definite canyon country. At one point, weaving Northeast up towards our destination, I could have sworn I was somewhere in Colorado if I hadn’t known any better — we gained so much elevation and were surrounded by such thick pines, it seemed impossible that the red hoodoos we’d hiked through just that morning were less than a day’s drive away. (At one point, I saw stands of golden aspen trees and almost immediately teared up. Haley was kind enough to detour and let me walk among them for a few minutes — for all the time I’ve spent in Colorado over the years, I’ve never gone in fall and seen the aspens turn. It was one of my favorite moments of the trip.)
By the time we rolled into Moab that night, our “night’s sleep” or lack thereof had caught up with us. We polished off dinner at Peace Tree Cafe in almost complete silence (“This waiter probably thinks we hate each other,” Haley laughed), piled into our Airbnb a block over, and went to bed. In a real bed. Bless.
We started the next day in Arches National Park. Given its proximity to town (like, the entrance is right there in Moab), the fact that it was a weekend, and the crazy-good weather, it was definitely a more crowded experience than the first few days of our trip had been. But A) if other people enjoying a national park bothers you intensely, I have thoughts for you, and B) I submit that nothing can diminish the experience of seeing Delicate Arch for the first time. Nothing, people.
I’m running out of descriptors here, and honestly, words aren’t going to capture this stuff, anyway. But Arches was magic. Even with the crowds, everything we hiked to felt completely foreign and was beautiful in a way I’ve never experienced before. While going to see the Windows Section — one of the most popular points in Arches, with heavy traffic — we spotted a sign for “the primitive trail,” that led us two miles around and behind the site in almost complete solitude and silence. I paused a few times on the path just to stop and really try to drink it in, to not miss it while I was there. If I had to choose a favorite park, this one might be it — mostly because of that hike, I think.
We headed back to Moab after we’d had our fill. I cleaned up in the car (nothing like a baby-wipes-and-deodorant-and-mascara-in-the-rearview-mirror glow up session my dudes), grabbed my laptop, and walked over to Moab Garage Company for a solid work session with some very good coffee. The people-watching was also prime; and again, I wished dearly we had more time just to stick around in town and get to know it better. I love a quirky mountain town more than just about anything. Locals at Moab Brewery and Red Rock Bakery were so much fun to get to know; and our stay at the ACT Campground was truly my favorite Airbnb experience ever, I think. Moab, I’ll be back.
I’d made a desperate attempt on a few climbing forums to see if anyone would be game for a meetup and session while I was in town — after all, Utah is a climbing mecca, and it felt wrong not to at least try to get on some rock — but got no takers. As a sort of consolation prize, I asked Haley if we could just drive through Castle Valley the next day, so I could at least see the famous towers. (Important note for those of you who climb and may be concerned: These are not what I was planning to attempt, haha. Simply wanted to see them and dream a little about what it would be like!)
The sun was still rising as we pulled onto the road to Castle Valley, and it glinted off the Colorado River running alongside. Every turn we took, we gasped; the rock walls on either side silencing us as they rose high above. Half-shadow, half-golden-light, the valley felt reverent. And yes, when I saw the towers, I got emotional again. As beautiful as the national parks we saw were, I think Castle Valley itself rivaled every one. Utah people, do you know how lucky you are? Please say yes.
From there, we went to Canyonlands National Park, which has me really wondering if I should never go to the Grand Canyon, because if it’s even bigger and better than Canyonlands, I think I might physically explode on sight? Please advise.
Seriously, though, Canyonlands was a totally different kind of drama from the rest of what we’d experienced. We spent plenty of time taking in Islands in the Sky, marveling — again — at the fact that something like this even exists on the planet; and visited the Green River Overlook, where I thought surely the view of the water cutting a progressively deeper, wider line into the earth would do me in. It was one of those where you despair because you know your camera isn’t going to get it, no matter how bad you want to keep the image for yourself, forever.
We hit Mesa Arch, as one does (and has since allowed me the obnoxious ability to scream “I’VE BEEN THERE,” whenever the photo of it pops up as one of Apple’s TV screensavers); but my favorite Canyonlands adventure was hiking Upheaval Dome, whose pale green salt-domes rise from the bottom of a deep-red, 2-mile-wide crater. Apparently, scientists’ best guess at its creation is a meteor hitting the earth at some point along the way, which feels right, when you see it. We traded time standing near the edge gaping at the dome itself and generally clambering around the rocks above, running up and down the wide faces of stone all around and soaking up the sun. We sat on a boulder and ate snacks and thought about the fact that we were sitting where we were sitting eating snacks like it was a totally normal thing to do and felt lucky.
High on our national park experiences thus far, we decided that we wanted to circle back to Zion before we left and give it a fair go. We left Canyonlands for the highway and drove as straight a shot as possible back southwest, towards the town of Hurricane.
Five hours later, we walked stiffly into a gas station and brushed our teeth, then headed up a nearby mountain ridge, followed a long, dirt road, and found ourselves a campsite nestled near a few other vehicles. Lessons learned from our last go-round, we cut the lights but left the heater running as long as possible, windows up. I cut the engine when I couldn’t keep my eyes open any more, and other than one re-heat halfway through the night, slept pretty dang soundly. It was an accomplishment.
When I next opened my eyes, I realized we’d hit the campsite jackpot the night before. We were on a wide mesa, surrounded on every side by distant purple mountains. The rising sun was turning the red dirt and golden brush around us into something like a watercolor painting, bringing the pinks and yellows out in full force. I stood outside the car, shivering and brushing my teeth, not wanting the sunrise to end.
We thought an early start might help us avoid some crowds in Zion, which is notoriously popular. But by the time we rolled up to the entrance gates, there was already a line and a “parking full” sign out. We found a spot in town, packed some sandwiches in advance, and walked to the shuttle station.
I’m the type of person who has a weird, somewhat-irrational resentment towards things that are popular, simply for their popularity. I tend to distrust stuff that everyone likes. But it seemed like no matter who we talked to about Zion, we were urged to hike Angel’s Landing, and we decided it was worth a shot.
Along with what felt like hundreds of our closest friends, we piled into shuttle buses and were dropped off at the trailhead. The hike is described as strenuous, and rightly so; the first few miles are comically steep switchbacks, and we saw more than a few parties give up before they reached the midway point.
Once you survive the bottom half, though, the top becomes a proper scramble — something I find way less taxing and far more enjoyable. The park has chains fixed along the route to help you hang on and keep your footing, since a fall would, in many places, mean a few-thousand-feet drop to yer death; but overall, I found the stepping and stemming between boulders incredibly fun. The movement required concentration, as did managing back-and-forth traffic flow; but every now and then, you’d really catch yourself seeing what was around you — how high you were, the valley floor below, the tree-speckled, ombré-orange cliffs all around. We hung out at the top for a good, long time, enjoying the view from our island 1,500 feet or so above where we’d started. Some things, it turns out, are popular for good reason.
While there was definitely more to see, the trek up to Angel’s Landing pretty much took it out of us for the rest of the day — and we also knew we had flights to catch the next morning, and should probably sort out our stuff beforehand. Car camping had gone well the night before, but we decided showering before getting on a plane was probably wise, so we got a hotel room back in Saint George and headed that way.
After cleaning the red dust off of everything we could — including us — and reconfiguring everything back into our bags, we were ready for the drive back to Las Vegas the next morning. The drive there was quiet, and as the mountains settled back into flat, sprawling desert, I reflected on how glad I was I’d ended up coming — despite all the stress beforehand. (At one point, Haley said, “Look, I know we still have to catch our flights, and I don’t want to jinx anything, but… it’s pretty amazing how well this went.” I about died laughing.)
When my plane touched down in Houston a few hours later, the sheer amount of green (and the sheer amount of moisture in the air, amirite ladies) outside my window felt impossible. Out of everywhere I’ve ever traveled, Utah might be the most difficult to describe. It’s a really a place you need to go for yourself sometime… thankful we had the chance.
