When I close my eyes, I can see it again, the brilliant red sky at sunset deepening the rich, vibrant, striated rocks around me. My car following the curves of the road, every new angle making my heart swell even further. Overwhelmed by the beauty before me, the natural wonder I was driving through, tears streamed down my face. Words fail to express that feeling, when you realize that for all of the ugliness in the world, there are places of wonder, moments where awe and delight will overpower the darkness, where you emerge feeling so damn lucky to be alive.
Several hours earlier, I left Joshua Tree National Park and headed towards Zion, choosing to bypass the more direct route to the Grand Canyon in favor of experiencing a glimpse of the Utah landscape I have dreamed of seeing in person. My route took me through the expansive Mojave Desert, a quiet stretch of highway with quintessential desert on either side. When I saw signs for Vegas, I diverted off the main road to pass through the strip. How odd to experience such a manufactured landscape, a far cry from the natural world I had been so immersed in.
After the Vegas detour, it wasn't long before I crossed the border into the North West corner of Arizona, where it was almost immediately clear that I was in the South West. Earthy tones of rich coppers and burnt orange and clay began to dominate my views, making me excited for the days to come, when I would spend time in Arizona and New Mexico before driving North into Colorado.
The towns close to Zion National Park's South Entrance offered shuttle rides into the park, which I bypassed hoping that maybe, just maybe, I'd find an open campsite when I arrived. While half of the park's campsites are first come first serve (the other half being reservable ahead of time - all booked by the time I checked a few weeks prior to beginning my trip), I knew the odds of me being first in line were low. I was nearing the entrance well after lunchtime, having slept in a bit that morning on account of my worsening cold.
I waited in the line of cars eager to enter the park, and when I handed my National Parks Pass to the ranger, I saw the "All Campsites Full" sign on the window. Well, I thought, I'll figure out where to sleep tonight later. Now I just wanted to enjoy as much of the park as possible before dark.
I drove into Zion and parked on the street just past the shuttle stop at Canyon Junction. The shuttle made its way up Zion Canyon Scenic Drive, massive rocks on either side. Peering up through the skylight and craning my neck out the window, I attempted to soak in the full expanse of the brilliant red rocks. Pictures fail to capture the grandeur, and how could they, these two-dimensional representations of a three-dimensional experience?
Knowing I had little time to hike, and that my cold would likely keep me from any strenuous activity, I took the shuttle to the last stop - the Temple of Sinawava. Here a short paved trail took me to the base of the Narrows, where groups with hiking poles and tall boots were streaming in from their day-long hikes.
After watching tired, hungry, exhilarated hikers return to dry land and basking in the glory of the canyon walls around me, I joined them in line to wait for the shuttle to head back down to my car. It was a few minutes from the advertised last shuttle of the day, and everyone appeared to have waited until the last minute - there were at least a hundred people in line. Torn between being happy that so many appreciate the natural beauty of this place, and wishing I could have it all to myself, I wrote in my journal and tried not to think of the tickle that was worsening in my throat.
By the time I boarded the shuttle, the sun had begun to fall, the sky turning from blue to orange to red. The shuttle driver directed our attention to the huge rock wall to our right, where we could see the tiny specs of climbers in the middle of a two-day climb. They were settling in for the night, preparing to sleep suspended above the valley hundreds of feet below.
Just past the climbers we saw black figures at the top of the cliff - hikers on the final stretch of Angel's Landing, holding onto a rope to keep them safely on the path. My heart leapt with fear and delight, and I promised myself that I would be up there on that rock, hanging onto that rope myself in the near future.
Back at my car, I began to drive toward the East Entrance. I had no cell service, and no idea how to get to the campground I had found earlier that day, that was somewhere between Zion and my next destination - Antelope Canyon in Arizona. Trusting that it would all work out, I took my time leaving the park. The road was, in a word, outstanding. Switchbacks gave me endless vistas of the setting sun casting rich colors onto the already brilliant rocks. I passed through a long tunnel, where everything would go dark for several minutes, until - a burst of light and color! - fleeting moments where openings cut into the wall expressed perfect framed views of the rocks the tunnel had been cut into.
When I finally reached the East Entrance, I felt full - of joy, wonder, gratitude. The sun set just as I left the park; I had been given a gift this afternoon, the ability to experience the park at sunset, in all its glory. I pulled over to the office of an RV campground advertising a few tent camping sites, but they were fully booked. I continued down the main road, knowing that this was the general direction I would need to go, hoping I would have cell service again soon or would find a campground unassisted.
After a half hour, I suddenly had a moment of service, just long enough to pull up directions to Ponderosa Grove Campground. Without the help of Google Maps, I most certainly would have spent another night in my car - this campground had no directional signage and was several miles off my route. I turned off the main highway and started down a dirt country road, where a sign warned to watch for cows in open pasture. Sure enough, I saw dark figures on the road, and as I slowed to a crawl I saw the forms of several cows next to my car. A few moments later, I was at the campground where an open site waited for me at the bargain price of $5.
The night was warm and dry, so again I slept without the rainfly. In the morning light, I saw that I had settled under a grove of trees, and that my site was one of only a handful in this campground. I was lucky enough to snag the last spot, which I had suspected the night before when another car had pulled in behind me, only to depart soon after.
I was up earlier than the previous morning, ready and eager to move onto my next destination - Antelope Canyon. A complete lack of cell service made me incredibly grateful that the night before I had the foresight to not only load directions to the campground, but also to my next stop. Back on the dirt road, I drove by the cows I had passed the previous night, staring curiously at me as I crept by.
I found myself delighted by this encounter with livestock, and marveled at how much had changed already on this trip. All my life, I focused on the destination. Graduating from high school, then college, finding a job I loved, getting married, trying to grow our family - life has always involved looking forward. How refreshing, to be enjoying the journey itself, rather than only focusing on the destination. All those years, I was missing the cows on the side of the road, the sunsets and sunrises, waking up to a soft breeze rustling the trees above your tent. Amazing how a shift in perspective can lead you to discover a world that was always before you, if only you would open your eyes.
