Scoring that Perfect Picture

Focused. We were on a mission to reach Delicate Arch, Arches National Park's most famous arch, in record time. Cat and I had just arrived in Moab, UT after a 13 hour drive across Nebraska and Colorado, and the first thing we did was enter the park and drive straight to the arch. It was nearly sunset, and we wanted to get to the arch before the sun went down (along with more than one hundred other people). We hadn't even gone to our campsite first, which meant we would be setting up our tent in the dark. Instead, we fought the crowds for a parking place and hightailed it to the trail head, practically running along the crushed sandstone path. We were forced to slow down as we reached the exposed sandstone ramp that makes the three mile round trip trail work for it's classification as "strenuous".

No sun, still stunning!

A quarter-mile of exposed, sloping slickrock sandstone, no shade, no flat area, no stairs, no water. A sign at the beginning of the trail encourages hikers to drink at least a gallon of water a day, and to carry at least a couple of liters if they want to attempt the hike. And that's at the beginning of the trail. Then you wend your way through the dips and crests of the desert, edging along cliffs with nothing to stop you if you fall, following the carins that mark the path to the arch. Assuming you make the ascent, you round a curve of orange sandstone, and then you see it: a free standing arch on the edge of a gigantic bowl, both of which make you instantly feel small and insignificant.

A fraction of the people who come to see Delicate Arch at sunset

Cat and I searched for a place to sit and take pictures of the arch glowing in the sunset among the other sunset enthusiasts willing to make the trek up. We found a spot high on the edge of the bowl, and tried to be out of the way. After setting up our cameras we were disappointed to realize that there was absolutely no way we would be able to get a picture of the arch without some random person standing in the middle of it, having their own picture taken under the dome. Still, we took our pictures and dealt with the crowds, then headed down with the sky still glowing sky blue-pink. Bats flitted overhead, drawn out of their slumbers by the promise of the mosquitoes that made a meal out of us. We left the park, enthusiastic for our week-long stay in the desert.

Not an easy trail, but worth every step

Fast forward to four days after we arrived in Moab, and we were at it again, this time arriving at Delicate Arch with plenty of time to spare, determined to get there ahead of the crowds and maybe, maybe be rewarded with a person-free picture. Also? I wanted a picture of the moon. We hiked more slowly on our second trip up, but still moved faster than most of the people also making their way to the arch. There were far too many human beings on the trail for my taste, but I like solitude and quiet. Especially quiet. That being said, our second attempt was more successful. We arrived early enough to claim a spot closer to the arch, with less people in the way. We both set up our cameras and waited, taking pictures occasionally as we chatted with our neighbors on either side of us. Then it happened: for one second, there was nobody in the arch!

Delicate Arch

I, along with every other person in the vicinity, started clicking away madly, desperate for that elusive shot of the most iconic arch in the park. I was beyond ecstatic; I have been to that arch on four other occasions, but have never been rewarded with that picture.  Cat and I both packed up our cameras, grabbed our bags, then headed down and around the arch while the sun was still in the sky, this time aiming for the bottom of the sandstone bowl at the base of the arch. We had both been eyeing it the first time we were there, and noticed that nobody ever made the journey to the bottom. Figuring we might get a unique perspective on the arch, we climbed down and ambled around the sandy bottom and lower lip of the bowl. We took picture after picture, and discovered that because we were so low, and there was a little bit of a crest toward the top of the bowl, if we positioned ourselves just right we could get a view of the arch that didn't have a person in it, even while people stood under the arch like they usually did. AND the moon was rising right next to the arch, that was glowing a fierce orange in the setting sun. Bonus!

Setting sun, orange arch, rising moon. Perfection.

We took our fill of pictures and views, and when the sun finally bid farewell to the arch we clambered out of the depression to access the trail. On a whim, we climbed on the cliff ledge behind the arch, where most people (especially those afraid of heights) don't go. The sun had set but there was still color in the sky, and with the arch silhouetted against it I couldn't resist but to lay down and take a picture underneath the arch. It's the little things.

"Behind" Delicate Arch

What I'm listening to: Comin' in Hot by Hollywood Undead

Can't Stop Me Now

Defiant. I was not about to let my health problems dictate when and where I could travel to, or what I could do once I reached my destination, so I set out on the road with a friend of mine, Torrey, just a little over 24 hours after I had a liver biopsy done in one of the hospitals in town. I had gone to work that day and was perfectly fine, which prompted me to give the green light to myself and go on my little run-away adventure with one of my best friends. We have known each other since we were little, yet had never taken a trip out of state together! We changed that in August, when we dashed to Pikes's Peak in Colorado for a quick weekend trip; her dad was running the Pike's Peak Marathon, and we went to cheer him on.

Myself and Torrey

We got to Manitou Springs, CO and our hotel room (very, very) early Saturday morning, slept a few hours, then headed up the road to the summit of the only 14,000+ foot mountain on Colorado's Front Range that has a road all the way to the top. Before we reached our destination we were forced to pull over and park in a makeshift parking lot due to the number of spectators for the half-marathon that day. We had the opportunity to take a shuttle the last three-ish miles to the summit, or we could walk. We, along with several others who didn't enjoy the thought of being packed into a shuttle with however many people, decided to walk. It was only three-ish miles, right?

Who wouldn't want to walk this?

It was a spectacular hike, following the road as it threaded through the alpine tundra to the top of the mountain. We strolled across stunted grasses and lichen-covered boulders, along narrow ledges with stunning views of the high prairies that fell away from the mountains. It was cold in the way only the tops of mountains can be cold, bright and sunny to look at, but the howling wind whipped our hair around our faces, loosening my braid. Less oxygen at that altitude, combined with dropping a few degrees with every thousand feet ascended made for a bracing walk, and neither of us had worn enough layers to compensate.

Mountains and Prairies

We crested the last ridge and finally saw our goal: the sign marking the summit of Pike's Peak, along with the visitor's center and train station where we could eat and wait for Torrey's dad in the warmth of the cafe. After the obligatory photo opportunity at the sign we sat down, grateful to eat and warm up. We spent the rest of the afternoon on the rocks along the marathon trail, staying out of the wind while making sure we were exposed to the warmth of the sun. I tend to have grand aspirations, especially when it comes to planning activities for my bucket list. Hiking every single one of Colorado's 14,000+ ft peaks is one of those goals. I will accomplish it some day, and taking this baby hike to the top of Pike's Peak is a start. I'm not really counting it because I didn't start at the beginning of an accepted trail head, but rather joined an existing trail somewhere close to the summit, but hey, walking three-ish miles through the alpine tundra is still awesome for someone who just had a needle stuck in her liver. It was nice to relax, which was the whole point of going to Colorado in the first place. I was told to take it easy after my biopsy, and where better to do so than beautiful, colorful Colorado?

Success! Technically we hiked to the summit, but it doesn't count!

What I'm listening to: Lost in Space by Obsidia

Bears in the Desert (Sort Of)

Refreshed. I was driving along a gravel road up the side of the mountain I had been eyeing since we had arrived at our destination, determined to reach the cool shade provided by the aspen groves and pine trees. Cat and I were halfway through a week long visit to Moab, UT at the beginning of September, and it was hot.

Colorado River

We had decided to take a break from the parched red earth to explore the La Sal Mountains located 20 miles from town. Driving up the canyon along the Colorado River, we took our time and stopped at every gravel shoulder big enough to fit my car. We took pictures, often turning a full 360 degrees, trying to capture the beauty of the area. We turned off and took a little paved road out of the canyon that our maps promised would take us up into the relief of the mountains.

First, the road was paved, then turned to gravel. The temperature cooled significantly as we ascended, and we rolled the windows down to inhale the mountain air. The butterscotch-green scent of pine trees really needs to be accurately captured in a candle; nothing out on the market does the real smell justice, I've looked (smelled). It's really rather amazing, how quickly we went from dry, scorching, red desert to moist, cool, green mountains. One minute we were driving up a hill surrounded by red rocks and desert plants, then a quick transition zone with Scrub Oaks, then we crossed some invisible altitude line and there were pine trees, and aspens!

Quaking Aspens

From the gravel road we turned on to a little, one lane dirt road that led up higher onto the mountain. We knew there should be a lake toward the end of the road, and we found it, along with a number of signs warning us bears had been sighted in the area that very week. Bears in southern Utah!!! I desperately wanted to see one, but alas, no such luck. We walked around the little mountain lake, enjoying the breeze that actually was refreshing, and not full of sand. Once back on the road, we turned down another little dirt road that wasn't on our maps, deciding that if we didn't like it, we'd turn around. Well, I loved it.
It twisted and turned and was rocky and dirty and crossed over creeks with little waterfalls. We climbed the mountain, passing through bright green clearings full of grass and wildflowers, and cruising through dark green groves of pine trees that smelled like bliss. The road was only wide enough to allow one vehicle to pass, so if we met someone coming down, we usually pulled up onto the bank of the road.It was fantastic. And definitely not meant for a two wheel drive vehicle. We bounced and bumped up the road for a couple of miles before I had to admit defeat, and vow to come back in something a little more suited for the terrain. I'm proud of my little car for handling the rough road as well as it did, and I can't ask it for anything more.

Mountain Lake

Cat and I finally reached the paved portion of the descent, and thoroughly enjoyed the winding ride back into the desert. We did not, however, appreciate the increase in temperature, which seemed all the more dramatic after our day spent at higher altitudes. A day in the mountains was just what we needed in order to recharge for the rest of our week's hikes in the desert. I can't wait to go back and take those little mountain roads and remote trail heads. Maybe I'll get lucky and see a bear.

Viewing the desert from the mountains

What I'm listening to: Be Prepared by Jeremy Irons

The Most Spectacular Hike Ever- The Full Story

Exhilarated. It's funny how leaving camp at four o'clock in the morning does that to me. I seriously don't need to sleep when I'm out on my road trips, but of course that means once I get home I crash, and crash hard. This particular morning found my friend Cat and I leaving our campground in Moab, UT at a horrendously early hour to try to get started on the day's hike before the sun came up, with the goal of finishing the hike before the desert turned into a furnace. We drove two hours to the Needles District of Canyonlands National Park in complete darkness. No street lamps, hardly any other vehicles on the road, with only the stars and a sliver of moon. Highway, then paved park road, then a somewhat white-knuckled one lane dirt road that wound around blind corners and dipped in and out of dry desert washes. It was a silent drive, with Cat not quiet awake yet and me not wanting to break her daze with my excitement.

Part of our trail

I'm totally a morning person, but I know how irritating chatter can be when you're not fully awake, so we sat in silence and sipped coffee as she tried to wake up and I drove toward our highly anticipated hike. I knew that as soon as the car stopped we were in for 11 miles of hiking through slick rock spires and domes to the attractions of the day: Chesler Park, and beyond that, The Joints.

Sunrise turns purple shadows into blazing beacons

Canyonlands National Park is divided into four sections, which must be accessed separately from each other. The day's trail was located in the second most popular district, The Needles, which is my personal favorite. When I was researching our Moab trip I stumbled across several Pins on Pinterest that absolutely caught my eye; Pins of both The Joints and Druid Arch. I dug a little deeper into both destinations, and decided we had to go there. I'll write about our Druid Arch hike later, but for now let me just thank whoever put that picture of The Joints on the internet. I have hiked quite a bit, but never to a more astounding destination.

Just before Chesler Park

We started our hike in the pre-dawn silence of the desert, each with a flashlight in hand. Once again we played "touch the carin" before we moved on, especially because it would have been simple to lose the trail in the darkness. Dawn found us moving across a sandstone landscape muted by shadows of the night, until the sun peaked over the mountains in the distance and we were suddenly surrounded by the fiery oranges and dazzling whites that I associate with my desert. Then we noticed the clouds.

Cat checking things out at dawn

Not the wispy clouds high in altitude, or the big puffy clouds that you can see shapes and animals in, but big, grey, looming clouds that threaten rain. Rain in the desert is awesome, it's what carves streams and gullies into canyons. But it's not awesome when the trail you are hiking on crosses and sometimes follows creek beds and desert washes that are usually dry but can turn into walls of water taller than a person when there's rain upstream. Cat and I had a serious decision to make: continue on and take the risk, or turn back? We decided to keep going, but also keep an eye on the sky. Then we climbed over a sandstone fin and got our first look at Chesler Park. Um, wow.

Chesler Park. 

We spent way more time in that fantastic natural amphitheater than I thought we would. How could we move on when we were completely surrounded by hundreds of red and white sandstone needles, the namesake of the district? There were even some little purple, yellow and white wildflowers in bloom among the grasses of the ring. A lot of people backpack to the area and camp in one of several primitive sites, and I really wish we would have done so as well. At least I have a plan for next time! We had forgotten about the threatening clouds, but once we put our eyeballs back in our heads we looked up and decided we could risk continuing. We were almost to The Joints, and we had gotten that far, we might as well continue!

Entrance to The Joints. Seriously!?!?

We hiked on and in what felt like no time the trail in front of us descended into a crack between two sandstone domes, and vanished. I was so damn excited I nearly tripped down the cut stairs as we finally reached our destination. The Joints!
I have no words accurate enough to describe this place. It was astounding. Slipping through cracks (joints) between sandstone blocks just big enough to slide sideways through, pushing our packs ahead or dragging them behind us. Sometimes the joint opened wide at our heads, sometimes at our knees. Usually we walked on soft sand, but several times we had to scramble up, down or around boulder jams. There was even one place we had to use a log cut into a primitive ladder to get down a level that was too high to jump. Have I ever mentioned that I hate ladders? Cat had to talk me through my climb down, telling me precisely where to put my feet and hands. And I don't have a problem with rock climbing. How do I figure that?

Ladders. The bane of my existence.

Pick a path, any path

We explored every single crack and crevice big enough for us to fit our bodies through. We climbed up boulder jams to see over the tops of the sandstone that entombed us. We climbed down into dark little holes beneath boulders half the size of houses that nearly qualified as caves. We found a couple of actual caves that we explored with flashlights. There was a joint filled with carins left by previous explorers like ourselves. There was a joint that ended in a fifty foot drop into a wash that lead away into more needles. Hardly any direct sunlight penetrated deep enough to where we were, yet everything was lit by the glow from the red and white sandstone that had become our playground. We spent over an hour exploring off trail, had our lunch, rested up and finally took our leave. We got back out into the sun. And then remembered the clouds.

Clouds above the desert

Happily, the clouds had held off, but were dumping rain over the Island in the Sky district of Canyonlands. We set off on the loop that would take us back around Chesler Park, and from there we would get to our car. We hiked more slowly on our way back, partly because we were tired from our exploration of The Joints, and partly due to the heat of the afternoon. It had been cool in the shade of The Joints, but out in the desert with little shade the full force of the sun was staggering. We stopped wherever there was shade, and each of us drank almost three liters of water apiece. Also, the clouds were advancing again. We finally clambered down the hill toward my car eight hours after we left it, and we were relieved to get our packs off and refresh with ice cold water from the coolers. We left the trail head exhausted and ecstatic, and to top it all off? As soon as we finished a little sight-seeing along the paved road on the way out of the park the clouds moved in and opened up, and we were treated to a spectacular desert thunderstorm. There is nothing like rain in the desert.

Thundershower!

What I'm listening to: Inside Information by Howard Shore