Captivated Me

captivate : v. to attract and hold the attention or interest of, as by beauty or excellence; enchant.

Category: Uncategorized

May 30, 2022

Saipan: History Edition

History is palpable, accessible on this precious island. Its seasons are commemorated with a thoughtful and well-done museum in downtown Garapan, housed in what once served as a small community hospital during the era of Japan’s reign. The displays here trace the island’s journey from past to present – from pre-contact days through eras of botanical exploration by the French, from Spain’s colonization of the land through Germany’s and Japan’s and, ultimately, the United States.

Overwhelmingly, though, history here is something that you hike to, dive to, walk past, stumble upon as you explore the multitude of open, public spaces where you can tread. Not sterilized behind gates and glass cases, but saturated throughout the island itself. For instance:

Old Japanese Jail: This former jail sits one block from my apartment complex. Overgrown by nature, and surrounded by homes, its crumbling walls and metal grates exude an eerie but compelling air. I walked the halls here and peered into the cells, for which the floor is dug into the ground relative to the raised hallways. Where prisoners once dwelled, large tree trunks now rose overhead, and light peered in through the concrete-framed windows. Legend tells that Amelia Earhart was jailed here at one point during her excursion across the Pacific. Legend also tells that her body is buried on this very block, though no physical evidence has been found to prove this.

Sugar King Park:

A man named Matsue Haruji, originally from Japan, pioneered the sugar processing and export enterprise that was so important to economic growth in the Northern Mariana’s in the early 1900’s. There is a park nestled in the heart of Garapan honoring his success with a statue of his likeness, along with:

– A commemorative tree planted as a friendship exchange between the island of Saipan and the city of Aizu wakamatsu (where Mr. Haruji was from)

– A reconstructed Shinto shrine called Katori Jinja (the original of which was destroyed in World War II)

– A set of delapidating rocky staircase lined with tropical foliage and caves which formerly led to a flag tower used by German administrators in the 1900s to signal visiting ships,

– A hexagonal pagoda that serves as an international house of prayer in Saipan, and

– The famed ‘Bell of Peace and Love’ which, when rung, serves as a vow on the part of the ringer to pursue a life of peace and love, and guarantees that he or she will return to this special place again.

Christo Rai Bell Tower:

Just off the main Beach Road along the western lagoon stands a historic stone tower, constructed in the 1930s and still rising tall to this day. The original church building affiliated with this tower, a Catholic parish called Christo Rai, was destroyed in 1944 during the invasion of Saipan, and a new church has since been erected.

What a humbling and sobering privilege it is to learn about the long and faceted journey that this island and its people have been on for so long. As I continue my time here, I am eager to keep learning and trying to understand both the beauties and the harsh realities that Saipan has faced. More brief historical editions are to come.

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May 7, 2022

Forbidden and Hidden.

Two gorgeous treks unfolded before my feet over the past couple of weeks, and I would love to share them with you:

Forbidden Island: One of the many scenic hikes on the island, Forbidden is an adventurer’s favorite. Starting on the cliffside overlooking the Pacific to the east, you begin by hiking through jungle to breathtaking views of two separate coves. The first is a sheer drop-off where you can see the lush jungle rising up to your left side, the clear turquoise water below crashing on the reef, and a rocky cliff to the right. You then continue through tall and dense foliage to a somewhat gentler slope that you hike down to approach the island itself. From the shore, you can venture northeast along the beach to a junction with gorgeous views of both coves, forward into the channel between Saipan and Forbidden Island, or hike the cliffs and caves to the southeast. This particular day, we braved the channel, swollen with large waves and current as the tide changed, and spent a few minutes exploring the uninhabited, rugged, flat-topped Forbidden Island. Birds sung overhead, and would perch on the large boulders towering all around us. Gorgeous views of Saipan were seen from here. These moments were memorable and magical, even more so given I hiked here on the one year anniversary of my grandfather’s death. It proved to be a special place to heal and sit with the gratitude I feel for my grandfather and for his precious role in my life.

Hidden Beach: I parked my car at the end of a paved roadway, and walked along a palm-lined gravel path to a rugged stairway leading toward the ocean. A sweet sun shower sprinkled down from fluffy clouds above as I walked, refreshing my skin from the heat of the day. The clouds dispersed, and the sun shone on a tiny gem of a stretch of sand ahead. Hidden Beach boasts clear aquamarine waters, a crocodile-shaped rock formation, and a large stony shelf not far off shore where waves crash, causing immense ocean sprays. I came here after a 24-hour call shift, took photos, and marveled for hours at the rolling water, and at how I somehow had this stunning vista all to myself.

Sending love and hugs, smiles and sunshine. 💛 Have a beautiful week!

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April 14, 2022

From the Cold War era.

The road to the top of Mount Petosukura is a gentle, winding, palm-lined slope. At its height stands a rusting relic of a radar tower – called Pacific Barrier Radar III, or PACBAR III – considered the last vestige of the US military’s Cold War surveillance in this region of the world. The US had two similar towers in the Solomon Islands and the Philippines at the time, but PACBAR III bridged the gap in a blind spot in the Pacific here on Saipan, where it could detect Soviet missile launches and satellites that its two siblings could not see.

PACBAR III’s mission was short-lived. It was operational in the very late 1980s, then no longer of use come the endings of the Cold War in 1991. Since then, it (along with the surrounding buildings associated with it) has been slowly but surely taken back by the elements – the jungle, rust, and mildew – and colored with the expressions of local wall artists.

A short jaunt east from the site leads to jagged cliffs overlooking the windward side of the island, the gorgeous Pacific, and the dense Marpi jungle. Varieties of green and blue are on full display at this overlook, in stark contrast to the earthen oranges and yellows of the decaying PACBAR site just steps away.

I think about what it must have felt like to live in the Cold War times. Then I think about how, somehow, it feels like the world is always at war. And as precious lives are lost in conflict in Ukraine, Syria, Myanmar, the DRC, and more every day,

I cannot help but think,

When will we learn?

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January 23, 2022

Day 6: Moab to Minneapolis

It is a peaceful, easy, gorgeous morning. I inch leisurely out of bed to get dressed and make my way downstairs for breakfast, where I have a front seat to the sunrise outside the hotel eatery’s window. As the rocks catch fire with sunlight, I read my new novel and enjoy my last meal in this town that has so captivated my nature-loving heart. After a couple of compelling chapters, I open my journal and begin to write. It has been a full, blessed, unbelievable week, and I feel ready for the journey back to the Midwest.

I load the car, pass through the Arches National Park Visitor Center for gifts for my nieces and nephews, and begin the three hour drive back to Salt Lake City. A private singalong concert with the Beatles, Tom Petty, Don McLean and friends ensues as I span the miles. A bag of sour gummy worms – one of my favorite road trip guilty pleasures – sits opened in one of my cupholders. A crisp, ethereal sky serves as the backdrop to the stunning mountain-scape that paves the way to the airport. Big breath in. Big breath out. Thank you, God, for sharing this incredible artistry with me today.

I return my rental car, pass through security, and sit down to a Mediterranean-style meal. I visit with a Delta agent and a trio of paramedics at the restaurant and then retreat to my gate with the latest copy of Magnolia Journal and a spiced oat chai latte. The magazine contains a sweet and inspiring segment on delight that I relish. Boarding the plane, tea in tow, I allow these insights to steep into my soul:

“Cherish your delight.
Not because it is fleeting or hard to come by,
but for the same reason you protect a child’s
imagination from the realities of the world:
because it is good and pure.

Fight with it.
Use your delight to conquer what ails you. Go
into battle against your fears and shames, holding
high the banner of delight, declaring where
your allegiance lies, declaring
where you choose to give your attention.

And give it away.
Gift your delight. Take joy and peace and
levity with you into moments and situations and
conversations where they are needed most,
and may you freely offer your delight
whenever and wherever you can.

And in these moments in which delight reigns,
it is not because there is no longer any sadness.

Delight reigns when you simply see it, when you
make note of it, when you mention it.

Delight reigns when you lean into it despite the
realities of the world around you.

Because delight is a reality. It is here. And it is
yours in whatever way, shape, or form you find it.
Whatever you do with it next can be yours as well.“

Whatever you do with it next can be yours as well…

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January 21, 2022

Day 4: Dead Horse Point and the Colorado River

I arrive at Dead Horse Point around 7:25 AM. This morning’s sunrise is projected for 7:32, but a snowfall is also in the forecast. A thick, purple, luscious blanket of clouds covers the sky almost entirely, leaving only one thin, clear margin of heaven on the horizon where the sun is expected to announce the day.

Myself and two gentlemen – one traveling from Bozeman, the other a tour guide in Antelope Canyon – are here to capture these moments. We share photography tips and tricks and watch as the skies above and canyon below slowly, gently come to light in an array of jewel tones, as if earth and cloud are composed of ruby, sapphire, topaz and amethyst. Views of the canyons and serpiginous river inspire a combination of peace and awe. The sun smiles briefly, cheerily through the small degree of latitude between the horizon line and the cloud cover, then disappears as it continues its climb. Meanwhile, over the course of thirty minutes, grey clouds that clearly carry precipitation crawl toward our overlook. I slowly walk along the rim of the canyon taking photos, and in doing so, I encounter yesterday’s friends from Poland – Rafal and Stephania – once again. We linger a while, conversing and looking out over the vista, grateful to see each other anew. They plan to set course for Zion National Park this afternoon, and I bid them well as they go.

Next, I connect with Bridget, Tori and Loki, who have joined in the interval between my own arrival earlier this morning and the sunrise. They graciously extend a cup of fresh coffee from their Jetboil and we three continue meandering along the rim, noticing tiny, infrequent snowflakes falling. There is levity, joy, and beauty in sharing these experiences among friends. We have a blast shooting photos for each other and gazing in wonder as the snowfall intensifies over a period of around an hour. Tonight, we plan to share dinner together again, and we agree to select a location later on. They then return to Moab, while I abide a little longer.

The canyon, visible in clear detail earlier in the morning, is now shrouded in a soft, cozy fog. I see no one else around the overlook and I saunter slowly along the path with panoramic views of this landscape. I throw in a twirl through the snow every once in a while, delighted, akin to a child perusing a field of wildflowers. A cool, gentle snow, the kind that drops whimsically from heaven in the movies, is beginning to accumulate and sneak its way into my boots, gloves, and collar. I muster all the Minnesotan spirit that I can and press on, continuing to take photos for another hour. The gingerbread rocks and icing snow make for a magical, picturesque subject.

With gratitude and contentment, I return to the parking lot and brush the snow from my car’s windows. I feel tired and not up for further hiking today, but recall reading about a scenic drive just outside of town that sounds like a leisurely way to spend an afternoon. I find the highway – Highway 128 – heading north and east from Moab and feel comfortable and at home on the slushy streets. The moment I turn onto this long and winding road, I can tell it is going to be a beautiful drive.

Tall earthy cliffs line either side of the coursing Colorado River. Tucked in between the bluffs and over the water, there is a smoky, hypnotic layer of clouds that dance quickly between and across peaks. The rocky castles are reflected in the river water that darts by at their foundations. Untouched snow covers the river banks and conceals the plant life lining the highway. Patches of ice extend like puzzle pieces across shallower river shores. Who knew the American Southwest could be such a winter wonderland?

I drive for around fifteen miles, stopping every couple of minutes to snap photos of unique nooks and crannies along this byway. Ever so slowly, the snowfall ceases and the clouds tease at unraveling to allow open sky to pass through. I turn onto the La Sal Loop Road toward Castle Valley and drive with no destination in mind, stumbling on perhaps one of my favorite moments of the day.

Mine is the only car on this road. Red hills rise from the ground on either side, and the clouds held in suspension are just beginning to thin and disperse. There is a turn out along the side of the road where I pull aside and leave my car, noticing a makeshift trail that climbs one of the crimson mounds to a beautiful overlook. Patches of snow cover the ground, and my happy feet slosh step by step through it. As I reach the height of the mound, the sun declares itself with a bright, gleaming shine that illuminates blue skies and highlights the vibrant colors of the earth around me. Wispy clouds continue to flirt with some of the cliffs. Joyful tears fill my eyes, and I allow them to fall as I watch the scene unfold. So many moments on this trip (and many other trips, for that matter) have felt deeply special, leaving me in a speechless stupor. Moments such as this remind me, Tiana, look at how storms give way to beauty. Look at all that God has created and orchestrated. You can trust that He knows what He’s doing.

I descend and make my way back toward town, stopping a second time at many of the same overlooks I passed on the way in to take photos of a completely transformed riverscape. Open skies beam overhead, the waters of the Colorado glisten. Much of the snow that had previously accrued has already melted under the sun’s warmth. One area of rocky wall along the road contains petroglyphs that I stop to admire. A group of climbers is winding down after an epic day on what is called ‘Wall Street’, a nod to the scaleable, skyscraper-esque forms that enchant this highway. I take my time, unrushed, enjoying the vista through a new lens, and eventually find my way to a parking spot outside Moab Coffee Roasters, a local coffeehouse in the heart of town. Oat chai latte and chocolate truffles in hand, I walk about the town. I stop at a boutique known for showcasing local artists, called ‘Moab Made’, and lend my support. I then peruse the local bookstore, ‘Back of Beyond Books’, and make some selections before continuing my tour of the downtown area. Around 4:30 PM, I am back at the hotel and notice the sun will set soon. I get ready to go outside to the hot tub, which offers unobstructed views of the bluffs to the west. I soak, rest, refresh and watch as the day’s sunlight fades over the landscape. And for what feels like the millionth time today, I am thankful.

Later, I meet Bridget and Tori at a local Italian restaurant, Antica Forma, The Old Way. This eatery is known for its wood-fire brick oven Neapolitan pizza. I order a prosciutto pie with white sauce, and the others order incredible pastas. We delight in the good food, drink, and company, enjoy scrumptious desserts, and agree to keep in touch even after the two leave town tomorrow.

I get back to the hotel, turn on an episode on the Nature channel that teaches me about orcas (my favorite whale), and nod off, excited to find the sunrise in Arches National Park in the morning.

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January 20, 2022

Day 3: Canyonlands and Corona Arch

A calm, peaceful morning is underway. The skies above are a clear, velvety dark navy blanket bursting with starlight as I drive the short route to Canyonlands National Park. Situated around a half-hour from Moab, Canyonlands is known to offer an inverted, carved-inward landscape that juxtaposes the upward-reaching formations at Arches. My eyes squint carefully at the empty road before me to ensure that no wildlife are crossing along the way. I feel a familiar tingle of excitement for this morning’s hike.

Amos Lee sings as I pull into the trailhead parking lot, layer multiple times over for warmth, and collect my backpack. I get out of the car and adjust my headlamp, now necessary since the car lights have extinguished. Just a sliver of creamsicle coloring has started to tint the eastern horizon, and the area is dark. An easy, short jaunt leads me to the feet of Mesa Arch.

One of the most photographed icons in Canyonlands, I am surprised to be one of only four people at the landmark this morning. We all warm ourselves, exchange introductions and origins, and keep our eyes fixed on the horizon watching for first light. Tomas, one of the gentleman at the arch, shares a story from decades ago about his one and only visit to Minnesota, when he went tubing down the Apple River with his mother and brother. Soon after we start talking, the hiking duo from Minnesota that I met in Capitol Reef yesterday arrives, and we all visit further as we await the upcoming spectacle. These interactions remind me that home is something you carry in your heart, and it can include new people and new places and new moments, no matter where life takes you.

The canyon is grey with shadow several minutes longer. I cannot wait to see its depths and details revealed when sunrise comes, but I try to photograph its edges in the meantime as the sky slowly brightens. Then, one of many miracles that occurs every day in our lives, a tiny, vibrant sunburst peeks out from over the La Sal mountain range. In the minutes that follow, the arch before us exudes an ever-increasing tangerine glow. The canyon begins to fill with daylight. I gaze. And gaze. And gaze. And cannot believe the beauty before my eyes. I remain for two hours, noticing how the sun arches across the sky, admiring how the shadows dance along deep ravines in response to the sun’s gentle leading, marveling at how a scene can be at once so simple yet so intense. The first wave of explorers has gone, and a new couple has arrived. Rafal and Stephania are a loving duo from Warsaw, Poland who delight in finding adventure together and are on a tour of national parks in between work commitments. We admire the landscape together, then they leave to journey further into the park. My final friend this morning is named Phil, an aerospace engineer decades my senior, who is adventuring the park after a recent knee replacement. He works for NASA – which is the coolest – and we exchange our fascinations with astronomy. He and I exchange photos for one another, he departs, and for a moment, I stand before this luminous scene alone.

I feel breathless, humbled, grateful. A melody rises up from my heart, and I cannot help but sing and set it free. I go and sit beneath the gleaming arch and reflect on the drop-off to canyon views directly below. The layered rocks of peach and cream and seafoam green, the fringes and edges and expansive canyons that dive into the earth, the sheer, unadulterated artistry. I meditate for a moment on what a canyon can teach us about life. Can it teach us to embrace the depths, treasure the layers, brave the shadows? To watch the horizon expectantly for daylight, even when a season feels dark, and to appreciate the stars in the meantime?

Slowly, hesitantly, I leave my post and return along the looped trail toward my car. I spend the remainder of the morning driving the scenic roads of Canyonlands, stopping at any overlook or trail I can find to stand in awe of the views, and encountering Rafal, Stephania, and Phil several times along the way. To end the morning, I pass through the Visitor Center to pay my entrance fee and find gifts for family and friends. As I leave, Phil arrives and gifts me with a NASA pin, to my great surprise and giddy delight. I thank him profusely for the gesture. My heart is full.

I leave Canyonlands midday and make the drive to a trailhead along the Lower Colorado Scenic Byway just north of Moab. This quiet, tranquil road winding in tandem with the mighty Colorado River leads me to the desired parking lot. I am so eager to begin this hike that I start for a good few minutes up a strenuous staircase before realizing I left my phone on top of my car in the parking lot. I return quickly, gather my phone, and scale the staircase once again. There is a landing at the top, and I am unsure of where to go, so I veer right to follow a beautiful train track that appears to have a trail of footsteps beside it. Rocky walls line both sides of the tracks, and I take some photos as I hike on for another 15-20 minutes. I begin to question where this leads and, grateful to have my phone, notice on Google Maps that I am not at all following a hiking trail. This is unfortunate, because there are two duos of hikers behind me who have been following me all this way! I about-face and tell both groups that if they are destined for the local arches this afternoon, we are on the wrong path. We collectively laugh and joke, and begin our return to the landing from which we ought have ventured straight over the railroad rather than making a right hand turn. How wonderful it is, I observe, that when we go the wrong direction, it is never too late to turn around. How often does this happen in life, and God in all His goodness and grace allows us to course-correct and get back on track?

I hike on happily, leap-frogging with my fellow explorers as we take photos and stop to gaze at the landscape at different intervals. The dirt path contains some light obstacles and scrambles, which eventually give way to slickrock. Jade green dashes of paint mark the trail along the rock, leading to a steep upward climb along a cable system, followed by a ladder climb up to a ledge where views of two remarkable arches come into view. I continue the hike to the left along a broad slickrock bench that curves around a ravine, noticing beautiful Bowtie Arch to my left. I pause and goggle here, then continue on to one of the largest arches in Moab, Corona Arch. A hiking couple arrives around the same time, and it turns out they are from my home state! They tarry a moment, along with one family who was already exploring the arch, then as both groups leave, I have the space to myself.

An orange ribbon against a blue sky; I love this complementary color combination. Birds sing nearby, and my heart sings with them. Once again, as before, I sit and enjoy the vista quietly, drinking in the moment. Then I take a second to introspect and ask – What can I learn and glean here, from this place? I crane my neck to follow the extent of the formation and notice how open an arch is, how flexible it appears as it bends, how strong it must be to withstand the elements of wind, rain, ice, snow that assail in any given season. I love how these qualities relate to life – When struggle or hardship come, can we learn and choose to courageously keep our hearts open, stay flexible as circumstances shift, and strengthen our faith in God and our resolve to endure?

I ready myself to return along the out-and-back trail, and as I do, I notice two fellow hiker women and one dog approaching – Tori, Bridget, and Loki. Recognizing them from the railroad track mishap, we greet each other with laughter. We visit a while, sharing observations and stories and photos, and quickly learn that we all work in healthcare. We very swiftly become friends, joined by a love for hiking, faith, and our jobs! They have just arrived to town today, and we make plans to meet for dinner at a local eatery this evening. We say farewell for now, and they go onward toward the arch while I make way down the ladder, down the cables, and toward the parking lot. I drive the short road back toward Moab and decide on a detour through Arches National Park where I watch the sunset. The sky transforms from a bright blue to a soft cerulean, the orange rocks turn grey-violet, the mountains appear lavender, and I am spellbound by the beauty.

After sunset, I swing past my hotel to change, then drive the brief mile into town for dinner. Tori, Bridget and I meet at the Trailhead Public House and Eatery for burgers and drinks, wonderful gifts after a long day of exploring. We enjoy learning about Moab from our waiter, Travis, who over time has made his way here from Alabama because of the incredible outdoor experiences that this locale has to offer. The time is precious and full of laughter, as we talk together about life, love, and other mysteries. We tentatively agree to meet at nearby Dead Horse Point State Park for sunrise tomorrow, provided no one out-sleeps their alarm.

Another day in Utah has come and gone. It was full to the brim, and my heart is full in kind. I return to my hotel, soak leisurely in the hot tub, and turn in for the night.

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January 19, 2022

Day 2: From Capitol Reef to Goblin Valley.

An early alarm heralds the morning, and as I get ready for the day, I make a last-minute decision to take a road trip rather than stay local. Clouds are projected here in Moab for today, but clear skies are anticipated in Torrey, Utah, the city nearest Capitol Reef National Park. It feels like a great day to track down some of that sunshine.

I find a warm breakfast in the hotel lobby and set out due north just before sunrise. The moon is barely visible behind a veil of grey clouds which interrupt a rainbow-colored sky. Mumford & Sons and the Avett Brothers serenade as I drive along the narrow highway. A raven happily hops along the side of the road as cars pass by. Noticing a near-empty gas tank, I find a small, quiet gas station along the side of the road. By happenstance, this stop yields wide-open views of the La Sal mountains, over which the sun is just beginning to rise. I linger here for twenty minutes, well longer than the time it takes to fill the gas tank, and softly hum hymns as I watch the sun reveal its light through thick marshmallow-cream clouds. A fellow sun-admirer driving a Moab Express shuttle pulls into the parking lot and takes photos in kind. She and I knowingly wave to each other from a distance, acknowledging this special, stunning moment, and continue on with our days.

The drive continues for ten, twenty, one hundred miles, mostly along abandoned highways lined with rustic, dilapidated buildings – humble monuments of a history that renders me curious about who lived and worked here or there. I catch brief glimpses of the coy moon and the elusive sun as I go, and delight in seeing a sun halo reflecting off low, crystalline clouds in the atmosphere. My soundtrack for the day changes from indie folk to show tunes, particularly Hamilton, which infuses me with a rapping, belting, beat-boxing energy to fuel the remainder of the drive. I cross the broad Green River Overlook, traverse pastures of happy cattle against a backdrop of orange and yellow sky, and enjoy peculiar, paradoxical views of a frozen desert. I finally arrive at Capitol Reef National Park Visitor Center, obtain recommendations from the local rangers about various hikes and experiences for a five or six hour stay, and am advised to begin my adventure at Hickman Bridge.

The trailhead is a short drive from the visitor center, and I find myself one of only three cars in the parking lot. I follow the short, well-marked trail toward the star of the show, a natural phenomenon which I have only ever seen photos of. The hike is exposed, the sunlight feels warmer than the measured 45-degree day, and I have to shed layers to stay cool – a welcome change from the subzero temperatures back home this time of year. I find myself quickly approaching the bridge, encountering a kind couple from across the Pacific as I arrive. We exchange photos, comment in awe on the beauty we see before us, and part ways – them returning along the path from which we came, myself sitting on a rock to gawk and reflect further.

“Dum spiro spero”. “While I breathe, I hope”.

I encountered this latin phrase and its translation in study over the past several weeks, and my mind has often returned to it as I contemplate upcoming decisions that relate to work, faith, relationship, and life as a whole. It reminds me of a wisdom communicated by a retiring professor I learned from at university over a decade ago. In her last days teaching at the university, she told our class very simply, “There is no alternative to hope.” This season has brought multiple reasons for heartache, which has joined me on this trip. How grateful I am, that with every breath we are given, we have hope to hold onto, even when life hurts, even as we heal.

I think on this for a fair amount of time in solitude, enjoying the feeling of warm sunshine on my skin. I welcome these moments to bask, breathe, and pray. Several minutes later, as I ready myself to hike back to the car, a duo from my home state arrive. We laugh together about the difference between the terrain here in Utah compared to that of Minnesota, and we share comments of appreciation to have this wonderful space to ourselves. After visiting for a few minutes and taking photos for them, I make the return trek and set course for the next stop in today’s journey.

After a stroll along a boardwalk lined with ancient petroglyphs attributed to the incredible Fremont culture, I drive toward Capitol Gorge, which was described to me by the park’s rangers as a ‘slot canyon for cars’. The scenic drive toward the gorge was dazzling, reminiscent of the colors and sights one might see in Zion National Park. And the gorge itself? It constitutes winding walls of rock extending straight upward hundreds of feet overhead on either side, with two packed-dirt driving lanes smushed together in the wash in between. This leaves a grand, amazing, borderline terrifying impression on the nerves; the sense of feeling humble and small while at the same time feeling part and parcel of something bigger. I reflect on a quote I remember encountering years ago, just after college: “How cool is it that the same God who created mountains and oceans and galaxies looked and thought the world needed one of you too.”

I gingerly continue my drive through the gorge, careful to avoid the interspersed potholes in my compact rental car. A big horn sheep, unfortunately limping on one of its hind legs, climbs a rocky ridge near my car; it eats from the shrubs at its feet, then sits to rest and stares in my direction. I sit silently for a moment as we observe each other, then I continue slowly. Wildlife amazes my soul.

My final stop today in Capitol Reef is Panorama Point, which affords 360-degree views of the surrounding Cathedral Valley and the bright red and white stone classic to the Reef. The wind cuts, and my time here is short, but it feels like the perfect conclusion to this chapter of the trip. I reload into my car and type my next destination, Goblin Valley, into the GPS.

Goblin Valley is situated around halfway between Moab and Torrey. I enjoy the scenes as I drive – Clouds float across the sky at interval, causing the bright scarlet rocks to take on a violaceous hue. I continue to sing songs from Hamilton at the top of my lungs, dancing in my seat as I navigate the empty highways back in the direction of my home base for the week. I take the appointed left at the junction for Goblin Valley, continue to drive another 20 minutes toward the park entrance, and pull off to one side of the road as I enter the grounds. There are maybe 40 minutes that stand between this moment and sunset, and I cannot wait to explore.

The small pitstop yields innumerable paths among peculiar, bright orange totems of sandstone called ‘goblins’, named so for their ghoulish appearance. If you engage your imagination a little bit, some even appear to have faces! (As it turns out, this field of goblins is just scratching the surface of what is to come!) A man on a business trip from Texas pulls in to the same pit stop, and seemingly the only two visitors in the park, we take a few photos for each other to capture the moment. We bid one another adieu, and I drive the final stretch to the parking lot for the Valley of the Goblins. My new friend from Texas tarries a few moments, then leaves, and I have the whole space to myself.

Here, I descend a wooden staircase into the valley. Families of goblins are clustered along the valley floor, with rocky fortresses surrounding, and blue-tinted mountains in the distance to the southwest. I wander, skip, frolic among the stones, observing the golden-hour shadows and colors as the sun inches ever closer to the westward horizon. I am surrounded by a vacuum of peaceful silence. The sky emits an otherworldly, neon glow that – taken together with the martian landscape – lends itself to the feeling of being in a galaxy far, far away. I gaze, slack-jawed, until well after sunset, and have no further words to describe the scene that unfolded in a way that would do any justice. I thank God for the moment, and remain at a loss for words when I reflect on it, even to this day.

I drive the remaining miles to Moab in darkness, humbled and grateful once again. Stars punctuate the sky like diamonds as I go, and while my body is in the car driving, my mind is already relaxing in the hot tub that will soon be a reality. After I get to the hotel, change, ease into the soothing water, and breathe a lovely sigh of renewal, I meet a kind couple from Grand Junction, CO. Experts in archaeology, they share with me about various nearby sites where I can explore rock art, peruse prehistoric museums, and learn about the history of uranium mining in the area. I am realizing, there is well more to encounter here than I will have time for on this trip. Moab begins to feel much like locales such as Santa Fe and Lake Powell that I have written about elsewhere – A special place that you do not journey to just once in your life, but over and over again. We three visit for some time and go our respective ways. I float down the hallway on a cloud of gratitude for the day, readily snuggle in to the cozy king bed, and fall asleep swiftly yet again.

References:

Fremont Culture – https://www.nps.gov/care/learn/historyculture/fremont.htm

Capitol Reef National Park – https://www.nps.gov/care/index.htm

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January 18, 2022

Day 1: From Minneapolis to Moab.

A cheerful ‘ding’ awakens me from my light sleep, and I find myself at once excited and alert after a solid two-hour nap. I look to my left, past my seat mate, out the small window overlooking the mountains. An early morning flight brought me to Salt Lake City this morning, and gorgeous views are welcoming the plane as it makes its final descent. A hazy fog is nestled over the city such that only the snowy mountaintops are clearly visible. I’m grateful for the opportunity to get away, to embrace a week of retreat and renewal.

After deplaning, I find my way to the rental car agency, select a vehicle, and immediately set course south and east. I am headed to a place I do not know, somewhere I have never been before, and yet I feel as though I am exactly where I am meant to be. The drive is long, over three hours duration, but charged with sights unlike any that lie roadside back home. The time is filled with iconic tunes from the local classic rock station. In this midwinter season, the highways here weave among snow-peaked mountains and eventually bright red cliffs that are illuminated by sunlight, big sky views rising above. Creeks meander across the ground and give way to rivers, all frozen to a trickle and covered with a soft blanket of snow, the surface of which is dotted with tiny footprints belonging to local rabbits, deer, and the like. These scenes extend for dozens of miles as I pass through Provo, Price, and onward to my destination: Moab.

I have heard Moab described as an outdoor enthusiast’s mecca, a gem of a region that combines as many imaginable seasons and terrains as you can dream of. And as I approach, watching the ‘Welcome to Moab’ sign soar by my window, I feel my soul readying itself to step away for a time from life’s demands and sink into this all-natural atmosphere.

It is mid-afternoon, around 3 PM, and with the sun setting early these days, I have only one hike in mind today: Delicate Arch, a 52-foot tall formation hidden from road view, tucked deep within Arches National Park. I gain entry into the park, thanking the ranger at the entrance station after a ‘small-world’ moment discussing loved ones back home in the Midwest, and navigate toward Wolfe Ranch Trailhead. The winding roads through the park expose delicious views of the La Sal mountain range, the iconic red rock formations erupting from the earth, the high-desert flora and fauna at every turn. I stop multiple times, jaw agape, to photograph the landscape, and slowly but surely find my way to the trailhead. One of very few cars there, I park, hurriedly collect my daypack, don multiple warm layers, and make way. A small, abandoned homestead marks the trail’s beginning, and after a short stretch on loose dirt, I find myself angling upward along slickrock toward the serial markings that line the path. It feels incredible to move my body after spending hours seated on a plane and in the car. A bitter wind tickles my exposed nose, and I am grateful for the warmth of fleece and feather covering the rest of my body as I go.

Fellow hikers are sparse and far between today, lending to a feeling of serenity and solitude in what would otherwise – to my understanding – be a charged and busy trail if this was peak season. Interspersed, we climb and descend and climb and descend, making our way eventually along an icy, exposed ledge hidden by shade toward the end of the about 1.5 mile trail. I turn a corner toward the south and, suddenly in view, the masterpiece. The arch rises from its stage to the backdrop of the nearby mountains; shades of purple, blue and orange reflect into the clouds overhead from the sun’s spotlight; and an amphitheater of red rock stretches out at the arch’s feet where one might sit and marvel in awe as if delighting in a premier musical or opera.

Myself, and others around me, are giddy with delight at the view. Maybe ten hikers are there, spaced out across the grounds, staring in awe and trying to capture the arch in photograph in a way that does its beauty justice (which feels darn near impossible). I meet a family from Los Angeles, one trio and one couple from Colorado, a local couple who are taking photographs for their ‘baby due’ announcement, and we all celebrate this day and share insights and recommendations for the must-sees in and around Moab. Individually and collectively, we marvel at the work of art surrounding us, snap photos for each other to keepsake these memories, and laugh at how cold our fingers and toes feel. These special moments with strangers warm the heart and add to the beauty and joy of this experience; and I am grateful.

The sun continues to float toward the horizon, and the light cast over the arch shifts and changes in kind. The impressionist in me is tickled pink. I stay for around two hours, taking some time to meet the arch up close and crane my neck to appreciate its immensity, then switch on my headlamp and begin the return hike to my car as the skies dim. The views opposite the arch to the north are just as dazzling – Hills and valleys painted orange with sunlight, with a vibrant purple-orange sky overhead. I pray my hundredth ‘thank You’ to the heavens for this precious experience, and step lightly down the slickrock back toward the dirt trail.

Darkness falls quickly, and I set course for my hotel just a few miles from the park entrance, on the outskirts of downtown Moab. I check in, partake at the hotel’s restaurant, refresh in the hot tub situated outside under the stars, and reflect in gratitude on the beautiful flight and drive and hike all contained within the past twelve hours. I fall asleep faster than I can type a letter on this keyboard, humbled, thankful and excited to see what tomorrow will hold.

Locations:

Wolfe Ranch: https://www.nps.gov/places/arch-wolfe-ranch.htm

Delicate Arch: https://www.nps.gov/arch/planyourvisit/delicate-arch.htm

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September 2, 2021

Magnificent.

The clouds between,
The sea beyond 
Those rocky towers
Rising strong
In calm defiance. 

The powdered crests,
Their walls descend
Where ground and glacier
Sweetly end
At water’s margin.

The braided creeks,
Who weave so brave
Toward rugged coast and
Reminisce
On iced ancestry. 

These gilded gifts,
Magnificent,
Grandest wonders born
From heart of
A loving Deity.

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August 12, 2021

Learning All Along.

She sits, reflects, clear eyes tracing the ground from her feet toward the horizon.
Focusing one moment on the past, with its memories and lessons and ironies;
And now one moment on the present, this precious gift so fleeting;
And now one moment on the future, ripe with promise and possibility;
And now on God’s faithfulness weaving each moment together.

And she is learning all along
That any worthwhile endeavor requires great risk,
Bringing with it the prospect of enduring pain,
Of encountering rejection,
Of eventual loss.

And she is learning all along
That the risk itself is worthwhile
As it calls her to courage and discovery,
To whole-heartedness and vulnerability,
To rise and fall and rise again.

And she is learning all along
That she herself is worthwhile
No matter what comes or goes,
No matter who stays or leaves,
No matter where or when or why.

And she is learning all along.

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