Captivated Me

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

Tag: National Parks

September 20, 2022

In Brief: Joshua Tree National Park

A friend and I embarked on a two-week road trip in mid-September, traversing around 1,795 miles of America’s beautiful Southwest. For our first major stop, we were met by the vast and sun-scorched vistas – where the low Colorado and high Mojave deserts converge – which characterize the magical Joshua Tree National Park. What complex, mysterious geology and ecology weave together here. I saw the friendly and quirky Joshua Tree, reminiscent of a stick figure with myriad arms waving ‘hello’ in all directions, growing at a rate of only 0.5 to 3 inches per year. I observed the various species of the somewhat more guarded cactus whose countless spines provide shade and protection to allow for its survival in arid conditions. I noticed the mounds of fiery boulders, remnants of historical tectonic and volcanic activity underneath the earth’s crust. I felt the sun’s heat radiating from the rocky terrain by day, and the refuge of soft cool breeze by night. I marveled at the clearest, most starlit Milky Way skies I have ever beheld. And I was mesmerized. Our three-day itinerary involved:

  • Sunsets at Cholla Cactus Garden and Keys View
  • A daytime hike and later nighttime astrophotography at Arch Rock Trail, with a stop at Heart Rock
  • A graded, inclined hike up Ryan Mountain
  • Wandering the easy-going Barker Dam Loop, with a stop to observe ancient petroglyphs
  • Rock scrambling and searching for slot passages through the Hall of Horrors
  • A hot desert jaunt through 49 Palms Oasis Trail
  • Dinner at the cool, relaxing Kitchen in the Desert (Order the Brussels sprouts. Just do it.)
  • AirBnB lodging at the lovely Kozy Homes at 29
  • Drinking boatloads of water and reapplying tubfuls of sunscreen
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January 22, 2022

Day 5: Arches National Park

The morning air today carries a unique chill, the kind that seeps easily through your layers and into your bones. But no matter! The skies are clear, the birds are singing, and it’s bound to be a beautiful day chasing arches.

I am almost late for sunrise at the Windows, a pair of arcs situated to the north and south of a single rock formation in Arches National Park. I arrive at the landing within the North Window and am greeted by three photographers – one couple from Colorado, and one solo photographer – all directing their lenses around the landscape. The arch opens to a ravine, with beautiful views of the mountains directly to the east, where the sky is beginning to glow. Our perch within the arch happens to be serving as a special form of wind tunnel, and we four are hunkered down, sharing rocky ledges to hide behind, and offering extra hand warmers to fit into our gloves. I look around, noticing a view of nearby Turret Arch with the pink, lustrous valley behind it and a distinct moon overhead.

Opposite our ledge, on the other side of the ravine, is a daring, narrow bench that a handful of other photographers have hiked over to. Their tripods are at the ready, and they too await the idyllic spotlight that will soon expose what night has shaded. Within minutes, the sun arrives joyfully over the mountains to join the party, illuminating everything it touches. I marvel, snap a photo, and marvel again, and repeat this cycle ad nauseum until I have had my fill of the beauty from this vantage point. I then hike along the ridge to the opposing side of the ravine, stepping gingerly along the slickrock so as not to fall. This perspective affords a layered view of Turret Arch at the center of the eye of the North Window. I love how looking at the same subjects from different perspectives can reveal new facets, corners, studies, and beauty. This applies, I think, not just to photography, but to life.

I retrace my steps back through the North Window and toward its sibling just south, then across the rockscape to Turret Arch where I encounter another kind couple from Colorado. We exchange photos, and I climb up into the arch to peruse its stone-walled contents and gain a higher view of the Windows. Altogether, stunning. I thank God for the sunrise and how it warms my frozen nose, then make the short hike to another remarkable arch, or rather two – Double Arch. Here, I encounter a group of photographers performing a workshop, and after a fun parlance around our mutual hobby, we go separate ways along the trail. The formation is immense, intricate, unlike any of the others I have seen so far. It reminds me of an optical illusion, like the Magic Eye books I relished when I was a child. I snap a couple of photos, then continue my tour of the park, aiming for Balanced Rock.

This landmark is a quick stop, but interesting in its totem-like appearance. The portion of greatest breadth sits atop a stony pedestal, looking almost as if it could fall at any moment. I learn that the ‘teetering giant’ and the base that it stands on are composed of different types of rock, the base being more susceptible to erosion than the boulder above. One day, the base will crumble and the boulder will tumble off!

After admiring the balancing act, I drive along the main park road to its furthest extent, the Devil’s Garden campground and trailhead. My afternoon consists of two separate hikes with multiple arches of all shapes and sizes distributed along each, explored over a period of five hours. Tunnel Arch, Pine Tree Arch, and the ever-delicate Landscape Arch all lie along the Devil’s Garden trail. Others do as well, but an angry Achilles tendon today prevents me from scrambling upward along the angled slickrock that would otherwise permit access to them. I resolve to return to this trail again in the future to complete this unforgettable loop. I then reroute and hike along the unpaved, primitive trail which showcases extensive views of the mountains and valleys surrounding and beyond the park limits. This path is less traveled compared to the one toward Landscape Arch. Microspikes are handy here, as slushing snow is cooling into ice while the breeze blows. I hike through a flat wash, hugged on all sides by the smooth, phalangeal towers at the heart of the Garden. I then begin scaling the rock formations with my best effort, and regrettably come to the end of my ankle’s ability to tolerate the upward climb, so I make my return to the trailhead to set out on the next adventure.

Broken Arch and Tapestry Arch are my closing aspirations for the day. On this winding trail, I am one of only four hiking groups out and about. I take my time, noticing the detail of the sagebrush and the twisted bark of peculiar trees as I go. Tapestry Arch is a trio of beautifully woven stone formations that lie in sequence. Broken Arch hides further along on the path and involves some light climbing and scrambling, and I am delighted to find myself alone when I arrive. An unobstructed view of the mountains serves as the backdrop to Broken Arch, known for the large crack at its apex.

The sun is casting a serene glow over the scene, and I take a few photos. I then meet an older couple, a man and woman in town from Boulder and Telluride, respectively, who ask to exchange photos. We do, and in the meantime, they challenge me to a timed jumping photo. These happen to be some of my favorite, and I accept the challenge. They are playful and fun, kids at heart, and I note that I hope to carry that same playfulness and glee in my own heart as I journey through life.

We share about our gratitude for the beautiful day and about our hometowns, then we continue toward opposite arms of the looping path. The sun is making its way toward the horizon, and its golden rays are highlighting the rocks, trees, and trails in dreamy ways. I feel nestled in peace, free to relish the present moment, and ready for whatever curves and bends lie ahead when I fly home tomorrow. And above all, I remain thankful for the people, places, and precious moments that made this week so sweet.

I backtrack along the park road, driving slowly, eyes roaming the landscape and drinking in my last sunset in Moab. Skyline Arch makes its way into view from the road, and I spend a moment marveling before I continue on. Mile after mile, gratitude grows to overflowing. I get back to my hotel, rest a final few moments in the hot tub, and wind down the evening with a tired body, but a full and hopeful heart.

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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 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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