Desert Days

This is a story about the Desert and history and me trying to gather a lot of my disparate thoughts about it.

Right before the inauguration I decided I wanted to see some of the places that make America special before they potentially get ruined by short sighted money grabbing or our world ending, so I put together a trip with some friends to go see some of the American Southwest and get a feel for why it looms so large in the collective imagination of our country, and specifically myself.

The trip happened a week ago. I met some friends (King, Josh, and Tim) in Las Vegas, we rented a car immediately upon leaving the airport, and drove away from Vegas as quickly as the road could take us. I want to take a quick moment to denigrate Las Vegas since it deserves to get called out for what it truly is, a hellish place designed to remove people from their money as quickly and effectively as possible. Vegas is a blight upon this country. The sinkhole city wasn’t a part of the trip other than being being well placed in terms of an airport and a good reminder of where we needed to get to, the Desert.

The Desert, in my head, is a place full of scarcity and death and decline and struggle. It’s remote and mysterious, things seem to appear and disappear without warning. Its a place left alone in our country because it has very little to give. It is also a place of staggering beauty amidst and amplified by it’s stark surroundings.

The Narrows

The first place we went to was Zion. Driving into the park you’re flanked on all sides by jagged giant tall ass rock formations. I don’t know if they’re technically mountains or not, it didn’t matter to me. It took us a while to get our bearings, as in we took the wrong road through a really really long tunnel that was perfectly hewn out the side of a mountain almost all the way out of the park before finally figuring out where we needed to get to, which was the Narrows. The Narrows is where the Virgin River gets hemmed in by two walls of rock to the point where it is really moving with some force. Once we got to the end of the trail that led along the river you either look at the start of the Narrows and turn back or you get wet. Our intrepid leader because he had previously been to Zion, Tim, already knew what was in store at the end of the trail so he just waded into the river and figured we would have no choice but to follow. He was right, we followed. Trekking upstream in the Narrows was a bit treacherous considering I'm not a particularly balanced person, especially when you tried to move laterally instead of straight, but we all made it across to an embankment where we could stow our cell phones before going further upstream. I was wearing jeans and sneakers for this, which went from worn out costco to dark designer jeans during the second leg of the river fording. I guess I should just be thankful that neither of my shoes got pulled off in the current, since I hadn’t packed any other footwear for trip. The Narrows was the first time that we encountered what would become a reoccurring theme. The National Parks are amazing no matter what or how you experience them, but the large amount of people around isn’t ideal. When you go off the beaten path though, and it gets quiet, and there isn’t anyone else around, you can get a sense of how wonderful and holy these places are.

That night we stayed at a house out in the middle of nowhere on route 89 between Zion and Bryce Canyon, and against my misbegotten worries that we would end up engulfing the entire area in flame, we built a fire in the desert consisting of scrub brush and driftwood. It did not smell like a normal camp fire. It was more of a bitter aroma. I think I still have some of the smoke residue stuck in my sinuses. But it was an experience to be out under the stars in the middle of the desert, no light to be seen except for what my friends had built and what was in the sky.

Bryce Canyon at Sunrise

The next morning we woke up well before dawn to catch sunrise at Bryce Canyon. On paper this was a great plan, in practice it wasn't easy to get teh day started considering we hadn’t extinguished the fire until an hour or two after midnight. Luckily Utah deals mostly in 3.2 Beer so getting up wasn’t nearly as tough as it could have been with normal non-mormonized beer. Sunrise at Bryce Canyon was worth it though. Watching the light change overhead, then on the horizon, then having the sun crest over the ridge line to start bathing the canyon in light and long shadows was incredible to behold. For a non religious person, I guess I could call that sort of thing my church service. Supplication to the rising of the Sun God. Somehow it would turn out to only be an opening act towards what was in store for the next day. After sunrise we walked along the rim to where we would start our descent into the canyon, and mine into madness (sorry, can’t help myself, when else am I ever going to get to write that phrase). The way down was incredibly beautiful, with steep sharp switchbacks and great views of the individuals and groupings of dick rocks (hoodoos). Once at the bottom we took the trail to meet up with the Peekaboo Loop that would end up being the semi-end of me. The Peekaboo Loop was three miles long. I was dead tired and huffing and puffing after the first half mile. I am admittedly not in the greatest shape. I smoke. I'm at optimal weight. I had just inhaled hours worth of odd smelling camp fire the night before. And we were at an elevation of 7,000 feet. I was toast before we even started down into the Canyon. So the Peekaboo consisting of only straight uphill and straight downhill did not agree with my body or mind. I was cursing at my friends, cursing at the rocks, cursing at beauty itself. Every time I thought we were at the summit, I was wrong. Peekaboo Loop was a uniquely horrible hike for me. When my friends asked me after it was over wasn’t I glad I had done it, I repeatedly said FUCK NO. Fuck that loop. After the Peekaboo Loop mercifully ended we walked (me slowly, them at a more industrious pace) back up to the outer rim and out to where we parked. All in all, we hiked 7 miles in Bryce and I very much did not enjoy the middle 3. The middle 3 is where I started to think about a world where everything was flat, there were no inclines anymore. I think I could get elected on that platform if everyone in the USA was subjected to the Peekaboo Loop.

After we left Bryce I had called the Air BnB owner from the previous night to tell them that we wouldn’t be able to return an errant key that one of my friends had in his back pocket when we left. I lied that we were already on our way to Monument Valley and would mail it to them. Well it turns out we were going right past where we had stayed and we were all starving so not only were we going to drop off the key but we were also going to pick up some eggs and bacon and make breakfast at the place that I minutes earlier had told the owners that we weren’t anywhere near and getting farther every second. Luckily my Larry David caught in a lie awkward moment didn’t happen where we encountered the people at the place and had to compound the lie with more lies. I was definitely grouchy from the hike that morning and a little bit delirious from hunger to even think up that scenario. The whole thing went fine. We just went there, made breakfast, and dropped off the key in peace. And I sent them a message saying I was a dumbass and hadn’t had a clue where we were when I called saying we couldn't drop off the key.

Once we finished breakfast we got in our minivan and drove south out of Utah, into Arizona and past the suspiciously blue waters of Lake Powell, then on to Monument Valley. I think my dream vision of the West is Monument Valley. It’s beautiful. It’s vast. It’s barren. It’s a postcard from a bygone movie about people using guns for good or evil or something in the middle. It is a large part of America's self made culture. It is our idealized, whitewashed past. In reality it stands for something a whole lot darker and and more bloody and more illuminating about what America always has been. Monument Valley is Navajo Land. To enter you pay the Navajo Nation. The US gave this land to them after taking everything else. They didn’t give it to them because it was beautiful and iconic. They gave it to them because it served no purpose for the USA. It is a desert with surreally giant pretty isolated red rocks. The Navajo can’t make a living off of it besides charging people to drive through it. They can’t farm it in any large scale. They can’t turn it green. It was a throwaway. This is what made a lot of America. Killing and stealing from tribes and then giving them something in return that didn’t benefit the tribe. And it wouldn’t surprise me if America took it back at some point. That’s how we roll.

Night Hike/Nap

Once we arrived at our cabin overlooking the Mittens in M.V. We unpacked and sat on our deck and drank until the sun went down. It was incredibly pretty. I got pretty damn drunk. At some point in the night my friends very rudely woke me up (ineffective drunk punches were thrown over me not wanting to go) from my bottom bunk bed and made me go on a night hike with them. I ended up spending most of the time finding comfortable bushes to take impromptu naps in. My friends ended up making it a good way up onto the Left Mitten. I was woken up the next morning right at sunrise, and it was the most glorious piece of nature I have ever seen. The clouds were red, the horizon was on fire, and the giant rocks were still dark silhouettes in the foreground. It was a magical moment for me. I will never forget it.

Monument Valley at Dawn

We packed up after sunrise and drove further south towards and then past Flagstaff to get to Sedona. I had been to Sedona as a little kid and have vividly happy memories of playing in a natural waterpark/creek, so we decided to go find it again. Recapturing a piece of your childhood is always a dangerous game, because if it doesn’t live up to your memories, then that memory is somewhat broken by your newer experience. That didn’t happen this time. Slide Rock was awesome, again. The first thing I did in the water was do a cartoonishly exaggerated slip and fall on the slick mossy rocks. As a kid my lower center of gravity and lesser size and weight made foibles on the smooth ice-like rocks less hazardous. Now I was just going down hard and fast repeatedly. The people seeing it probably either thoroughly enjoyed me repeatedly going feet up back down or were mortified that they were going to witness a horrific injury as I tried to cross the creek. On the other side there was a 10 foot cliff into a deeper pool that was excellent to jump off of and then sort of walrus your way back onto dry land off of the slippery sides of the pool. At some point I resorted to sliding butt first and crab sliding across the creek instead of trying to walk across it. I was not putting pride on a pedestal at Slide Rock. Tim eventually found a 40 foot jump that he devil-may-cared off of. I wanted no part of that. Partly because I couldn’t see where I was landing from the top, partly cause I was worn out, and partly because I had done a similar jump at this hillbilly gravel pit in Indiana and it fucked up my eardrums and jaw real good upon impact.

After we finished frolicking in the creek we slowly found Josh, who had been hammocking in a nearby copse of trees and then mounted up in the minivan and made our way north to our AirBnB in Flagstaff. That night I beat all comers in a 1981 version of Trivial Pursuit. As the current Trivial Pursuit Champion, I would like to say that my opponents didn’t have a damn chance (the game took several hours because the 1981 version includes a whole bunch of bullshit questions. I had endurance more than some overpowering knowledge). I was like Lebron in the Eastern Conference.

The Granddaddy of Them All

Flagstaff was our last night of the Desert trip. We woke up a little after sunrise, packed up, and drove to the Granddaddy of Them All, the Big Bopper, the Realest There Ever Was, the Grand Canyon. When we got there we immediately went to the closest overlook to see it. It didn’t disappoint. After 15 minutes or so my friends grew weary of the crowds, and decided to find somewhere else along the rim to take in the majesty. We got back in the car and drove along the Desert View Road to a little parking lot that was close to the offshoot to Yaki Point. Instead of taking the road, my intrepid traveler friends decided it was best to walk directly through the forest to get to the rim of the canyon. It took longer than I would have liked, but it was definitely unlike any forest I had ever been in. It was quiet, there were a lot of downed trees, and the vegetation was piney, sparse and brittle. We encountered a lady Elk at one point, which I could not have backed away from and circled around faster. Once we got to the rim there were no people there, probably because we were not on a trail, or even close to it, we were on the edge of the goddamn world. I honestly have never felt smaller than when staring over the cliff side at the hills and ravines and smaller canyons so so so far below. It could have been on a different planet it seemed so remote. It gave me vertigo and heart palpitations just to look out at the immense openness. The Grand Canyon is the most alien thing I have ever seen in my life. It was literally the inverse of a giant mountain. I can't shake the feeling that the Grand Canyon isn’t an impartial slab of nature, but a magnetic force that can bend objects and people to it’s will. It can talk to you. Tell you to do things you don’t want to do. It scared the shit out of me, which in a way is showing it the respect it deserves.

Grand Canyon Elk - Photo by Joshy Baby

That was the end of our trip. Later that night we flew back out of Vegas. It was a bumpy flight, and when I was going in and out of sleep the turbulence would keep waking me up, but right before I woke up I would have the briefest vision of me falling towards the bottom of the Grand Canyon. Like I said, the place has an unseen power. I was also severely sleep deprived from late nights and waking up for sunrises every day so that probably played a part in my brain tripping out.

This trip made me think about how the history of our country and these towering figures in our landscape mean different things to different people. When I look at Monument Valley, I see the West. When the Navajo look at Monument Valley, they see their home, but one only begrudgingly and callously given to them when it was of no use to Whites. When Native Americans look at Bryce Canyon, they see their ancestor's spirits living on in each of the hoodoo sentinels. When I look at it, I only remember the horror of the Peekaboo Loop. Okay, I also remember how unique it was to everything else I have ever seen. But that could be said for most of the West. Way back when, we took this country by hook and by crook from the Native Tribes. It would be a very late start, but a start nonetheless, to respect it the way they do and protect it at all costs. It is the best thing we have in this country and I'm worried that jackals would rather blow it to bits over money than to preserve one of the last truly great things we have here in America.