Day 7: Arches and Canyons

So the plan hatched the night before (after a botched attempt due to being stupid thinking I could hike after 12 hours of being awake, spending 9 of them driving), was to hike to the Delicate Arch – probably the defining image of the state of Utah (it’s on the license plates) and perhaps the entire United States tourism brochure. For those who’re not familiar though, while the US National Parks Service manage some fantastic roads in the parks, they usually terminate at parking lots – far away from the actual attractions. So the ‘outdoorsy’ culture comes alive inside these parks. Delicate Arch is one of those sites though where the hike is more than part of the experience. But this hike is pretty tough – involving a 2 mile hike up to an altitude of over 1 mile above the parking lot – the majority of which is hiking across bare rock face at about 50-degrees grade. But I’d been up before (and some of the way up the day before) and was confident I could do it again. The difference this time is I’d be doing it in the dark. Yes, my hair-brained plan was to hike to the arch before sunrise. So I hopped out of bed at 4am, gruffly splashed water on my face, packed up the cases, did the math that I’d have enough time to come back to the room before the check out time to shower if I needed, hopped into the Fusion and made like the wind up to the parking lot. And though the motel was less than 2 miles from the entrance to the park, it still took 30 minutes to get into the park to where the arch’s parking lot is. That’ll give you a measure of just how massive these parks are.

Now, people who know me will tell you I’m a phenomenal hiker. The last time I hiked to Delicate Arch, I did so barefoot, carrying flip flops in one hand and a camera in the other. Other hikers were stunned by the sight of me scaling the rock face using nothing but the skin on my toes to push me. Obviously I am a deft hiker. This time however, I was more prepared. I wore trainers and forgot the flashlight. So using my keen sense of direction and a pair of eyes only a rabbit could better, I used the candle-light power of a half-moon to seek out the cairns, or man-made small rock piles used to guide hikers along a trail. I think however that going in the dark actually helped things immensely. For starters, because I couldn’t see all that lay ahead of me, I didn’t have time to make a big deal out of it and start making excuses for my slow pace. After loosing my way once and finding it again though, I found myself walking across the flat face of the rock recalling that there only lay ahead a short walk around the corner to be greeted by the natural spectacle. Unfortunately, my tenacious skills as a hiker also alerted some lost little lambs – young American hikers – to the real path to the Arch. They duly followed me (forgetting to thank me for saving them, mind) and the female member of the couple proceeded to recount to the entire park that she had had a panic attack, and thought a noise was an animal and how “this is such an awesome shot” as she pointed her Canon aimlessly in the dark. Oh for some peace and quiet. The naivety of thinking I’d be alone up there with my own thoughts. And just as I started to turn my attention to roaring at her to shut up, an Italian couple decided to join us on the rocks and proceed to make a movie and talk into the camera the entire time. Anyway, I didn’t let it bother me as you can probably tell. And as Mr. Preparedness proceeded to unfurl the face towel ‘borrowed’ from the motel to place on the rock to level the surface for the camera (what tripod?!), I took some great shots indeed. But mostly (after I checked in on Foursquare of course) I enjoyed the view, and began the descent. Before I did though, I took a panoramic shot with my iPhone – which you can see here.

On the way down I was followed once more by Talky McTalkerson and her long suffering boyfriend. But at this point I was beginning to feel elation. I’d made it to the top, and in the cold light of morning, I’d wondered exactly how given all the bumps and slips I seemed to glide over at 5am in the dark. As I enthusiastically bid ‘good morning’ to hikers trying to scale the rocks with puffy faces, the elation seemed to get more and more pronounced. I started to feel like I was smiling. One look at my reflection in the window of the Fusion when I got back to the lot confirmed that – I was indeed smiling. Sitting into the car, turning the key, asking the entertainment system to play music, I zipped back to the motel, grinning from ear to ear, chuckling to myself at the cars coming in as the sun climbed the sky, knowing they’d missed an opportunity of a lifetime to be up there at sunrise.

Now my weaknesses caved and I sought food. This would be a calorie neutral affair I felt, and as I checked out of the motel with a spring in my step, I headed for more of those delicious benedictine eggs. Parking the car and rounding the corner, I was greeted by a sign that said ‘the best eggs Benedict’ and so I fixed to validate their claim. These were indeed nice, though some strange flavour in the hollandaise still has me puzzled – I think it was orange juice but I’d imagine that’d split the sauce. The feeling of elation was still such that I found myself being over-polite with the waitress and smiling at the sour and sukly Germans who skipped in front of me last night in Denny’s to pay for their meal an d argue over leaving a tip. Nevertheless they (the eggs) were duly gobbled down as the phone came out to plan my next dastardly hike. This would be an easy one (or so I thought!) that I’d slip in before lunchtime.

I’d come across a desktop wallpaper about a year ago at work – a photograph taken at a place called ‘False Kiva’. This was an archaeological site high in the cliffs of the Canyonlands National Park. Since I’d never been into the park, I gassed up the Fusion, and headed out. I’d found some rough guidelines online about where to find the trail head, and after much back and forth, I parked up, put some water in my bag and assumed the role of Master Hiker again. It gave me confidence too that others were down there, seeing a Canadian car and a park ranger truck parked alongside my Ohio Fusion. As I went down along the path of sandy footsteps, I began to realise there was a lot of down-hill walking. This is great but it means that when you turn around, it’s all up-hill walking. I surmised that given the terrain was soft and sandy and pretty flat, this wouldn’t be a problem. Very soon though this began to be a niggling concern. The terrain turned from dusty wash to brittle rock face. I came to a ledge and assumed I’d reached it. Staying very quiet to see if I could hear the voices of the Canadians or the ranger, I eventually heard them – but they were far in the distance. Sure enough a few moments later, they appeared below and away from the ledge. Then as I looked to my left I noticed a stack of small rocks and knew that the cairns I’d used under moonlight to climb to Delicate Arch (remember this is still the same day) a few hours earlier would lead me to False Kiva here again. I began to hike up and around the cliff face, greeting the travellers as I passed – they weren’t Canadian though. So there were more people ahead. Well at least that would help me find my way down I thought. Another cliff face, and another dashed hope – still no kiva. Then from the corner of my eye, I spied a man in a white baseball hat (now that’d be a useful hiking accessory given the blistering sun beating down on my noggin) and a blue fleece (obviously a tee-shirt and shorts are all I need when hiking – and trainers, not hiking boots!). But this guy was WAY off in the distance below me. I assured myself he was just a thrill seeker and had gone beyond the trail in search of a better angle. I mustered up the courage to continue down (knowing I’d have to actually come back up) and eventually the Canadian (yes this was the Canadian – damn, now I’m out of fellow hikers to save me if I get lazy) greeted me with a puffy face, beads of sweat pouring out of him and a look of pain and suffering. “It’s a lot harder coming back up than going down” he proclaimed. No shit sherlock, I thought. I asked if it was worth it and he said it was. Then he asked if I’d had enough water, and I said I did. But turning to continue the trail after wishing him good luck (mind you I didn’t get such a blessing) I panicked slightly. Did I actually have enough water? I’d been supping away at the half-litre in my hand all the time and assumed there was another bottle in my bag. I checked (gingerly) and found another bottle – all was saved. Though at this point I was pretty much screwed if I had none because I was so far down the cliffside. Again, I’m an expert hiker.

So I decided that given I’d come so far, and heck if the Canadian could do it so could I. I continued downward, looking back just a few times at the monolithic hike that lay ahead of me on the return journey. As I used the cairns to guide me further down I hit a dead end. Looking to my right, I realised I had to start climbing up at this point. Still I had no sighting of the kiva. Eventually after enjoying a moment in the shade of the cliffside, I made a last ditched attempt (believe me, this involved a heck of a lot of courage – I was willing to turn back at this point) and rounded the corner of the shaley cliffside and came upon the second of such amazing sights that day. This perfectly constructed circle of stones arranged to face the massive canyons ahead high up in this inhospitable, inaccessible area of the cliffside was truly awesome. Breathless, I took some pictures and amassed the courage to go back. Before I did though, I took a panoramic shot with my iPhone – which you can see here. However tough I thought it was going to be, it was much, much tougher. For starters, I didn’t bring anywhere NEAR enough water. And on top of that, this was coming up to midday where the desert sun is at its highest point and the heat is unbearable. I really did regret attempting it at this stage, but you’re completely on your own in these situations (which you got yourself into naturally) so I carefully made my way up the cliffside, following the cairns as I went. An hour or so later, I was back on the dusty wash again, headed for the car. The last of the half-bottle of Sierra Mist (Coca Cola’s answer to 7up) was gone (I’d stuffed this in the bag earlier) and the 12 bottles of water I had in the car awaited me (as my father would say, “That’s the place for them!”.)

Greeted by a Park Ranger named ‘Skyler’ (a brutal name) who was wondering what the toll tag on the windshield of the car was (though it kind of explains it on the tag itself) he asked how the kiva was, to which I announced “it was awesome but I am destroyed”. I was indeed destroyed. I drank a full 500mls of water in under 10 seconds. If my stomach wasn’t telling me it didn’t want more, I’d have kept going with all the water in the world. But then the adrenaline kicked in (delayed reaction or what?!) and I felt that sense of elation again. I, the best hiker in the world (ever) had done it again. The smile returned and I felt kinda awesome that I had hiked two major sites in one day, and it was all still before lunchtime. Driving out of the park though I decided to cut my trip to Moab short and head to Salt Lake City. This gives me a spare buffer day in case I need it further along the journey and I had seen what I’d come to see in Moab. Booking into a hotel on the iPhone, I turned the car north and sat back for 4 more hours to reach the city by the salt lake. Tomorrow, who knows!

(Oh I was being sarcastic about the greatest hiker in the world bit. – “Well, duh!”)