On to Zion 28 September 2014

On the way from Death Valley to Zion, one cannot avoid Las Vegas ...and so, why not wallow? On Damiana's advice, we stopped in for a lovely Sunday brunch at Thomas Keller's Bouchon in the Venetian. From the natural grandeur of DeathValley to the glitzy grandiosity of Vegas. Luckily for us all, what happens in Vegas stays there!

Vegas's weather is as forbidding as Death Valley's, being in the low desert at the bottom of the Colorado River. As a city, Vegas is an out-of-place anomaly, its origins best buried in obscurity. Having been there several times over the years, it struck me, this time, as over-done, crowded, and tawdry. 

We set up camp at the lovely Watchman Campground near the Visitor's Center, weathered another cold night (but with better equipment purchased at the REI in Vegas) and awoke the next morning amidst the spectacular monoliths of Zion National Park.

Here in Zion, one is immersed in the spectacle. Granite canyon walls and towers rise more than a thousand feet above the gentle sandy river bed below. Even in the camp, towering white walls surround and protect. What a sweet spot!

I am in love with Zion, and have been since I first saw it as a child. Sienna doesn't remember her previous visit, when she was about six, and so showing it to her as an adult was a special pleasure.

Having only one day for a park that rewards weeks, we were on the shuttle – during the season, no private vehicles in the park – and up to the throat of The Narrows for a walk, and the canyon walls were glowing with first morning light. Already, despite flash flood warnings and the fact that a man was drowned over the previous weekend, crazy adventurers were wading into the Virgin River: an adventure for another day when the weather promises clemency?

Inside the Narrows, the sun only shines for a few minutes a day, and the only light that reaches parts of the north-facing wall is reflected off the opposite cliff. Here, wondferful hanging gardens thrive, and water drips constantly.

For me, one of the mysteries of Zion, and indeed all the rocky places in the Southwest, is the way living things cling to the tiniest cracks and fissures ... for centuries, often. Throughout this trip, I was intrigued by the resilient trees and collections of plant life, and all their attendant biota, finding their niches high above the ground, or insinuating themselves ardently into the least likely venues for sustaining life. 

We don't wonder much, here at home in our temperate rainforest, at the endurance of living things. With some notable exceptions – the inter-tidal zone – this is a friendly place to hang your hat from a survival perspective. But in the Southwest, land of droughts, freezing winters, and tough conditions all year long, the persistence and scope of life is remarkable.

Our goal for the day was to climb as far toward Angel's Landing as our hearts would take us.

The first part is daunting ... I'll show you a picture of the way down ... but from what's called Scout's Lookout, a saddle between the main canyon wall and the prominence called Angel's Landing, the going is, in the words of the National Park Service, "extreme." When I climbed it in 2002, only a few dozen people a day ventured to the top. And an exhilerating view it is, too! At the time, I was struck by the risk involved: a couple of folks a year fall to their deaths. But the NPS, wisely or foolishly, preserves the notion that "Your safety is your own responsibility," and now hundreds of people a day make this a crowded as well as challenging climb.

This time, Sienna made it to the yellow dot. I made it to the blue one. It was the height and exposure that stopped Sienna, her heart in her mouth. For me, it was a combination of the crowded trail, the fact that I'd been all the way up once already ... and the feeling that, at age 70, I really had nothing to prove. We returned to Scout's Lookout and watched the crowd stream by.