A few weeks ago, when we were still getting regular snow and going outside required a scarf and coat–yes, this is called “spring” here–I headed south for some much needed sunshine and relaxation. I have been to Arches National Park in Moab several times before, including a stint last year that involved a frigid white-water rafting trip. This time around I went rafting again as well, it wasn’t nearly so cold nor nearly so intense…and there is no photographic evidence. So, this post isn’t gonna be about that.
When I was a kid my family went camping in The Devil’s Garden area of Arches every year for Easter. I remember hiking around the various arches on the Devil’s Garden trail, but I hadn’t been there for about a hundred years (ok, maybe only 15).
We arrived an hour or two before sunset, when the light is all golden and turned the red rock columns into pillars of fire.
Looking into a valley of finger-canyons and ridge after ridge of smooth red sandstone. There is not a bad view anywhere in the park.
The hike to Double-O Arch goes right past Landscape Arch, which is the thinnest, longest arch in the park. I am always a little worried that it will crack into pieces and crash to the ground.
It’s amazing, isn’t it? The trail goes underneath the smaller arch at the bottom and then you can hike up the back and walk out over the top of the big arch (see that tiny person up there?).
A view through the Big-O of Double-O Arch.
This is part of the group that hiked up to the top, which included a pretty skinny rock bridge, some scrambling, and then cramming more people than any safety board would approve on top of that rocky tower. So, a guy who went down to Moab with us, Peter Chen, is a bonafide stock photographer, and he snapped some gorgeous shots, including this one. If you see that in a magazine, advertisement or newsletter somewhere remember that you saw it here first, okay? And then email me so I can see myself famous somewhere, okay? Okay, I’m glad we’ve had this discussion.
A happy girl: sunshine, red rock formations, and a weekend of adventure and good friends.
Looking into the Devil’s Garden.
The La Sal mountains were named by the first Spanish explorers who came to the Moab area. The Spanish arrived in the middle of a blazing hot summer and could not believe that with weeks of 100-degree temperatures those peaks could still be capped in snow, so they assumed the mountains were made of salt and named them La Sal, the salt mountains.
These are some of my favorite people, and I love that we are all laughing at ourselves and our own silly antics.
No, I don’t know all of those people, but I know a lot of them. Can you imagine camping with 100 people for the weekend? It was pretty awesome.
After hiking Angel’s Landing, it was mid-afternoon when we arrived back on the canyon floor. My calves felt like jelly and I was seriously craving a burrito, but it was such a beautiful day it seemed like a shame to leave the park already. We filled up our water bottles and decided to try one more hike leisurely walk to the mouth of The Narrows.
The Narrows is a fairly technical hike through a gorgeous slot canyon; the trail is the river and you can hike for a few hours or for a few days, depending on how far you would like to go. In some places you’ll have to swim and in some places you’ll have to repel off the cliffs. I’d love to try this hike, but perhaps when the water isn’t quite so freezing and my calves aren’t quite so sore. (August, I’m looking at you!)
Wandering along the trail, there are several waterfalls, from the top of the plateau’s to the river below. The snow in the mountains hadn’t started to really melt yet and the water was slow-ish and calm. However, after so much more snow and widespread flooding in the rest of the state, I bet this water is gushing and wild by now.
The trail abruptly ends after about a half-mile and The Narrows begin; you just step into the river and keep walking. I was delighted and surprised to see thousands of cairns marking the trail. I may have actually squee’d.
B. and D. constructing a cairn at the head of The Narrows trail. We walked around this little Cairn Garden for a little while, taking pictures, admiring the towers and palaces of rock. Some were several feet high and had some fairly intricate balancing acts going on.
I swear this looks like something from a fantasy world; so, of course being enamored with all things mythical and fantastical, I loved it.
We had a great weekend, good friends, good conversation, good food, amazing views. Mother Nature, you do a body good.
Last time I went to Zion National Park was several years ago, and while we did one fairly strenuous hike (and a bit of casual wandering), I have always wanted to hike Angel’s Landing. This monolithic outcrop of red rock is 1500 feet from the canyon floor and the round trip hike is about 5 miles. If you are the kind of person to do that kind of math, you could calculate the elevation gain and come up with a really crazy number. If you don’t do that kind of math, um, you should know that it is really really steep. The trail is super narrow in some places with sheer cliffs dropping away on both sides; the park rangers have installed chains in the rock to help you climb and on more than one instance those chains were the only thing that saved me from certain death. But, the views are incredible. So I filled up my Camelbak, stocked up on snacks, tied on my hiking shoes (ok, actually running shoes) and slathered on the sunscreen. Angel’s Landing: I will dominate you…or, you know, at least not be dominated by you. Ahem.
View from the trailhead of Angel’s Landing. See that enormous cliff on the left? Yeah, the one that is so tall I couldn’t actually get the whole thing in one photo? Yeah, that’s Angel’s Landing. You zig-zag up the canyon wall for a while and into a blessedly cool slot canyon. It was at this point that I cockily thought to myself “Huh, this isn’t so bad!”
When I rounded a corner and looked up I was faced with Walter’s Wiggles, which sounds like child’s play but is actually 22 steep switch backs that send you up the back of the cliff. (You can get a better idea of what those look like here–look at the bottom of that photo). I took a deep breath–an auspicious beginning to the heaving that would come later–tightened my Camelbak and headed up–and up, and up–hoping my calves wouldn’t give out on me mid-way up the rock.
The view from Scout’s Lookout, approximately two thirds of the way to the top and before the most technical hiking segments. Do you see the skinny little road down at the bottom? And the tour busses? It’s really kind of impossible to describe how tremendously high up you are. My calves needed to be stretched and I had to pee like nobody’s business. (Please note: there are port-a-potties at Scout’s Lookout, but they don’t have toilet paper. Tremendous gratitude to my awesome roommate, D., for rescuing me in that department. Lesson learned.)
After a little rest, a photo session that was ruined by my cramming my face with a CLIFF bar and then laughing (see above), we were off to the fun part.
Or, in other words, the scrambling/climbing/holding onto chains for dear life part.
Lookit, I made you a diagram so you understand what I’m talking about here when I say “narrow trail” and “chains required” and “you’ll probably plunge to your death if you don’t pay attention to your feet.” The trail? It’s steep, yo. And skinny.
Yipes! Hello, Death, nice to see you up here; they don’t call it “slick rock” for nothing. This was taken when we were most of the way to the top. The slot canyon on the left is where the trail starts, you know, 1300 feet and 2 miles ago.
But you guys, the view!
Looking towards the mouth of the canyon, one of the more stunning vistas I’ve ever seen.
Team photo!
After hanging out at the top for probably an hour, eating snacks and stretching our legs, we headed back down the steep trail. I want to say it was easier coming down than going up, but that’s just not true. The trail was far more crowded–big crowds on tiny trails with sheer drop offs is not an awesome combination–and my poor knees were making sure I knew they were unhappy. (I think this means I’m getting old. Or “mature.” Or something.) That being said, I will totally hike Angel’s Landing again; and I would absolutely recommend it to anyone else as well. Yes, it’s hard. Yes, it’s technical. Sure, it can be a little scary. But is it worth it? Absolutely.
A few weeks ago I had a work meeting in St. George, the most south-western part of the state. St. Geezy, as I affectionately refer to it, is the gateway to some of the most gorgeous red rock country. Mostly, I was just happy to be out of the cold and the snow and the SNOW. St. George was sunny and warm and exactly the break I needed from sleety, gray Salt Lake.
A few friends decided to head down that same weekend to go hiking in Zion National Park. But, before that all happened (post forthcoming) I spent a beautiful evening on the red cliffs above the city, playing with my camera and watching the sun set.
Looking southwest across the city.
It’s not Moab, but St. George has a few awesome formation
I think this is technically lichen, not moss. We don’t have enough water for moss. Right?
Hello, Moon
I had shoes with me, I promise, although I didn’t wear them all evening while I wandered around on the slick rock. My flip flops were just to darn slippery on the bottom and were giving me grief.
Gorgeous!
*Also, hi! I’m trying to ease my way back into blogging via picture-heavy posts. Humor me, mmmkay?
My last weekend of summer was spent shopping and laying out by a pool reading a book. It was heaven. I need more friends with vacation homes in sunny locations. Seriously. Because Labor Day weekend in St. George was like a little slice of heaven.
Seriously, what’s not to love? The pool was perfectly cool, the diving acrobatics were, well, hilarious, and there was always a dozen or so new people around to hang out with. I need more weekends like this. (And, it should be noted, a trip into town rendered 5 new pairs of shoes. Yep, five. I love St. George shopping!)
Andrea and I, hanging out at the BBQ, loving the easy life.
Moab is a fairly small town on the eastern edge of the state that is known for it’s gorgeous red rock country and high adventure lifestyle. Earlier this summer a fairly large group of friends and strangers spent the weekend hiking, river rafting, and generally causing a ruckus.
(Photo Credit: Stacy at Three Winks Studio)
Upon arrival a small group of friends drove up to Dead Horse Point to watch the sunset. I had been to Dead Horse before, but watching the sun turn all that red rock to brilliant orange and then to dusky purple was absolutely gorgeous.
(Photo credit: Mona)
The next day two busloads of us went on a white-water rafting trip. We suited up in life jackets and loaded up the buses and drove up-river to our launch location. At this point I was feeling pretty good about the whole “river rafting” thing.
(Photo Credit: Asholina)
See? I’m smiling and don’t even think about my greasy camping hair. River Rafting! Yay!
And then the sky darkened, literally, and the temperature dropped, and I was stuck in a blow-up raft in the middle of a frigid river of melted snow. There was no escape. All photo’s pilfered from the river guide company…and I can’t remember now who they were or I’d give them some credit here.
I’m second from the left in the red surf shirt.
And stroke! Dig deeper, you scurvy dogs!
Here we go!
The point of no return
Holy Swear Words! That water is breathtakingly cold!
If you’ll notice, our river guide–who is sitting at the very back of the raft and whom we lovingly nicknamed “Wildcard”–is holding on to my life-jacket to prevent me from falling out. Thanks, Wildcard!
Frigidness and I am still threatening to fall out.
Seriously, if it wasn’t for Wildcard’s firm hold on my life-jacket I would have been a goner.
Finally flattening out, we made it through without anyone (like me) being dumped into the river.
Now, this may look like good times and Fun For Everyone. It was. Mostly. The problem was that the river was icy cold and the day was overcast, gloomy, and a bit nippy. We had prepared for hundred-degree temperatures and the gray skies and icy river left me covered in goosebumps. My right leg, submerged to my calf in the frigid water, was completely numb. When we stopped for lunch–and therefore stopped exerting the energy of paddling through rapids–I started to feel like I was in the first stages of hypothermia. It was miserable, and our group quickly formed a Human Huddle Puddle to try and keep warm and block some of the wind.
(Photo Credit: E7)
The second half of the river was more rapids and more freezing water. Luckily, the sun came out a bit and we warmed up some. Here is my raft again, heading through some rapids.
I am again at the very back, second from the right.
After all this excitement, I needed some serious relaxing time to get my body temperature back to normal. Our campsite (see below) was perfect for that sort of thing.
(Photo Credit: Asholina)
After a fantastic dinner we had one more Big Adventure for this Moab trip; a moonlit night-hike to Delicate Arch in Arches National Park. I have hiked Delicate before, it’s one of the most recognizable landmarks of the Western United States; it even graces the Utah license plates. Last time I hiked in the middle of a ridiculously hot day–I must say, a night hike was infinitely easier and went much faster. Our group had headlamps “just in case”, but there was so much moonlight that we could find our way across the slick-rock without too much trouble, making sure to keep a lookout for cairns so we didn’t get lost. The end result? Stunning.
The entire group used headlamps to light up the 50-plus foot tall arch and someone with a fancy camera and some serious shutter skill took this photo. The problem is, I’m not a hundred percent sure who it belongs to–I think it’s Stacy. If you, dear reader, have any insight let me know so I can properly credit this.
Carpe Diem.
Seize the Day.
Spring has finally arrived here in my fair state, daffodil’s and tulips dot the gardens. Flowering cherry, plum and pear trees line the streets and the smell of fresh-cut grass wafts among the neighborhoods. We will most likely have another snow storm or two before Summer is here, but this week I am enjoying the warmer temperatures and sunny weather.
About a year ago the Capitol Building restoration project was finally completed. The scaffolding and plastic sheeting that had enclosed the Capitol Building for several years was carted off, the grass was replanted, new guardian lions were put in place and a running trail was built around the Capitol and Legislative complex. Last year I was shocked, surprised, and delighted to discover the trail is lined with flowering cherry trees. However, because this is Utah and because no spring weather lasts very long, approximately 36 hours after the blossoms burst open every single tiny pink flower was dashed to pieces due to a massive wind storm. The spectacle was glorious, but short-lived.
Last week I noticed the first hints of pinkness. This week the walks are something straight out of Anne of Green Gables, but, you know, with a giant granite municipal building instead of a quaint island town. Details…psssh.
Our trees are still small and spindly and immature; but they’re pink! At least, this week they’re pink. Unlike Washington, D.C. or San Francisco or Japan (or any older city with a well-established population of cherry trees and a moderately temperate spring climate) we do not have a Festival in conjunction with their flowering. In fact, I would venture to guess that most resident’s of Salt Lake City do not yet know of their existence. The Capitol Building is on the top of a hill overlooking the city and marks the origin of one of the busiest streets in the state, kind of like the head of the Mississippi. Most people don’t go up there unless they have legislative business or a wedding/engagement photo shoot.
I’m distracted. I’m rambling about traffic patterns and fluffy pink trees when I really wanted to talk about Seizing The Day.
Go ahead. Seize that Day.
It’s okay, I’ll wait.
Go on now; Seize It.
Except…well, there’s just one teensy little problem; I don’t really know what that means. I am having a mini-panic attack that some surly kleptomaniac will be snitching Wednesday right from under my nose, stuffing it into an unmarked van and driving helter-skelter off into the wild unless I somehow snatch it up first. Oh. That won’t happen? Well, you can’t be too careful these days. Alright, jokes aside (I wasn’t really joking about the klepto in the van) yes, I understand the concept, but I’m a bit iffy on how to apply it to my daily life. I’m pretty sure it doesn’t have anything to do with the pages and pages of lists of countries, cities and places I’d like to visit…someday. (To be fair I’d love to visit them tomorrow, or yesterday–but funds, timing, Icelandic volcanoes and other mundane things being what they are–those destinations will remain as simply lists for the moment.) I’m pretty sure that ordering the exact same thing at my favorite Mexican place every single time I have a hankering for pork barbacoa (their specialty) doesn’t really count either. And I’m pretty sure it doesn’t have anything to do with that adorable-and-possibly-crazy cardigan I bought on a whim (or does it?).
Does buying a plane ticket on a whim count? What about hosting a dinner party for a bunch of semi-strangers? Or going back to school? (University classes start in just under a month. I’m nervous excited nervous.) In your opinion, what exactly does it mean to Seize the Day? And have you done it lately? And–be honest now–did you need to fend off any shady characters with wit, elbows, and/or pepper spray?
Filed under: Utah: Life Elevated
Remember how I failed to go skiing last year due to, well, lack of trying really? It was on my List of things to do in 2009, and I failed. So I added it to the 2010 “Year of the Tiger” List. If you check, item number one is “Go skiing or snowboarding or snowshoeing with some regularity.” I went snowshoeing for the first time back in January, and again last weekend on my overnight backpacking-to-a-yurt adventure, and I have plans to go again on Saturday. I feel this qualifies as fulfilling Number One 2010 Resolution.
People have been strapping highly waxed sticks to their feet for centuries, it can’t be any more complicated than learning to ride a horse, right? As a native Utahan (a state that contains a dozen world-class ski resorts and training facilities for Olympic ski athletes) I should at least learn how to ski. Skiing is one of Utah’s largest tourist industries and we have some of the most amazing snow in the world in our mountains. After living here for 27 years I should at least attempt to be native-like, right?
Last week, Erin generously invited to take me to Solitude with her extra lift pass and when she volunteered to teach me how to ski as one of her New Things (she’s never taught someone before) I jumped at the chance to try it out. I borrowed some ski equipment (Thank you Ashley!!) and we headed up to Solitude in Big Cottonwood Canyon, about 30 minutes from Salt Lake City. It wasn’t until we were half-way up the mountain that Erin, a local journalist, mentioned she would be writing about the experience for her weekly outdoor column. Um, what? Suddenly I felt very nervous. What if I sucked? What if I was a wuss? What if there was no possible way I would get off the bunny hill? What if I was a complete and total embarrassment and now it would be splashed across a newspaper and saved forever in the archives–with pictures!–to my utter humiliation and shame. My posterity would whisper about that time when I shamed the family name with my marked inability to make it down a hill on skis. I would be outcast. I would…..I would just have to prove all my inner doubts wrong.
The good news is that I picked up skiing relatively easy. Sure, I took my tumbles, a LOT of tumbles–two days later and I am still feeling awfully sore and achey–but I was off the bunny hill by 9:45 am (the resort opens at 9:00) and by 2:00 I successfully made it down a blue run without falling (the easiest runs are green, then blue, then black diamond and double black diamonds). I feel the day was a success!
The other piece of good news is that Erin was incredibly kind in her column and the pictures she chose do not show me careening head over ski’s down the slope. Double Awesome. So, if you’d care to click over there and read all about my skiing debut, here’s the link again. (If you choose not to click over there, we can still be friends. But friends who do not read friend’s debut’s in newspapers are somehow relegated to second tier friendship. It’s in The Rules. Somewhere.)
Very few people would ever peg me for the “Outdoorsy” type. In fact, I don’t think anyone has ever volunteered the statement (or any derivative of) “wow heidikins, you just seem like an outdoorsy person.” It doesn’t happen. I’m sure the 4″ heels throw most people off. So it may come as a bit of a surprise to you (and myself, let’s be honest) that I spent my weekend being all outdoorsy and stuff. As in, I went backpacking. On snowshoes. In three feet of fresh powder. And I spent the night in a yurt.
That’s correct, a yurt.
What is a yurt? Well, the short story is that it’s the Mongolian/Central Asian version of a teepee. It’s a biggish tent-thing with wooden supports that can be folded up and moved fairly quickly.
This yurt was about 25 feet across with a wood floor and lattice-and-canvas walls. There was a wood-burning stove, a propane stove to heat water and some shelving. Additionally, there were four bunk beds that held sixteen people and a few extras slept on the floor.
It was a bit of a tight fit, but awesome all the same. The not-awesome part was the fact that it was freezing cold and a middle-of-the-night pee trip required coppin’-a-squat next to a tree a few hundred yards from the yurt in three feet of fresh snow. It was cold, yo. Really cold.
I’m actually getting ahead of myself. Let me tell you a bit more about the actual getting to said yurt. Our group left Salt Lake City at 6:45 pm on Friday night. We had about an hour-and-a-half drive up into the mountains before we could hike into our camp spot. By the time we got to the parking lot, loaded up our gear and strapped on snowshoes it was almost 9:00 pm. (This means it was really dark and really cold…I am unashamedly fishing for sympathy.) Hiking a mile and a half in the dark, in the snow, in the cold was both the hardest and most awesome part of this trip. We all had either headlamps of flashlights so we could see, but the moment when we turned everything off and just looked at the stars was, without question, one of the most amazing things I’ve ever seen. The stars! There were millions of them!
[Pause to think of the blackest sky possible, smother it with twinkly white stars, framed my a mountain meadow of fresh, untouched snow and tall pine trees....beautiful, right? Now multiply it by a hundred to start to see how it was to actually be there taking it all in.]
…And then the hiking continued. It was so cold that my hair actually froze. My legs ached–even in snowshoes I was sinking almost to my knees in the fresh powder. My back ached from my pack (I’m not used to carrying my bed, my snacks, my water and my toothbrush on my back. That stuff can get heavy!).
When we got to the yurt we had to shovel/scrape away the snow to open the door. And inside was just as cold as outside, only now we weren’t traipsing about carrying all the heavy stuff. We were standing around watching steam come off of our backs and shoulders and heads. It took a few hours before the little wood-burning stove generated enough heat to make things comfortable. Until then, we bundled up, had some dinner, and huddled together to stay warm. Luckily, my brother-in-law (the one who can be described as “outdoorsy”) set me up with a really great sleeping bag and sleeping pad. I was warm and snuggly all night long, even though I was sleeping on a big slab of plywood. A million thanks, S., for keeping me toasty!!
Those are my pretty, new snowshoes.
The next morning after breakfast and cleaning up, it was time to play. Snowshoe races, snowshoe angels, snowshoe hikes…the weather was gorgeous and warm. Well, warm-ish; no more frozen hair.
After a few hours, it was time to strap on our backpacks and head back home.
This was one of the better weekends I’ve had in a really long time. And I’m actually hoping to get another in before the snow is gone for the year, so if you’re in the area, are not a psycho, and would like to spend a night in a yurt, let me know. We could maybe work something out.
Filed under: Utah: Life Elevated
West Side of Timpanogos, Utah County, Utah
It is a well established fact that Utah is a snowy state, take a peek out my window if you think otherwise. Sure, there are tons of deserts and gorgeous red-rock scenery and lots of hundred-degree days during the summer, but in the winter? It’s cold, yo.
Sundance Ski Resort, Provo Canyon, Utah
I am not here to complain about the weather, I used to be one of those “I hate the snow and the cold and the ick!” people, but in the last year or so I have become more in the “Snow is okay, as long as I can still breathe, am warm and snuggly, and don’t get caught in bad snow-traffic” types. I don’t mind snow any more. I have a snuggly coat, lots of scarves and gloves, I even ventured to purchase my first pair of snow boots. Not a chic leather flat to wear with tights a la The Sundance Film Festival, I’m talking about serious snow-worthy footwear here. To my credit–like I ever need to justify buying new shoes–I have never owned snow boots and with my new-found-love for snowy outdoors I felt it was time to invest.
Besides, I had a date with Andrea to go snow-shoeing. And a girl just can’t go snow-shoeing without the proper footwear. So, boots were purchased, snow shoes were rented, additional snow gear was borrowed (thanks Pink Suede Shoe), and Andrea & I set out on our adventure.
Big Cottonwood Canyon, Utah (photo credit: Andrea)
Turns out, snow shoeing is just hiking in the snow. We had a blast. The weather was perfect, the snow was powdery, and the few times we got lost turned out to be alright as well. (We weren’t Lost Lost, just a little disoriented. Lots of people around meant we would not have frozen to death or anything scary like that.)
This is something I will be doing again and again, I even am thinking of purchasing my own snow-shoes in the End of Season sales. Do you snow shoe? Ski? Snow board? Snow mobile? Enjoy the frosty flakiness from the comfort of your living room with a steaming cup of cocoa?
Big Cottonwood Canyon, Utah (photo credit: Andrea)
