We flew back to Phoenix to suffocating 100ºF weather and booked it north as soon as we’d picked up the car from the park-and-fly. This place is decidedly unfit for human life and it amazes me that so many people have chosen to live here. It’s pure madness. Chérie! was waiting for us in an RV storage lot near Flagstaff and by the time we’d picked her up, found a decent and not overly crowded place to wild camp, and had a very late dinner, we were completely wiped out. I had hoped to see my friends again before we drove to the Grand Canyon, but even after a night of dead sleep we didn’t have it in us to rally. In the morning we ran errands to prepare for the next leg of our journey and lunchtime saw us pulling into the empty lot of Kendrick Park a few miles north to eat and rest.
Our quick planned rest turned into a 2-hour nap for me and when we were finally ready to continue towards a campsite, our car wouldn’t start. Luckily, a gentleman in the lot had cables and gave us a jump, so we could be on our way. We’re not sure what happened, since the battery is only 3 months old, but we haven’t had any problems since. There are a bunch of wild camping spots along the route between Flagstaff and the south rim of Grand Canyon NP, so we pulled into one a few miles away just around sunset. When we got out of the car we heard a deep, dull lowing sound and Honey asked me, “What is that?” Not having any idea that cattle might be around I said, “Elk?” A few seconds later the giant bull in the above photo made his appearance about 20 yards away. Alarmed, Honey asked, “Is he on this side of the fence?!” My vision isn’t great, and the lighting at that time of day can easily play tricks between on the eyes, so I answered, “I don’t think so. I’m sure he’s across the road. Let’s set up camp and get dinner going.”
Never one to be lightly reassured, Honey engaged in a fierce staring contest with Mr. Bull, who, with his surly countenance, gladly met said challenge and started making his way towards us. He was definitely on our side of the road and he was definitely coming much much closer! “Get in the car!” yelled Honey as he clambered in himself and shut his door. I calmly closed the door to the camper and joined him as he sat alert, ready to drive off at a moment’s notice. “He’s not going to charge us,” I said as Mr. Bull came closer. He paused just in front of the car, looked at us through the windshield and started lowing and scratching his head against a low-growing bush. We watched his leisurely stroll across the campsite until he disappeared into a patch of juniper. Once the coast was clear, we drove off in search of another spot. Both of us were in need of a truly restful night, and the threat of wandering cattle were sure to keep at least one of us awake if we stayed there.
We made our way to the south rim of the Grand Canyon in the morning and booked one night in a first come first served spot. Unlike other FF campgrounds, you can’t book several nights in a row even if you get a spot, so we would have to return the next morning to reserve for the next night if we wanted to stay longer. Since Honey couldn’t do any real hiking and even the rim walk between the Bright Angel lodge and the Geology museum was hard on his foot, the one night was more than enough. We were lucky that it wasn’t exceedingly crowded, but we both felt that the experience left something to be desired.
When I was last here eight years ago, my friend led me on the longest and hardest hike of my life down the South Kaibab trail to Phantom Ranch and then back up the Bright Angel trail. Some 20-odd miles and one vertical mile each way. Being inside the canyon, below the rim, among the strata and colors and majestic vastness of it is a completely different experience than standing at an overlook. My memories of that hike marked me deeply and I’ll always be grateful to have done it with someone who knew the canyon so well, and had spent time building and maintaining the trails that countless people use to experience this incredible place. The end of that hike left a particularly strong impression: one vertical mile of switchbacks where every five steps, I stopped and cried from exhaustion, my borrowed boots growing heavier with each inch gained on the trail. We made it past the rim just after sunset and I folded over in relief that the experience-turned-ordeal was over at last.
I didn’t want to repeat that experience with Honey, but we would have liked to hike part of the way down, or maybe even all of the way down to the Colorado River, have a picnic lunch and then hike back up. It wouldn’t have been 20 miles, but it would have been the sort of hike we’ve been gearing up to in our past three months of travel. His injury meant we had to make do without. That isn’t to say the Grand Canyon is overrated—it’s definitely something to see if you have the chance—but a more immersive experience, whether on foot, or on mule back, gives you a better perspective to absorb the experience. To console ourselves, we hitched a ride back to our car with the free shuttles and crushed a pint of overpriced ice cream from one of the park grocery stores.
The next day we drove the long stretch of two-lane highway that edges along the east side of the canyon. Much of this road takes you through the bare desert expanse of Navajo Nation, where shacks and mobile homes sit next to giant water tanks and a few ponies huddle in dusty corrals. Plywood stalls line pullouts along the highway advertising Indian1 crafts and jewelry. Most of the stalls were empty of both wares and vendors and we wondered if it was due to the time (we got an early start), or because people were still wary of Covid. Native peoples were very hard hit given the high rates of diabetes, obesity and poor access to good healthcare in those communities, and many tribes sealed themselves off to protect their most vulnerable.
There are so many ways this country continues to fail Native Peoples. One of the most striking to me is that in 2022, most of the people living on the Navajo reservation don’t have running water, in glaring contrast to Page, AZ where an emerald green golf course lines the main road. It sickened me to witness this abhorrent waste of water in one community when their neighbors to the south are still reliant on ordering trucks of water, or buying it by the gallon jug at the nearest Walmart. How fucked up is our society when watering grass is more important than getting public water to an impoverished community? I find this sort of thing absolutely intolerable, especially given the historical and continual injustice visited upon Native communities. I don’t believe in taking on historical burdens that don’t belong to me, but there are many things we could be doing to improve the circumstances and living conditions for people on these reservations. There are many ways to step up for our fellow humans without acting the savior or carrying excessive notions of white guilt.
Our first night after crossing into Utah, we spent at the edge of the Kanab reservoir among birdcall and the swishing song of reeds. I hadn’t had any luck getting a campsite in Zion NP and with the weekend to kill (because what kind of lunatic goes to one of the most popular national parks on a weekend when they can avoid it?) we had a couple of days of wild camping in which to explore this southern stretch of beautiful Utah desert. The reservoir has a great paved trail going all the way around the lake and in the morning, Honey busted out his skateboard and headed off into the sunshine. I stayed in camp with Goya researching campsites and hiking trails in the area.
We let the heat of the day pass over us and then drove a few miles north of town to the sand caves where we trudged through a mile or so of loose sand before scrambling up a slanted rock face. Our new hiking sandals have great grip and we enjoyed breaking them in on this hike. The wall leading into the cave is covered in names and symbols from people marking their passage to this landmark. The inside of the caves are the same, “graffiti”—for lack of a better word—etched into the compacted sand walls and smoke stained ceiling. What is it about humans that we feel the need to leave a mark to say, “We were here”? The sand on the cave floor was deep and cool, littered with small bits of charcoal from whatever people carved out and camped in this place. As our first taste of this state, both of us were stunned by the colors and the vibrant striations of mineral surrounding us at every turn.
Monday morning saw us driving bright and early through the incredible white and red sandstone landscape of Zion. We had to park in an RV lot on the opposite side of the park in order to take the shuttle to the hike we had picked out for that morning. Even with our early start, the parking lot was nearly full and we were lucky to grab one of the last free spaces, wedging our little Casita in between two behemoth trailers. We always get a kick out of how ridiculously small our 16’ camper looks next to these giant mobile apartments people travel in. Unfortunately, the lot was in full sun, which meant we couldn’t leave Goya in the camper and since we couldn’t take her with us on the shuttle, we had to reevaluate the day’s plans. The Watchman Trail trailhead started from where we were and with a very respectable three miles there and back, we stretched our legs and got a great view of the western valley leading into the park.
Afterwards, we liberated our parking spot to a waiting van and threaded our way back east along the twists and turns of the winding road, looking for a shady spot to stop for lunch and rest. We had picked out another hike on the route that would take us through a canyon past a petroglyph wall and we needed to get as close to the trailhead as we could with the camper. Several switchbacks later, we found a pullout and some great slanted rocks under a pine tree to recline on. Goya was unsatisfied with the set up and clamored for a more comfortable bed. The queen always gets her way!
From where we parked we could either walk along the road to the trailhead, or make our way through a wash that connected to the trail further down. We did a bit of both, walking through a slot canyon—Honey was thrilled!—and scampering up the iconic wavelike mounds that fill the park. We came out onto the road near the trailhead and then had to duck back below an underpass to hit the actual trail. We followed it to the petroglyph wall and beyond, all the way up into a blind white and orange canyon with stunning views. It continues to amaze us how such sparse and inhospitable landscapes can be so profoundly moving, so breathtakingly beautiful. You would think there would be some natural aversion to places that are so harsh and demanding of the species that inhabit them, but instead, we’re filled with admiration and inspired by their tenacity and resilience.
From Zion we backtracked east for the first time since staring this voyage, following Highway 89 through fertile plains towards Bryce Canyon. On the way, we stopped at a small farm store in Orderville where we picked up raw yoghurt, fresh eggs, spring greens and some local free-range beef. We do the bulk of our grocery shopping in big box stores, but when we can, we like to buy food from local producers wherever we happen to be. In Texas and New Mexico we bought deeply flavorful beef and pork. In Arizona it was fresh baked bread, soft goat cheese, and a giant bag of oranges. Looking at the map of producers in Utah, and seeing the livestock grazing in spring green fields I think we’ll be in for quite a treat.
We camped at Red Canyon, in a first come first served campground that was nearly empty. When I asked the hosts about this (we were frankly shocked, given how busy other campgrounds have been), they said things were crazy before Memorial Day, but had calmed down significantly since. We’ve started to wonder how gas prices are going to affect people’s summer travel since they keep climbing to newfound heights (gas was $5.21 in Bryce yesterday!). If we weren’t already on the road and still unsure of where to set our roots down, we probably would not have undertaken this sort of trip at this time. Since we left Florida, we’ve put 8,500 miles on the odometer. For much of that, gas was between $3-$4, but it’s been in the high fours for the past few weeks in Arizona. Phoenix was the first place we saw it over $5, and southern Utah has matched that. We would like to keep going west all the way to the Pacific coast, but with a limited budget, we’re having to reconsider our itinerary.
Our campsite at Red Canyon was cool enough in the morning to leave Goya to her favorite pastime (lounging) and spend the mornings hiking. On our first day we did a big loop in Bryce Canyon NP, gazing in wonder at the hoodoos and bright colors around us. Our legs were feeling the effort after our two hikes in Zion the day before, but it was exhilarating to climb up to one spectacular view after another in Bryce. Each new angle, or viewpoint offered some new perspective on the intricate web of weathered sandstone below us and we felt a deep sense of gratitude that someone in the American past had the foresight to protect some of these incredible lands. One of the more interesting criticisms of the environmental movement, argues that rather than push people to consider the need to preserve and protect the environment out of necessity, we should be doing it out of love. Charles Eisenstein, one of my favorite essay writers, and the author of said criticism, lays this out beautifully in his essay The Spirituality of ________.
The climate change issue is a gateway to truths about the human condition that hold whether or not you accept the dominant climate change narrative. The first of these is: What we do to the world, we do to ourselves. Self and other, humanity and nature are not separate. We may not die if the Amazon dies, but surely something within us dies, something precious, something sacred.
My main message to the environmental movement is to shift the narrative away from our own destruction. From “Change or we won’t survive,” to “Change or we will continue to lose what is beautiful and sacred.” It is a shift into love.
We shouldn’t protect the environment because we need it to survive—humans are so short-sighted and such short-term thinkers that we’ll say (and do say), “Might as well enjoy it while I can.” If something is worth protecting because it’s beautiful, or it procures us pleasure, that is something we can get behind because it inspires us to see beyond ourselves and our immediate experience and plays on our need to share and build communities of understanding. At our most basic level, we are pleasure-seekers, not utilitarians and if we want to inspire people to act, sense experience is much more transcendent and powerful than a focus on guilt or duty.
From Red Canyon, we followed Highway 12 east and north through Escalante, up into the high alpine environment of Boulder Mountain in the Dixie National Forest. A friend had recommended Escalante and when we drove through the town of small shacks and dusty corrals set in a narrow plain between striated cliffs, we thought, “Hunh. What is there to go on about?” Disappointed that we didn’t see the charm my friend spoke of, we continued down the road a bit. As we left the town and rounded a bend, a magical scene of gentle white and red sandstone slopes opened up before us, getting darker and redder as we entered the canyon. Then Honey and I looked at each other and went, “Ohhhhhhh!” This is what he was talking about!
Following the Escalante River through the jagged red canyon contrasted with bright green cottonwood trees was delightful. There is a tiny 13-site campground nestled along the river that we hoped to camp at, but the only two sites left when we arrived were in full sun all day, and with temperatures in the 90’s, our 27-year old fridge can’t handle that kind of heat, as we discovered when we camped at Big Bend NP, TX. We reluctantly continued our route, aiming for higher ground. In the distance, we could see bright patches of green against the darker color of conifers marching up the mountains ahead. As we drew nearer, we spotted our first stands of aspen, and the low growth of a healthy forest understory. Delighted by the change of scenery, we pulled into the sweetest little campground and picked out a spot. Good trees to set up a hammock. The rushing sound of water in the creek. Dappled sunlight throughout the day. What more could you want for a place to camp in the woods?
I know, I know, terribly unPC of me, but it’s the term listed on all of the signage we passed, whether it was hand-painted or printed on an official business sign. Since it remains common enough practice out here, I’m inclined to do as the locals do.
Absolutely gorgeous. <3