By Fyllis Hockman
Driving along a winding, narrow cliff, a 1,300-foot drop on the driver's side, I clung to my heart with the rest of me halfway out the passenger-side window.
Hiking slick rock at a seemingly 90-degree angle, I came to a visual wonder and understood why so many make the climb.
Gaping at high cliff walls adorned with sharp pinnacles leaping skyward, it looked like the earth had been splashed with multihued red dyes, all running together.
Such is life among the five national parks of southern Utah, an especially appealing visit now that their government shutdown is over and there is plenty of room for social distancing. Arches, Canyonlands, Capitol Reef, Bryce and Zion share many commonalities, including uncompromising splendor, history of both the earth and the country, and a sense of personal sanctuary. And then there are their differences.
These five mystical worlds have been created over millions of years by the movement of the earth, water and wind, rain and draught, freezes and thaws and, especially erosion. After more than 150 million years, they are still works in progress.
Aptly named Arches National Park is a mecca of some of nature's most intriguing creations — architectural designs that span space and confound logic for which no man-made blueprint was ever drawn. With more than 900 such structures, it boasts the largest concentration of naturally occurring arches in the world.
The trail to Delicate Arch, one of its most famous, is anything but. "Arduous" is the more apt term for the mostly uphill climb over slick rock. By the time I neared the top I was prepared to trip the next person heading down who said, "Oh, but it's worth it."
Still, after rounding the final obstacle, the only word that emerged with what I was sure was my final breath, was "Wow." Leaving Delicate Arch, I was able to focus on the beauty of the surroundings. Going up, I could concentrate only on putting one foot in front of the other.
Nearby Canyonlands requires a four-wheel drive vehicle — preferably with a driver. At 6,000 feet the view from Island in the Sky looks down at cliffs 2,000 feet tall that arise out of a magnificently gouged and painted landscape.
The panorama at Grandview Point is unequaled in terms of sheer expanse, providing a broad view over the entire park, stretching across countless canyons and beyond. Indeed, Canyonlands is a series of spectacular views strung across hundreds of miles of remote wilderness.
Shafer Trail, a dirt road that is rough in some spots, very rough in others, is bordered on one side by perpendicular cliffs; on the other is the afore-mentioned sheer 1,300-foot drop. Riding along the very narrow, bumpy ledge I found myself leaning far to the right in the hopes of influencing the car farther in that direction. Bouncing up and down and rocking side to side 2,000 feet above any sane person's comfort level for four hours, you can lose several pounds without ever leaving the car. A plus, as I saw it.
Although geologic history is stressed in every park, at Capitol Reef — ranging from 80 to 270 million years old — this is what defines it. A stroll along the Grand Wash River bed nearby, so narrow in parts you can touch both canyon walls at the same time, evoked old Western film images of the lonely cowboy out on the trail. This is Butch Cassidy country. He used to ride along this same stream bed (though it had water in it then) and hide among the cavernous cliffs overhead, now called — not surprisingly — Cassidy Arch.
Bryce Canyon is synonymous with hoodoos — phantasmagorical images emerging from weird and wonderful rock formations. There are thousands of the little (and not so little) guys in all shapes, colors and sizes. The park's unique rain and ice patterns sculpt these fanciful spires of rusted limestone. This is erosion at its most imaginative. More than geologic oddities, hoodoos are said to cast a magical spell on all who return their stony gaze.
The color-intense view from Aqua Canyon — coppers, ochres and vermillion vying with oranges and magentas — challenges the most expensive of cameras or cell phones to reproduce it accurately.
At the other parks, your line of sight extends out toward the horizon as well as down into the canyons. At Zion you look straight up. Some of the tallest cliffs in the world flank you on either side, meeting the sky at a point that strains both the neck and the imagination.
Water is an anomaly here, in contrast to the harsh draught of the other parks. The soft-running Virgin River is responsible for creating the huge rock gorges that encircle the park, and it took only it 5 million to16 million years to do so. Viewing options here are more underlooks than overlooks. Zion is the park for anyone afraid of heights.
Visitors can start in Zion and head north for increasingly spectacular views or begin at Arches and drive south to save the best for last, as many consider Zion to be. Either way, it is impossible not to be enthralled by the unimaginable replay of expansive beauty and scenic motifs that present themselves in so many different ways from one park to the other.
WHEN YOU GO
For more information:www.visitutah.com
Fyllis Hockman is a freelance writer. To read features by other Creators Syndicate writers and cartoonists, visit the Creators Syndicate website at www.creators.com.
Delicate Arch in Utah's Arches National Park is actually large and magnificent. Photo courtesy of the National Park System.
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