Strange stone curiosities in the deserts of the American Southwest.
Last night I bought a six pack of Goose Island IPA and drank 3 of them in a Walmart parking lot just outside of Zion National Park. Vince Neil Emerson has a song that I like a lot called “ Willie Nelson’s Wall “ and suddenly a lyric from it reminded me of me, and despite that lyric perhaps not being flattering, I was pleased.
I left beautiful Boulder Beach Campground at Lake Mead on March 8 after almost two weeks. I had no idea where I was going when I woke up except approximately east — I’ve begun to head back towards home in Minnesota after having left on Jan. 4, with plans to be home in early April.
On the map there was a park called Valley of Fire northeast of Vegas, so I headed there, because if something is called Valley of Fire, you go. I wasn’t disappointed. It’s a state park, but it was booked up so I spent the day driving through, stopping for short hikes at almost every turnout. The park is set up perfectly for this.
The landscape is rain and wind-worn stone of reds and pinks, orange and yellows, and even occasional hints of electric blue. Nature and land and time are absolutely wild. The wind and the rain and the sun are the brushes of a humble artist who asks for so little in return but awe and respect, and here stone is the medium, time the canvas.
Bizarre shapes lean against the sky at every turn and provide the perfect traction for hiking and climbing. After 5 hours or so I was beat and I left the sun setting behind me and pulled off just outside the park to figure out my next move. I thought I’d head toward Sedona, but the temps were cooler than I’d expected, and though I had no hope of Zion having availability (it’s a popular park), a quick check of the reservation system said they did, so I headed northeast again. In the span of about 160 miles I passed from Nevada, to Arizona, to Utah, but rather than head the last 20 miles into the park in the dark, I did a free night at Walmart. It’s a well-known fact that Walmart allows RVs and so I wasn’t alone, with perhaps half a dozen other campers taking advantage. In the morning I spent $90 in the store on supplies, so you can see why they do it.
But as I was having my beers I tried to book a spot in Zion, only to find that while the website showed availability, when you actually tried to book a site, it wouldn’t allow it. I called in the morning and everything was booked, no explanation for why the website wasn’t functioning correctly. I was bummed but there’s no shortage of parks in the area, so I headed toward Vermilion Cliffs National Monument which abuts Grand Staircase-Escalante National Monument, with Utah getting most of the latter.
Heading past the outskirts of Zion you see these huge plateaus rising from the ground in the distance, like ocean liners moored in a land that lost its oceans, some seemingly topped with ramparts, the remnants of abandoned castles from a war long forgotten. I found a remote campground with about 8 spots two miles down a gravel road for $6 a night. The only amenities are fire rings and pit toilets, but since I have solar power and I filled up with water before I left Mead, that’s all I need. My site is right up against a massive curved rock, smooth like the head of a giant surfacing whale of pink and yellow and white stone. I’ll stay here this week and work.
I’m just a few miles from Lake Powell, the other main water supply of the west, dammed by the Glen Canyon Dam, almost as monstrous as Hoover. There are hikes all around, and today I did a quick one called the Toadstool Hoodoos and saw my first ever hoodoo, these weird stone phallic creatures that appear to rise from the ground with oversized heads and skinny bodies. Northeast of here 100 miles or so (300 by road) they call them goblins, as in Goblin Valley State Park, where there are many more of them.
My campground fortuitously happens to be the starting point for White House Trail, a 15 mile hike that backpackers will spend overnights on and day hikers will crush in 5–7 hours. I think I’ll try it, though 15 miles is definitely outside of my 46 year old, slightly overweight body’s wheelhouse at this point, although only my body’s wheelhouse. If I start the hike I’ll finish it no matter what. That’s just the way it goes. Once I start, I’ve never been able to turn around until it’s done.
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