Utah’s Mighty Five Parks: Stealing Beauty
The Mighty Five Parks of Utah
Two months in isolation—that’s what it’s been since we went shelter-in-place in Santa Fe. With states opening up this month, we decided it was high time to get out of the house and see America. Roxy and I have been all over the world, from Mongolia to Marrakesh, but for self proclaimed world travelers, we have seen very little of our beloved backyard—the southwest. It only took a little googling to discover that The “Mighty Five” parks of Utah are in driving distance, more or less operational, and a great way to be in nature. So, that’s where we set our sites for a 10-day trip.
Crested Butte, Colorado
We started from our home in Santa Fe, packing suitcases with clothes for every kind of adventure and two coolers full of provisions. Off we went in our SUV to “Hot Springs Heaven” a cabin we found on Airbnb so deep inside Colorado— even the mob couldn’t locate us. Situated off the grid somewhere between Salida and Gunnison, our home for three days was in a word remote. And like two renegades on the run from an invisible virus, we stayed in a cabin with no WIFI, no GPS, only 180 acres and incredibly hot natural springs.
Naturally Roxy and I were curious about the owners of the land, Jacqueline and Scott, a couple who live in a large wooden house, mere yards from our one room rented abode. They were always working, clearing land, building another structure, constructing a pond. We had been communicating with Jacqueline in the days leading up to our escape from Santa Fe. But it was Scott, Jacqueline’s can-do-everything handy hubby who had seen the property in the sixties at 10-years-old. Then, the springs were a landmark for the free love youth like him, and every winter he would hike up the hills of the property and ski down, later stripping off his clothes with his friends and jumping into the hot springs. As an adult his desire for the property only grew, and Scott would send a check to the owner to buy the property every Christmas only to be turned down. Then 9/11 happened and his offer was accepted. Scott was ecstatic and built a life which includes dozens of on-going projects with his angelic Jacqueline. When I asked her if she ever gets bored living in such an isolated place, she replied, “No, there’s always so much to do!”
The only time we left their land was to drive to Crested Butte, a charming ski town about thirty minutes away. We hiked the Lower Loop. We felt like Julie Andrews in “The Sound of Music” among the snowcapped mountains, rushing stream and fields of wild flowers. Afterwards, we had our first meal with table service. It felt strange, naughty and luxurious all at once. A gluten-free pizza with tomato-mozzarella-basil salad at The Brick Oven on the town’s main street proved to be the perfect post-hike combo. Having it served to us by a masked waiter with a distinctively laidback Colorado disposition made it taste even better.
The town of Crested Butte is frontier meets storybook. It looks so adorable you’d think it was a movie set. We walked from one end of Main Street to the other, stopping for ice cream and occasionally entering a retail store if there were no other shoppers. The owner of Chopped Wood Mercantile was very happy to see us. She let us know that one of the locals had gone to Wuhan, China in January and brought back the virus. It swept through the small town and now Crested Butte was basically COVID-19-free thanks to the vigilance of the community. Roxy bought a pair of pink Patagonia swim shorts with an alligator print and I got my first fanny pack since the ‘80s.
That night, we soaked in the lobster-pot-hot hot springs and made a stir-fry of chicken, broccoli and Miracle Noodles in our cabin’s kitchen. Sitting in front of the pond at dusk, we ate dinner and admired the mother goose and her new born goslings that had made the pond their home. Aspens bent in the wind and their fresh green leaves danced as the sun started setting. Chipmunks ate bird seed that had fallen from feeders as we cleaned our plates. It was all so peaceful and idyllic.
All this made it hard to leave “Hot Springs Heaven”, we felt safe there, away from people and the world, which was now exploding, not just with the virus, but with protests over George Floyd’s death and the senseless murder of an unarmed black man. An officer had put his knee on Mr. Floyd’s neck continuously for over 8 minutes and it was caught on video. The man said, “I can’t breathe” and pleaded for his mother. It was a wake-up call for the country which was a powder keg of combustible energy before this heinous and unforgivable crime.
Gateway Canyons, Colorado
As we traveled to Gateway Canyons, we listened to NPR and “The Daily” podcast from the New York Times to get first-hand accounts of what was unfolding, which was becoming more and more dramatic. In contrast, we were in the most peaceful place. At Gateway Canyons Resort & Spa, we found two loungers away from everyone and relaxed under an umbrella by the pool. The red rock, buttes and mesas rose around us. No one served us drinks or made our beds. We took our meals in our room or on a table in front of the restaurant. The food was classic southwest and beautifully created. From the perfect Huveos Rancheros in the morning to barbecue brisket, corn cakes and slaw for dinner and a mighty meaty smoked pork chop with mac and cheese, we were as satisfied as two cowboys at a chuck wagon.
We earned these vittles by Hiking the Dynamite Trail and riding horses at the hotel’s glorious ranch. And of course, the ride was led by a pretty cowgirl who once was a rodeo queen and married the boy next door at 19-years-of-age. A concept that Roxy later jokingly told me was “deeply upsetting” to her new found city-girl constitution. Oh but the romance of an 100 acre farm, 20 horses, and a man who undoubtably knows how to muck a stall. Only during a global pandemic could living so off the grid seem appealing to Roxy and me.
Arches National Park, Utah
All along this trip we met people with fascinating stories. Those that were the first to venture out of their shelters and others who never went into isolation. They all intersected in Utah where it feels unaffected by COVID-19 or the protests that raged on around the country—now escalating into a cacophony of conscience bursting at the seams-- revealing the brokenness of hearts and old guard systems that must be shattered and rebuilt if real change is going to happen--and we prayed it did. Roxy and I felt a sense of guilt during our social distancing road trip. It didn’t matter how many petitions we signed, charities we donated to, or black voices we supported. A piece of both of us wanted to be in LA or Albuquerque demanding positive change. However, we reckoned with it by connecting with nature— remembering that we weren’t fleeing this moment, instead, Roxy and I were taking space to grow and to think.
Nature, which is all around us here, reminds us how small we are. It humbles us with its majesty. It erodes and grows all at once with astonishing beauty and harmony. As we drove over the state line from Colorado to Utah, there was no fanfare. No “Welcome to Utah” sign. The single lane dirt highway that ran through John Brown Canyon from Gateway Canyon to Moab is nothing more than a series of pastures and ranches whizzing past against a backdrop of sculptured rock. It was there, on the side of the road, looking at that panorama that we pulled out our lunch. We ate gluten-free wraps stuffed with black forest ham, baby Swiss, arugula, spouts and sliced avocado smeared with mayo and Dijon mustard, each bite better than the one before. We washed it down with fruity bottled smoothies. With everything so perfect in that moment, we wanted to freeze the picture in our minds. The view. The car packed and ready to roll to the next adventure.
Turns out Moab is an odd one street town with a mish-mash of adventure companies and gift shops. Our hotel The Hoo Doo Hilton, which is brand new and ultra-modern seemed out of place, and we loved it. We cashed in our reward points and got two nights free, breakfast each day, and as it turns out, dinner on the house. Oh, the benefits of being Gold. Free. Free. Free.
We ate steak at the hotel’s restaurant-outside, we always eat outside- and fish and chips, too. To top it off, we had some frozen yogurt at Moyo, a local’s hangout. We put our masks on, grabbed a pair of gloves and dished up our own dessert. Delish. Over dinner and dessert, we looked at the eye-popping images we had captured at Arches National Park. Usually, you’d have to wait in line to snap those iconic red rock features, but because of COVID, we just hiked on up and only had to share the spot with a few travelers. During our exploration of the park, we listened to an audio tour that Roxy had downloaded on the iPhone. The guide told us about how the arches were formed and the difference between buttes, mesas, hoo doos, potholes and arches. The audio tour made it even more interesting.
After driving from view site to view site, getting out of the car and snapping pictures, we braved the two-hour hike to the iconic Delicate Arch—the one that appears on Utah’s license plates. It was just over 100 degrees as we hiked from Wolfe Ranch, the remains of an 1800’s cabin and corral, to the arch. Straight up slick rock we marched passing hysterical children being dragged by their parents and hatless flip-flop wearing teenagers ill prepared for the vertical terrain and beating sun.
After several switch backs, we came around the corner to see our treasure. She was the arch of arches and with few people around, she was ours. We snapped away and had a couple take a shot of us from their iPhone and airdrop it to us (the new protocol in the Pandemic age). As we scooped up our last couple of spoonfuls of our post-hike yogurt, we marveled at the images. The climb, as grueling as it was turned out to be so worth it.
Canyonlands National Park, Utah
6am came too soon, but we rallied, for a full day of fun. We had to be at Adrift Adventures at 7am to meet our private guide who would take us into the backroads of Canyonlands. Mark greeted us in a mask and took our temperatures. We told him that we had no symptoms and signed wavers. Then it was off in his brand new immaculately clean Jeep Wrangler.
Mark is from Pennsylvania and grew up on a farm, which he still owns. He was also a car salesman back in the day and left it all to marry a park ranger who loves the great outdoors as much as he does. They climbed up to Delicate Arch to take pictures in their wedding clothes after they were married, a concept that was both terrifying and awe inspiring to Roxy and me, given that we had barely made it in full sweat wicking regalia the day before. Alas, Mark’s wife was in a white wedding dress and he in a tux with cowboy boots—clearly they were made of tougher stuff than Roxy and me.
Mark showed us the salt mine that’s right outside the park and drove us along the treacherous backroads inside Canyonlands which the salt company once used for transport. The experience was akin to an episode of Ice Road Truckers without the ice, Roxy and I felt like we’d fall right off the cliff. That would be that. Living on the edge, we loved the bumpy ride, seeing dinosaur remains, the place where Thelma and Louise drove off into the “Grand Canyon” and the butte that Tom Cruise climbed in Mission Impossible 2. We learned that everything in Moab is special, like ancient Native American petroglyphs scratched out right next to the highway. This is by design we found out, as Canyonlands was originally supposed to be much larger, butting up to Moab and Arches, encompassing even more beautiful dessert scenery.
In the afternoon, we met Levi, who also grew up on a farm, but in Kansas. Unconventionally handsome, Levi was tall, muscular, his deeply tanned arms covered in black tattoos. A Hermit tarot card runs the full length of his upper left arm—he’s a “river daddy” Roxy jokingly told me. “They’re usually found in Colorado, but a scant few make their way to Utah, Arizona, New Mexico.” A sociable loner, he kept up the conversation and action on the Colorado River as we rafted. “We could flip here. Is everyone ready?” “Sure!,” we shouted. His command of the paddles so able we felt only a belly flop, never a flip over the deep swells.
Beaching for lunch COVID-style meant that we were served by the other guides sandwiches made to order while Levi played music—a medley of songs concerning the river. Clearly, she was his lady. After a huge day of experiencing Canyonlands from both land and river, we showered, scrubbing the red dust off our sunburned skin and walked to Moab’s Main Street in search of outdoor dining. Pasta Jay’s, a locals-loved Italian joint with red checkered table clothes, and a generous outdoor terrace fit the bill. We devoured a crunchy antipasto salad with creamy thick Italian dressing followed by Chicken Parmesan crunchy around the edges and all cheesy. Mama Mia!
Zion National Park, Utah
The next day we drove 7+ hours to Zion, rewarding ourselves with a solitary float down the Virgin River on inflatable tubes. We were outfitted by Zion Tubing, an operation run by two enterprising young men out of a shack on the side of the road. I don’t know if we’ve ever felt such joy. Like two little campers, we sang songs spinning though the gentle rapids. We were ready for dinner and a good view of the gorge and got both, supersized, at the River Rock Roasting Co., before turning into our glamping situation at Under Canvas. Our king size bed with down comforter and pillows felt like a cloud inside our rustic chic tent. We watched the full moon rise above the mountains through the insect-proof net covering the entrance to our tent. Roughing it was never so elegant.
Zion National Park has good vibes. You can feel the energy as you look at these Rocks of Ages. They nestle you and protect you. From Watchmen to Angel’s Landing, we marveled at the miracle that is Zion. We tackled three hikes in one day—the last one a paved road that led to the world famous Narrows, a water hike through a slot canyon. We decided not to brave it since there was a flash flood warning in effect (The irony of dying hiking during a pandemic was not lost on us). To get to each of these hikes, we shuttled with Zion Adventure Co. run by Rick and Michelle, a lovely couple from back east. Normally you can shuttle to each trail with the National Park Service, but due to COVID-19, the busses were grounded. What to do with only 100 parking spaces inside the park? Private shuttle is the ticket. To keep our shuttle experience safe, we all wore masks and drove with the windows down, never missing an opportunity to Purell up.
As we walked back from the river path to meet our van, we encountered professional beggars in the form of squirrels so desperate for human snacks they stood on their hind legs looking you straight in the eye as if to say, “Give me your Doritos.” It was disconcerting to see. Signs were posted everywhere saying “Don’t Feed The Animals.” We obeyed, but it wasn’t easy to defy these tricksters who went as far as climbing on an elderly man whose grandchildren were squealing with delight seeing the menacing creature crawling all over grandpa.
With Jell-O legs we climbed into the van and asked Michelle where to have a tasty COVID-safe meal. She recommended “Bit and Spur,” which proved to be a magical spot on a sprawling lawn with mule deer roaming between the socially distanced tables. The margaritas and Mexican food hit the spot.
Bryce Canyon, Utah
With mango-butternut squash smoothies in hand from Café Soleil in Springdale, we headed to Bryce Canyon in the early morning. Our route took us through Zion which we hated saying goodbye to. We would put it up there with Big Sur, Sedona and our beloved Santa Fe for positive spiritual energy. And then it appeared before us, the sculpted beauty of Bryce with its Hoo Doos. The rock formations were something out of a sci-fi movie, so disconcerting and strange to the eye that Ancient Native Americans refused to enter Bryce, making it a playground for early settlers and outlaws alike. The Rock formations of yellow and orange sand stone are best seen on foot or on horseback.
Only two hours from Zion, and another planet, the terrain had been carved by rain, wind and time. We booked a 2 o’clock trail ride. Unlike the fine animals at Gateway Canyons with their fancy tack, these were simple geldings, mares and yes, mules. My horse was named Stingray and, although a purebred Palomino, he was as stubborn as a mule. Roxy’s horse was named Stumpy and she was affronted to be assigned to him. Small in stature, slow in speed. Nevertheless, we enjoyed the ride taking in the breathtaking views of Queen’s Garden and other otherworldly formations. After a brief rest we took the short drive and walk to the Tropic Waterfall and Mossy Cave. Dinner at the aptly named Pizza Place was satisfying. Our last day of touring the Mighty 5 took us back to Bryce for one last hike of Queen’s Trail and Navajo Loop—not to be missed. At 8 o’clock in the morning, we had the park to ourselves and felt like we were stealing beauty.
Capital Reef National Park, Utah
We weren’t supposed to make it to Capital Reef, Utah’s least visited national park. It’s small, it’s out of the way, and generally lacks the cache of the other parks. Known for its red rocks and vibrantly contrasting green grass and trees, Roxy and I couldn’t resist driving through once we saw the sign. The visit was brief: we toured a few vistas but we felt that was enough, for the time being. There’s always more to do next time and with international travel cut off for now, there will be plenty of time to continue to visit the great southwest.
It’s been three weeks since we’ve been home from Utah. We were extremely lucky to travel early as the parks were just opening and the amount of tourists were blessedly limited. However, as the country begins to reopen, parks are becoming more and more crowded. If you live in the west, visiting the parks of Utah is an excellent road trip idea, but be aware of crowd levels. During our trip we always wore masks inside and kept our six feet distance from others, ate all meals outside and practiced frequent hand-washing. Upon returning home we quarantined until we received negative COVID-19 test results. Roxy and I highly recommend getting off the beaten path at these parks, like we were able to do off-roading with Mark. We were deeply privileged to take time to connect and find ourselves in nature during this turbulent time in our country’s history. Between stops, we spent time educating ourselves and supporting organizations making positive change.
Podcasts we listened too:
The Atlantic’s Floodlines
Larry Wilmore’s Black on the Air
New York Time’s The Daily
New York Time’s 1619
