Naked Southwest

Then we continued along 128, following the Colorado River into rugged rocky country for several miles until we found the perfect turn off to swim and bath. The bracing water flowed fast and muddy, but we managed to scrub up with the biodegradable soap and rinse off. Actually I was in and out as quickly as possible, eager to let the baking desert heat chase away the icy chill that had immediately dulled my mental functions to the minimal “I’m freezing… need heat” level. MHD, on the other hand, washed leisurely, splashed about and even swam against the current for fun. Convinced she was mad, I dressed and took a couple of pictures to just to prove I wasn’t imagining things.

We headed off to Arches where a ranger at the park entrance informed us that we could buy a park pass to hike around the arches, but there were no remaining vacancies in the campground. On our way to the trailhead, we decided to pull in and check anyway. As luck would have it, MHD charmed the campground attendant into securing for us what was quite likely the best campsite of all. Tucked into the sandy landscape amidst juniper and scrub we set up our tent with a $1,000,000 view of Utah’s spectacular Canyonlands.

Invigorated by our chilly swim and inspired by our good luck, we tightened our hiking boots, strapped on our cameras and as much water as we could comfortably haul, and set out to explore the stone arches. This is a magical place. Neither of us had been here before, though we ostensibly had been prepared for the natural splendor by reading Edward Abbey’s Desert Solitaire in the evenings before falling asleep.

I won’t try to capture in words what it is like to wander through this otherworldly environment. An attempt would appear hyperbolic and contrived. Even the exciting view of Delicate Arch in the distance had not initiated or anticipated the shift in scope and sensibility that we experienced as we wound our way through Devils Garden. I can’t begin to communicate what it’s like to stand under Landscape Arch wondering how much longer this graceful band of rock will resist gravity’s siren. I can’t convey the Zen-like calm and solitude of Navajo Arch or capture the spiritual and emotional clarity of a quasi-religious variety that swells within you while sitting in Partition Arch looking out over the vast, parched, wrinkled desert. One has to visit to know these sorts of places.

In the cool evening, we dined at our campsite, witnessing a singularly magnificent sunset while three van-fulls of college geology students set up camp and ate dinner on the other side of the ridge. We were disheartened to think that some four dozen raucous kids would compromise this sublime time and place. Our worries were unnecessary. They were quiet and respectful. We forgot they were even there despite the fact that we slept with the tent roof open, only a transparent screen separating us from the majestic star-filled sky.

We awoke to a world aflame in crimson, yellow, pink and orange; the sky and landscape painted in pigments more often associated with pomegranates, peaches, lipsticks and sport cars. “Oh that the desert were my dwelling place,” wrote Lord Byron. This audacious dawn will reside forever indelibly etched into my simple memory.

After breakfast we decamped quickly and headed off to Western River Expeditions to rendezvous with our guides and the other rafters. We all piled into a bus and rode up Scenic Byway 128, past the place we had swum and bathed the previous day which was roughly halfway to the bend in the Colorado River where we had our pre-river-run-instructional-briefing and “put in” as the rafting guides like to say.

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