Petrified Forest National Park

The Petrified Forest is most surprising National Park I’ve visited yet. Below is the story of how I was forced to crawl to my car, made completely false assumptions about what I was seeing, realized I was wrong, and how the experience is making me reflect on my life more broadly. Read on below…

I was tired when I got to this park and the weather was awful. It was clear storms were near and as I entered my car was shaking the winds were so strong. Though it wasn’t raining yet, the wind alone made being outside feel like I was one of those weather reporters you see on TV giving the live updates on a nearing tropical storm as their clothes flap about this way and that. At one point when I opened my car door the door leapt out of my hand and slammed open the rest of the way so violently I was afraid it’d rip off. Later, determined to push ahead no matter what, I decided I’d go on a short 1 mile hike. I only got about 500 feet from my car. Afraid I would fall over, I had to drop to the ground and (literally!) crawl back to my car.

Despite that - the park was full of surprises - for instance, despite the name “Forest” in the title - it is in the middle of an arid desert. I saw only a handful of live trees in this entire park. The park covers 260 square miles, with a single 30 mile road running through it. There is almost no available hiking. And despite the name “Petrified Forest” - you don’t see a single petrified log until you are past halfway through the the drive. I drove through in about an hour (including stops).

I stopped at the museum at the end of the 30 mile road mostly because I had to use the bathroom. But - wow - am I ever glad I did! After spending 40 minutes in the musuem, I finally realized what I’d been looking at and got to see the petrified wood up close. The painted desert isn’t just “neat looking” - it is a visual record of our geological history, choke full of fossils of flora and fauna. Moreover, the different colors in the hills aren’t just beautiful - each layer is a record of MILLIONS of years of history. And the “scattered rocks” above the sand… that’s the petrified forest! When I’d been driving through the first time I’d been disappointed that there seemed to be so little of the forest left. Now I realized it had been all around me and I didn’t even realized it.

Behind the museum there is short trail (somewhat sheltered from the wind) that cuts between hundreds of petrified logs (some tens of feet long others barely stumps). The fact that the shapes of the petrified logs (which have been above ground and exposed to the elements for MILLIONS of years) are indistinguishable from a log fallen a year ago is incomprehensible to me. I loved getting near them and studying their shapes and colors.

This knowledge and experience changed everything about the park for me.

Rather than exiting onto the highway after finishing with the museum, I turned around and went backward, in order to drive the entire 30 mile road again. This time I went much, much more slowly, and saw everything in a new light. The decision immediately felt heavenly ordained when a rainbow spread across the sky.

As I left the park the whole experience got me thinking - how many times in my life have I rushed through something, believing myself to have “done it”, but actually having missed it? How many times have I’ve been so pleased with myself for the speed at which I arrived at my insight - seen true - but also completely missed what matters?

Every day of this trip I feel like the universe has been giving me an opportunity to confront my old stories and ways of being. In so doing, it’s giving me a choice - stay as I was, or change; hold onto my old beliefs, or let them go. For someone who is tempted by fear based decision making and wants to control - this is hard work! However, what I’m learning is that when I let go of my expectations, of my initial “insights”, of my need to control other’s perceptions of me, or my need to get to a conclusion quickly, and instead, simply sit with whomever (or whatever) I am with - and open myself to whatever they want to reveal - life is so much richer!

Monument Valley

The post tells the story of my time in and around Monument Valley. It was a day of magical views, new friendship, and fewer (but better photographs). Read on below…

When I arrived in Monument Valley it was in the middle of a sand storm, there was no visibility, and my camera was broken. Two days before my camera had gotten soaked when I slipped in a slot canyon near the Vermillion Cliffs. Since then I’d put it into a bag of rice but I didn’t know if it’d come back.

Throughout this trip I’ve been trying to trust that whatever happens - good or bad - it is an opportunity to learn and it’s what I need. And as I reflected I realized traveling without it for the prior two days helped me connect with strangers, take more in, feel calmer, and be more adventurous.

So when I woke up in the morning and found the sand was no longer blowing and my camera had turned on in the night I was ecstatic. I also wanted to make sure I integrated what I learned from its lack. So, throughout the day I took far fewer pictures, talked to more strangers, and spent more time looking at the world before clicking. I love my pictures of the valley and I met 6 people that day who I’m now in contact with.

After spending all morning in the valley (which was one of the most stunning places I’ve ever been), I drove up to Muley Point, which overlooks the valley and the Goose Necks (which you cannot see in the picture I’ve included here as it’s below the lip of canyon). There, I did an hour Yoga practice on the rocks and then sat for another hour before I took a single picture.

This all helped remind me again how much richer my life is when I give people, experiences, and beauty time and space to emerge in their own ways.

Destroying My Camera & Discovering New Friends at Marble Canyon

This post is the story of my first ever slot canyon hike. It was one of the most beautiful (and perhaps the most rewarding) hikes I’ve ever done. It is also a story about how I fell, got soaked, and broke my camera and phone before I even got to the bouldering section. Later, the story continues into how I met new friends, and how we problem solved the remainder of the climb together over many hours. If you are adventurous and are in Page - you HAVE to do this hike. Read on below…

The sunset lit the far canyon walls spectacularly as we made our way back from the River to the trail head

The Cathedral Wash Trail which is within a mile of the entrance to the park - isn’t really a trail at all - but it may be the most beautiful and rewarding hike I’ve completed. It’s just over 3 miles round trip and only 400 vertical feet from the road to the Colorado River, but it’s some of the most challenging (non-rope) hiking I’ve ever done. The “trail" starts off in a wash where the “canyon” walls are barely a few feet high and quite far apart. There is no path - you simply follow the canyon down, any way you can. As you follow the wash toward the river the puddles at the center get deeper, the walls get closer together and much, much taller (see pictures below). After 15 or so minutes you will start to regularly cliff out. The trail requires significant trial and error - and that’s what made it so fun. I climb quite a bit, and even I had to turn around countless times to find new ways to go. If you do the trail and you get to a point where you think “I might need a rope to get back up here” - trust there is another way down, you just haven’t found it yet. I spent a lot of time agonizing at various points whether to turn around for fear if I went down, I wouldn’t be able to get back up later.

The hike was humbling for multiple reasons. Early on - I was so enamored with the beauty of the canyon walls that I decided to walk with my big camera out. At one point, I jumped down from a ledge to a puddle below thinking it was only an inch deep. It wasn’t. And as I sunk in I lurched forward and had to use my hands to prevent a much more serious fall. Both my camera and phone got soaked. My camera got fried and wouldn’t turn back on - but at least nothing was cracked. My phone still worked, but mud was jammed deep into the charging socket, so I wasn’t sure it if would get fried too.

The experience shook me mentally. I had been so happy before this. I’d been smiling like a fool and humming to myself. Up to this point on my journey - traveling alone had been all “ponies, picnics, and April sunshine”. The fall, which ruined my electronics and bruised my ego, but left me physically unharmed, made me realize this adventure isn’t riskless. I can enjoy the adventure, and I also need to be responsible and take my safety seriously.

There was nothing I could do about my electronics, so I pushed forward with the hike, paradoxically now much more aware of my surroundings than when I’d been trying to document every turn of the canyon walls.

Ten minutes later I got to point where I couldn’t figure out a way down on either side of the wash. There were separate couples on both sides attempting to find routes, but neither was having any luck. I spoke to both, and connected much better the older couple - probably in their early 60s. We strategized together for another five minutes before they decided to set up a rope and repel down. I didn’t feel comfortable repelling so I kept searching for another way down, which I eventually found. Once I did, and I ran into them again, we struck up a conversation and hiked the rest of the way to the river and back together. You will see them in all my photos down below.

Sharing the experience with them enriched my experience immensely. I loved hearing their life stories. He grew up in Alaska, had climbed Denali solo in his youth, had moved to San Francisco and met her at a Pilates class in the 1990s. Now their kids were in college, and they had retrofitted a van, which they take all over the west for weeks at a time to hike and explore. They were full of suggestions for hikes I should check out later in my adventure too (including Muley’s Point near Monument Valley and the Valley of Fire near Las Vegas).

Growing up I was so shy and was convinced I was an introvert. What I’m realizing now is I actually love meeting and talking to new people. I didn’t do it more, because I was afraid of rejection and awkwardness, and stressed out because I often trying so hard to be something or hide some part of myself. On this trip, I’ve just tried to be present as I am (so I’m not hiding or posturing) and to be fully present to whoever I am speaking to (so they know they are my number 1 priority). The has transformed the quality of my connection with others immensely.

Having these sorts of beautiful unexpected connections has brought me a lot of joy as well because it reminds me of my grandmother. She was always telling us stories of friends she and my grandfather met on their world travels. Throughout this trip, connecting with strangers has made me feel like I understand her better. That thought has made me smile and feel closer to her — even in her absence.

Below are a few pictures of other hikers in the canyon for a sense of scale. You’ll also see in the photos just how beautiful (and precarious) many of these paths were - requiring basic bouldering and use of all limbs - including gripping the cracks to keep your feet stable as you moved them.

Looking back at the entrance to the wash after we reached the Colorado River

When we finished the hike the sun was already setting. As I got into my car and tried to plug my phone into the car to charge it, I realized I couldn’t! The mud was so jammed into the ports that there was no way for me to charge it. I had a nearly full charge still, but how was I supposed to make the it the rest of the trip without a phone? There was nothing to do, so I thought it best to just drive back to the hotel and figure things out later.

On the way home I saw a Walmart. Jackpot! I had a vague notion that maybe compressed air could help dislodge the dirt once it dried, and maybe if I put the camera in a bag of rice that would help remove the water from the circuit.

As I went to bed, not having a phone or my camera, was a revelation. I hadn’t realized how much mental and physical energy I’ve been putting every evening into my electronics. I went to bed much earlier and with a much quieter mind.

My tools - purchased from Walmart that I used to fix my camera and phone

Little Colorado River Navajo Tribal Park

I found this place of pure wonder when I pulled off the road ~20 minutes to the east of the Grand Canyon National Park on highway 64. It was marked simply by a sign that said “scenic view”. From the road it was unclear what scenic view there’d be.

After a brief walk from the parking area the canyon edge, my jaw dropped. During all of my hiking in the National Park I only got brief glimpses of the lower canyons and the river below. I was mostly near the rim. Here, so close to the park entrance, everything was changed. It was all flat desert (with some mountains further away) and then just one, very deep cut into the desert that hid the River below. I hadn’t realized just now deep the lower canyons were, or the strange shapes the river twisted and turned.

I had plans to rush onward to Horseshoe Bend from there, but I found the view so arresting at the edge that I lingered for over an hour to watch the colors turn on the canyon walls.

Today was yet another affirmation that the best things in life often emerge when you leave space to be surprised, and are willing to say yes to adventures with unknown look-outs.

When I left the sun had already set behind a small mountain range, however the ranges to both the east and the north held the light and glowed a vermillion hue for what felt like an hour as the rest of the world turned to darkness. I wish I’d been able to capture it, but I don’t think it could be captured photographically. The scale of it was too immense. Below is one photo I did grab on my iPhone when many miles later the road hugged near one of the ranges.

I apologize for the truly terrible iPhone photo, but it gives you a sense of how the rocks held the color more than an hour after sunset. These rocks were close. What was more remarkable for looking out to the horizon and seeing miles and miles and miles of mountains like this lit up from far away.