ROADTRIP: THE MAZE

A solo trip into one of the most remote places in the continental U.S., the Maze district of Canyonlands national park, offered some interesting challenges and an amazing experience in the solitude and splendor of the wilder desert landscapes. The route chosen for the six day 450-mile journey was almost completely off pavement (and off grid) apart from the initial and final sections of the loop that started and ended at Moab, UT. The primary goal of the trip was to get an overall introduction to the Maze district and work on preparing for logistical contingencies in remote environments.

< BACK: TO MAZE OVERLOOK | THE MAZE REPORT HOME | GALLERY: INTO THE MAZE >

DAY SIX: HITE CROSSING TO MOAB

Daylight seeped through the blue fabric of the tent as I opened my eyes to the last day of my journey. I had allowed myself to “sleep in” knowing the drive back to Moab and “civilization” would be an easy one. Outside the sun had not yet come up over the canyon wall, and there was still a morning chill as I began to pack up camp more slowly than usual. Some part of me didn’t really want to “leave” the wilderness behind, though of course I knew I would have a renewed appreciation for the comforts of “modern life” and was looking forward to a long hot shower. Loading the last few items into the Jeep, I watched the sun creep over the rim of the canyon, splashing its light on the rock walls that turned vibrantly red. I suddenly realized I had not spoken to another human being for almost a week.



I had the whole day to make the 150 mile highway drive back to Moab, and decided to do it slowly, incrementally, with a few stopovers en route. My “stops” would add another 50 miles or so, but even with that I estimated it would be no more than five hours of actual drive time. I detoured down to the water’s edge to see for myself this confluence of rivers and man-made lake that had been so controversial. The sunlight warmed my back as I sat on a rock, overlooking the place where the Colorado and Dirty Devil rivers meet. The water went right up to the red walls of the canyon, and it was as if I could see the artist at work, slowly carving out the sedimentary rock. But the water of the lake was calm and slow moving, it’s powers “tamed” by the dam that submerged much of Glen Canyon permanently. The history of the dam and controversy surrounding it is a parable of people’s changing relationship to the land over time.



According to Glen Canyon Dam: Political History, a dam was first proposed after several large floods plagued Yuma, Arizona and the Imperial Valley destroying agriculture in the early 1900s. At that time, building dams was seen as a public good that helped meet people’s basic needs for power, water, and safety from floods. In 1922, after the passing of the Colorado River Compact, states began damming projects, and the Bureau of Reclamation spent several years researching possible sites. Meanwhile, a growing chorus of voices began to call for greater protection of the remaining wild and undeveloped lands of the West. On April 11, 1956, the Colorado River Storage Project authorized the building of Glen Canyon Dam, and the loss of the canyon to the dam and reservoir became a rallying point for conservationists and environmental activists. I had never experienced the lost beauty of the submerged canyon, but I was certainly appreciating the landscape that remained. The sunlight glistened on the water’s ripples and it was quiet. I would have liked to stay longer, but the road was calling me back. I aired the tires back up for highway driving, then headed south on Utah State Highway 95. As the narrow tar ribbon of road followed the contours of Fry Canyon, it seemed like I was the only one out there.



The lonely drive continued through magnificent landscapes for roughly 50 miles, until I reached UT-275, the turnoff for the Natural Bridges National Monument. The park sits high on Cedar Mesa, 6,500 feet above sea level at the junction of White Canyon and Armstrong Canyon, and is centered on the three massive natural bridges that give the monument its name. Cass Hite discovered them here during his 1883 search for gold and the magnificent stone marvels were publicized by National Geographic Magazine in 1904. Four years later, the area was protected with the establishment of the Natural Bridges National Monument.



The Monument was nearly inaccessible for many decades — reaching it required a three-day horseback ride from Blanding — until roads were created for uranium mining and Highway 95 was paved. I didn’t have a lot of time to really explore, but I figured I could enjoy a short hike on one of the trails coming off the scenic drive loop. A hiking trail descends into the canyon from the loop road near each of the bridges, and a longer trail meanders along the canyon bottoms through oak and cottonwood groves connecting the three bridges in one loop hike. I started my walk as a raven’s caw echoed in the silence of the canyon sounding vaguely like a human scream.



Once again I was facing a maze of stone canyons shaped by erosion into a spiral of ledges. The bridges themselves were carved from the white Permian sandstone of the mesa by intermittent streams during periods of flash flooding. The fast flowing water undercut the walls of rock that separate the meanders (or “goosenecks”) of the stream, eventually wearing through to create a new stream bed underneath the bridge. With time, as erosion and gravity enlarge the bridge’s opening, the bridge will collapse under its own weight. There is evidence of at least two collapsed natural bridges within the Monument. Looking at the bridges, they seemed similar to arches, but there is a technical difference — bridges are formed by the erosive action of running water, whereas arches are formed by other erosional forces such as wind.



Over the years, the bridges have been given different names. Hite called them “President,” “Senator” and “Congressman,” and they were renamed “Augusta,” “Caroline” and “Edwin” by later explorer groups. Eventually a decision was made to give them Hopi names, “Owachomo,” “Sipapu,” and “Kachina.” Owachomo, meaning “rock mound”, is named for the large rounded rock mass found on the northeastern abutment of the bridge. Sipapu means “the place of emergence,” an entryway by which the Hopi believe their ancestors came into this world. And Kachina, or “ghost dancer,” is named for its rock art which resembles symbols found on kachina dolls. The Hopi names were chosen because of the similarity between Hopi structures and the Anasazi cliff dwellings found throughout the area. Historically, however, the region generally has more ties to the Navajo and Paiutes people.

The land was first used during the Archaic period, from 7000 B.C. to A.D. 500., by hunter-gatherer groups who left rock art and stone tools behind. Around AD 700, ancestors of modern Puebloan people moved onto the mesa tops to dry farm and later left as the natural environment changed. Around A.D. 1100, new migrants from across the San Juan River moved into small, single-family houses near the deepest, best-watered soils throughout this area. In the 1200’s, farmers from Mesa Verde migrated here, but by the 1300’s the ancestral Puebloans migrated south. Navajos and Paiutes lived in the area during later times, and Navajo oral tradition holds that their ancestors lived among the early Puebloans.



One of the short hikes along the overlook goes to a point known as Horsecollar Ruin, a site that was abandoned about 700 years ago by the ancestral Puebloans. The walk along the desolate sandstone ledge was strange, because despite the natural beauty of the landscape, there were “guardrails” at certain spots, reminding me that I was no longer in official “wilderness.” The trail “ends” at an overlook far from the ruin, which is tucked into a fold of the canyon wall across the way. The ruin is remarkably intact with an undisturbed kiva, though apparently much was removed from the site before it was protected. The wind was blowing a light dust of sand across the canyon, and I felt some primal connection with the mysterious spirits of the past.



As I left Natural Bridges and got back on the highway, I was still thinking about the ancestral Puebloans and their relationship to this harsh and difficult land. The strength and fortitude it must have required just to survive was aspirational. I realized I had learned a lot during my short journey in the wilderness. I continued the lonely drive east on Highway 95. The road was mostly flat and straight through a heavily wooded area and I actually saw some mule deer who seemed surprised by my passing. I was glad they did not run out into the road. They just stood there staring at the Jeep for a few moments before running off, crashing through the brush until they disappeared.



The landscape changed near the intersection with Highway 191, where I turned north and the approach to “civilization” became obvious. Gas stations and strip malls were on the horizon as reached the outskirts of Blanding. Oddly, the small town seemed like a crowded urban metropolis after my week of solitude. And though the “shock” of return was only momentary, I thought it was interesting that I even experienced it after just such a short time “away.”

I decided to make one more stop to revisit Newspaper Rock, the amazing artifact left by the ancestral Puebloans that we saw the first time we ever went to Moab. I would be seeing it from a different perspective now. My journey into the backcountry, which was once their country, had given me some insight into my own relationship to the land. And the rock seemed like a good place to “pay my respects,” saying a silent “thank you” back to the spirit world.



Turning off onto Highway 211, toward the Needles District of Canyonlands, I was driving along the Indian Creek Corridor. This scenic stretch leads to some spectacular rock climbing routes as well as the petroglyph site. Newspaper Rock is well known and easily accessible, so I was not surprised to encounter a few other visitors there. In Navajo, the rock is called “Tse’ Hone'” which means “rock that tells a story.” But this is a visual tale that no one has really been able to interpret. There are over 650 rock art designs from both the prehistoric and historic periods. Contemplating a panel of the curious story engraved on the rock I tried to look for details that “made sense”. A hunter and buffalo, a few other recognizable animals, and many symbols that remained a mystery were collaged in this mosaic of ancient graffiti that only hinted at possible meanings. In the end, I just appreciated the art and the universal human need to communicate, to document, to tell our own stories.

As I left the rock art behind to start the last 50 miles of my journey, the snow capped La Sals to the northeast seemed like stark blue and white silhouettes against the sky. Cows from the Dugout Ranch wandered across the road. I headed north on 191, back to Moab, inspired and full of ideas for the next trip.

< BACK: TO MAZE OVERLOOK | THE MAZE REPORT HOME | GALLERY: INTO THE MAZE >