Thursday 30th July,
Our last morning in Zion and we were up early again for a walk up the Watchman Trail that curls up into the mountains from behind the campsite. The Watchman is the name of the imposing lump of sandstone that towers over our campground (of the same name) and we trekked up its lower flanks, zigzagging though the juniper bushes and prickly pear cacti.
It’s up high that I think Philippa and I both appreciated Zion the most. Having done walks at lower levels up mainly concrete paths yesterday, I think we had a sneaking suspicion that Zion wasn’t all it’s cracked up to be. But climbing up dirt tracks to the Emerald Pools yesterday and then up the Watchman path today, you see the magnificent canyon walls stretching out in all their colours and the river meandering through it, and suddenly you get a better sense of its grandeur without also being reminded about how much it has been tamed.
As we climbed higher the view continued to unravel, more peaks in the distance and the road snaking up and out of the canyon. Tom stopped us every few hundred yards to do videos of the journey; “hello this is Tom Lister with Tom’s adventure series number 5….” etc. We stopped on a rocky bluff at the highest point of the path and briefly enjoyed the view before T let out a wail having gashed his hand on something. The blood was flowing and so were the tears. No real harm done, but he was somewhat crestfallen on the way back down. When we reached the RV it was time to pack up and go.
We stopped just outside the park for sandwiches in a Springdale cafe with internet so we could upload the blog entries we had been hoarding. Another stop for groceries and then we were climbing through the northern reaches of the park and to the tunnel that cuts through the mountain to Eastern end of the park. I was a little nervous about this tunnel as it is so old and low that RVs and other tall vehicles have to drive through it straddling the centre line to avoid scraping the roof. It is a mile long with big arches cut out of it to let the light in; dramatic views flashed past us as we trundled through the darkness.
The roof stayed on and soon we were back in brilliant sunshine and a quite different landscape. It’s slickrock and slate here; the mountainsides rippled as though they have melted at some stage. Pine and spruce trees clinging to the slopes. I saw a bighorn sheep scampering across the rocks. Within an hour though we had left the desert behind and emerged onto a high lush plateau with ranches and cattle grazing. It even started to rain!
Philippa called for a coffee to stop her sleeping though the scenery and we pulled into a mini-mart kind of place where the friendly owner looked at Philippa’s small cup of thin coffee and said “that all you’re havin’?” er, yes, sorry. He smiled and said “coffee’s on me today”. Pulling out of the car park there was an ancient truck with a little wooden house bolted to its frame. It was an original RV! It must have been at least sixty years old and I wish I had got a picture.
By four we had climbed to eight thousand feet and turned off the road towards Bryce. Solemn hoodoos, dark from the rain monitored our progress from the roadside. The odd thing about Bryce Canyon is that you come to it from the plateau above and can’t see it unless you are at the rim, unlike Zion where you are in the canyon floor from the start, surrounded by it. So having found our campsite in the pinewoods, we still have no real idea what Bryce Canyon is all about. That will be tomorrow. Tom is overjoyed to find our door lets straight onto a stretch of pine forest, with sticks to hoard and fallen logs to balance on. We’re happy that it’s so very peaceful. The day ends with stir fry, books and bed and a surprisingly cool night.
Our last morning in Zion and we were up early again for a walk up the Watchman Trail that curls up into the mountains from behind the campsite. The Watchman is the name of the imposing lump of sandstone that towers over our campground (of the same name) and we trekked up its lower flanks, zigzagging though the juniper bushes and prickly pear cacti.
It’s up high that I think Philippa and I both appreciated Zion the most. Having done walks at lower levels up mainly concrete paths yesterday, I think we had a sneaking suspicion that Zion wasn’t all it’s cracked up to be. But climbing up dirt tracks to the Emerald Pools yesterday and then up the Watchman path today, you see the magnificent canyon walls stretching out in all their colours and the river meandering through it, and suddenly you get a better sense of its grandeur without also being reminded about how much it has been tamed.
As we climbed higher the view continued to unravel, more peaks in the distance and the road snaking up and out of the canyon. Tom stopped us every few hundred yards to do videos of the journey; “hello this is Tom Lister with Tom’s adventure series number 5….” etc. We stopped on a rocky bluff at the highest point of the path and briefly enjoyed the view before T let out a wail having gashed his hand on something. The blood was flowing and so were the tears. No real harm done, but he was somewhat crestfallen on the way back down. When we reached the RV it was time to pack up and go.
We stopped just outside the park for sandwiches in a Springdale cafe with internet so we could upload the blog entries we had been hoarding. Another stop for groceries and then we were climbing through the northern reaches of the park and to the tunnel that cuts through the mountain to Eastern end of the park. I was a little nervous about this tunnel as it is so old and low that RVs and other tall vehicles have to drive through it straddling the centre line to avoid scraping the roof. It is a mile long with big arches cut out of it to let the light in; dramatic views flashed past us as we trundled through the darkness.
The roof stayed on and soon we were back in brilliant sunshine and a quite different landscape. It’s slickrock and slate here; the mountainsides rippled as though they have melted at some stage. Pine and spruce trees clinging to the slopes. I saw a bighorn sheep scampering across the rocks. Within an hour though we had left the desert behind and emerged onto a high lush plateau with ranches and cattle grazing. It even started to rain!
Philippa called for a coffee to stop her sleeping though the scenery and we pulled into a mini-mart kind of place where the friendly owner looked at Philippa’s small cup of thin coffee and said “that all you’re havin’?” er, yes, sorry. He smiled and said “coffee’s on me today”. Pulling out of the car park there was an ancient truck with a little wooden house bolted to its frame. It was an original RV! It must have been at least sixty years old and I wish I had got a picture.
By four we had climbed to eight thousand feet and turned off the road towards Bryce. Solemn hoodoos, dark from the rain monitored our progress from the roadside. The odd thing about Bryce Canyon is that you come to it from the plateau above and can’t see it unless you are at the rim, unlike Zion where you are in the canyon floor from the start, surrounded by it. So having found our campsite in the pinewoods, we still have no real idea what Bryce Canyon is all about. That will be tomorrow. Tom is overjoyed to find our door lets straight onto a stretch of pine forest, with sticks to hoard and fallen logs to balance on. We’re happy that it’s so very peaceful. The day ends with stir fry, books and bed and a surprisingly cool night.
No comments:
Post a Comment