Day 2: The North Rim of the Grand Canyon via Zion National Park

The morning in St. George is still hungover from last night's monsoonal rain, and waning storm cells found us as traveled into more distant regions of the Southwest. 

Remote - is there a more tantalizing word? It describes places that are special, unused as icon or totem, but perhaps more deserving.

Earth people make pilgrimage to the South Rim of the Grand Canyon, the first natural wonder of their world.  And so I have, several times, but never to the distant North Rim. 

We pass through Zion National Park, all the wonder we knew from past visits returning even more fully to us. 

The coral cliffs are limned with long sweeping horizontal scrapes, carved like a router by furious passage of water tumbling rocks on  the sides.

  Down from the tops, where water has seeped constantly, dark charcoal-purple stains bloom.  

The color is caused by a complex interaction between manganese and/or iron oxidized by micro-organisms  combined with grains of sand and atmospheric dust.   

Time is on my side in this, though not in other quests, and as we drove east, we gained elevation over 8,000 feet, 2,000 feet higher than the South Rim. 

The aspens were a surprise to us - we love them in the Eastern Sierras and an autumn trip to Bishop Creek Canyon has become a ritual for us, both from winter climes and nostalgic for fall color turn. This year we missed that trip, but were richly satisfied with the visions of aspens we found throughout Utah's mountains.


The North Rim Lodge, a fine example of national park vernacular architecture, is set nearly on the rim. I scored a last minute cancellation and our luck won us a cabin just steps from the east rim view and Bright Angel Trail.   

No serious hiking required here, the views were gained easily, though the trail was steep.  Again, a sense of off-balance, a warning to step with care and accept the gift of heightened awareness.

Dinner was a barbecue cookout with cowboy entertainment.  What was advertised as a train
ride (I'm imagining narrow-gauge steam train) to the picnic spot turned out to be a tram that jerked and swayed alarmingly  When it wasn't doing that, the engine stalled repeatedly. This gave the entertainers lots of material for jokes about longevity, which were appropriate for his audience, average age about 75.  

We enjoyed this event more than we'd thought, listening to perfect western songs: "They call the wind Maria", "Rawhide", and enduring corny jokes. The barbecue brisket, two styles, was marvelous.  Barbecue is my new favorite food.

That night we stood outside our cabin and the ink velvet sky above us gave us a privileged view of the Milky Way.