I’m camped under a stormy sky, after a day of snow and rain. I have now been snowed on every month this year, except August. The only time I’ve ever been snowed on in August was the CDT when Courtney, my then girlfriend, and I were in Glacier National Park, MT. My goal next year? Snow every month! I love the stuff.
We started the day in high desert/canyon/mesa country and gradually worked our way up a maze of washes, gorges, parks, and ridges toward the pink cliffs of Bryce. One thing about the names of cliffs in this area is that they are usually accurate, if a little dull. The creativity stops after the Vermillion Cliffs.
Those are followed by the “White Cliffs.” Maybe “Ivory Cliffs” would have been more intriguing? Or “Alabaster” perhaps? And the “Pink Cliffs” could have been more appealingly named, “Rainbow Cliffs.” I’ve seen every color of the spectrum in these arching walls, although they are dominated by a pink/salmon/fuchsia type color. Come to think of it “Spectrum Cliffs” would have been a good name, too.
As we approached Bryce Canyon, the clouds got steadily larger and more impressive, creating an entrancing dance of glowing light and subtle shadow on the intricately carves cliffs. Here in the Southern reaches of the park the famous hoodoos are few, but the cliffs are still home to a multitude of exquisite sculptures, including spires, caves, arches and otherworldly ridges.
As we reached Rainbow Point, it began to snow in earnest. While the weather seemed to distress my companions, I’ve always thrived on cold weather. I found my grin growing larger as the falling snow turned the park into a winter wonderland of spruce/fir/bristlecone forest, autumn leaves on fire with color, and other inexplicably gorgeous features.
Bryce and the Grand Canyon are both unique places that defy any poets attempts at description—not that I fancy myself a poet, quite the contrary—in fact I intend to point out my consequently greater difficulty. The two “canyons” (Bryce is actually a cliff at one edge of a plateau.), however, are quite different from the words they first bring to mind. The Grand Canyon is perfectly named, for ‘grand” is certainly the first word many would think of when looking at the massive gorge carved for eons by the patient Colorado River, along with magnificent, huge, awesome and gorgeous (I can’t resist, sorry).
Bryce, on the other hand, triggers words like exquisite, intricate, and delicate. Of course they both share the same superlatives for beauty, which I will refrain from listing again. I’ve worn them out enough, already.
Toward the end of the day, we passed a large intense burn. Some of the trees had burned so hot that all they left behind was a hole in the ground, with radiating tunnels where their roots had once burrowed to seek water. Bizarre.
Through the burn, Sharon and I saw a strange sight. The sun was setting at 5:30 and in the North East! Wait--that’s not possible! Something fishy is going on.
After a brief investigation we realized that the unnatural show was radiating from the cliffs north of us, creating a spectacular optical illusion.
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