Words in Vain

12 October, 2012

Drinks Canyon, 

Moab, Utah

No food, gas, water or lodging.

It was almost as if the National park people were trying to deter visitors.  Today we visited Canyonlands National Park, amid ever-changing weather.  Amazingly, though we arrived just as a massive thunderstorm hit, (I had failed to document the dust storm that came over the mountain as we ascended,) the views were tremendous, and came to different fruition every time we turned our heads.

The thunderstorm had hit at 3 am this morning, and as I had failed to put the rain fly on the tent when we returned from Castle Valley, I got up and scrambled outside to apply it, flashlight between my teeth, not knowing the location of my headlamp. This is something I should have resolved today, as I am typing the same way, but I was intent on salt and water when we made our morning rendezvous with Moab.

The scenery was briefly clear as we arrived at the visitor’s center, and I purchased an annual pass. Feeling a bit gnarly, after my first night of camping in a week of travel, I was determined to see the Green River overlook, and perhaps Grandview Point.  With rain and hail coming in from the West, the skies cleared over the views to the East and South, and I was able to make photos that ranged from the ridges disappearing behind clouds and rain, to clear long vistas in full or appreciating sunlight.

Words fall and turn to ash in their vain failings at describing the majesty of the Utah landscape.  Magnificent.  Stupendous.   Exhilirating.  Spectacular.  No.  They just don’t cut it.  I have decided to apply Bernard Tschumi’s definition  of Architecture: That which connects the Earth and Sky.  A definition of Art:  To explain why we are here, also applies. Though these gorges, bluffs, canyons and islands in the sky have been here for eons, virtually unchanged, there is nothing static about their appearance.  In a moment’s time, the same view can change in color, texture and distance, with only miniscule changes in the light.  The reds and purples in the brightest light retreat into blues and indigos with the passing of a cloud.  With a tempest approaching, the dust forms eddies in the gathering winds, the temperature drops suddenly, the rain and hail begin, and the thunder and lightning begin the symphony, and announce the drama commencing in God’s theatre.

“From here one looks down on the backs of soaring birds.”   Edward Abbey

As we departed Virginia on 10/4, a date that translates to, “OK,” 10/11/12 brought some reflection.  My unspoken objective behind this mission is to enjoy the last vestiges of the American Dream. I was concerned through the first many states that it might fail.  However, here, the Dream is alive.  Here is America, strong, vast and even stronger.  The only problem I have observed is the people, and there aren’t enough around here to cause harm.  The ones who gravitate to Moab seem a full step further towards enlightenment.

To consider that I am writing this from the birthplace of active environmental activism, and its unruly sister, ecotage, is to see the results of land and natural resource protection in stark contrast to the drive on Route 70 through Colorado, “resorts R us,” or the surface mining of Pennsylvania and Ohio.  On the other hand, it took me several days to locate a recycling center, and Halliburton trucks are common, with their locked-down thick-walled cylinders and military shipping containers.

That said, there is an elevated consciousness, a good spray of “No Fracking in Moab” signs, and only one sighting of a flaming gas vent alongside a drilling rig so far. The National Parks remain not only pristine, but truly glorious.