I open my eyes. Sleep falls away. I see the night sky, on the East edge, is fading into pale, celestite blue with the shrugging shoulders of dawn. I suddenly sit upright in my sleeping bags, remembering my plan, and begin to move quickly. I know how fast the light will come. I have slept in the bed of my truck, bundled up in two down sleeping bags, with Tater Tot curled in a round pool of silk and snoring at my left shoulder. I have heard the owl singing from a cleft in the heaving, red sandstone landscape. I have heard the silence between his songs and imagined him bright of eye and lonesome. The air is cold. It has been cold all night long. I’m glad to begin a new day. With sleep came a lull in my metabolic rate and I can feel a chill sneaking into the coils of my rested body.
I am in Arches National Park in the Devil’s Garden Campground. I rolled in late last night after dawdling my way across Idaho and Utah, in and out of canyons and patches of red rock and pronghorn herds and isolated blizzards. When I arrived, the campground was quiet, glowing with pockets of campfire and storytelling. Occasionally, people walked past my rig, headlamps winking against the dark, bundled in various shades and textures of Patagonia and the sensibility of double-kneed Carhartt. We said our “hellos and how-are-you and where-are-you-traveling-from and where-are-you-going” at each other as I cooked a pot of soup on the tailgate of the truck. It’s not allowed, but I set Tater Tot free in the campground to stretch his legs and burn off some of his neurotic energy before trying to fall asleep with him by my side. Before I crawled into my little nest, I boiled a pot of water, made a thermos of tea for the morning and filled a hot water bottle to toss in the foot of my sleeping bag. The night was cozy, my feet were warm, and the only thing that shivered was the very tip of my little nose where it reached up and met the trembling light of stars.
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Now, the pale blue denim of dawn is creeping in slow streaks across the sky, I see wisps of cloud standing out from the night in deeper, truer dimension. I have packed up the truck quickly, kenneled Tater Tot, warmed the engine and now I creep out of my campsite and down the hill to the main road. I worry I’ll miss it. The light is already so strong, though the sun isn’t yet up. I race along the road that leads out of the park. I drive faster than I should. Time is fleet. I reach the trail head, throw my backpack on my back, and begin the dash into Delicate Arch. It’s a short sprint, really. A quick mile and a half up a blunted mass of wind kissed sandstone. It is quiet. The birds are still sleeping. As I move across the stone, I grow warmer and warmer until I break a fine sweat. I pause for a moment to pull off my down layer and stuff it in my pack. The trail falls into the cold shadow of stone where the snow cannot melt and I skate my way around rock formations, running gingerly through a little canyon, over cactus, following cairns to my sunrise destination. There is color in the sky now. A fine, fine whisper of gold and the faintest blush. I twirl around the final corner on the trail and see Delicate Arch rise up against the sky. The sun has edged its crown over the horizon line, light blazes between the red rock formations and pours itself against my self. The warmth of day is faint and I lean into it. I crawl up into a window in a rock and watch the sky unfold and the day flow into being. The colors of dawn grow stronger and the world is silent. I am all alone. Even the ravens are still sleeping or standing somewhere else in full light, sun worshiping, being heated by day before they take flight.
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I have come here, to the crumpled red rock country of Southern Utah to be in the arms of color, to be part of the earth, to walk it and anchor my senses to it intentionally and lastingly. I have come to lay my palms against sun warmed, russet stones. I have come to be combed and whittled by wind.
I have come here to escape the glow of my computer monitor, to be someplace new and tangible and real. I have brought myself here so that I may be transported, refreshed, inspired. I have come to daydream. I have come to mingle with strangers. I have come to embrace my dearest friends. I have come to buy turquoise. I have come to take in the world and discover something new to write about, something wild and beautiful to point my camera at. I have come to fall in love with Earth, with God and the mysteries of each. I have come to be reborn, again, for the millionth time, for the sheer joy of self-discovery and self-change and self-realization. I have come to be licked clean by the water of the desert rivers and baptized by snow storms.
I stay with the sunrise until the day is sure and full. I drink my tea and nibble at almonds. I lose myself in daydreams as I rest there in my window in the rock. It is with reluctance that I finally stand up, reach my hands high over my head and arch my back as I stretch and push my skinny limbs into full feeling once more. I pull my arms through the straps on my backpack, scoot down from my stone ledge, and begin the short jog back down to the truck through muddled patches of snow, cacti, and desert shrub. I dillydally, here and there, with my camera, lingering over the pretty purple of cactus and the gnarled roots of desert bonsai. When I reach the truck, I set Tater Tot free, put together a little kitchen on the tailgate and craft a delicious French press to go with my blackberries and yogurt. Two trucks pull into the parking lot. Four people, my age, fit and handsome all, step out and walk over to the trail head sign. I hear them talk about the distance to the sandstone bowl where the arch stands as a portal to the sun, they shuffle around, they hum and haw. I sip my coffee and wave hello. They decide the distance is too far, that it can’t be worth it. They pile back into their trucks and drive away.
I can’t help but feel badly for them, for what they have missed, and glad that the beauty of the morning in this place, on this very day, is a secret only I know.
Oh My J –
I’ve been to that spot! As I grazed the photos I kept saying YES!
My dearest and I try to head for Moab every year… yet two springs have passed since we’ve last stepped our prints into the red sand.
What longing this post inspires… and what fond memories it stirs up.
Perhaps this year will find me scooting and shuffling, climbing and sliding, hunting and hiding around the red rocks once again.
…I hope it does. That place is…OTHER.
As lovely as always <3 So nice to see this bit of your life.
So nice to have you here, little Fawn. X
Thank you, thank you for this lovely Jillian. I so needed these words and images today.
My great pleasure. X
To secrets only each of us know. *Cheers*
I often feel somewhat badly for others, when I know what it is they’re missing, and at the same time I am greedy with the knowlegde of some places, with the doing of some of my experiences. That they are mine alone, that these places have offered me their secrets, and that I hold them safely.
Someday, I will stand before you to have you sign my copy of your book. I know it to be so.
Love you, ya know.
B
The flipside is, of course, that everyone is always taking in beauty and we’re missing out on what THEY see!!! 🙂 If only we could be everywhere at once!
Oh! The desert winter… Such a wonderful feeling! Such contrasts- White snow on red rocks, the warmth of the sunlight and the bitter chill of the shade. I’ve only been to Delicate Arch once, and we went at morning as well- and were lucky to be the only two. What a spot to drink in the sunrise. It was joyous, to say the least. (https://www.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=546865036180&set=a.546864736780.2138135.25915589&type=3&theater)
Thank you, as always for sharing! Your words are buoyant and beautiful.
There’s NO PLACE like the desert in the winter. So unique and rugged and wild. I love it. High contrast is the best way to describe it…
The most amazing combination of colors and sites dear J. Love your title…I feel delicate beauty strength awe supernatural in each scene. xx
Thanks for being here, sweet Mona. X
you inspire me
and make me think
perhaps God saved a little bit of my clay
and added it to yours when she made you
(She must have good clay storing containers as you are a few years behind me lol)
I can literally smell the frosty air
love and light
ps leaving in 1 1/2 weeks…the dreams of shanty ghetto homes and beautiful brown faces have already started
Ha ha!!!
You may be right!
I hope your trip is nothing short of incredible!
X
i feel it… the cold shadow of stone, the faint warmth of new day, the exhilaration of watching landscape come alive by light of morning. i sit here as you sat there, reluctant to move on with my day.
Oh J, you would have been such good company there. X
The mother in me worries about you on your adventures but the adventurer in my completely understands the need to see the beauty in nature all alone. I love reading your posts and seeing your gorgeous photos.
🙂 I think I have a few mothers who don’t like me traveling alone. I try not to be silly when I’m on the road alone and I always have a big dog to keep me company and protect me in the night. Thank you for being here, Linda. X
Good for you! Oh, my I am so delighted that you followed through on this plan, when so many would turn away. I know this exact hike. I did it on a 107 degree day in July of 2005. My friend and I tried to leave early, but morning was still in full swing and we slathered on sunscreen of spf 50. I remember the red rock cairns and a hole in the red wall and marching up to the arch itself – I didn’t know it could be touched. We were the only ones there and we were so glad we did this hike, Delicate is amazing . . . and won’t be there forever.
EW. July. Desert. Not superb conditions… 🙂
You’re right, it won’t be there forever. The wind, sun and rain wear it thin already…
Hi Jillian! I have been reading your blog for awhile but this is my first comment. I just want to say that you are my hero! To be a woman who travels as you do on your own, to do the things you do with your life, is inspiring; to say the least.
Welcome here, Tracey! Thanks for being such a sweet little beauty! And thanks for being here. X
Beautiful…and at the end of the day, it looks a little like this: http://lorenzstudioblog.blogspot.com/2010/10/moab-utah-arches-national-park.html?m=1
Q, You are, one of the greatest photographer friends I have. Thanks for sharing a pinch of your talent here. 🙂
Miller creek canyon 6 mile hike in SW Moab. Best unknown hike ever!
Hey there Madam!!! I’ll look it up next time I swing through this part of the country.
Bliss. The beauty of nature is saved for those who know a little effort is full of rewards.
Isn’t that the truth?
and you found your secret in the midst of all the people.
Finding secrets is like finding white, wind polished bones in the high desert sage flats. If you keep your eyes open, you’ll stumble over them often.
These pictures made me gasp! Thank you for sharing amazing bits of beautiful nature with us!
I just got the pod necklace and it is so beautiful! It will really make a simple outfit into something else.
Hey V!
Thanks for being here.
And I’m THRILLED to hear that the pod arrived safe and sound.
X
Oh how I love to read your words – and I was going to say you should make a film one day – but there really is no need, because you showed me the valley and the mountains and even the purple cacti with your words, before the photographs!!
Purple cacti?! Love it!
I love that you do this Jillian.
Thank you!
xx
I’ve thought about making little films…perhaps I should just go ahead and try it and see how I like it!
Love having you here, as always.
X
you are making me long unbearably for my spring break so we can break out for the road. love to read all about this renewal.
By and by it comes!
Awesome. I can’t believe they didn’t go for the climb. This sounds so funny but I hiked it with my 76-year old grandma years ago. There were other hikers there but that bowl was still stunning. The scope and the distance and the size, amazing. I’m so glad you got to be there all alone at sunrise. A moment your soul will never forget. Isn’t it so incredible to receive moments like that?
Delicate Arch in that sandstone bowl is kind of like a perfectly proportioned women in a polka dotted bikini…it just looks so beautiful, right there where it stands!!! 🙂 It sure is incredible to receive beautiful, quiet moments like that. Little spinning gifts from the heart of all hearts.
I adored reading this earlier in the day only to find you had posted on the Grand Canyon too. Each such separate, linked and unique wonders born of earth, air and time. Thank you. Thank you for being brave out there in this world and for having this glorious adventurous spirit. Thank you for your artistic eye which captures what you see. It is no small feat. 🙂
Eileen, always your words bolster and soothe. Thanks always for being here. X