National Parks, part 1 (Zion & Bryce)

For almost two years we saved travel for some unspecified future. We dreamed of going places, pages of notes to prove it, but not until after the little boys were vaccinated (and before omicron, omg) did we book a trip.

A couple days after Christmas we drove into Zion in the dark while bright stars seemed to applaud our arrival. The next morning offered a lucky parking spot and after a bit of effort we found ourselves miraculously atop some hard-to-reach, far-seeing platform. Pink peaks and crimson cliffs in every direction, even under a dusting of snow, all breathtakingly astounding.

If Tolliver was not knapping flint, the noise of rocks scraping together our steady hiking soundtrack, he was scaling something steep or slippery. Basically part mountain goat, he hoped for cold conditions and was eager to carry the heaviest pack. Scrambling at every chance, crafting primitive technology-based contingency plans, muscles reveling in the movement, Tolliver's ideas breathed in the open air.

A low elevation walk along the Virgin River offered a new perspective, where we paused to watch ice break high above and fall thunderously to the canyon floor. Filled with exaltation at the might of nature, struck by the indomitable grandeur of hanging gardens and sheer cliff edges, narrow slot canyons and temporary waterfalls and tiny snails, all five of us stared in awe.

At some point I realized Tuck was often behind us, kneeling, a scientific eye to the ground. Whether he was noticing patterns or sketching cartoons in the dirt is unclear. While a splendid conversationalist, he was mostly quieted, perhaps learning in the blur of being by himself to be himself. 

We knew it would be chilly in Bryce Canyon, but it was a last minute weather check that prompted us to shove wool socks and ski gloves into luggage. We followed a snow plow into the park, arriving as the sun rose and right between weather events, and were fortunately able to admire the ampitheater - boldly colored, gravity-defying rock formations, limestone tentacles rising from a Silent City. Though as much as we went to see it, we went to do it.* We relied on all the borrowed snow cleats and trek poles to make it down into the hoodoos and back up to Bryce's rim.

(*But, like, not Angel's Landing with a five year old do it.)

The opposite of silent, Hank’s general tendency to think out loud, to process every single situation verbally, shone brightly in the parks. A short excerpt, for example: See how my arms look like a parallelogram when I do this? Do you know how to spell Hanukkah, because I do. Can you hear the pattern in my clapping, listen?! My eyes are getting shrinkled up from this sun. Do you wanna hear a not appropriate version of Jingle Bells? But I AM finding stable footsteps, I CAN DO BOTH.

On New Year's Eve there were mule deer in the street and fireworks in the sky, a bedsheet picnic on a rented floor in front of the television, pizza boxes on all four corners, beer in hand. 

All week there was brother bickering and curvy road car sickness, blisters and rashes and black eyes and missed turns, but none of that really mattered. There was backseat laughter that vibrated the entire vehicle, crisp air and cozy sweaters, animal sightings and sunrise hikes, bliss.

Zion hikes:

Canyon Overlook 

Emerald Pools / Kayenta connector

Riverside Walk to the Narrows

Watchman's Trail

Bryce hike:

Navajo/Queen's Garden Combo Loop, backward

Sunset Point down the Navajo Loop switchbacks, through Wall Street to the Queen's Garden and up to Sunrise Point across the Rim Trail (*right* before the rim closed due to snow cornices)

ironically there was *not* enough snow for the ranger-led snowshoe hike