Fins in Devils Garden, 3/8/10
First, a troubling piece of grammatical quicksand: when I informed my boss that “Devils Garden” should have an apostrophe, he sighed and shook his head and announced that the NPS did away with that apostrophe long ago. I was appalled and distressed; this is a frightfully slippery slope. But, working for our federal government, hereinafter I shall spell it as it appears on all our maps.
Assigned duty: hike the Devils Garden trail and monitor for trouble spots. Interact with visitors. Be a park presence. Oh, and take camera…
Not volcanoes
A chilly Monday morning, 34 degrees, with slushy melty snow underfoot. Visitorship is minimal. I drive the 18 miles up to the north end of the park, taking time out to radio Law Enforcement with news of a wash-out of the asphalt at Mile 13 that is encroaching into the driving lane. They put cones up and will fill it ASAP; this spring has been significant for erosion problems.
There is but one other car in the huge parking area, and I know it is going to be a good morning. My destination is Double O Arch, the farthest north, 4.2 miles round trip. The clouds are again today at ground level. I hear only one muffled sound: an occasional raven croak.
Meltwater pool and snow chunk at base of sandstone cliff; note water color
The trail throws extra challenges at me this time of year. Rivulets have washed out segments of the convenient hard-packed snow that’s been mashed down by a thousand footprints. Squishy mud shows through in sun-kissed locations. Large pools have formed in basins, making passage difficult. I’m glad I’m wearing my most water-resistant boots.
I view Landscape Arch (300 ft) warily. It’s the longest in the world. That crack across its top has been there for eons, but it tells me that when that chunk drops out, the whole arch will go with it.
Landscape Arch close-up of crack
A new sound greets me; the noise of melting trickles is music minus the tonic scale. Not another human being is on my trail yet, and I count that a blessing. This little corner of Arches National Park is ALL MINE. My companions are the massive sandstone fins that stand like parallel slices of frozen red bread along my route. An hour of hiking brings me to my destination, and I pull out my Clif bar and water bottle as I settle my back against a dry wall. A wily chipmunk appears within 60 seconds, recognizing the sound of snack packaging being torn open.
Clif bar = my favorite trail snack
People do not recognize that silence is one of the resources the NPS protects. I relish the silence. One small songbird, whose voice I do not recognize, sings to me in my private alcove. I can feel my shoulders relaxing.
My snack alcove
It’s 11 a.m. and time to head back. I begin meeting today’s visitors; 100% of them want to stop and talk about the beauty of this park. The same theme appears, over and over, with every hiker I encounter: This Place Is Amazing. I adjure every last one of them to find a comfortable spot to sit down at Double O and listen — just listen. Let the beauty speak to them.
The last leg of Double O
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Leave a comment: How are you impacted by beauty or silence?
Ranger Kathryn's Arches 