The Delicate Arch.
Sounds possibly erotic.
Maybe something from the Kama Sutra, or a beginner's yoga position. Maybe there is a 'delicate arch' to be found in the mystic practices of the eastern yogis, but for me the Delicate Arch is a destination. Though a physical destination, the journey to Delicate Arch for me fills a mental and spiritual dimension.
Two years ago, I told my traveling companion, my son Grant, that in the spectacular landscapes of the American West, there are two things I consider to be the amazing of the amazings; the Grand Canyon and Delicate Arch (Arches National Park, Utah). From the swarm of tourists in the parking lot there is an up hill climb of 1.4 miles to the top of the plateau and then around the back edge and over a ridge before one can at last behold the Delicate Arch.
In 2013, we two headed up the incline to see this true geologic wonder. I left without any water and soon came to realized my lungs had shriveled to the size of walnuts. At 5,000 feet elevation, I was being passed on the trail by old and crippled people. I was ashamed of my physical condition. We were pressed for time, as we had dinner reservation hundred of miles to the east in Denver that evening. Grant, seeing my struggles on the trail, peppered me with comments; "Dad, you are not going to make it." "Give up. Lets just go back."
Knowing that I was but half way, out of air and water, I caved to defeat and did not see Delicate Arch in 2013. A great disappointment. A mental and physical failure. But I did live to have our Moroccan dinner in Denver that evening.
This year I vowed to make it. I drove into Utah with a purpose. We were followed across Utah by dramatic skies of billowing clouds that grew dark blue undersides, and then spit lightning bolts and waves of rain upon our car as we drove ahead into these crisp yellowed lands with an overhead pallet of grays, blues and whites being constantly mix and roiled by the turbulent atmosphere.
Inside Arch National Park, the clouds above made the weather pleasant, if not a bit on the warm side. We left the parking lot carrying two quart bottles of water for the ascent to Delicate Arch. However, my lungs remained the size of walnuts. It was not the legs that gave me grief, it was need for oxygen that slowed me. But with determination, up we went.
The exposed Mesozoic sandstones are weathered to a smooth and curvaceous roundness, a charming feminine and sensuous landscape. The skin of the earth here is shaded in warm hues of ocher, golds, sun-drenched tans and spicy oranges, evoking the skin tones of the beloved maiden in the Song of Solomon. My eyes feast and my soul rises as if caught in one of the canyon thermals as I take in the magnificence of the stone beneath me and the shifting clouds in the sky above. I take it slow up the broad warm shoulder of the plateau. I am glad to be alive - and I hope that I remain alive while exerting myself to make it to the Delicate Arch.
The path across sloped and barren rock sounds like the path from the Tower of Babel. I hear a babbling flow of German, Spanish, Chinese, Japanese among other tongues spoken as we all ascend. The Asian women are often dressed in fashionable outfits, snappy hats and matching low heel sandals, one even carried a fashion forward parasol. The western trekkers not so much; light weight shirts and sturdy, comfortable foot gear. The third of a mile or so, the path levels and leads towards a cloven rim of the the sandstone plateau. After sliding along a narrow shelf hanging on the cliff side, the path rounds the ridge and suddenly the Delicate Arch is in view at the tip of the ridge, framing the northeastern horizon on the rim of a hollowed out bowl. I am amazed.
I find it incredulous that such a geomorphic form can exist. The processes of wind and water erosion seem so constant, so uniformly applied across geologic time that a shape of such wonder would naturally form and be left standing above the surrounding stacked formations defies belief. Yet, behold what wonders have been sculpted.
It is worth seeing.
It is a true wonder.
We stop on the rim opposite the arch and marvel at the stone arch rising before us, as the breeze drys my skin and forms a thin salty crust on my cheeks and neck - I wear this crust as a badge earned as I finished my journey to Delicate Arch. I am in awe.
Sounds possibly erotic.
Maybe something from the Kama Sutra, or a beginner's yoga position. Maybe there is a 'delicate arch' to be found in the mystic practices of the eastern yogis, but for me the Delicate Arch is a destination. Though a physical destination, the journey to Delicate Arch for me fills a mental and spiritual dimension.
Two years ago, I told my traveling companion, my son Grant, that in the spectacular landscapes of the American West, there are two things I consider to be the amazing of the amazings; the Grand Canyon and Delicate Arch (Arches National Park, Utah). From the swarm of tourists in the parking lot there is an up hill climb of 1.4 miles to the top of the plateau and then around the back edge and over a ridge before one can at last behold the Delicate Arch.
In 2013, we two headed up the incline to see this true geologic wonder. I left without any water and soon came to realized my lungs had shriveled to the size of walnuts. At 5,000 feet elevation, I was being passed on the trail by old and crippled people. I was ashamed of my physical condition. We were pressed for time, as we had dinner reservation hundred of miles to the east in Denver that evening. Grant, seeing my struggles on the trail, peppered me with comments; "Dad, you are not going to make it." "Give up. Lets just go back."
Knowing that I was but half way, out of air and water, I caved to defeat and did not see Delicate Arch in 2013. A great disappointment. A mental and physical failure. But I did live to have our Moroccan dinner in Denver that evening.
This year I vowed to make it. I drove into Utah with a purpose. We were followed across Utah by dramatic skies of billowing clouds that grew dark blue undersides, and then spit lightning bolts and waves of rain upon our car as we drove ahead into these crisp yellowed lands with an overhead pallet of grays, blues and whites being constantly mix and roiled by the turbulent atmosphere.
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| A burst of lightning, thunder claps and rain lept up to meet us as we drove west across Utah toward Moab |
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| Raven rides a thermal My soul rises with Raven |
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| A warm and sensuous landscape |
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| Sue climbs over the sandstone steps encouraging me to "come on!" |
The path across sloped and barren rock sounds like the path from the Tower of Babel. I hear a babbling flow of German, Spanish, Chinese, Japanese among other tongues spoken as we all ascend. The Asian women are often dressed in fashionable outfits, snappy hats and matching low heel sandals, one even carried a fashion forward parasol. The western trekkers not so much; light weight shirts and sturdy, comfortable foot gear. The third of a mile or so, the path levels and leads towards a cloven rim of the the sandstone plateau. After sliding along a narrow shelf hanging on the cliff side, the path rounds the ridge and suddenly the Delicate Arch is in view at the tip of the ridge, framing the northeastern horizon on the rim of a hollowed out bowl. I am amazed.
I find it incredulous that such a geomorphic form can exist. The processes of wind and water erosion seem so constant, so uniformly applied across geologic time that a shape of such wonder would naturally form and be left standing above the surrounding stacked formations defies belief. Yet, behold what wonders have been sculpted.
It is worth seeing.
It is a true wonder.
We stop on the rim opposite the arch and marvel at the stone arch rising before us, as the breeze drys my skin and forms a thin salty crust on my cheeks and neck - I wear this crust as a badge earned as I finished my journey to Delicate Arch. I am in awe.
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| Sliding along the cliff Delicate Arch is just around the corner |
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| Cliff Hanger |
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| Delicate Arch |
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| A grand wonder I still marvel at the selected forces of sand grain cementation, wind and water erosion that form such a spectacular form, defying uniform weathering, yielding something that exceeds all logic and expectation |
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| A vug in the Entrada Sandstone |
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| Returning from the mountain top |
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