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| Cooper at Monument Valley |
One of the great joys of travel is rediscovering the wonders of our earth and the complexity of our spirits.
Our recent spring break included a three-day tour of the Southwest, allowing us to explore land that we'd only ever seen on National Geographic calendars and computer screensavers.
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| Katie, Cooper & Tyra at the Grand Canyon |
Cooper, Katie and I hiked along the South Rim of the Grand Canyon, sometimes in silence, sometimes talking nonstop about the colors, dusting of snow, unusual rock formations and incredible enormity of the park. We'd stop often to admire the scenery from different angles. We took dozens of photos.
We were excited to reach the entry to Bright Angel Trail, hoping to hike down a mile or so to fully appreciate the canyon's proportions. We were confident in our abilities and heartened when we passed older travelers returning from the trail. They were a sturdy bunch but at least 30 years older than me and 60 years older than my children — surely we could tackle Bright Angel.
One glance at the trail itself, though, and we were defeated. Recent snow had melted, frozen and turned to ice. The steep incline appeared treacherous. Unlike those senior citizens, we lacked ice cleats and walking sticks. We passed the trailhead and kept walking along the rim, impressed by the athleticism of those septuagenarians, humbled by our lack of preparation and awed by beauty at every turn.
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| Katie at Monument Valley |
The next day we toured Monument Valley, an iconic region in the middle of the Navajo Nation, straddling Utah and Arizona. Sandstone buttes punctuate the landscape, made famous in the past century by cowboy movies and Forrest Gump.
Our Navajo guides drove us through the backcountry and stopped occasionally to let us roam. We scrambled up rock and slid through sand. We admired Moccasin Arch and Eye of the Sun, potholes high in the rock created by water erosion. We spied Anasazi petroglyphs on walls and remnants of pottery on the ground.
I couldn't have asked for more.
And then our guides surprised us with music.
One played a wooden flute, the notes echoing off rock walls. The other chanted a traditional Dine song while he played a small drum.
We were wowed by nature and humbled by humanity's own art.
Later that afternoon, we wandered through Antelope Canyon, a slot canyon in northern Arizona known for its curved walls, waves of color and peek-a-boo sunbeams. We were halfway through the tour, surrounded by gorgeous sandstone chiseled by millions of years of floodwaters, when angelic sound flooded the canyon.
A women's choir had burst into song, taking full advantage of the canyon's natural acoustics. Our tour group stopped, made room in the narrow passageway and listened as choir members shared their gifts with strangers.
The whole scene was like heaven on earth.
In an increasingly virtual world, there's truly no substitute for standing on the edge of a cliff at Lake Powell, studying the Colorado River as it winds around Horseshoe Bend. Or for hiking up a trail at Zion National Park to stand beneath Weeping Rock and rejoice in sprays of water.
There's also no substitute for making friends along trails or enjoying impromptu concerts in the wild. We don't have to leave the state or even the county to forge new adventures, but we do have to leave the comfort of our homes and our routines to discover fresh reminders of the breadth and depth of our planet and of our souls.
Tyra Damm is a Briefing columnist. She can be reached at tyradamm@gmail.com.
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