It was six years ago that a crew of friends and I ventured out to Utah for a trip in the remote Paria Canyon. We were in college and winter was just kicking into gear. The road was snowed in and the canyon’s frigid chest-deep waters prevented us from venturing any further.

We started kicking the idea around to get back out to this magical stretch of borderland between Utah and Arizona. It contains the longest contiguous slot system in the world, Buckskin Gulch, and over forty miles of incredibly varied desert terrain.  With only a couple exit points throughout, timing and trip planning is of critical importance to stay out of flash flood territory.
 

This fall, things finally fell into place. We got the group together and hauled ourselves across three states in the middle of the night to get to Utah. Once we shuttled to our trailhead, there was only one way out. Forty miles and four days stood between us and our faithful little car parked at a lot on the opposite end of the canyon.

We began our journey, searching for peace, connection, and the possibility of petroglyphs.

What started as a beautiful desert wash filled with bleached sand and wildflowers soon transformed into slot canyons. Within a mile, the sandstone walls began gradually rising around us, eventually reaching a height of 500 feet. 

There was something comforting about being cradled by these vertical walls. There was nowhere else to be, physically, which translated mentally as well. As we fell into a rhythm of steps, the anxieties and stresses of the world melted away. 

The rust-colored walls twisted and turned, carved by geologic forces over millions of years. Erosional striations on the rock told a story of the elements and passage of time. We trekked on through the Paria River at the bottom. No trail or path, just our feet in the chilly, silty riverbed.

During the day, we walked, reducing the many miles between us and the ending trailhead. Temps were a sublime 90 degrees. The sun warmed our bones; the river and occasional shady sand bars provided cool relief. 

As mostly coast-dwelling individuals, we were a little out of our element in the best way. Time slowed way down when all we had to do was walk, chat, and set up camp every day. It proved an incredible respite from the chaos and pressures we are all navigating throughout our twenties.

During our trek, secluded sand bars served as campsites and we had pretty much the entire landscape to ourselves. We’d pick a time when we collectively decided to call it in the early evenings, our weary bodies feeling the miles. Camp tasks would take over—setting up tents, cooking dinner, collecting water. I relished these moments of communal living. We were doing nothing and everything at the same time. 

As the days rolled on, we still hadn’t found any petroglyphs. The narrow slots eventually widened to accommodate desert meadows, hanging gardens and massive rock amphitheaters. That made spotting the petroglyphs even more challenging.

Archeological evidence points to ancestral Puebloan people traveling to the area more than 700 years ago. They hunted bighorn sheep and deer while using the lower part of the canyon to grow crops. Because no remains of large dwellings have been found in the canyon, it’s believed that it was mostly used as a traveling route. Nevertheless, there are multiple locations noted in old guidebooks of remaining petroglyphs and even some granaries.

On day three, we were fortunate enough to spot them! A mere glance from the river at the right place and the right time. We dropped our packs and scrambled up to where the markings were etched into the wall, high enough above the flood line. They were humbling to witness and reminded us of the people who were stewards of this land long ago. We sat under this wall for a while, trading movement for a period of reflection and curiosity about what life was like back then. 

Towards the end of our journey, the river became a sandy wash and spat us out into a massive valley. Our food supply was starting to dwindle, but we shared a lone piece of chocolate remaining in one of our packs. We landed at our final campsite for the trip, as a happy exhaustion settled over us. One last dinner under the stars, followed by a 4am wake up for our hike out. 

More than ever, I keep reminding myself how important it is to prioritize these trips fully unplugged in nature and in community with others. They can be hard to come by, especially with itineraries that take us far from home. With this experience and memory still fresh in my mind, I am reminded of why we get out in the first place.