Among the mystical orange pillars of Bryce Canyon

In Bryce Canyon, this already-remarkable road trip finally ascended into the mystic. People have occasionally asked me what’s the best thing I’ve seen on this trip so far (for example, Stacey Simms asked me when interviewing me a few weeks back for her Diabetes Connections podcast) and I’ve been replying, “Hmm, maybe Saguaro National Park…?”

Well, in Bryce Canyon we have a new frontrunner.

You may have seen me talk about the yin and yang of travel, of diabetes, and of life, and that was definitely present here. Especially for Masayo: she had to go to an emergency room the day before we went to Bryce Canyon to get nine stitches in her foot.

See, we were in a small hotel in tiny Panguitch, Utah, and as we walked into the lobby the metal door hit the back of her foot. She collapsed in pain onto the sidewalk, bleeding badly from her heel.

“I see white,” she cried, trying and failing to not look at the fearsome wound. It was Sunday afternoon in the middle of nowhere and I had no idea what we were going to do.

The girl working the front desk said there was a hospital and it just happened to be about two blocks away. I ran to get the car and picked Masayo up (literally). She held a towel to her heel, almost passing out from the pain, and I drove erratically (but carefully) to the emergency room.

They wheeled her in and a doctor came to look at the foot. An hour later they had her patched up, in pain but with nine new stitches and instructions to take it easy for a few days. There was no tendon or blood vessel damage, just a deep skin gash.

It was all very horrifying, and I couldn’t believe how lucky we were that in this small desert town, where the very few businesses were all closed for the weekend, we were right next to a competent (and open) hospital. The travel gods let us down with the hotel door but they came through for us on the medical care.

And that’s the backdrop of our time in Bryce Canyon the next day.

Masayo’s foot was still causing her pain but it had stabilized. She was able to hobble around (and the doctor said that would be fine) and we arrived at Bryce Canyon National Park early in the morning to try to secure a campsite. And we did: a nice spot under the trees and right next to the bathroom, so Masayo wouldn’t have to go far to brush her teeth and stuff.

Of course our time in Bryce Canyon was mostly spent in the car: the patient and I took it easy, driving along the one road that extends down into the Park and pulling out at the various scenic vistas.

And scenic they were: Bryce Canyon is full of great orange spires of rock, soft stone that is being whittled down by erosion. Looking unlike anything else I’d ever seen on Earth, the “hoodoos”, especially those gathered in a giant area together towards the north end of the Park, exploded with vibrant, almost unnatural color even in the middle of the sunny day. The towers are misshapen and precarious and were throwing their equally unusual shadows on the undulating surfaces below them.

Even with a screaming heel, Masayo gawked and snapped photos along with me and the few other tourists bunched at the edge of the railings.

We wound along the road, stopping at each and every lookout, which changed as the day wore on: some looked out onto great fields of fir trees stretching to the far, flat horizon, and others revealed great orange natural arches. Birds of all types would glide by, no doubt praising themselves for having chosen such a wonderful place to live.

We took a break in the campsite, setting up our tent and relaxing on a blanket under the tree. Masayo knit and I watched a deer who had wandered into the camping area to graze. For about two hours I stalked the ragged-looking creature with my camera. The deer seemed to take no notice of me at all, even when I got near enough for extreme closeups. It just continued to eat, occasionally sitting in a tuft of grass and resting before getting up, moving a few feet away, and grazing some more.

As is so often the case, the deer was accompanied by a bird who tagged along, a cross-species Mini-me with evidently a lot of free time, bobbing along with his cervine friend under the cool trees in the high elevations of Bryce Canyon.

Towards sunset we drove back to Sunset Point to watch the shifting patterns of light on that largest field of hoodoos. There is a steep trail that winds downward into the hoodoos themselves; we couldn’t go too far because of Masayo’s fresh injury but she was able to go down partway. I was proud of her; it was difficult.

The sunset was pretty spectacular; it was setting on the other side of us (behind the parking lot) so the star of the show was the light, not the orb of the sun itself. Rich reds and oranges illuminated the taller spires sideways, darkening dramatically the shadows in lower elevations and allowing new details to emerge in unexpected places.

We got as far as a famous tower called Thor’s Hammer, and the show was nearly over. Plus, Masayo was nervous about the steep hike back up to the car. Holding my arm we trudged slowly up the steep switchback ramps. I knew it was wearing her out, but I felt the view had been worth it.

Back in the campsite we cooked our dinner: chili, with Triscuits, bananas, and chocolate chip cookies. And after that, Masayo was out like a light, dozing in the tent at 9:00 pm.

I took advantage of the spectral weirdness of Bryce Canyon, and the nearly full moon, to drive back to Sunset Point after dark and get some photos of the rock formations against the night sky. There were a few others there, but only a few; I mostly had the place to myself.

I hiked back down to Thor’s Hammer, and the place was totally different than it had been at sunset. Dark and spooky, but the red rocks illuminated in pale yellows by the bright moon. (I was using a head lamp but you could actually see the path by pure moonlight.)

As I stood beside the camera and its tripod, taking long exposures of the soundless rocks and stars, I let my mind wander… to the possibility of being attacked by a mountain lion and to the feeling of being enveloped by the harsh and vast beauty all around and below me. With nobody else around most of the time, I dreamed of what the hoodoos might be like further down the path, deeper in the silent darkness of the cool desert. What it would be like to be at the bottom of the field of spires, looking only upward at the stars and the moonshadows.

For the first time on this whole trip, I was finally feeling the “commune with nature” vibe that America’s National Parks are always said to offer. It was the roar of silence, the colorful explosion of washed-out moonlight, the security of steep gravel slopes inches from my toes, and the manic dancing of those great inert pillars of stone.

Yin and yang, intoxicating and wild. All here for everyone to experience just by driving your car to the parking lot and hiking down into the unknowable in Bryce Canyon.

But of course I wanted to get back and check on Masayo. Plus it was cold and I was a tad underdressed. But it had been worth it; the photos were great fun to take and the rapport I experienced with the crazy landscape was invaluable. I loved the cacti of Saguaro but I think I have a new high point of the trip.

So far.

Masayo was still sleeping in the tent, knocked out by the events of the past couple of days. (The hiking in the hot sun of Zion National Park the day before she hurt her foot had really begun this string of unusual exertion.)

Quite pleased with myself, I put my camera away, kept dreaming of the stars and trees and rocks all around us, and lay down to slip into my own deep sleep.

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