Traversing Zion

Altitude trumps latitude.  It’s something we all know to be true.  ‘The Snows of Kilimanjaro’ which coat the mountain’s high altitudes in its location near the equator are a well-known example of the dominion of altitude over latitude.  I’ve experienced it more recently in central Costa Rica at elevations of 1000-1500 meters where deep inside the tropics it is comfortable shirt sleeve weather all year long—at least when it is not pouring.

Most recently, I experienced this reality on a 4-day backpacking trip across Zion National Park at the end of April 2024.  Zion, which sits just beyond the eastern edge of the Mohave Desert ranges in elevation from 4000-9000 feet.  At 37 degrees north latitude, one might expect hot desert like conditions at this time of year.  This was not the case.

Zion itself is not a dry desert.  With its average of 9 inches of precipitation a year, it is classified as semi-arid desert.  But when hiking through the park in a cold rain and staring up at the thick tall trees that are nestled in the Kolob Canyons area even this classification seemed spare.  How can 9 inches produce such magnificent trees?  A ranger answered this question for me.  Sandstone is like a sponge; it holds the rain water, providing an aquifer from which trees can heartily drink.

Our trek started in the Kolob Canyons area in the northwest corner of the park.  Jeremy, my partner on numerous backpacking ventures, and I told ourselves that the rain was preferred to hot dry temperatures that were surely to build once spring rains ended.  We were, however, hunched under packs that were heavier than either of us had anticipated.  We had hoped to leave most of our rain gear and warm weather clothing behind, but the chill I was feeling had me thinking I should have brought even more. 

Kolob Canyons area; Kolob Arch

The rain also had the benefit of giving our photos a misty quality and enhancing the colors.  It stopped just long enough for us to set up camp and hike to Kolob Arch before setting in for a long-wet night.

In the morning, we packed away our wet tent while still under drippy grey skies and started our way up the Hop Valley in a strong wind.  Hop Valley is bounded by tall red sandstone cliffs that extend for miles.  Jeremy salivated at the climbing potential; 3 to 4 pitch splitter cracks with lots of belay ledges were everywhere.

Clockwise from top left: trail into Hop Valley; entering the valley; sage, orange sands and cliffs; Jeremy contemplating the climbing

The cow plops from the previous fall that littered sections of the valley floor got us wondering about the history of this place.  Mormon pioneers settled the area in the 1850s.  In Hop Valley their descendants, I presume, still have inholdings they use to feed cattle in the summer.  Our trail out of Hop Valley is the trail that is still used to get cattle in and out.  It was rough and steep and made us wonder how hard the cowboys have to press the cattle to move them along.  Lots of “Yee-has,” and “Get along little doggies,” countered by a cacophony of mooing in solidarity and resistance.

Cow plops leave one at risk of cyanobacteria if one drinks the creek water flowing through the valley.  The rangers recommended that we do not drink it even if filtered, so we followed their advice and gulped down our supply.  We had each left a liter at the trailhead at the head of Hop Valley, and added this to our containers when we reached there.  We were in the uplands of Zion now.  No creeks flowed at this elevation.  Water was scarce.  Wildcat Spring, 3 miles distant, was the only water shown on the map. 

We had plenty of water to reach the spring, but the map showed that the spring was located on a steep hillside.  We couldn’t camp near there, and it had us wondering whether Jeremy and my 2- and 2.5-liter capacities respectively were enough to get us through the night if we camped short of the spring.  Concern about where the next water source was, whether it was adequate or filled with sediment would become a constant refrain for the rest of the hike. The desert was beginning to take hold.

Recent rains had filled pools with what would soon become stagnant mosquito infested water, but for now were clear, and a good source if filtered.  We found a flat spot in a pine forest and set up our tent on a soft bed of needles near one of these pools.  We had hiked 11.6 miles that day, much of it uphill through the orange sands of the Hop Valley.  We camped right near the intersection of the Northgate Peaks trail.  It had been our intention to hike the trail and climb one of the peaks, but winds that continued to blow hard and our tired bodies caused us to back off and just enjoy the view with the peaks still in the distance.

Zion's uplands; fresh snow on the distant Pine Valley Mountains

Water ended up being more abundant than the map indicated.  Early on our third day, we found two unmarked springs in the neighborhood of Wildcat, and Blue Creek was running strong—a ranger told us that its flows were dependent on releases from Blue Springs Reservoir which sits at its headwaters. 

Latitude finally exerted its influence on Day 3.  It was a perfect morning, but on its way to getting hot.  As we hiked through the grasslands of Potato Hollow, I found myself looking for potato plants that had re-seeded themselves, figuring that this was once an area claimed by Mormon Pioneering efforts, but I found no evidence that this was the source of its name and the ranger and other sources I have interrogated have not yet provided me its provenance.

We filled up at the spring in Potato Hollow and then climbed to the West Rim.  Here we found a study in contrasts. The hike took us through dried grasses, just starting to hint green, in a burned-out forest. The sun was now beating down on us, there was no water up

here, but below the rim we were treated to otherworldly beauty.  The maze of sandstone peaks were like nothing we had even seen before.  The colors were orange, red and white with greens where grasses and trees could find footing.  Valleys were impossibly tight. Do climbers and canyoneers enter this wilderness? The ranger's answer was, "Yes." Both types rappel off the West Rim before either attempting peaks or working their way through canyons.

This was a world carved by wind and water.  The glaciated peaks of Montana, where I hail from, all follow the pattern of jagged crests, with U-shaped glacially carved valleys.  Stunningly beautiful, but easily understood by any Earth Science 101 student.  Here, it was more the world an artist might imagine in her wildest flights of fancy.  Peter Max album covers from the 1970s came to mind.

Greatheart Mesa

Three temples

The whole of Utah’s south seems to have been given to these flights of fancy: the hoodoos of Bryce Canyon, the concentration of arches in its eponymously named National Park, the sandstone mushrooms in Canyonlands, the massive blood red mudstone turrets that stand sentinel in Capitol Reef.  The one difference being that the unique and exceptional beauty in all these national parks is readily visible from a car or a short walk to a viewpoint.  In Zion, by contrast, standing atop the West Rim requires a challenging hike. 

We passed by Camp 5, which is well located to spend one’s evening sitting and taking in all that we were hurrying by.  A group of guys we had passed was planning to camp here tonight.  The group’s leader had been here before.  It was his favorite spot in the park.  Jeremy wanted to stop and check out the site for possible future use.  I hurried us along.  We were putting in a 15-mile day and our camp was still miles away.

As the West Rim started trending downward and we left its most stunning vistas behind us, I began to understand that Camp 5 and its neighbor, Camp 4, were probably the best spots to stay.  But water?  To stay there, one has to have enough water.  I had chosen Camp 2 for us because of its proximity to a spring.  We decided that one would need to carry at least 4-liters from Potato Hollow Spring to spend a waterless night high up on the West Rim and not suffer the effects of dehydration. 

Camp 2 turned out to be a beautiful, if sandy, place to spend our last night on the trail.  Sandstone cliffs rose around us and sliced across the land all the way to the distant eastern horizon.  Stars filled the night sky. 

This was my fourth trip to Zion, but my first time up on the West Rim.  I am not sure I will ever be back, but its beauty will haunt me.  Jeremy was already thinking he’d be back.  He quickly honed in on the fact that one doesn’t have to hike for 4 days to see the West Rim.  An 18 mile overnight from Lava Point will suffice. 

We met a handful of trail runners while we were out.  Some started from Lava Point, others trekked the entire 40-mile traverse in a single day.  Zion, we discovered, was a stunningly beautiful place, worthy of the various efforts many undertake to immerse themselves in its beauty.

Below the West Rim; approaching Zion Canyon, Angel's Landing in the center