Canyon country

Still waiting for Rowan to finish her Death Valley epic … so onwards and upwards! You can’t come to this part of the world without doing the canyons, so off we went – inland and across Nevada, Utah and Arizona, before looping back to California.

There might be as much to say about what we didn’t see as what we did: we did not get to the extraterrestrial highway alongside Area 51, nor the Hoover Dam, and we bypassed London Bridge – you know the story, the US bought the old London Bridge from the British believing it was Tower Bridge. When they got it, stone by stone, piece by piece, they ended up plopping it in the middle of the Arizona, most probably rather embarrassed and certainly disappointed. Our most spectacular miss was the south rim of Grand Canyon, but when we tell you more, hopefully you’ll understand.

We don’t believe very strongly in straight lines, as you’ll see from the map. So, we ventured up and east to Zion National Park and Bryce Canyon. Bryce in particular was absolutely stunning. From about 9,000 foot you look down into a valley that reminded me of pictures of the terracotta army … miles and miles of pink hoodoos, or oddly weathered giant pink sandstone pillars that looked for all the world like a petrified army. It was incredibly high, quiet and stunningly beautiful. The whole landscape here is very otherworldly … deserts, strange rock outcrops, lovely crinkly mountains and alluvial fans. It’s intensely dry and hot, with roads that – like the prairies in Canada – go ever on and on. We went up and down, up and down, from below sea level to 10,000 foot and everywhere in between in a very short space of time. I unfortunately discovered altitude and I are not best friends, which doesn’t bode well for Ecuador and Peru! Though not ill, I was not good … dizzy, no appetite, nosebleeds, blocked ears, blinding headaches … hey ho. Luckily, everyone else fared better.

Having had some great camping experiences with Doris in KOAs (Kampgrounds of America), we decided to stay in a Kamping Kabin (what IS it with these people and Ks?) in Panguitch. Joe asked on the phone if their pool was open. The woman evidently thought we were mad. “Its way cold up here!” We of course couldn’t understand this … we were 30 mins away in blazing hot sunshine. When we got there, they were opening all the taps to prevent freezing, and telling us it was below zero at night. No probs, we thought. But then we discovered the cutesy Kabins don’t have come with bedding. Not wanting to look stupid, we didn’t say anything but I did surreptitiously check out the Navajo blankets on sale in the shop. All prohibitively priced for tourists, and we keep maintaining we are hardy folk, able to adapt to whatever is thrown at us. Well, we improvised with clothes and sarongs, and it turned out OK with a small fan heater in the room. The kids only woke up freezing 2 or 3 times! In the morning, the fields were covered in ice. The owner of the campsite who was unashamedly counting down the days until she closed for the season, said “well ya know how high y’all are here? Its 9,000 foot up”. This is over 3 times higher than Pen y Fan, so I suppose its hardly surprising one of us was suffering, as 1 in 4 get altitude sickness. But hey, we carried on, and decided to take a look at Grand Canyon from the apparently less touristy north rim. It was a long old drive, and we arrived right before sunset, just as planned. Alas, not quite as planned was the fact that the lodge there was booked up and obviously had been for months. The woman at the desk told me that everywhere in a 70 mile radius was also full. Now towns come few and far between between all these mountains and canyons, and although the Grand Canyon is only (only!!) sixteen miles wide, its over 230 miles and five hours to drive round this inconsiderate trench dug out by the Colorado River. But still, we obviously decided to go and look at the big old thing before heading back on a long trek to find shelter for the night.

Of course its spectacular, breathtaking (especially given the altitude!) and not to be missed. But Rhys had been asleep in the car and was very cry-ey, and Rowan was too freaked by the drop of over a mile before us to walk far along the edge. Now if the North Rim is not touristy, heaven help the South Rim. Joe described it as kind of like watching the Imax of Grand Canyon. You can’t experience it in blissful solitude, you are constantly being shoved by German tourists and waiting for an opportunity to get to the viewpoints.
So, we didn’t spend as long at one of the wonders of the world as we’d planned, and knew we had a long drive ahead. The sun sets like a stone dropping, out here in the high desert – so one moment you’re in the day, then plop, night falls. I drove us out in the pitch black, with hundreds of deer lining the edge of the road. After about 50 miles of nothing, a saviour of a woman in yet another fully booked motel rang ahead to one just nine miles further on. The pair of rear lights I had been following for 50 miles turned out to be a guy who was also desperately seeking a room, and very flustered that we might get a room and he might not. Luckily, we both got rooms, otherwise I think there might have been a serious road race going on.
We headed for Marble Canyon – oh god, not another canyon. Yes, it crosses the mighty Colorado River and there’s an ancient Navajo bridge but …

Yup, we were canyon-ed out.

Joe and I thankfully had no qualms about admitting this to each other, and we quickly decided that we could not face the 4 hours to the south view of the Grand Canyon. We needed to get down from the high desert, preferably to civilisation and sea level; and a pool, internet and laundry wouldn’t go amiss either.

Flagstaff, Arizona was the spot picked off the map not quite at random, and boy was that a good decision.