"I'm on intimate terms with this prairie."
True West by Sam Shepard
I'm not sure how many times I've been to Arches National Park over the years, but every time I return there I feel the presence of all the other visits and the people with whom I made them.
My most recent visit was a few weeks ago when I took my Western American Literature and Culture class on a field trip. We were reading Desert Solitaire by Edward Abbey, once a part-time ranger at the park and now its patron saint. I thought that the students would understand the text much better if they had a chance to spend some time in Abbey country. In fact, whenever I teach a course on Western themes, I like to get my students out and about on field trips--riding horses, touring ranches, visiting museums, taking some hikes, and so forth--so they can get a corporeal feel for the West.
We had a great Saturday with perfect weather, but it was also in the middle of a Utah public school holiday, so the park was more crowded than I've ever seen it--hundreds and hundreds of people scattered all over the trails and slick rock. As I surveyed the scene while racing the BYU van toward the parking lot at Devil's Garden to get a parking spot ahead of the hoards behind me, I imagined Abbey (wherever he's buried in some secret wilderness spot known only to a select few of his ecological compatriots) spinning in his grave at the fulfillment of his dire predictions regarding the rise of "industrial tourism."
Despite the crowds, we had a fine but tiring one-day visit. We started with the Devil's Garden hike past Landscape Arch and on to Navajo Arch, Double O Arch, Partition Arch, and the rest. Then we made the pilgrimage to Delicate Arch and hung around the Windows area before heading back to Provo. Of course, my students were enthralled with the park. On that long drive north I thought about how cool it's been for me to be the one who introduced so many people to Arches National Park--family, students, ward members, and so on.
My first trip to the park was in connection with a Utah Humanities Book Group discussion I was doing with the Senior Citizens Center in Moab on Ivan Doig's Dancing at the Rascal Fair some time in the early nineties. Travis went with me. He earned the trip by reading the novel himself. We stayed at the Comfort Inn (the first of many stays there). As a boy, Travis loved the motel life with fast food, swimming pools, and color T.V. with cable. It was worth reading a big novel and hanging around a bunch of old people while his dad led a literary discussion for a chance at the easy life for a day or two, not to mention getting out of school for a couple days. Actually, I think Travis even contributed a comment or two to our discussion himself.
On our way home the next day, we decided to visit Arches. It was a cold winter day with flurries, but we had the park virtually to ourselves. We could spend only a few hours there, but we made good use of our time and saw most everything. We did the Delicate Arch hike in record time. I even walked the snow-encrusted path cut out of the side of the rock to get to the top and, for the first and only time, stood out under the arch itself. (As most of you know, I'm not too fond of heights.)
Standing there with my son taking in the majesty of a truly unique landscape spread all around us, I had only one thought, which I articulated to Travis the best I could: "Travis, if you so much as touch me, you'll have to walk home, so help me. I'm not kidding."
Of course, he immediately reached out with his index finger and touched me . . . and he got exactly the response he wanted from me, the details of which I'll keep private, but I was so grateful to get safely back across the bowl and down the icy path that I let Travis ride home with me and even bought him some lunch and the way.
That was the beginning of Arch Madness for me.
