A Day at Bryce Canyon National Park

05/12/26

Woke up. Coughed. Rolled around. Checked the news. Ain't nothin' interesting on the news. Same old, same old. Gotta dig for the interesting stuff. Gotta put in some effort. But my eyes have grown accustomed to the sensational, homogenized, sterilized, quick-read, low energy headliner stories that require little to no effort to read. So I remained prostrate in bed, scrolling and scrolling and scrolling, no effort, no emotion, the tone set, the day slipping away. 

I was feelin' lazy. Didn't feel like doing anything stupidly difficult. Might as well go for a drive. Yeah. Go for a drive. See some places I ain't seen. Maybe see some places I have seen, but not for a long, long time. Alrighty then. It was settled. 

So I grabbed the essentials: day pack, two liters of water, mixed nuts, emergency GPS, hat, sunglasses, and a teency-weency internal desire to not let the day go completely to waste. Walked out the door. Started up the car. Ahh yeah. Time to go.

On the road, driving down the highway, the dotted yellow lines zooming on by. I drove into Zion National Park. Just drove right through it. I've been spending far too much time there. Ain't goin' there today. Nope, nope, nope. Just drivin' through it. Off through the west entrance, off through the tunnel, drivin' on the east side, a herd of bighorn sheep chillin' on the slickrock. Ohh. That's why everyone's stopped in the middle of the road. Gotta look at the sheep. Just gotta look at the sheep. Maybe take a picture. Take two pictures! Why not twelve? Hell yeah. And let's stop traffic for a good five minutes. Yup. That's a grand idea...

I digress. Got a little too passionate back there. I apologize. Gotta keep things cool, calm, and collected. Just like this damn drive. Oh yeah. The damn drive. Wheels turning, stereo bumpin'. Down State Route 9, the late morning nice and relaxed, the grass nice and green, the sky nice and blue. A good day, a lovely day. 

Hit the junction with Hwy 89. Mt. Carmel, Orderville, Glendale, Hatch. Tired little towns, sleepy little towns, towns with hardly anyone out and about, towns whose very existence is a big ol' fat question mark. Who goes to these towns? Better yet, who lives in these towns? What do they do all day? Move dirt from one side of the road to the other? Dig a hole? Drive a tractor? I can only guess. I passed through these towns like a fart in the wind; my presence ephemeral, fleeting, my knowledge of these places solely constructed out of fleeting images and quick visual snapshots. 

Windows down. Windows down the whole way. Radio loud. Almost as loud as the wind screaming through the open windows. Singing along to the songs. Screaming along to the songs. Checking the mirrors. Letting the local Utah speed freaks pass me by in their big ol' trucks. Clean air. Cool air. And then a sign for Bryce Canyon National Park. Well hot damn. There's a place I ain't seen for a fat minute. So I flicked on the blinker and made a right and drove up State Route 12, the scenery gorgeous, the gas prices obscene.

And there were peaks in the distance. Little peaks. Rugged little peaks. And there was a sign for the Dixie National Forest and I hooked another right and pulled into a parking area to a place I ain't ever been before. Bryce Canyon can wait. This looked mighty interesting.

Thunder Mountain trailhead. What could be up there? Only one way to find out. I hopped out of the car and immediately hit the trail, my legs stiff from the long drive. Dusty trail, sandy trail, bike tracks on the trail, horse tracks on the trail, horse poop on the trail, horse piss on the trail. I walked along, my legs loosening up, the temps hovering in the low 80's, the scenery fantastic; just me, the red dirt, the silent pines, the meandering trail and the occasional steaming pile of horse dookie. 

Along the Thunder Mountain trail

Very nice

A meandering trail, a fine trail. Followed it to a junction. Turned left. Started walking amongst some hoodoos. Not a person to be seen. And then there were these switchbacks and I gained a ridge of sorts and the trail zoomed along the ridgeline and the views came into play now, red rocks and little bitty hoodoos here, distant, snow-dusted peaks over there. Far over there. Really far over there. They got their own thing goin' on over there. Ain't payin' no mind to these red rock freaks. 

And I passed another junction and kept on goin' straight and I went up and up and up and encountered some folks on horseback and then some folks on bikeback and then I saw these two particular hoodoos, interesting lookin' hoodoos, the kind that make you wonder how they got their shape and why they're still there and what they've been doing all these years. Weird lookin' hoodoos, delicate lookin' hoodoos. Looked like you could just push 'em over. But this was not possible. You'd need some heavy machinery to push these bad boys over. Them's have stood the test of time. They ain't goin nowhere anytime soon.

And I decided to leave the trail at this point, heading towards a summit in the distance. I figured this to be the fabled "Thunder Mountain" of which the trail was named. Well, figure ain't exactly the right word. I'd taken a gander at peakbagger.com a little while back and found out about a peak called Thunder Mountain near Bryce Canyon National Park. Looked at some trip reports, saw some photos. Kept them things in the back of my mind. Saved 'em for a rainy day. And though it certainly wasn't raining when I went, they sure helped out a lot in getting me to the summit. So "figure" definitely ain't the right word. "Knew" would be a lot better. A brief off-trail romp from the peculiar hoodoos later, and I was on the manzanita-encrusted summit, the thing unremarkable, not a slice of thunder to be seen.

View from Thunder Mountain 

Not a whole lotta views. Went west. Better views west. Sat down. Drank some water. Looked at the red rocks, the green pines, the brown horizon, the dark mountains, the blue sky, the puffy white clouds in the sky. Not too bad, not too bad at all. But I had a day to kill and I certainly wasn't gonna spend it posted up on Thunder Mountain, as pleasant as that may have been. And so I took one last look around, gathered my things, and then retraced my steps off the mountain. Walked by the peculiar hoodoos. Met more folks on horseback and bikeback. Saw more horse poop. Saw more horse piss. Lots of dust. Disturbed dust. My shoes were coated in the stuff by the time I got back to the parking lot, the shins of my pants coated as well. I patted them off. Got in the car. Kept on drivin'. 

The peculiar hoodoos

Down the road, off to a roundabout, through Bryce Canyon City, the place poppin', people out and about, shuttle busses runnin' nonstop. And then I saw the ranger kiosks and I was finally in the park and I had a map and I looked at the map while drivin' down the road and I figured I might as well just drive to the end of the road and then stop at various points of interest on the way back.

So I drove all the way to Rainbow Point, the highpoint of the park. Lots of people at Rainbow Point. Small lot, too many cars. I drove around and around and around the small lot, cars leaving, cars nabbin' spots, cars with their hazards on, cars parked illegally, everything hectic, my patience wearing thin. I drove around for eight minutes until finally gettin' a spot. Hallelujah. I parked, hopped out, and then kinda just wandered around.

Stopped at Yovimpa Point first. Nothing much going on there. And then I hit the Bristlecone Loop and moseyed on over to Rainbow Benchmark, a small, uninteresting lookin' bump in the distance. I left the trail, following a use trail of sorts through the forest, the wind blowin' in normal intervals, no animals to be seen, at least none extroverted enough to want to be seen by human eyes. 

Rainbow Benchmark

I pranced through the woods, hit the incline, skirted on up to the summit. Found the benchmark. Touched it. Stood around. Hands on the hips. Yep. Decent little summit this one is. Decent. Not terribly interesting, but that was okay. I took a brief look around, touched the benchmark again with the tip of my index finger, and then set off back towards the trail. 

On the trail, the wind whipping in brief gusts as if the sky was belching the abc's, and I felt something sticky on my bum and the thing was covered in sap. Got sap on the khakis. Dang flabbit. How that happened I do not know. Didn't sit down on no sappy tree. Didn't walk by no sappy tree. Where'd this dang sap come from? Perhaps it manifested itself into reality; a spontaneous materialization, a blip in the space-time continuum, a hole in the fabric of existence, a perfect alignment of quantum entanglement that said, "Ahh yes, lets put a whole bunch of sap on this guy's khaki's for absolutely no reason at all." I don't know. Now I gotta buy some rubbing alcohol. Oh well.

Anywho, I walked along, sappy butt and dusty shoes, following the trail back to Rainbow Point. Still a lot of people at Rainbow Point. Pictures, poses, more pictures, more poses. I walked around, trying to find the true highpoint. And then I walked over to a viewpoint, lookin' out at the hoodoos. I saw a pointy, white, tiny ol' rise in the distance. The road went right by this thing; I recall seeing it on the way up. "Peak 9009." Very small. Barely even a "peak." But standing at that viewpoint I made up my mind, right then and there, that that would be the first pit stop on the drive back. 

View from Rainbow Point

Back in the car, driving down the road, away from all the riff-raff. And I found me a pullout and I didn't even grab my pack; just hiked straight up the thing. There was a use trail that led to the summit. Steep little thing, a bit of loose rock near the top, nothing too crazy. I stood on the summit, looked around. Yup. Same views I'd seen at Rainbow Point, although this time Rainbow Point was in the picture. How fantastic. Satisfied, I walked back down the use trail, back to the car. The whole thing took less than five minutes, up and down. The briefest "hike" to a "summit" I've ever done in my life. Don't ever see myself returning to this spot. It really ain't worth it in my opinion.

Peak 9009

Rainbow Point from Peak 9009

Down the road, coastin', windows down, the radio not as loud this time. Gotta be respectful. And I stopped the Natural Bridge with everyone else. How I found a spot, I do not know. The thing was packed. Cars, tour busses, motorcycles galore. I hopped out, stood behind a wall of people. Stood on my tippy toes. Saw the arch. Looked exactly as I remembered it. And then I hopped back in the car and kept on drivin', the sun slowly falling from the sky, itty bitty clouds breakin' up and turnin' into ittier, bittier little clouds. 

And then I stopped at Farview Point. Not a whole lotta people there. Saw the view. A far view indeed. Aptly named place, that's for sure. And then I followed a short lil' trail off to Piracy Point. Same views, same sky, same pines, same, same same. No pirates. Not a single one. 

And then it was off and away to Sunset Point, the most crowded spot of all. As luck would have it, I managed to find me a spot right next to the trailhead. Perhaps the sap was a good luck charm. Who's to say. I walked along the trail, saw the point. Lots of people. People everywhere. And then I got it in my mind to do a little ol' loop. Walk amongst the hoodoos. See some stuff I ain't seen in a good long time.

So I hit the rim trail and followed it to Sunrise Point, took some pictures, hoodoos everywhere. Saw Boat Mesa in the distance. I'd have to hit that later. Now it was time for a walk. A brief walk. A brief walk on a good trail in good weather with good views.

View from Sunrise Point

Boat Mesa from Sunrise Point

Down the trail, descending, walking off the rim and into the hoodoos. Hoodoos, hoodoos, hoodoos. Them's are the main attraction. It's what's on all the T-shirts and hats and mugs and stickers and pens and doodads and whatchamacallits in the visitor center. These things are world famous. Genuine celebrities. So I acted like the paparazzi and took pictures of them without their consent, descending the trail, down, down, down, snapping photo after photo, the lighting perfect, good vibes for all to be had.

And I walked along, shoes still dusty, butt still covered in sap. Followed the signs, followed the people. Made it to Wall Street. Yep. Looked exactly as I remembered it. Hadn't been there for a while so I stopped for a minute or two and gazed at the towering cliffs on either side of me, gazing at the thing blue streak of sky up above, everything obscured in shadow, everything nice and cool. And then it was time to hit the switchbacks and I zoomed on up the things and stopped at Sunset Point once again at the top, lookin' out at the tippity tops of the proliferous hoodoos. 

Wall Street

And I still wasn't entirely done just yet, so I decided to make the brief walk to Inspiration Point. I'd seen it from down below. Looked like a worthy spot. Looked like it would have some good views. So I put one foot in front of the other, walking along the rim trail, passing people, people passing me, the crowds thinning out, the day wrapping up.

And then I ran into a coworker who was just coming back from Inspiration Point. Golly gee willikers. What are the chances of that happening? About as much as getting sap on your butt if I had to guess. 

We talked for a bit, mostly of how weird it was to run into each other at this random spot on a Tuesday, wished each other well, and then set off on our separate ways. I made it to Inspiration Point. A European family was up there. They took pictures of each kid. Took pictures of each adult. Took combos of adults and kids, every possible combination. And then they took pictures of nobody at all. Just the views. 

I snapped a photo, looked around. Inspiration Point. What a spot, what a spot. Gotta admit, I felt a lil' inspired standing there. Inspired to climb Boat Mesa. I saw it in the distance. And so I walked on back to the parking lot and drove on over there, stopping at the visitor center for a quick whizz and snack break.

View from Inspiration Point. How inspiring...

And I drove out of the park and made a right towards Fairyland Point and there was a guy runnin' on the road with a headband and these expensive lookin' runnin' shoes and he was movin' like the wind and I rode on by him and I half expected him to keep up he was movin' so fast. But he didn't. The man was only human after all. 

Hit the parkin' lot, got out of the car, the guy showed up, kept on runnin' down the trail. I moseyed on over to Fairyland Point, found the highpoint, and then turned around and set my sights on Boat Mesa. Found me a use trail, took it to the top. Yep. Looked exactly as I expected. Wide, flattish, covered in brush, a noticeable highpoint nowhere top be seen. 

Boat Mesa

I wandered around, bobbin' and weavin' through the brush. Moseyed on over to the southwest side, descended a bit, took a picture of the view. And then it was back to wandering around, trying to find the highpoint. I found three good contenders, but I suppose I'd need a GPS in order to confirm. Strava wasn't exactly cutting it. Didn't have no service. 

A seldom seen view from Boat Mesa

And then it was back down the use trail, back to the parkin' lot, back down the road, off into the sunset. Drivin' and drivin' and drivin', windows down the whole way, radio turned to max volume. Drove on through Hatch, Glendale. Saw a guy drivin' a tractor in Orderville. Movin' dirt from one side of the road to the other. Saw another guy diggin' a hole. And I drove slow and turned off the radio and listened to the sounds of the town. Quiet town. No sounds to be heard. Was tempted to stop at a restaurant but checked my wallet and went "naw" and just kept on drivin', down into Mt. Carmel, out onto State Route 9, back through Zion, off and away into the evening. 

Got home. Took off my dusty shoes. Threw the sappy pants in the corner. Had me a nice shower. Cleaned up my dirty, dirty feet. What a day, what a day. Hadn't been to Bryce since July of 2021. And you know what? Looked exactly the same. Ain't nothin' changed.