The Narrows

07/10/26

Millions of people visit Zion National Park every year. Of those millions, tens of thousands brave the trek into the famous Narrows. Why? Couldn't tell you. Maybe there's a Buc-ee's in there. I don't know. I ain't ever been, which is kinda sad given that I've been frequenting the park for the past several months. What can I say? I don't really like water all that much. 

I've been hittin' the trails and peaks in the meantime. Been gettin' high in the sky, burnin' my skin in the sun, feelin' the wind caress my eyelashes, poundin' my joints on the downhill, overworking my kidneys in the heat, you know, fun stuff like that. But I figured that I'd have to check out the Narrows at some point this year. I mean, everyone hikes the Narrows and most of my coworkers have hiked the Narrows and so of course that meant that I had to hike them as well. Had to see what they were all about. What exactly is it about the Narrows that makes them so popular? Are they overrated? Or are they actually legit? I'd have to see for myself. 

So I hopped on a company shuttle and we drove all the way out to Chamberlain's Ranch, the morning balmy, the air tepid. It was gonna be a hot one that day, the temps soaring well into the triple digits. Good thing I'd be in the water for most of the time. Hikin' on dry land far away from any kind water in that kind of heat is absolutely no fun whatsoever. Trust me. Been there, done that.

The first creek crossing

On the trail...

After a quick whizz and a meager application of zinc, I hopped through the first creek crossing, wetting my feet in the process. Felt good. Nice and cool. And then it was a quiet, scenic, meditative romp on a dirt road for a couple of miles, just sauntering along, enjoying the morning air. I passed a large group of ten that had been dropped off on an earlier shuttle. Seven teenage boys, three chaperons. They were loud. Boisterous. I walked through their group. One of 'em asked me, "Is this the way to the Narrows?" And I said "Man, I hope so." And then they laughed and I sped off, trying to make a decent gap between me and their loquaciousness. Unfortunately, the Narrows nowadays is no longer a good spot for those seeking solitude. Gonna run into somebody eventually. But damn it all, I was gonna try to seek it anyway, hoping that I could open up a long enough gap to where I would feel like I was well and truly out there, all by my lonesome, just me, the weathered sandstone and the rushing water. 

And Chamberlain's Ranch stretched out before me, the property a lot larger that I'd imagined. Lots of green grass, lots of farm equipment, lots of tire tracks and stacks of hay and horsies and trees and all that good stuff. Passed by Bulloch's Cabin. At least, what was left of it. More like Bulloch's woodpile nowadays. That cabin has sure seen better days...

A cool tractor, the remnants of Bulloch's Cabin right

Entering the water

And it wasn't long after passing Bulloch's Cabin when I entered the Virgin River. Goodbye trail, hello water. I hopped in, ziggin' and zaggin' from bank to bank. I followed a use trail here, another there. Sometimes they made things easier. Sometimes they didn't. Sometimes they took me well above the river, hikin' through grass and aromatic pines. Other times they meandered along the bank, or they cut across at random points, bypassing what I found to be scenic sections that were definitely worth seeing. There was no rhyme or reason to where I went. Kinda just stayed in the water for the most part, heading downstream. Just took it slow, absorbed the surroundings, splish splash, splish splash.

Can you spot the arch?

The canyon gettin' more extreme...

It was like a symphony. A very long symphony, one that would take a while before reaching its conclusion. The first movement of this symphony was slow, very slow. A gentle introduction. Nothing fancy. Nothing loud. The walls of the canyon were quite mellow, the Virgin River more like a creek than a river, the scenery tame but beautiful. And the farther I went the more complex the symphony became, incorporating new instruments, a delicately slow crescendo, all of it building up to something utterly fantastic. The walls grew in height; they became much more sheer, much more variegated, textured, colorful. The river gently wound it way downhill, slowly carving everything away, one little pice at a time. Down, down, down, the scenery growing more interesting, more extreme with every step. Ahh yeah. This was gonna be a good one. 

I'd walk a bit and then stop and stare and shake my head and mutter "wow." Found my self doing this quite often actually; seemed like every bend of the river would reveal something amazing. A gigantic, multi-colored cliff. Tall trees clinging to the canyon rim. Alcoves, dry waterfalls, side canyons, interestingly shaped rocks and boulders. I'd stop and stare, I'd look at these features, my mind raving, attempting to comprehend the age of this place, how much water it took to carve these features, what it looked like in the past, what it would look like in the future. And all of it was overwhelming and all of it was too much and the only thing I could think of to say was "wow."

And I'd stop often, munch on some bread. And I'd take in the sights, I'd stop, look up, look downstream, look back from whence I came. And then I'd hear the screeches of the teenage boys and I knew that they were close so I put my feet in gear and picked up the pace, changing the day from a casual saunter into a typical, mind-numbing hike. 

When I thought I'd put enough distance between me and the loudness I had stumbled upon the first "narrows" section of the day. High cliffs, wavy cliffs, lookin' for all the world like the fossilized remnants of the gills of a gargantuan fish. And I hike through these cliffs, the water surprisingly shallow, the morning light nice and bright, bouncing off most everything in sight. 

I stopped paying attention to the miles. Stopped paying attention to the hike. I fell back into the symphony, I let the music of the canyon take me where I needed to go. Second movement now, the music more intense, a bit faster now. High cliffs, more narrow sections, crazy features. I lost all sense of location; had no idea where I was on the map. And that was fine by me. I walked along, eager to see what was on the other side of another bend in the river. Splish splash, splish splash. Cliffs, canyons, green trees, their leaves almost glowing. And then I came upon a waterfall. Bypassed it on the left. Turned around, snapped a photo, forced down a crushed banana, and then carried on, approaching the junction with Deep Creek. 

The Falls

 

And then I heard voices and they were comin' from downstream and soon I met the 2nd group of the day, two young dudes from Pennsylvania. And we stopped and chatted for a bit and exchanged stories and marveled a the beauty of the canyon. And then we set off as a group since we were all kinda hikin' the same pace anyways. And they were a lot more quiet than the teenage boys and we walked along the river in silence, the walls of the canyon towering above us, incomprehensible. I though back to Chamberlain's. Thought of how mellow the terrain looked. Though about the gentle trickle of the Virgin River, the thing unassuming, infinitely humble. Crazy to think that such a little river could create such dramatic scenery just a few miles downstream. 

Junction with Deep Creek

I found myself stopping to take far too many pictures and soon the Pennsylvanians and I split up, them doing their own thing, me doing mine. And I reached the junction with Deep Creek and the canyon widened significantly, towering cliffs on all sides. Now joined by Deep Creek, the Virgin River looked more like a river at this point, the water deeper, the current stronger. I lingered for a moment, muchin' on more bread, takin' pictures of the confluence. And then I continued downstream, moving along at a leisurely pace, takin' picture after picture, the symphony now in its third movement, casual yet grand, a little slower than before, more gentle, soothing, lovely, majestic. 

Kolob Creek

The simple act of putting one foot in front of the other brought me within the presence of the Pennsylvanians once again. They were sitting in the shade, sprawled on some rocks, munchin' on trailmix and snacks and stuff. Asked me how it was going. And I said "hot." And hot it was. It was hot as balls. By that point the sun had finally crested the canyon rim and was shining with full brightness and intensity upon us. The air was warm. You could almost taste it. But luckily we had the river to relieve ourselves from the stifling heat and I dunked my bandana and hat and soaked them nice and good and put them on my head and I wished the Pennsylvanian's good luck with the rest of their hike and then set off downstream. "Catch you later" I said. Didn't know it at the time, but that was the last time I ever saw 'em. Oh well...

Big Springs

Zigging, zagging, walking through ankle-deep water, walking through waste-deep water. No rhyme or reason, no hopes, no dreams. Just walkin' along, walking along and soakin' in the seen and listening the music. 

And then I kinda just stumbled upon Big Springs and I knew that I would no longer be alone. Big Springs is the farthest spot you can hike to in the Narrows without the need for a permit, and already there were a bunch of people gathered around 'em, takin' pictures, posing, all that stuff. I joined the fray, taking pictures of my own. The springs themselves looked artificial, like they belonged in a Rainforest Cafe or something. I suppose it was the gushing water spewing forth from deep within the cliff, pouring into the Virgin River as if it was powered by some mechanized pump. I'd never seen such violent springs before. They were truly a sight to behold. 

And then I carried on and there were people everywhere, groups of two or three or eight, all of 'em dressed differently, some better prepared than others. This was the fourth movement, the loudest, most intense part of the symphony. Everything had been leading up to this point. All that build-up, all that noise, all of it leading to this. So much going on. So much going on everywhere. People, moving like ants, tiny against the backdrop of the towering cliffs. Turquoise water, cool to the touch, echoing off the sides of the canyon. Sheer cliffs, towering cliffs, colorful cliffs, the biggest and tallest I'd seen all day, all of 'em adorned with greenery, delicate ferns, various plants, hanging on for dear life. For the 2nd time that day, all I could say was "wow." Just "wow." Had to stop a few times. Had to stop and stand and take a moment to absorb it all, to process what exactly it was my eyes were seeing. 

I walked along, the water sometimes reaching up to my neck in places. I went with the scene, my mind unable to fully comprehend what it was witnessing. And all that witnessing and reflecting and meditating was sure makin' me hungry. Time for some lunch. 

And I left the water, sat on down on the hot rocks, watched these young boys jump off a crumbly rock into water that wasn't very deep. Munched on the last of my bread. Chewed on a protein bar. Took another whizz. And then it was back in the water, back to the saunter, heading into "Wall Street" the music at a fever pitch, the symphony reaching its climax. 

Entering "Wall Street"

Man. What to say, what to say. A lot of people see Wall Street. It's probably the most popular destination in the Narrows. No solitude. No silence. There were a bunch of people there, most of 'em noisy. Lots of kids. Lots of tourists ooing and ahhhing. Some shouts, some hollers. People on their phones, people setting up tripods, people takin' selfies, people vloggin' the whole thing. I noticed these things. I saw the people. Hell, I was one of the people. I took pictures. I oooed and ahhhed. I wasn't seperate from anything. I was part of the mix, just like everyone else. 

But I did take the time to filter it out. I'd stop often in Wall Street, stand right in the middle of the river. The noises of the people faded away. I gazed at the towering cliffs, the things so high they blocked out the sun. It was almost like a cave in some sections; everything nice a cool, a reprieve from the sun. And the water flowed on through and I could not fathom how it could carve out such an incomprehensibly, breathtakingly magnificent canyon. Couldn't understand it. Couldn't fathom it. The music was too loud. 

But I carried on regardless, walking past "Floating Rock," reaching the junction with Orderville Canyon. I'd made good time so I decided to check out Orderville, see what it was about. Just a small detour, nothing too crazy. And there were tons of people in Orderville and it was shallow and narrow and I helped people take pictures and I talked to a few folks and I made it as far as I felt like going and turned around and made my way back to the Virgin River, the symphony almost over, everything in diminuendo.

Orderville Canyon

Somewhere in Orderville Cyn

Back at the junction; Orderville Cyn left

Back in the Virgin River, back to the crowds. I walked along, careful not to slip or trip over the ubiquitous boulders and rocks hiding underneath the current. My legs were seasoned now; they'd been trekkin' in the water for most of the day. I'd found a groove and I took it, moving through the water with care and efficiency, the miles melting underfoot, the scenery terrifically scenic, much too much of the eyes to handle all at once. 

Almost done...

And I walked around a sharp horseshoe bend and soon I was trekkin' past Mystery Falls, people everywhere, all of them swimming or sitting or talking or gawking or hiking, fully geared out, serious expressions plastered on their stern faces. And then I saw the staircase and it was time to exit the water. Goodbye water, hello trail. And it was hotter than all get out on that trail, people red in the face, everyone sweating bullets. I carried on, nothing on my mind. The symphony was complete, the final note still lingering in my ear. 

I reached the trailhead, hopped on the air-conditioned shuttle. The thing took off, rolling down the road. I looked straight ahead. The thing was packed, people crammed in there like sardines. Some talked loudly, others quietly, talkin' about the hike or what else it was they did on their trip or where they were going or what they had seen on the news. And then we reached the visitor center and I got off and walked over to my car and sat and rolled the windows down and that was that. 

So are the Narrows overrated? Or are they legit? I don't even know what those words mean. Walking along the cavernous defile, the hot sun high above, the cool water down below, the cliffs on either side, speckled with hanging greenery and stubborn little trees—out off all the words that entered my brain upon viewing these wondrous things, overrated and legit never once crossed my mind. 

It was a good walk. In enjoyed it. Thoroughly. I can definitely see why thousands of people visit the Narrows every year. Them's sure is purty. But overrated? Legit? Who's to say. It is entirely dependent upon the individual. Some people will like them. Some people will love them. Some people will barely notice them, too wrapped up in documenting the event with cameras and microphones. Some people will hate them, find them boring, tedious, far too strenuous. And some will actually see them for what they truly are, see them in all their glory, witness the whole scene and soak up the essence and truly begin to understand the gist of it all, bearing witness to a small slice of the sublime, almost incomprehensible to the human mind.

I don't know. I've been ramblin' for far too long about things I know nothing about. I liked the Narrows. That's all there is to say. Glad I finally got out there after all these months. I'll probably go back in the fall to see how it looks with all the changing colors and whatnot.