Journey to Utah in 2013, part 9: driving, walking, writing in a snowstorm at Bryce Canyon National Park

This post is part of a series. Click here to read the first post. To see the Bryce Canyon gallery, click here.

WINTER REMEMBERED

I’d fallen asleep early the night before, too tired to keep my eyes on the pages of my book. Sleep was heavy and luxuriously deep. When I climbed out of my down sleeping bag the next morning, I met the chill of cold air inside the RV. Bev and I both shivered as we ate breakfast. We looked out at the world beyond our window and saw that snow was imminent. Both of us have lived in wintry places, and the signs of approaching frozen precipitation were unmistakable.

On that day, it had been five years since I’d last seen snow. Bev’s break from the white stuff had been even longer. I think she told me she hadn’t been in snow since before she moved to Santa Cruz from upstate New York in 1997. We were both excited to experience it again. I spooned yogurt into my mouth and watched for falling flakes, and it wasn’t long before they appeared, tiny at first, growing fatter as the storm moved in.

Our original plan for the day was to drive south on the park’s main road to higher elevations and fantastic vistas. Our ultimate destination would be Rainbow Point, where we could walk to Yovimpa Point which offers, on clear days, a view of most of the Grand Staircase. But today there would be no clear view, and this wasn’t the best weather for driving. I assumed we’d scrap that plan and stick to our campsite. I did not expect Bev’s sudden enthusiasm for driving in the falling snow. During her years in New York, Bev had taken her daily morning walks (and afternoon walks too) in all kinds of weather. A renewal of that venturesome spirit welled up in her this morning and she proposed that we follow our original plan, right now. We stowed the loose objects and started driving.

As we cruised up the park’s main road, I realized the wisdom of her decision. This was my first time seeing the rest of the park, and the snow made it lovely. Through the passenger window I watched the landscape change in the storm. I noticed the red hues of the Claron Formation, visible under the sage in the meadows. As we drove to higher elevations and the storm gathered force, red and green were increasingly covered with white.

ANOTHER REASON SO MANY HOODOOS FORM HERE

Soon we were both giddy from the excitement of driving through swirling flakes. We kept going until we reached Rainbow Point, where we finally got out and walked around a bit. At 9,115 feet, this is the highest point in the park, and up here the storm was in full force. The wind was blowing the snow sideways into our faces. Bev danced around in the falling snow. I took a few pictures and realized my camera was getting wet. The road might close if large quantities of snow fell quickly, so we hopped back into the RV and started driving back the way we’d come. Along the way we stopped at every viewpoint to look at hoodoos being pelted with snow. The temperature was dropping and my hands were getting numb from holding my camera without gloves on. I was surprised by how cold it was now, compared to the day before when I’d sweated on the Navajo Trail.

Bryce Canyon, I later learned, experiences more than 200 freeze-thaw cycles every year. This frequency is one of the main factors in forming hoodoos. Melting snow seeps into cracks in the Claron Formation rocks and then freezes overnight. Water expands by about 10 percent when it freezes; with every freeze-thaw cycle, both small and large fissures in the rocks widen. The debris resulting from this expansion sits in the widened cracks until a rainstorm washes it out. When an especially large crack forms, fills with debris, and gets washed out by rain, a slot canyon can form inside a plateau. More freezing and thawing, and that plateau can become a fin, and then a set of hoodoos. You see how it goes.

This process is called frost wedging. It’s a form of mechanical erosion, meaning a type of weathering in which a rock breaks into smaller pieces that are of the same composition as the original, larger piece. Frost wedging plays a significant role in eroding the rock from all sides in a way that is conducive to hoodoo formation, and it’s aided by the innate properties of the Claron Formation, which is full of criss-crossing joints or fractures caused by the stretching and uplift of this area millions of years ago. The way these joints interlace the rock combined with the action of frost wedging makes for a breakdown in the structure of the rock that allows hoodoos to form readily here.

CHEMICAL EROSION AND THE CANADIAN ZONE

It’s not just the physical action of water that erodes the rock at Bryce Canyon. Chemicals play a part, too. Rain that falls here is weakly acidic, and it dissolves the pH-basic limestone of the Claron Formation. You may remember that I mentioned the different types of limestone in the Claron Formation, alternating in layers. Some of these limestone types are more resistant to the dissolving action of the acidic rain than others, because they contain magnesium. These more resistant layers can protect the less resistant layers below them. This helps create the bulbous appearance of the hoodoos- the towers of rock form a totem-like, uneven appearance. Hoodoos capped with more resistant layers last longer. The oldest hoodoos in the park are capped with dolomite, a less colorful, magnesium-rich limestone.

At the higher points of the park we were in the Canadian Zone. We saw rows of tall Douglas firs and the white trunks of winter-bare aspens. The tall spiky green and white trees, the bulging red hoodoos, and the bright clean white of the snow all contrasted each other marvelously. I loved the way the iron oxide sienna colors of the hoodoos showed through their dusting of snow, and the way that hoodoos near and far looked like ghostly figures in a thick mist.

This mixture of fog and bright objects was especially noticeable at Natural Bridge, where blowing snow obscured the view under the arch but didn’t cover up its color. Natural Bridge is not a true bridge – bridges are sculpted by moving water – but rather a freestanding arch, which can be made by any other natural process. This well-known Bryce Canyon landform demonstrates the combination of physical and chemical erosion quite well. Acidic rainwater falling on a plateau of rock ate into its outer surface, causing it to become rounded. Meanwhile, frost wedging was creating large cracks and pockets in the rock that compromised its structural integrity. In time a huge chunk of it fell away, leaving an arch where there was once a solid mass. Someday the arch will become several hoodoos. 

THE WORLD SHRINKS INSIDE A STORM

Visibility grew more limited every minute as the sky and the space around us turned white with blowing snow. Our stops to take pictures became shorter and shorter. Ice was melting from our shoes and clothes every time we got back inside the RV. We were approaching the lower elevations now, and I was amazed by how fast the snow was accumulating on the road. I felt like we had stepped into a time warp. I associated snow with my past, not my present. The world seemed to be getting smaller and quieter as the snow closed in on us. A family of deer jumped across the road in front of us, dim figures of fantasy in the surreal palette of this snowy world.

We arrived back at our campsite after some careful driving. The roads had become icy and making it up the slight hill in the campground was tricky. We ate lunch while we looked out the rear window at a true snowstorm. For the first time, we began to worry about how we would fare that night without our propane-operated catalytic heater. Back at Valley of Fire State Park, we’d discovered that we’d left it behind in the garage. During the day, we could run the generator and use the RV’s heater, but at night we had to turn that off. Would we freeze?

One thing was for sure: we weren’t driving anywhere else today. Our appetite for taking the RV on snowy roads was gone. We had a whole afternoon before us. What would we do with our free time? Bev felt like staying close to home in the RV, so she elected to turn on the generator and heater and start crafting a batch of homemade yogurt. I, on the other hand, wanted to get back outside. It was snowing hard, but the wind had died down, and I felt certain I could keep my camera dry underneath my rain poncho. So I suited up and set out for the Rim Trail, which was exactly where I wanted to be.

DEFINITELY MY IDEA OF A GOOD TIME

I’ll never forget that walk in the snow. It was the most exhilarating few hours of the entire trip. The snow was falling gently now, and it slackened off as I reached the rim. I could see cliffs and hoodoos in the distance. I was amazed by how deep the drifts were. At least four inches had fallen during this storm already. Bryce Amphitheater was completely transformed, its rounded hills covered in white, its sharper features poking through the blanket of white. Without the wind blowing, the whole world was quiet, sounds muffled by soft, cold piles. I saw no one for the first hour or so, and I felt all alone in the world, blissfully so.

Then I heard voices behind me, and I turned around to see a couple approaching. A man and a woman, red-cheeked and damp, holding hands and grinning. They stopped and we talked, exchanging impressions of this surprising snowstorm. They had begun the Fairyland Loop Trail, an 8-mile hike, just before the snowstorm started. They hadn’t expected this much accumulation. They were now about a third of the way into the 5-hour hike. And they were blissful, just as I was, carrying with them a sense of being in their own world. The female half of the couple informed me that they were on their honeymoon. It was obvious they found this unexpected snowy hike not inconvenient but romantic, more confirmation of their belief that the world is magical and full of love. We three stood around laughing for no particular reason, kindred spirits meeting briefly in an outlandishly beautiful place.

Then they walked on and I smiled at their retreating backs and kept trudging along at my own slow picture-taking pace. Soon I noticed that the light was changing. The clouds were parting to let through the sun. I took off my hat and let the sun warm the top of my head and my cold fingers. I was approaching Sunset Point, where yesterday’s hike had ended. I could see that some other tourists had made their way there too. Before I reached the point, I stopped, stunned. The view out over Bryce Amphitheater was suddenly magnificent. To the south, dark clouds lingered, casting shadows on the hoodoos below. To the north the sky was a freshly-scrubbed blue, with sun brightening the white snow on the red rocks. I found a snow-laden limber pine to place in the middle of this scene and took a picture. This is going to be my favorite photo from the whole trip, I thought. And it was.

THE STORM LEAVES, THE STORM RETURNS

For a while I darted around taking pictures of shadows on the snow. It had been a long time since I’d seen the appealing combination of white fluffy snow and bright sunlight, and I loved it now. I remembered snowy walks in Massachusetts, fences and trees casting long shadows on the snowbanks. The sky continued to astonish me with its gradients of blue and gray and black. The clouds cast shadows on the hoodoos. Views of the amphitheater were shifting and kaleidoscopic under this strange light. Shafts of sun picked out walls and steeples, set them ablaze, then left them behind in shadow. It was like the sunset my first night on the rim: I felt there were a million different pictures to be taken of this scenery, because the light would not stop changing.

But the sunlight didn’t last. This had merely been the brief break in a longer storm. I looked out and saw what looked like fog in the valley, and all of a sudden it started to snow again, huge wet sloppy flakes. The wind picked up and snow was being blown into my face and up the sleeves of my raincoat. Fearful for my camera’s safety, I decided to seek out Bryce Canyon Lodge, which I knew had to be somewhere nearby. I followed a group from the Rim Trail to a parking lot from where I could see a cluster of buildings. The people I was following got into a car and drove away. I obeyed signs and reached a village of cottages. The wind was fierce again now, whipping snow up underneath my poncho, and the day was growing darker. I’d been sweating underneath my vinyl poncho and now the sweat had cooled and I was cold. I wanted to be in a warm, dry place.

It was a relief to finally stumble onto the steps of a large building. I walked into the lobby dripping with melting snow. This welcoming room had exactly what I was hoping for: a giant fireplace, surrounded by soft leather sofas. There were even a few open spots on the long sofa right across from the fire. But I didn’t sit there. I didn’t want to fall asleep in front of the fire. I wanted to write in my journal and watch people walk through the lobby. The air was warm enough inside the lodge; there was another set of sofas further from the fire that would serve just as well. These were closer to the doors and the check-in desk, and to the counter where people could schedule mule and horse rides. Which meant they were perfect for my purposes.

SETTLING IN FOR SOME COZY EAVESDROPPING

Bryce Canyon Lodge looked like other National Park buildings I’d seen, with its wide log framing and rustic touches. This lodge is the original structure built at the time Bryce Canyon became a national park in 1928. It was designed by Gilbert Stanley Underwood, the same architect who also designed the lodges at Zion National Park and the Grand Canyon. I’d seen Underwood’s work the day I spent a similar afternoon in the lobby of Zion Lodge before my long walk along Zion Canyon Road. Both lodges are examples of the National Park Service rustic style of architecture, highly influenced by the Arts and Crafts movement and institutionally mandated during the first thirty years or so of the National Park Service’s existence.

I spent some time in the Ladies wringing out wet socks, patting myself dry with paper towels, and taking pictures of myself in the mirror to capture my flushed, damp face as a memento for later of yet another invigorating encounter with an ineffably beautiful place. Then I headed back to the lobby and claimed a small sofa for myself. Everyone sitting in the chairs next to the fire seemed to have fallen asleep. What followed was another high point of the trip: several hours of writing in my journal, while the snow fell outside and strangers walked around me talking to each other about their hikes, their cabins, and their hometowns. Nobody here has any idea who I am, and I’ll probably never see them again, I thought with relief. I'd reached the point in my trip when a few hours of solitude among strangers feels like a miraculous gift. 

The young woman at the horse-and-mule-rides desk explained to people on the phone about the snowstorm. Apparently, mule rides would still be happening the next day. I want to go on a mule ride, I thought, knowing it wouldn't happen on this trip. The young man at the check-in desk described the cabins and lodge rooms to callers, explaining that televisions are not to be found in the rooms of the lodge. All of this was fascinating and made for pleasant background activity while I recorded impressions of places I’d been on this trip, with a level of detail I hadn’t found time for in at least a week.

Dinnertime approached, and I knew I should head back to the RV, where Bev was probably wondering where I’d ended up. My socks and my hat were dry now, and I’d figured out a quicker way to get back to the campground. On the way back, I took pictures of snow falling on things and especially snow falling on the RV in its nest of pine trees. Bev had already been at work in the kitchen. A hot meal was almost ready when I walked in.

A RESTLESS, BITTERLY COLD, PERFECT NIGHT

The sky had cleared around sunset, and the temperature dropped way down that night, to 19 degrees. We had warmed up the RV with the heater before we went to sleep, but we had to turn it off because of the restrictions of generator hours. It never went down to freezing inside our vehicle – probably the lowest it got was about 40 degrees – but I felt cold anyway, even in my down sleeping bag. I think my perception of the cold was the psychological effect of walking in the snow for so long and then getting cozy at the lodge. Or maybe it was triggered by my decision, when I found myself too wired to sleep, to leave the RV and walk around the campground in the middle of the night. There was something about this snowy world that wouldn’t let me rest, that kept beckoning me to come outside and have another look.

I wanted to take pictures, but my fingers were too cold to operate the camera and the lens kept fogging up. The night was far too cold for stargazing, which was too bad, because the skies above Bryce Canyon are known for their brightness and lack of light pollution. Instead I sat inside the campground’s heated bathroom and read a book until sleepiness finally came. It was wonderful to be awake and alone, far away from home, protected from the chilly night. I haven’t been in weather this cold in so long, I thought. Every so often I’d step outside and breathe in and the frozen air would enter into my chest, knifelike and clean.

To see lots more photos of Bryce Canyon, click here.