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Dee Blair: The View From Sunnybank

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May 15, 2011

View From Sunnybank: Dead Horse Point

By DEE BLAIR Local Columnist

PGS — Moab, Utah. Joe and I brushed lingering stars from our eyes after experiencing a second magnificent night-turned-to-morning in the nearby 76,000-acre Arches National Park. Now, back in our cozy B&B after breakfast, we sifted through brochures, booklets and maps touting southern Utah's multiple national and state parks. Today we'd explore somewhere new.

It was no contest, really. Our forefingers collided at the same location on our deeply creased map. The 5,000-acre Dead Horse Point State Park was a hop-and-a-skip away, and its peculiar name commanded attention. (We learned the name's history a bit later, but it's too sad to relate here.)

We packed bottled water, not only to keep hydrated while hiking this arid land (though it was pleasantly cool), but also because our frequent gasps tended to cause dry-mouth problems. We could have biked there, I suppose -- but I'd certainly cycle over a cliff while staring at scenery, or sunburn the roof of my mouth from gawping. Park Gasper Syndrome -- PGS -- could be managed: Just pay attention to the road or trail, dummy -- Dee. Stop. Then look. Or else.

After tossing my monocular into my backpack (I'm a modified Cyclops, possessing one usable eye), we were off.

Thirty minutes later a young park ranger cheerfully sold us a pass for 10 bucks and waved us on. "Brace yourselves, folks." Hmmm. This peanut-sized park couldn't be as riveting as Arches -- could it?

We motored through three more miles of flat, high desert before arriving at the attractive visitor center's nearly empty parking area. (In mid-April, tourists are few.)

Ignoring the ground-hugging building we trotted along the short sandstone path to the Point's tip -- then stopped dead, shocked into silence. Before us was a 300-million-year-old vista that paralyzed the senses. An eagle floated above endless miles of cascading canyons that plunged more than 2,000 feet straight down to the meandering Colorado River. The sun polished every colossal, multicolored, sheer wall surface, and intensified the rich greenery along the Colorado's slim riverbank, so very far below. The sky was delft blue. Motion-filled shadows created by passing cottony clouds riding a moderate, humming wind gave the fantastic panorama an eerie life.

We looked, and looked. I felt so very grateful for my one eye. To have missed seeing this .... Joe reached for my hand. We tried to take it in -- tried to comprehend.

Dead Horse Point must be experienced. Words just cannot adequately portray its splendor.

Ages later, we hiked slowly along the rim for more than two dreamlike hours, feeling ant-small amid such immensity. Gusty breezes rumpled my hair and ruffled our clothes, teasing, nudging. When the trail moved closer to eternity we lowered our profiles and paid attention to business.

Park rangers had built little rock cairns to mark the vague, often indiscernible path: They'd even fashioned rough, sturdy steps for coping with trickier terrain.

I used my monocular during pauses to pick out plucky plants growing in impossible places many canyons away. We admired ubiquitous Utah junipers salting our trail. Joe crawled to one edge to peer straight down.

No barriers existed: There was just nature, outdoing herself.

Two hikers going the other way exchanged smiles with us. Nobody spoke.

Our plan had been to continue on to the nearby Canyonlands National Park. Instead, we drove quietly home to sit in our tidied room in the late afternoon light, processing the experience. Finally, Joe sighed. "Let's swim." Just the thing! The cool pool water dissipated the Point's lingering magic.

At last, jolted loose by the blissfully warm Jacuzzi, words poured out of our mouths.

It had taken that long.

Dee Blair's Sunnybank Gardens are closed for the season. Her book, "The View From Sunnybank," a collection of her columns, is available at Horizon Books, Amazon.com and at www.deeblair.com.

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