A Quick Trip to the Calmness of Canyons and the Peacefulness of the Road

Lake Powell sits squarely in the middle of the most unworldly land you will find in this world. I'm not into lakes, but I love this land.

Near Strawberry, Arizona. All photos by the author.

The only constant is change.

We had this week booked in Bryce Canyon.

Then the ‘Snowmegeddon” chatter began and we took a long look at our little Santa Fe with in-town tires and thought it best to postpone a week or two.

I wasn’t really worried, but my wife was very concerned.

So, we rescheduled everything without a hassle.

Except for the night in Page, Arizona.

No refunds, no changing dates, no happiness there at all.

So I decided to go.

Page is sad, but it is not the destination; it is a way stop on whatever trip that takes you through that utterly majestic land.

Although they do have some good Mexican food.

(I’m looking at you, Fiesta.)

Six hours up, six hours back.

I love the roads, so that was the feature: driving.

(And tacos, maybe.)

I just wanted to share a few ideas and a few images from that quick up-and-back.

Dead Tree with Four Peaks.

The dead tree was a stark reminder of a devastating wildfire that took this part of the desert in a matter of a few hours.

Thousands of mighty Saguaro cacti succumbed to the heat and flames, and the ground was absolutely barren. For at least a year.

Now, three years in, the grasses are back, a few of the Saguaro that withstood the fire are standing tall, and the quiet that is the Sonoran desert has returned on this still, windless morning.

Devastation comes, and life moves on. But it leaves remnants of what it once was, as it becomes something new as it moves on.

The desert remains the same in the universal but becomes wildly changed in the macro.

The skies remained dark as I continued toward Flagstaff.

The Mogollon Rim is one of my most visited happy places. There is a peacefulness on that plateau. One that I crave.

More and more these days of craziness.

I did not expect to find this much snow, but it was so welcome.

We live in a place where water is always top of mind.

This arid land only exists because of the snowfall, and what little rain gets through those desert high-pressure ridges we get so often.

All this white fluff will turn into water by tomorrow, and that will slowly seep into the ground to provide for at least a little while.

The weight of the snow on the branches makes the pines look like they were decorated by a madman.

The fresh snow hung on branches and covered deadfall the same.

Nothing escapes the cover of snow when it comes.

Even barbed wire held a few crystals along its length.

But know that all the trees were clear of this weight twenty-four hours later, when I was heading home.

They carry the weight because they can, they were built that way, and because it will soon be gone. Melted away in a single 50-degree afternoon.

Time in a microcosm, and an eternity in the snow-covered trees.

The delicacy of design is heightened by the contrast of white snow and dark pine bark.

Just south of Payson is a large wilderness area known as The Mazatzals. I have been only twice, as they are very rugged, and as their designation notes, they are wild.

But seeing them in this misty light made me instantly add them to my list of hikes for this spring. Perhaps an overnighter sleeping on the ground.

I feel like I need to do that again.

I did it all the time in my, ahem, younger years.

Time to get in shape and do it a few more times.

No better place on earth than the rugged mountains known as “The Mazatzals”.

The Mazatzals from Hiway 87 near Rye, Arizona

Two last photos to share with you today.

Mormon Lake.

When I was in my 20s, this lake was full most of the time. My dad would bring me fishing, and we would launch our little boat from one of the many landings along the shore.

But things change, and Mormon Lake rarely sees enough water to launch a canoe these days.

This particular morning, there is water in the old girl, and it is mostly frozen.

The golden reeds stand out against the blue reflections on the ice and patches of water. I stood with my back to the railing at the little lookout spot on the road. The wind was threatening to push me into the gorge, or even worse, make my photo blurry.

In the background, you can see the San Francisco Peaks standing bravely against the coming 50-degree day and a massive melt-off.

That is, until this morning, as it is snowing furiously up on those rocky peaks.

Mormon Lake and the San Francisco Peaks, February 5, 2024.

A neatly perfect reflection of the mountain south of Mormon Lake.

As I do on most long road trips, I get out of the car every hour. Just to stretch and get the circulation going. I implore you all to do so.

Sitting for long stretches can take quite a toll on your body.

And when you do get out of the steel cage (bikers call cars cages, for obvious reasons. And some a little more subtle… heh), take your camera out and make a photo.

There is one there right in front of you.

Even though you think there isn’t, I quite emphatically argue that there is.

We must take a moment or two to see.

All of the photos were captured on an iPhone 13.

I have a few books to share with you next time.

Till then… keep the shiny side up.