Reflections and Reverence in a High-Walled Canyon
The cliffs are over a million years old... imagine.
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It was a late winter morning in February when I found myself trekking through the Grand Wash in Capitol Reef National Park. The sun was angled low in the southern sky, creating an almost theatrical side lighting on the canyon walls.
Every so often, the light would catch the top edges of the massive cliffs, bringing out warm hues in the sandstone from the reflected light. I love that kind of luminance, where backlighting and reflected light paint subtle patterns across rugged landscapes and massive walls of stone.
As I moved deeper into the canyon, the walls seemed to loom higher and higher until it felt like I was walking between two colossal sentinels.
It’s the kind of place where you realize how small you are and how vast the world can be.
Whenever I paused to try and capture it all in my frame, I came face to face with the sheer, unimaginable scale of the cliffs. They simply refused to be contained by the frame in my little Lumix camera.
Don’t get me wrong—this camera is a gem, with both wide and long telephoto zoom. This little guy produces excellent results. But there’s something about the immensity of these canyon walls that defies any lens, no matter how wide you go.
That’s when I remembered the importance of looking down, looking around, and seeing all the subtle details that often go unnoticed when we’re captivated by towering columns in the sky.
The ground was an ever-changing tapestry of sand and small shrubs, while the canyon walls themselves told a geologic story.
Many of the rocky surfaces had holes bored deep into them—strange indentations that scientists believe might’ve been formed by ancient sea creatures over a million years ago. The thought of prehistoric oceans shaping this desert canyon filled me with a sense of wonder, and reverence.
It’s humbling to realize that what we see as permanent is often just a fleeting chapter in an ever-evolving planet.
The sun, bright but not yet oppressive, kept me comfortable in a light jacket.
Yet, in the shadows of those majestic walls, the chill reminded me it was indeed still winter.
Delicate “tree bones,” as I’ve come to call them, stood in the ravines—bare-limbed and nearly transparent in the slanted sunlight. At one point, I stopped to photograph how the warm, reflected glow highlighted a single branch against the sandstone, turning it into nature’s personal sculpture.
Moments like these are why I lug my gear and fat ass into places far from paved roads or city lights.
As I continued down the sandy wash, I noticed a curious phenomenon: small stones tucked into little holes in the walls, some at eye level, some much higher.
I couldn’t quite decide if they’d been placed there by the random forces of time and erosion or if hikers with a mischievous streak had tossed them in just to see if they’d stick.
Either way, it was a fun mystery to ponder as I stood, dwarfed by nature’s grand design.
By the end of the day, it’s those tiny wonders—the patterns in the rock, the quiet artistry of reflected light, the swirl of ancient history underfoot—that made the short trek in the Grand Wash so memorable.
The photos I brought home would only hint at the canyon’s true scale.
But they’d also share the small surprises that reminded me why I’m forever enchanted by the desert.
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Incredible images, incredible place.
Nice article, Don. I was just planning a trip to this area in November! I’m hoping to hike the Narrows in Zion, which looks similar.