Detail of a fractured sandstone cliff in a canyon at Capitol Reef National Park.
Over several years and several visits I began to understand Capitol Reef National Park a bit more. (Though it is a big and varied place, and true knowledge of the place — as is the case with any such landscape — comes from longer experience than I yet have.) Understanding comes partly from experiencing a wider range of the park’s geography than that in the most conveniently located places. Visiting during different parts of the year and in varied conditions helps — a sunny spring morning is very different from a freezing late October morning. Finding a few personal spots that feel like familiar friends is part of the process.
The sandstone-walled canyons are all over this part of the Southwest. I distinctly recall the first one I visited, walking into it in the morning, wading up canyon in the shallow stream, winding through its twists and turns as the canyon deepened. More visits taught me that each canyon has is own personality — yet some general features are shared by most of them. Unlike most of my Sierra Nevada world, where one often feels open to the entire sky, in the canyons the world shrinks to what you can see between two twists in the course of the stream that created the canyon. Views of the sky are extremely limited, and your focus soon turns almost exclusively to things that are nearby. There is little wind and usually the quiet is broken only by the sound of water, perhaps some birds, and your own passage. The light bounces among red rock walls and diffuses as it gently arrives from far above.
Tall sandstone cliffs dwarf Juniper trees growing among talus boulders.
Back in the fall of 2014 I was fortunate enough to be able to work with a great deal of autonomy for a period of about six months. This allowed me to be on the road in the landscapes of southwestern Utah for three weeks. With a long unbroken period of work in the field I was able to spend time in many of my favorite places — Grand Staircase-Escalante National Monument (now under threat from the current administration), Capitol Reef National Park, the Dixie National Forest, and Zion National Park. At times I worked individually, on several occasions I joined up with other photographers, and at the end I met family members at Zion.
I joined my friend and fellow photographer David Hoffman for a few days in Capitol Reef. The Fruita area was our home base, but we explored further south along both sides of this park. On this evening after setting up camp we simply went a short distance down the road along the great sandstone walls along the west side of the park and photographed the golden hour light and on into dusk. This scene is at the base of one of these monumental sandstone cliffs, where large boulders that have broken off the face are piled against it at the bottom and a few hardy trees and bushes have taken root.
Two decades after agreements between Utah and federal government to protect this national monument for all Americans in perpetuity, Grand Staircase-Escalante National Monument is under threat from an administration that wants us to overlook its precious qualities and forget the hard-fought agreements (many of which benefit Utah) that let to its creation.
Some will tell you that places like Escalante-Grand Staircase National Monument are “empty” lands, and I can understand why a person might assume so — perhaps a first-time visitor or possibly a person who has never been there and is skeptical about what others say about the place.
I came to the red rock country rather late myself. I had decades in “my Sierra” under my belt, and it was hard to see how this Utah landscape could compare to the rocky heights,meadows, and forests I knew, especially since my only experience with Utah had come when I was very young and my family drove across the state past the Great Salt Lake on the way to someplace else.
Canyon Reflections
But friends insisted, “You have to go to Utah!” Eventually I went, hitting the big national parks, justifiably famous for deep canyons, red rock pinnacles, domes, and more. I even passed through Grand Staircase-Escalante National Monument, driving through the town of Escalante — I don’t recall stopping — on my way to one of those other places, unaware of and uninterested in what might be in the “empty” place outside the town.
Dry, cracked mud on top of red sand under reflected canyon light, Grand Staircase-Escalante National Monument
Although I missed many things, at least I knew that I wanted to come back to Southern Utah.
Not long afterwards, a photographer friend suggested we go there in the fall and explore some places that he and his friends know. He has photographed here for decades, so I welcomed the chance to learn about places off the beaten track. We started in one of those big national parks, but then we headed to Kanab, and from there we decided to explore a few less known locations.
A box elder tree stands against the vertical sandstone walls of a Utah slot canyon
One morning we headed up a road into Grand Staircase-Escalante National Monument. There was the camaraderie of being on the road with friends, along with the expectation that I would “discover” interesting things. However, as we headed up this gravel track, I found the visual impact of the scene was, to be honest, less than stunning. It seemed like, dare I admit it, an “empty” landscape — dry, relatively flat, no rocky peaks, and on that day a boring sky.
Miles up the road we pulled out and parked along a short nondescript spur, dusty and surrounded by brush. (Stopping at nondescript places would eventually become something to look forward to in this country!) I couldn’t see a thing that suggested a photograph, but we loaded up and dropped down a hill to a small creek. This was to be, finally, my first real introduction to canyon country.
Striped Rock, Grass, and Sand
I’m in my element in the Sierra, where most everything is, by now, second nature. I was distinctly not in my element here, and almost everything was new. We followed the shallow stream, sometimes walking on soft and wet sand, at times crossing drier ground between meanders and passing beneath cottonwoods, and often just wading straight up the creek. Rock walls began to rise on either side of the creek, and before long we were in a fairly narrow canyon. In places brush grew from cracks in the red rock, lit by reflected light bouncing down the canyon walls from above. The gentle sound of the creek was a constant accompaniment. I began to notice small things — some reflecting mud, a riffle reflecting light from canyon walls and sky, a few leaves lying on red rock, grass bent by passing water, reddish sand, rock strata offset by a crack, the texture of wet sand — and each one warranted a pause to photograph.
Not all places worth protecting qualify on the basis of monumental, stupendous features. Saving those is easy, since anyone can see they are spectacular. (OK, almost anyone.) But just because a landscape like that of Grand Staircase-Escalante reveals itself gradually and more quietly and over a longer period of time, it and the “empty space” it occupies are no less precious. In fact, because this beauty is more fragile and less obvious, I would argue that it may be even more precious.
Autumn leaves lie on the sandstone in a high country creek bed, Zion National Park
Every so often I decide to dig back through my older file archives from previous years, and I almost always discover photographs that I had forgotten, that perhaps didn’t resonate at the time, or were part of batches of images that I someone never quite finished reviewing. This is one of those. It comes from a lengthy autumn trip to various places in Zion with a group of friends back in 2012.
I made this photograph in Zion National Park, but it could have been made in uncounted numbers of places in Utah — it has the basic ingredients: patterned and worn sandstone plus leaves. This scene is as I found it, a small vignette of leaves, some in colors matching those of the sandstone and couple yellow enough to stand out from the background.
Photographer and visual opportunist. Daily photos since 2005, plus articles, reviews, news, and ideas.
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G Dan Mitchell is a California photographer and visual opportunist. His book, “California’s Fall Color: A Photographer’s Guide to Autumn in the Sierra” is available from Heyday Books and Amazon.
