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The Paria, part II: immensity

Tuesday, April 12th, 2011

In my last post, I talked about the subtle beauty along the Paria River in southern Utah.  It doesn’t take one long to realize just how big this place is too.  You begin hiking in the river bed, but at this point the canyon is broad, maybe half a mile across.  However, as you hike downstream, the walls narrow and swell upward, leaving you in a canyon of literally inescapable beauty.

Near the confluence of the Paria River and Buckskin Gulch, you reach Sliderock Arch.

Sliderock arch, Paria River, utah

Sliderock Arch I, March 2011

Sliderock is hardly an arch in the way we normally think about an arch.  Rather than being eroded by wind and water, Sliderock Arch was formed when a large piece of sandstone fell from the wall above, hit the river bed, and leaned up against the wall.  Let me give you a sense of scale.  The opening of the arch, on the left, is about 20′ × 20′.  The righthand “arm” of the arch is about 40′ wide.  This is one big piece of rock.

Although the Paria Narrows may not be as narrow as other canyons in the southwest, they rival any canyon in immensity.

 

The Paria, part I: subtlety

Friday, April 8th, 2011

In the spirit of David Hyde’s travelogues (read the most recent here), I’ll present my recent trip to southern Utah in three parts.  However, rather than document the trip, I’ll write about three themes that came to mind as I hiked, and photographed.

Although I visited other locations (like Valley of Fire State Park), the primary purpose of my recent trip was to hike a portion of the Paria River, between the White House trailhead, and its confluence with Buckskin Gulch.  I think the Paria was one of those rivers I was meant to spend time with at some point in my life.  As a teenager, I remember reading about some of the “classic” rivers of the southwest: the Dirty Devil, the Escalante, and–of course–the Paria.  Unlike most of my peers at the time, I found a certain draw in that lovely, beautiful, muddy water.  The hike all the way to Lee’s Ferry, Arizona is considered to be one of the finest backpacking trips in the region.

Last week, I spent a day in the canyon, which starts out broadly, and narrows down after about 4 miles.  One thing I immediately noticed about the Paria is that its gorgeous–beautiful–but that beauty isn’t as in-your-face as other locations in the Southwest, like Zion, or the Wave.  This subtle beauty becomes apparent as you sit watching sandstone walls and erosions as the light passes, playing on it.  Or, as you contemplate the effects of thousands of years of wind and water on the stone.

The Windows on the Paria River, Utah
Windows into the past, March 2011

Once you enter the Paria narrows, the canyon turns from a broad, meandering line to a series of twists and turns.  However, the overhanging sandstone walls to give occasional views of the “outside.”  Again, subtle beauty is key.

The Paria River, in southern Utah
Subtle Beauty, March 2011

Grand, subtle, nuances prevail in the Paria River canyon.  What areas do you find these qualities in?

i Love Mountains

Monday, February 14th, 2011

In his 2005 essay My Conversation with Gurney Norman, Wendell Berry wrote:

On the mountain above Hardburley we stood and looked at the first working strip mine I ever saw.  It had never occurred to me that people could destroy land with an indifference that perfectly matched the capability of their technology.  The big machines were following the seam of coal around the mountain, leaving a high vertical wall like an open sore on one side and on the other the “overburden” of earth and rock thrown regardlessly down upon the forest and streams below.

This past weekend, and into today–Valentine’s Day–a small group of Kentuckians, including Wendell Berry, are sleeping at the Governor’s office of that state to protest the practice of mountaintop coal mining (which is different in practice, but not destruction, from the strip mining Berry describes above; link here).  Their protest leads up to “i Love Mountains” Day, which is meant to bring awareness to this practice.

Earlier yesterday evening I was trying to come up with a post to help commemorate Valentine’s Day.  Despite my better efforts, inspiration did not come (not for lack of material, mind you).  As I read about i Love Mountains Day, inspiration struck: I have a Valentine’s Day post!  So, what does mountaintop coal mining in the Appalachian Mountains have to do with me, and what could it possibly have to do with Valentine’s Day?

You see, even here in southern California, some of my electricity is supplied by coal that was mined in this fashion.  I bet some of yours is too (click here to find out).  When I was in Wyoming in December, I was able to see first-hand some areas of strip mining taking place near the town of Gillette; Berry’s description of the process is fitting.  All of this serves as a perfect reminder of how we are all interconnected, sometimes in the most nonintuitive of ways.  Often, this interconnectedness is pushed to the back of our minds, whether by accident, or for convenience’s sake.

I’m somewhat hesitant to post this as a one-sided, know-it-all, environmental rant for a couple of reasons.  First, I can’t claim to be an expert on any type of coal mining, and although it hurts my heart to think about the earth being destroyed in such a way, I’m also a hypocrite.  I happily use the electricity generated from that coal (I’m using it to write this blog post right now).  Should I (we?) look for alternative sources of energy for our homes or communities?  Absolutely.  Again, that’s one of those things that often gets neatly swept under the rug when we’re too busy to deal with it.

Second, many of the people mining in Kentucky and elsewhere probably have a connection to the land rooted in many generations who have done just what they’re doing now.  If, in fact, this practice is stopped, someone (many someones probably) is going to face the challenge of feeding his family.  Is that a reason to continue with the status quo, with no opportunity or effort to find an alternative?  Of course not.  But it illustrates how few, if any, environmental issues are one-sided; they’re often multifaceted with no clear-cut solution.

Although I don’t have a solution, or even a suggestion for one, two points are clear to me.  The first is that every action we take has far-reaching effects, often beyond our awareness.  The second is that if we’re going to sustain of a quality of life for our future generations we absolutely must be cognizant of the ramifications of our actions.

Happy Valentine’s Day to you and yours.  Despite my doom and gloom today, there’s much to be happy about!  Make sure you tell your favorite mountain you love it today.

Tuolumne Meadows, with many of the major peaks in Yosemite National Park

Tuolumne Meadows, August 2009