A Constant Search

I have spent most of my life searching for inspiring places to go. Being surrounded by natural landscapes eases my constant existential anxiety and recharges the batteries that keep my emotional balance safely away from the red zone. That search is like therapy, like flying away in a dream. It is the beginning of being there, a first taste of the experience.

The process also reinforces my sense that the trip will be a success. I need to feel that I have gained enough knowledge and resources before setting out, leaving only the imponderables to Mother Nature. I am a bit of an organization maniac. I hate uncertainty. Handling everything I can in advance frees me to think about nothing but soaking it all in while it lasts. In the past, I relied on mountaineering books, travel magazines, and similar sources. Nowadays, I constantly travel the world online, searching, discovering, pinning, tagging, mapping…

I had often heard about slot canyons. In particular, I guess like everybody else, I felt drawn to the famous, or perhaps nowadays infamous, Antelope Canyon. I say infamous because the first time I thought I might have an opportunity to visit, I came across many photos and videos showing that what was supposed to be a beautiful, surreal landscape like no other had sadly become a guide-only tourist attraction. Its popularity had grown to such an extent that, for the corresponding price, the tours even included a rather artificial spectacle, with dusty light rays enhancing the beauty of the colourful sandstone walls. It turns out that the guide actually pushes the sand off the upper layers to create that effect, ensuring that everyone can get the exact same photo. Very sad.

The good news is that we can still find natural wonders that haven’t been spoiled, places where we can not only enjoy incomparable beauty but also experience a profound sense of solitude and of the comfort of being at one with the Earth.

During one of my online travel dreams, a small geological feature in the deserts of Southern Utah grabbed my attention. It was a tiny slot canyon, and its shape and colours were like nothing I had seen before. It was probably not as grandiose as Antelope Canyon, but far more isolated, and certainly not the kind of place where you worry about being overwhelmed by crowds. After lots of research, I managed to locate it on the map. It felt remote and, from what I read, it could be challenging. In fact, you need to be in reasonably good shape to make your way through, and the first section is usually flooded. The idea of having to swim to get inside was very appealing to me.

The Swim, the Climb and The Narrow Passage 

After a two-day trip, I managed to get to the area where my next photography project awaited me. The final stretch meant driving a number of kilometres on a sandy road and hiking for an hour in the morning through the arid landscape into the hills that keep the canyon hidden. Once I got close enough, I could confirm that the swim was about to happen. Fortunately, I had even brought water shoes and a dry sack in which I could safely carry my camera and lenses for the adventure.

What I had never expected was how freezing the water would be. I had simply forgotten that deserts tend to be very hot during the day and freezing cold at night, which explains the shocking temperature of the water. I knew that the swim would only take a couple of minutes, but after it, the bottom of the canyon was so narrow that not everybody could squeeze through. Not to mention that at least half of the remaining canyon floor was still flooded, with enough water to keep me from seeing where to place my feet. I admit that the thought of ending up with a broken leg or a sprained ankle was no joke, especially considering that the passage was barely wide enough for one person. So I finally decided to take advantage of the grip of my water shoes to try chimney climbing and get through those hundred metres above the water.

The view of the final section of the canyon was one of those things you never forget. The walls had been elegantly carved by millennia of flash floods. They were lit by sun rays that somehow managed to make their way through the narrow, winding slot, revealing the passage of time in striking sandstone layers of different colours. And one last surprise awaited at the very end, reserved for those who made it that far. Looking back, I saw the whole scene change: new shapes, new colour combinations, as if the same artist had created two separate works. The walls echoed the twirling waters that had relentlessly, yet artfully, sculpted their way through the stone. From there, the canyon felt like a living organism guarding its own secrets.

I still struggle to decide which of the two views impressed me more.