This past January, I aptly convinced both of my sisters to come visit me in Salt Lake City, Utah. Shouldn’t have been hard, right? Well, it was and here’s why: the last time they visited, we had a little snafu. It had been my birthday weekend and, like any self-respecting Leo, I went wild on a Saturday night with no regard for our Sunday hiking plans. Long story short, they ended up needing a rental car and were short one Dina that fateful Sunday.
But things are different now. I’ve learned my lesson. I’m one year the wiser. I knew it was time to rise up and seize redemption. No more hangovers. No more bailing. This was going to be one for the books—and I’m proud to report it absolutely was.
All smiles and no squabbles on Observation Point in Zion National Park.
I knew I needed to pull out the big guns for this trip. We were gonna have fun goddammit. I thought to myself, “What better than to take advantage of this mild winter we’re having in Utah?” A desert-romp extraordinaire seemed like the perfect salve for my prior stinging trespass. Neither of them had ever seen red rock. The first time seeing red rock is a moment you always remember. We’d make basecamp in Virgin, Utah. We’d wind our way through Antelope Canyon, Horseshoe Bend, and Zion National Park. I’m usually more of an interpretive explorer, but I did the unusual. I built out an hour-by-hour itinerary to appease my weary sisters. Proof of concept, if you will.
The day finally arrived. I picked them up from Salt Lake City International Airport on a Friday evening. We put-putted back to my cramped, cozy studio apartment. It felt like a slumber party from our old days. The two of them flopped on my floor-lain mattress and me adjacently on the futon. That’s when I broke the news. A massive blizzard was starting that night. It was gonna snow into the next day, exactly when we were supposed to drive 6 hours south to the desert.
I could see the fear in their eyes. I could hear them thinking, “Is this bitch about to bail?” I smiled. I got a crazy look in my eye. I said, “Don’t worry. I just got new snow tires on the Camry.”
The next morning, I peeked out my window to see an absolute snowmaggedon. My Camry’s front-wheel drive is surprisingly agile, so we dug him out—yes, he’s a he—and we started moving south on I-15. The drive down was filled with close calls. There were countless windshield whiteouts from passing 18-wheelers. My knuckles were white. My sisters were on the edges of their seats.
But we made it. There was just one thing: while we had successfully weathered the drive, now we had to brave a winter windstorm. 30 mph gusts. Icy rain. Sub-20 degree temps. This didn’t phase three girls from the New Hampshire backwoods. Or at least it didn’t phase two of us…
It’s important to note that only. one of my sisters, Cassie, loves camping. The other, Aleka, is not so fond. Aleka spent the night getting slapped in the face with the wind-blown tent lamenting, “Why meeeee??” Of course, Cassie and I were cackling maniacally. Even with Aleka’s plight, my sisters were blown away—not just by the 30mph winds—but by the sheer beauty of the Utah desert. There’s nothing like it.
The next morning, the wind subsided to 15 mph. “It’s just a breeze,” I said to Aleka through a sick, twisted smile. She rolled her eyes at me. Cassie and I exchanged knowing glances and stifled our laughter. Our ice crystal encapsulated tents stood guard over our spot, thawing in the morning sun. We’d return in the evening, but now we needed to pile back into the Camry. Aleka blasted the heat. We let her have that. I turned onto I-89. The wind was at our tail lights, pushing us deeper into the desert. I let it take us all the way to Horseshoe Bend and Antelope Canyon in Page, Arizona.
When we arrived at Horseshoe Bend, we could only laugh at the return of the 30 mph gusts. Shutting the car doors was a challenge. Walking forward was a resistance. We pulled our hoods up. Zippers up. Sunnies on. We marched resolutely through the sagebrush. Aleka probably hated me. But that all changed in ten minutes once she saw that view. That view that makes you believe in something. Anything. The impossible. The order of nature and the power of water and time. We laid on the edge and let the sand needle the exposed parts of our cheeks. It didn’t matter.
Cassie took photos with her expensive Nikon. Aleka said it was one of the most beautiful things she’d ever seen. Both of them had a glimmer of trust in their eyes as we walked back to the car. We pounded some tuna packets. “Alright, you guys ready?” I asked. “To Antelope we go!” exclaimed Aleka. We got in the car and drove 10 minutes down the road to the meetup point for our Antelope Canyon reservation.
Antelope Canyon is on Navajo land, and the Navajo Nation Parks and Recreation runs guided tours through the slot. We parked in a strip mall and walked to a blue shuttle bus that had a steady group forming around it. Our guide made his rounds, introducing himself, checking names off his list. Once everyone was there, he called us all to attention. He ran through the plan. He told us to file into the back of the shuttle, and to prepare for what we were about to see.
Walking through that slot has become an Instagram sensation for a reason. Yea, it might be blown up. It might not be off the beaten path anymore. And even though I can be a jaded asshole about that sometimes, even I can’t deny the magic of the place. The ethereal striations reveal the layers of the past. Trees hang 20 feet overhead, remnants from the last flash flood. The calm in this moment can change in a second. One moment your feet are on the ground. One moment you’re ripped out at the roots. It all exists, and it’s beautiful all the same.
After a full day of desert magic, we made the trek back to Virgin. We passed by a La Quinta Inn not far from our campsite. Aleka begged Cassie and I to stay there, but we simply refused and continued to laugh at her. Our chuckles petered out as we turned onto the washboard BLM road leading to our site. Our fully-thawed tents stood obstinately in the ongoing “breeze,” welcoming us home. We started a fire. The water boiled for mac and cheese and wine filled our mugs. Aleka and I stayed up late and watched the shooting stars. She thought she saw a coyote, and I assured her we were just fine. Perfectly, perfectly fine.
Aleka reaching for the La Quinta. (This photo was not staged, that is genuine longing.)
The next morning, we drove 20 minutes to a virtually empty Zion National Park. January really is the best time for Utah’s National Parks. We were able to drive all the way up to the Observation Point trailhead and park in the empty lot. We only saw one other person the entire day. Just us and the lizards and the crows. The deepest peace settled into our souls, and finally, a deeply restored trust between sisters.
As we piled back into the Camry, layered in sweat and sand, I felt the shift. We braved snowstorms, icy winds, low temps, and even lower expectations. But I kept my promise through it all.
All photography courtesy of Cassouki Chouramanis.