Excerpt

“Sounds like this’ll be ‘Hoodoo Day,’ ” remarks Dacotah.

“That’s right. Bryce has outstanding hoodoos, and we’ll see lots of ’em.”

Following the usual plan, they first stop at the visitor center. “Gramps, why’s this place called ‘Bryce Canyon’?”

“A display I saw says ‘Bryce’ is named after Ebenezer Bryce, an early Mormon pioneer. As for ‘Canyon,’ that’s a big mistake. No big canyon here like at the Grand Canyon or Zion Canyon at Zion. You’ll be able to picture the pattern to the landscape as we work our way to the south end of the park. But first, let’s nail down a campsite at North Campground close to the visitor center.

“The thin cloud cover gives us perfect diffused light,” Will explains. “Better get movin’ for photos. Once the sun comes through, harsh shadows’ll mask details in the photos. Grab your camera bag. We’ll have our lunch on the run.”

Dacotah forgets at times how much of a passion photography is to her grandfather. “Can we go on any of the trails?” asks Dacotah.

“Oh, sure. But let’s wait until after the light goes bad, and we can’t take any more photos.”

At Agua Canyon, their photographic quest dampens as the sun breaks through. They squeeze off a last shot with a nearby, bizarre hoodoo in the foreground. Dacotah hesitates, and bites her words before she blurts that the hoodoo looks like an overly slender, naked woman.

Where the highway ends at Rainbow Point, the highest at 9,115 feet, Will and Dacotah hike the Bristlecone Pine Loop Trail. They pass through a forest of Douglas fir, white fir, blue spruce, aspen, and the most interesting tree–bristlecone pine.

“I’ve been reading about bristlecone pines, knowing that we’d see them here.” Will leads Dacotah to one. “Notice that bristlecone pines have needles in clusters of five. These trees live in the Southwest and eastern California. They’re the oldest living organisms, and the absolute oldest are in the White Mountains north of Death Valley. About 4,700 years old.”

“Wow!” exclaims Dacotah. “Must be quite a job counting growth rings on these old trees.”

On the return part of the loop trail, Dacotah spots a thirtyish, fair-haired, athletic male in shorts wander off the trail. She places a hand at the corner of her mouth, and says to Will: “He shouldn’t be hiking off the trail. Heard the ranger at the visitor center say tracks weaken the soft rock slopes, and speed up erosion. I’m gonna tell that guy,” says Dacotah and rushes off.

“Wait a minute–” Will marvels at Dacotah, but wonders at her rushing into action with anyone when she thinks she’s right.

“Hey mister,” hails Dacotah. “Don’t you know you’re supposed to stay on the trail?” She tries to temper her abrupt question with an explanation of the effects of human erosion. “Boots with rough soles are especially bad.”

“Vat you tell me, little girl? I can’t valk ver I vish?”

“If everyone walked where they wished, there wouldn’t be any park left.”

“In mein home Germany, dey tell me same ting. Hope you und dem vould keep mouths shut.”

Dacotah lifts her hands toward the sky, returns to Will, who watched the interchange from a distance.

“People don’t like to be criticized, even if your point is right on. If you plan to do this kind of thing more often, you might soften your tone a little.” Will places a hand on her shoulder and grins.

They view panoramas from several overlooks on the return toward camp, then linger at Bryce Point. “Now that we’ve had a pretty good look at this place, let’s put together what we’ve seen. It’s easy to picture that the scenery’s made of many horseshoe-shaped amphitheaters that face east. They’ve been carved from the eastern edge of a highland called the Paunsaugunt Plateau.”

“Odd name,” says Dacotah. “Anything here besides hoodoos?”

“Yeah. Rock fins, rock windows, and narrow canyons called slot canyons.”

“I can’t figure out how the hoodoos formed.”

“First, you should know that the rocks are mostly limestone, with some mudstone and sandstone, laid down in lakes and streams 40 to 60 million years ago. So, they’re quite a bit younger than the rocks at Zion. About 10 million years ago, uplift of the plateau formed intersecting cracks in the rocks. Rainwater, by its running force and by dissolving the limestone, enlarged the cracks to form rock fins. Water freezing in the cracks helped pry them open. In time, cracks intersecting the rock fins separated them into hoodoos.”

“Hey, Gramps,” she motions northward, “I can see the rock fins you’re talking about. They’re all over the place!”

“For your field notes, what colors would you jot down?”

“Hmm, I see red, orange, pink, and a little white.”

“Okay, and the colors change with the light. And after a rain, they’re particularly brilliant,” adds Will.

The sun reaches a low angle. They stop one last time to hike the short distance between Sunrise Point and Sunset Point where Dacotah says: “Seems a little silly to give strange names to some of the hoodoos,” says Dacotah. “That one over there,” she points, “is called Thor’s Hammer.”

“One more thing to mention before we head back to camp,” says Will. “Many people made up stories. The Paiute Indians had a myth that the hoodoos are ‘legend people.’ Because the early Indians disappointed their god, Coyote, he turned them into stone, and threw paint in their faces. Guess you could say some of the hoodoos look like people,” says Will with a grin.

Dacotah grins back. “I’ll never forget this place.”