An-di-fan East

Sunrise to Sunset to Sunrise

8-13-06

It takes me time to adjust to sleeping on the ground, especially if there's anything at all worrying me. Once I finally get into the rhythm of ground-sleeping, I still don't get as much sleep as I would in my own bed. I'm far more likely to wake up, alarm-free, in time for the sunrise if I'm camping.

This has been especially true on this trip. Our last morning in Zion, I was awake by 5 a.m. The temperature outside was in the 60s, the air was bone-dry, and I decided I'd just get up and experience the place. I sat in one of our camp chairs and watched the cliffs around our campsite gradually come alive with light and color. I had much the same experience this morning, our first of two at Arches. I was 5:30, I wasn't going back to sleep, so I made my way to an empty campsite close to ours, sat on the picnic table, and waited for the sun. The horizon faded from blue to red to orange. At the moment the sun peeked over the distant mountains, coyotes in the hills greeted it with a minute of howling. As with sunset, the red rock is at its most striking when the sun is close to the horizon. Sunset last night was gorgeous--I've included a picture of it--but it was the brilliant orange of the sandstone that most captured my attention this morning. Unfortunately, the photo-uploading feature of this website seems to be on the blink, and I can't get the sunrise rock picture to show, so you'll just have to settle for sunset.

Sean continues to move me with his sense of wonder. Last night, as we toasted marshmallows, he became absorbed in the starry vault above us. I pointed out a few constellations and, as the darkness deepened, the Milky Way. While we were at Zion, Sean pleaded with me every night to let him stay up until the moon rose--something I never did, as that would have meant keeping him awake past midnight. Last night, he was disappointed when the moon made its appearance, overwhelming the stars. We were also lucky enough to witness several falling stars, some of them leaving blazing trails behind them. The icing on this celestial cake was a violent electrical storm that regularly lit up the sky to the east of us. Fortunately, it was never close enough that we could hear any thunder; this morning, however, we were chased out of our campsite, and to this internet cafe, by some ominous rumblings. It's bright and sunny in Moab, so I'm hopeful the storm has passed, and we'll be able to witness the Delicate Arch at sunset.

I face tonight with mixed emotions. This will be our last night of camping. I expect we'll do it again next summer, but the dynamic cannot help but be different then. Sean has been asking me if I'm looking forward to sleeping in a bed tomorrow night at the Motel 6 (he's hoping the motel has a swimming pool, as well), and I'm not sure what to tell him--other than that I'm not looking forward to saying goodbye. We'll stop at Dinosaurs National Monument on our way north, so it won't just be a driving day; but it will still be my final day with him, and as hard as the ground may feel, it can't compare to how empty my house will feel with neither child home.

I'll have some thoughts about traveling with Sean tomorrow night, probably typing them up at the Motel 6 (and posting them, if they've got wi-fi). It's been a watershed journey, one I will gladly repeat with either or both of my children in the future.

posted by Mark Anderson @ 1:30 PM