Walden 1

Amelia Walden 

Ms. Levesque 

Communications 

23 January 2018 

Within the Scarlet Cliffs 

I could see the Bears Ears buttes in the distance. The car rumbled along a dirt road, and 

we neared the campsite. We jumped out of the stuffy car to see the site and immediately began 

picking up the juniper berries, like frozen blueberries in texture and color, which littered the base 

of every tree. One of the Bears Ears buttes was aglow in the late afternoon sunlight; golden rays 

filtered through the short juniper branches. Rejuvenated with excitement, we dashed through the 

trees as the chalky, reddish soil sifted into our shoes. Other than our own voices, not a sound 

could be heard. As nighttime neared, we began to think about what would happen in the days to 

come.  

On the first day, we drove up the bumpy, rutted dirt road to the Moon House hike. The 

car ride was long and slow but not one bit boring. Our car bounced along for almost twelve miles 

over ditches, rocks, and potholes. Once we finally arrived and began the hike, we could see the 

ruins lining the canyon just below the rim. There stood a large, one-thousand-year-old structure 

that seemed to be nothing more than a wall built into the side of the cliff. We descended into the 

canyon and came up on the side with the ruin. After stopping for lunch, we entered the ruin and 

found that it was far more than a wall and one small room. The wall, filled with lookout holes, 
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concealed at least four other rooms. The ruin itself was a fascinating sight on the inside. Above 

us, ink spilled over a vermillion cliffside, signifying fires were commonly lit in that main room. 

The floor was littered with ancient grains and corn cobs, time having turned them the color of 

wheat. On the level of the canyon that the ruin had been built, we found pottery shards enveloped 

in a dragon-scale pattern that was rough to the touch. I sat on a crimson dust-covered rock, 

writing a poem about all of the brilliant colors of the canyon and scene we had experienced. It 

was awe-inspiring; the towering scarlet cliffs, created by millions of years of erosion by water, 

the strangely green plant life, alive in such a moistureless canyon, and the brilliant blue sky 

seemed to explode with vibrant hues as if watercolors were poured on a blank page. I only hoped 

the next day would be just as amazing.  

The second day was much more rainy and wet than the first, but it was still beautiful. We 

hiked to the edge of a canyon, where we heard the slow trickle of water coming from a seep in 

the canyon wall. After a short conversation, we drove to another Ancestral Puebloan site. 

Continuing to a mysterious ruin built high in a cliff, we guessed how people may have reached 

the small rooms at least twenty feet from the ground. Carina, one of my classmates, and I 

decided to explore the other ruins in the area, noticing the small, deteriorating structures tucked 

into spaces barely tall enough to stand in. We clung to splintering, rough juniper trees as we 

climbed to the ruins and came to a stop at a low, deep alcove. There was a short structure and 

multiple petroglyphs of “targets,” which looked like spirals. A target was even painted in white 

across the wash on the ruin that was high above the ground. At another site of ruins, we 

descended into a recess in the canyon wall, which we realized sheltered a low cave filled with 

ruins that were difficult to see in the still darkness. We wondered how large the cave was as the 
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abyss deepened into nothing but a seemingly eternal black hole. As we climbed the trail through 

hundreds of small boulders back to the top, we searched under rocks for corn cobs, pottery 

shards, or any other sign of the ancient life of Bears Ears. The smooth, sand-covered shards 

Carina discovered were tucked underneath some of the smaller rocks, scattered amongst corn 

cobs and pieces of grain. Taking photos of each of the ceramic shards, we tried to imagine the 

uses of the original pottery pieces. Absolutely starving for dinner, we headed back to camp in a 

downpour. The rain carried on relentlessly through the evening, and we could only hope it would 

warm up for the hike the next day. 

The hike on the third day of the trip left everyone tired, sore, and hungry. We drove to the 

trailhead, where we then began to descend into the canyon and glance over the ledges to observe 

the desert colors below. We continued through the varied terrain of the canyon floor, along 

which old and well-used wooden ladders and metal railings assisted descents into the canyon. 

There was a low wall on which ancient handprints had been painted, and we couldn’t help but try 

to measure our hands to the ones from over a thousand years ago. Sipapu Bridge was the first 

bridge we would come across in Natural Bridges National Monument, its opening so large that I 

didn’t even realize I was standing under it until we had moved much farther away. When we 

reached Kachina Bridge, we encountered gooey, slippery mud, an unfulfilled promise of a 

nearby stream. As we searched for a kachina doll pictograph, to no avail, we discovered an entire 

wall filled with pictures and stories of ancient life that we could only attempt to interpret. 

Finally, we began the long trek to the third and final bridge, Owachomo Bridge. When I say 

long, I mean it. The distance to Owachomo Bridge must have been the same length as the 

distance we’d hiked to see both of the previous bridges. Our feet were aching. We reached the 
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bridge and relief flooded over us like the sunlight had during those final stretches in the old, 

shallow canyon that is a tributary to the one we began in. Deciding to take a break before 

heading back to the cars, we were able to stop and either draw or write in our journals. I started 

sketching while sitting on a rock near the bottom of the canyon, and the crystal clear, blue sky, 

although once the hot and sunny enemy of the too-warmly-dressed hiker, now painted a perfect 

contrasting backdrop against the thin, peach-colored bridge. We drove back to camp to prepare 

for our final night in Bears Ears. As the blazing sunlight of the day gave way to a crisp, starry 

night, we felt the familiar tranquility and solitude of the desert.  

On the final day, we quickly packed up camp and hit the road. The swiftness of our exit 

may have caused a few rash remarks and reactions, and friendships were definitely challenged, 

but we were excited to drive back into civilization. Our voices echoed loudly among the silence 

as we shouted off of “The Dropoff” into the canyon behind our campsite. We piled the scarlet 

sand-covered gear into the back of the van, surprised it fit so well, and headed off. The Bears 

Ears buttes faded into the fog behind us, a fog that washed a slight feeling of sadness over us. 

There was definitely some regret of how we spent our final moments in the amazing place that is 

Bears Ears. I stared out the window, bored and wishing we could skip the drive and arrive in 

Park City. I was happy to go back, even though Bears Ears was an escape from a busy and 

constantly bustling atmosphere.  

Our feet hit the cold gray pavement, and we made our way into the school to see our 

families and the wonderful welcome the sixth and seventh graders set up. We were definitely 

ready to be once again enclosed in the snow globe that is Park City, from the glittery white flakes 

that are supposed to fall in the winter to the sunset colored leaves that surround us in fall but 
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which never quite seem to escape the invisible bubble. The unforgettable Bears Ears Outdoor 

Education trip became a permanent and cherished memory that could not be described in one 

thousand words or pictures but rather must be a legacy that we can only hope will be experienced 

by all.