Not-so-famous Arches

Two months ago this parking area echoed with excited 2nd graders. Now it is eerily silent in the predawn bitingly cold air.

Not the real balanced rock. But less people out this way.

This week, one of the second graders ran up to me excitedly and gave me a hug, “When are we going on another field trip, Ranger Joan?” She remembers like it was yesterday.

I love that the kids remember me and their field trip so well. That’s what makes being a ranger worthwhile— this positive impression. A seasonal job isn’t easy. I’ve been laid off of my park job for a month and won’t be rehired until January. I’m only working my other part time job in the meantime. More time for hiking but less income. Tradeoffs.

I decide to come back here to check out an area of the park I’ve never explored. Visible on the skyline but past the “4WD only” warning sign. I leave my car and set out on foot down the sandy road. At this early hour, no traffic.

Finally, a fish-shaped sign reads “Eye of the Whale Arch.”

The sun is just coming up and makes the sandstone glow.

Peering through, deciding to find a way up there.

That’s the only marked arch in this playground of Entrada fins. Seeing others requires routefinding and following the leave no trace practice of restricting travel to slickrock and washes while avoiding dunes and cryptobiotic soil crust.

Following washes full of animal tracks.

Washes are good place to start exploring since you can find them on a map. Follow the blue lines. Sometimes they lead to pouroffs but not always.

Some arches are hidden ribbons of rock. But see that light pouring underneith?

It only needs to be three feet in one direction to qualify as an arch.

There are over 2000 arches here but seeing a new one for the first time still takes my breath away.

A small detour. Just a few miles away is the Willow Springs dinosaur tracksite. So I hike out the 4WD road again and this time there is traffic in the form of a single jeep.

165 million years ago, a three-toed, meat-eating therapod walked across the tidal-flats along the shallow sea that was here at that time.

Returning back the way I came. Then up a wash. Relief at getting off the road again since it was so "crowded". Then, at the slickrock, climbing up. There are dropoffs. Continuing anyway despite a fear of heights. Fear is just a feeling, right?

Scaling boulders. Pack waiting down below.

Peeking up for a view of this arch.

Wiggling up a crack between the fins.

Feeling the warmth of the soft light radiating off the rock, making the winter less biting.

Because at the top of a fin, its expansive and quiet and for once it's not cold.

Up here.

Roadwalking can be done past dark. So I stay out later to watch the sunset.

This spot was surprising. Hard to believe that something in plain site of a busy landmark could offer such solitude and beauty. And have so few human footprints.