autumn 2012 - 4-Seasons.de

98 Dream Trip Dream Trip 99
… because you have
to descend to an
adventurous world of
the slot canyons.
Text: Ingo Hübner
Photos: Diana Haas
Do not jump into your automobile and rush out to the Canyon
country. (…) In the first place you can’t see anything from a car;
you’ve got to get out and walk, or better crawl, on hands and knees
(…). When traces of blood begin to mark your trail, you’ll see
something, maybe.
I remain silent, setting free my last precise thoughts that originate
straight from Edward Abbey’s travel journal. Let them rise along
the glowing red rock walls until they disappear into nothingness in
the ultramarine sky. I am a pilgrim, my mind is pure and dwells in
the freshness of the moment. We have just started walking from
the Temple of Sinawava, equipped with a paltry backpack, two
water bottles and a shoulder-high walking stick. I am moving along
the pilgrim stream along the Virgin River straight into Zion Canyon,
the main attraction of Zion National Park. On the way to the
most infamous canyoning tour in America’s southwest: The
Narrows. The sandstone walls are 600 metres high, and no ten
metres apart at their most narrow point. The hike through the canyon
goes for 20 kilometres, most of the people do not walk further
than the first three kilometres. After one hour, there are hardly any
of the other pilgrims left.
Guide Rob has not talked much. I ask him why he has not told us
anything. He says he wanted to let nature tell its own story. I ask
him, who Sinawava was. It is the name of a powerful Paiute Indian
deity that used to live in the area but did not occupy the canyon.
Sinawa means God of tranquillity and kindness and was responsible
for the harvest of the Paiute natives. On the park’s entrance,
the rock Kinasava is sitting there enthroned. This was an evil spirit
that is said to have resided in the canyon. This is the reason why
Not only stones but also sticks block the way into Slot Canyon.
the Paitute Indians did not settle down near him and only ventured
into the park at daytime. Slowly, Rob starts talking. He is
very earthbound: long blond, messy hair, a tangy summer canyonguide
odour is in the air. He tells us the story of Zion Canyon’s
great power that attracted many people who moved to Springdale,
the town at the entrance – but had to leave the place after a few
years because they could not handle its power emotionally. Zion
Canyon is supposed to reinforce your karma, too. Rob smiles mischievously.
We wade through water, an invisible stream is pulling
us, we climb across rocks. I get a strong physical feeling for such
sublime nature in its monumental solitude. Until we reach Wall
Street, a weird name for such a quiet place. I marvel with a stiff
neck, feeling tiny, nearly crushed by dignity turned into stone. So
here it is, the power of the rock, of the canyon that Rob was talking
about.
Getting lost in a place
Utah’s southwest boasts a magnificent landscape. It attracted
many people of different kinds with its magnetic character. Mormons
were looking for freedom, artists searched for inspiration
and solitude. Thomas Moran painted it, Everett Ruess turned it
into poetry. It was them who glorified the landscape, raised it to
divinity and turned the rough and remote desert into a place of
dreams and their desire. It is a place they and many others got lost
in. Everett Ruess is probably the most famous artist of the gettinglost-type.
At the same time, he is most clouded in secrecy. He got
it right with just one marketing trick: »I’ve become a little too >