Angels Landing: Strenuous Hike
Novice Hiker: Strained Muscle
 By
Nathan Nelson
www.nathannelson.com
(February, 2003)
Last Saturday, I had the advantage of traveling with two friends to Zion’s
Park in southern Utah, where we hiked Angels Landing. It was challenging, difficult,
and dangerous. But it was also a lot of fun. It was an experience that I’ll
remember, and, now that I think about it, feel, for years to come. So let me
start from the beginning…
I woke at 6:30 a.m., under the incorrect assumption that we were leaving at
a half past seven. So when Dave Webb and his son, Dan, knocked on my door 7
a.m., I rushed around for two minutes inside of my apartment before kissing
my wife good-bye and running her through "should I die on this hike"
instructions before I emerged, disheveled and unprepared for what would be a
long and arduous (and eventually, rewarding) hike.
We drove for 3 hours south on I-15 before we reached Zion’s Park (but
not before driving through LaVerkin, a "U.N Free Zone!"), and Virgin
(by law, all residents must own at least one gun.) Our first stop was the Weeping
Rock. This rock actually has water dripping off of it year-round. Of course,
in February the rock doesn’t so much drip as it does form icicles all over
its surface. Water runs under the ice, looking like "snails," so aptly
described by Dan.
At noon, we approached the bottom of Angels Landing. We dutifully started up
the trail, which, at the bottom is simply a concrete path that you follow as
it weaves its way up in switchbacks, left and right against the mountain. About
two-thirds of the way up, the ascent became significantly steeper. My breathing
became a little labored, and it made me grateful that earlier I’d taken
a puff of my inhaler for asthma. I’m actually somewhat athletic. I’ve
even run long-distance before, but I was a little out-of shape for this hike.
 In
the Zion Map and Guide that the National Park Service puts out, it states
bluntly, "Falls from cliffs on these trails have resulted in death."
It’s not a perfectly safe hike, but there are chains that have been bolted
into the mountain that you can hang on to on the steeper and more dangerous
parts of the hike. There were points where we could look out over the mountain,
and only a few feet to our left or right the cliff awaited our misstep —
an 800 foot drop to the bottom of Angels Landing. This brings me to the inevitable
assumption: Was Angels Landing named as such because you can hike to the top
as a mortal; and fall to the "landing" as an angel? With that assumed-cliché
out of the way, let me tell you — I was frightened witless, regardless
of what I told Dave about my previous hiking experience. (I told him that I
had plenty of experience.)
Something that I found interesting was that since the mountain is largely made
of sandstone, the chains actually wear into the mountain, and create as deep
as a 5-inch impression into the rock. So you have to reach into the mountain
to find a sure handhold on the chain sometimes. Once you hike up to a certain
height, the cement path disappears, and you end up walking on a more rugged,
narrow path. I found it much more interesting than the urban feel of concrete
under my boots. Cement paths make me feel like I’m just doing something
that hundreds of others have done before. When I hike, I want to feel that I’m
the first one to make the path. So I appreciated the more secluded feel of a
non-cement path that introduced itself later on in the journey.
At almost 2 p.m., we reached the plateau. I felt that I’d accomplished
a great thing. Indeed, 2.5 miles up a steep incline seemed to be a feat of sorts.
I looked out over the side of the cliff and drew in a breath; I could still
see the road that led to Angels Landing, 1000 feet below. But the cars on it
seemed to be the size of small paperclips, going at the speed that you’d
expect from the minute hand of a clock. The river down in the basin appeared
to stand still. It was eerily thrilling.
What do you do when you’ve reached the top of a one thousand-foot mountain?
Dan and I immediately scouted out the highest rock on Angels Landing and scaled
it eagerly. Disappointingly, the view didn’t really change any; the rock
was only about eight feet in height. But it made us feel superior to the hiker-turned-cameraman,
Dave, who was down on the ground instructing us in different "I Beat the
Mountain" poses. I took some pictures with my little Wal-Mart digital camera,
but it’s hard to capture the scope of what you’re looking at, in terms
of falling distance, on film.
My legs grew tired as we moved back down the hill, wobbling from the strain
of the hike up Angels Landing. Several times, for stability reasons, I had to
grab onto rocks or tree limbs to keep from falling off of the hill. Once, as
we were hiking down, I slipped a little, and it made me feel dizzy. It gave
me an immediate perspective on how fragile this mortal frame of mine is. When
we finally reached the bottom of the mountain, I looked up and saw the top of
Angels Landing. It stood magnificently, daring against the sky. But I’ve
already beaten the mountain. It’s time to move on to another hike in Zions
Park.
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