A vast area – almost like a small country – from northern Grand Canyon rim to Bryce Canyon to the notth, is a gigantic geological staircase that reaches a 2.500 metres altitude.
text and photography: Akis Temperidis
When you find yourself in Bryce Canyon, a place that almost resembles Cappadocia, you can’t help but be struck by nature’s raw artistic energy… The towers of limestone, shaped by millions of years of erosion from water and ice (it gets cold here in winter, at such high altitudes), stand fragile as glass. You almost wonder, will they be there the next time you come around? The wind might take them, or maybe the rain, or maybe they’ll just dissolve into the desert dust.
The canyon itself is like a theater, and inside, beautiful hiking trails wind through the surreal landscape. The most popular path winds through what they call Wall Street, a narrow passage between massive rocks that look like skyscrapers, and it made us think of Petra, in Jordan. The moonrise of June—oh man. It was one of those moments you get lucky enough to have when you’re alone, just you and the night sky, and a group of hikers with a park ranger passed by, but we were the only ones to experience that eerie silence. The park’s road loop leads you south to the very end, where you stand on the edge and see the whole Utah desert stretch out, all the way to the Grand Canyon.
It’s a geological staircase, layers upon layers of rock. A landmass bigger than Delaware (7,568 square miles). Bill Clinton made the call, naming this area a national monument, and after all the bureaucratic shenanigans, it’s now known as Grand Staircase-Escalante.
The Grand Staircase is one of the most remote places in the U.S. The terrain is staggering, deep canyons and jagged cliffs, often at a 20-degree tilt. Driving through it feels like you’re seeing the earth bend and rise before your eyes. From the small town of Escalante, we took a 100-kilometer dirt road loop that turned out to be true off-road—Left Hand Collet, they call the trail. We drove right through the dried-up riverbed of a narrow canyon. The suspension on the Iveco, thanks to the Greek-made Jamsport, was excellent—no hiccups, no complaints. The rocky formations in the Devil’s Garden, just outside Escalante, were straight-up surreal. It was beauty like nothing else.