The desert has a special quality. It’s simple: at times, you may find yourself alone with the rock, sand, sun, and wind. It’s majestic: towering canyons and colorful rock formations stand tall, superimposed on a vast blue sky. It’s stark: barren of most flora and fauna, the dynamic geology and harsh environs that created the landscape come into focus. But it’s also full of life: the plants and animals that survive here have adapted a characteristic toughness, and the people native to the desert oases share a culture with vibrant color, timeless beauty, and enduring community spirit. All these elements put together begin to explain my fascination with the American Southwest, mainly Arizona and New Mexico, but also parts of Nevada, California, Texas, Utah, and Colorado. In February 2020, I traced a meandering path through the Southwest while helping my friend Gold move from Missouri to Las Vegas. A year and a half elapsed, now that the world has turned over and the dust has settled, I present my long form reflection of my trip through this marvelous part of the country.
Perhaps the challenge of getting there adds to the mystique. There are a few ways to drive to New Mexico from Missouri, all of them long, remote, and desolate, each with unique and worthwhile stops along the way. I’ve taken the northerly route, imagining cattle drives and trade expeditions along the Santa Fe Trail while stopping at places like Dodge City, Bent’s Old Fort, and Capulin Volcano. I’ve followed Interstate 40 across the Caprock, stopping at iconic Route 66 attractions like the Big Texan (famous for its 72-ounce steak dinner challenge), Cadillac Ranch, and Tucumcari. A side trip to Palo Duro Canyon State Park, the second largest canyon in the United States, is a worthy preview of the spectacular geology to the west. Farther south and you might pass through the Llano Estacado, an endless expanse of flat pasture and scrubland dotted with huge wind farms, along with tumbleweeds and windblown debris. This was the course of my most recent trip, by way of my favorite place in Oklahoma, the rugged yet placid Wichita Mountains. Lastly, if you’re coming from south Texas, you can speed through hundreds of miles of west Texas buttes and plains, making sure to see the scintillating Caverns of Sonora or ancient petroglyphs at Seminole Canyon on the way.
On my previous road trip west, a week in northern New Mexico when I was 18 years old, I got a taste (an accent of spicy green chile, if you will) of the Southwest’s scenery and culture. My family and I visited Albuquerque, sampling everything from rocket science at the Museum of Nuclear Science and History to the complete opposite during a dramatic ghost tour of the Spanish colonial Old Town. We rode the gondola to the top of Sandia Peak, taking in views of hot air balloons above and boulders below. We hiked into Kasha-Katuwe Tent Rocks National Monument, weaving through the peculiar cone-shaped hoodoos to the breathtaking canyon overlook. We immersed ourselves in the cultural capital of Santa Fe, exploring the old adobe buildings and visiting several museums on regional art and native heritage. We took a deeper dive into the rich indigenous history at Bandelier, climbing through Anasazi cliff dwellings that are several hundred years old. And finally, we rafted the famous Taos Box, splashing over Class 4 and 5 rapids in the beautiful canyons of the upper Rio Grande. Memories of these adventures heightened my anticipation for more of the same as I set off from Missouri with Gold nearly ten years later.
After a long day of driving, we arrived in Carlsbad, an oasis in the high desert replete with all the staples of New Mexico: adobe, turquoise, hatch chile, and top-notch Norteño food. The life of the high desert was on full display at Living Desert State Park, a peaceful hillside zoo with native plants and animals (including a pair of particularly photogenic, show-stealing javelina hogs). But the main attraction of the day was Carlsbad Caverns, hands down the most magnificent cave I have ever visited. We hiked in via the natural entrance, following steep switchbacks into the dark abyss from which thousands of bats will emerge on summer evenings, somewhat grateful for winter. We continued down the throat of the cave, a massive chamber the size of multiple football stadiums lined up end to end, each darker and damper. Chandelier stalactites and tentacular stalagmites and glistening dripstones became larger and more frequent as we descended two miles into the earth. Upon arrival in the main chamber, I lost my breath entirely as I took in the intricate beauty in all directions; little spotlights illuminated the majestic domes, stalactite waterfalls, and other features as far as the eye could see. Like the grandest of cathedrals, the perimeter is lined with grottoes that have their own crystalline character: delicate speleothems fanning out like needles, billowing fractals of cave popcorn, cascading curtains of cave bacon, terraced rimstones sculpting water into miniature infinity pools. The scale of this cave and its features are what’s most astounding – and what makes it exceedingly difficult to capture in words or pictures. It’s a rare feeling to be awestruck for an entire afternoon, and my soul was certainly satisfied by the time we rode the elevator 800 feet back to the surface and returned to our humble adobe for the night.
The following day was one of incredible contrasts. Beginning in the desolate high plains, we passed the bustling oil fields around Artesia and ascended into the remote foothills of the Sacramento Mountains, miles upon miles of beautiful ranching country dotted with ponderosa pines at higher elevations. The clouds fully dissipated by the time we reached the pass at Cloudcroft, where we stopped for a short hike and snowball fight. The view from the ridge was stunning: an old mining trestle spanning a piney canyon in the foreground, a blinding sea of white in the background. That sea of white was our destination, as maybe 30 minutes later we were trudging off into the rolling dunes of White Sands National Park, rented toboggan in hand. The sand was cool to the touch and remarkably soft, a fine gypsum powder that blows into mesmerizing ripples to erase your footsteps and sledding tracks. The sledding was enjoyable – a well-waxed toboggan can pick up good speed on the steep leeward side of the dunes, certainly enough to wipeout in a flurry of sand at the bottom. But the freedom to roam through the endless white waves was the highlight of the visit, and the fact that human traces are fleeting in the blowing sand made it feel like we were exploring this overexposed landscape for the first time. Alone with the wind, sun, and sand, we trekked across several building-sized dunes to find the tallest: there, we sat to watch the sunset transform the landscape from white to gold to purple. Another deeply invigorating afternoon, worth every grain of sand that we had to shake off of our clothing and gear throughout the rest of the trip.
We awoke the next day in Las Cruces beneath the pointy Organ Mountains, the first of many paintable scenes that day. After a quick stop in quaint Mesilla, a village featuring Chicano artisans and Billy the Kid history, we headed west on Interstate 10, dodging fleets of semitrucks making the long haul between Texas and California. Passing Lordsburg, I took a mental snapshot of my view from behind the wheel: a panorama of purple peaks fading into the distance beyond a mirage of yellow desert, reminiscent of the blending of oil paint hues from my only experience with a beginner wine-and-paint night. We crossed into Arizona and the scenery became even more beautiful – Google diverted us onto a gravel road to cross Apache Pass, a scene reminiscent of an old Hollywood western where the remains of Fort Bowie are the lone reminder of a protracted bloody war between the U.S. Government and native Apache warriors during the 1800s. We soon arrived at Chiricahua National Monument, a hidden gem of a national park that I had really fond memories of from when I came at age 6. Possibly even more astounding the second time around, the view from Inspiration Point transcends any painting: a panoramic valley of craggy yellow hoodoos, an amalgamation of shapes and shadows that shift and stretch as the sun moves toward the horizon. We hiked into Echo Canyon, aptly named as its serene quietness causes every crunching footfall to reverberate from the otherworldly rock formations. Each turn revealed a breathtaking new view, which killed both of my camera batteries but left me with vivid sensory memories of the cool stone silhouettes. While I could’ve easily spent an entire day hiking in this gorgeous rock garden, I am grateful that I was there to see the brilliant orange sunset. Due to its enchanting vistas and near-complete silence, Chiricahua is among the most peaceful places I have ever been – simply wonderful!
We rolled into Bisbee after dark, a sleepy mining town turned artist community a few miles from the Mexican border. When our reservation at a haunted AirBnB was cancelled by a truly crazy happenstance, we stayed instead at the historic Copper Queen Hotel, a Victorian-era landmark that is also allegedly haunted. A cool, clear morning afforded us a nice walk around the narrow streets of the town, window-shopping the folk art galleries and dusty storefronts (including a fun music store where I test-strummed a 10-string banjo and a bass ukulele, super eclectic). This stroll into eras past prepared us for our tour of the Queen Mine, wherein we rode a narrow-gauge railcar into a tight mineshaft just as the miners did a century ago (except that they almost certainly walked, mining copper was grueling and dangerous labor). Bluish veins of copper ore were visible in the walls behind the antiquated mining equipment on display, quite a departure from the chasmic open pit mine just over the hill that effectively retired the entire underground mining way of life. In contrast to Bisbee’s raw authenticity, nearby Tombstone flaunts its western character in a more overt, theatrical manner, with its old Main Street resembling the set of Blazing Saddles. We enjoyed the drama of the gunfight reenactment at the OK Corral nonetheless, even though I struggled to explain the historical significance to Gold (kids in the Philippines don’t learn the glorified history of western sheriffs shooting upstart teenagers). At the Bird Cage Theater, a docent dressed as a period barkeep described more wild aspects of Tombstone, with performances and parties and prostitutes and more shootouts. Between Bisbee and Tombstone, you can get a vivid and unbelievable picture of life in late 1800s Arizona, quintessentially the wild west.
Returning to modern Arizona, we spent the next couple of days in Tucson and Phoenix. I had fond memories from spending a week at a resort in Tucson as a 6-year-old, learning how to swim and riding the big waterslide eighty times. But coming back as an adult, my quick visit was highlighted by Tucson’s most iconic feature: the saguaro cactus. We enjoyed a desert sunset over a ‘forest’ of these majestic cacti, with their tall, bulbous branches against a dramatic orange and purple backdrop. The next morning, we hiked into Saguaro National Park, enjoying the panoramic views of these sticky forests while observing up-close the microecosystems these cacti provide for small animals like lizards and wrens. Likewise, our visit to Phoenix was abbreviated, but we did get to take in regional art (including a fantastic exhibit of kachina dolls and ornamental spears at the Heard Museum) before a nice Tex-Mex meal with my friend Philip, another Missouri emigree who absolutely loves living in Arizona now. While city life is not the reason I came to love the Southwest, there’s no shortage of interesting and fun things to do in Phoenix and Tucson!
The following day was a washout, but that didn’t prevent us from checking out a few national monuments as we made our way north. First, Montezuma’s Castle is worth the 15-minute stop of incredulous staring, an impossible feat of ancient engineering tucked up in a sheer sandstone cliff. Flagstaff displayed a bit of everything I love: pine forests, hike and bike trails, a ski slope, college town atmosphere, microbreweries, Nepalese food, and minimal light pollution (a Dark Sky city, Flagstaff is home to the Lowell Observatory, where Pluto was discovered and important observational research on our expanding universe still takes place). Pressing on to Sunset Crater, I hiked in pouring rain through an expansive, bubbly black lava flow and around a red cinder cone, volcanic marvels only surpassed weeks later on a trip to Maui. Brief views of the ancient Wupatki settlement, dinosaur tracks, and the painted desert were unspectacular, but I can’t let the rare cold, wet day tarnish my view – I’ll just have to revisit this part of Arizona later, perhaps on a future trip to Sedona!
We awoke the next morning under a clearing sky, just in time for the early morning tour of Upper Antelope Canyon. A beautiful slot canyon cut into a featureless patch of desert, our tour included all of the Instagram views of the swirling sandstone layers above, accentuated by the golden hour lighting. Though we were herded through the narrow, highly photogenic passageway rather quickly, our tour guide was gracious and found us all the best camera angles. Tours are run by the Navajo Nation, who shares a focus on conservation with visitors while strictly supervising us to prohibit solo exploration on reservation lands. We stopped at the Cameron Trading Post to sample Navajo cuisine: a hearty beef and vegetable stew with puffy fry bread, this was a highlight! Nearby Horseshoe Bend was the first of spectacular canyon panoramas – we sat for awhile on the precipice, 1000 feet above the Colorado River, watching tiny boats navigate the giant reflective “U” below. The sandstone cliffs were partly in shadow from the mid-morning sun, making for a really breathtaking contrast with even more impressive vistas to come.
Moving downriver, the canyon became gradually deeper and wider, a growing chasm in the vast, otherwise barren plateau, until we found ourselves overlooking the Grand Canyon. There aren’t really words to describe the scenery at the South Rim, and photos can’t begin to do justice to its size and splendor. My friend Philip may have explained the viewing experience best: “You stand at the edge for the first time and it just blows your mind, leaving you speechless for 30 minutes until you can soak it all up.” Well let me tell you that it didn’t lose its luster after a half hour, as we gazed in awe at several of the viewpoints. The view of the north rim, layers of striated rock held up by buttresses of ancient sandstone, cascading all the way to the river over a half mile below. The view in each direction along the river, where the majestic walls cast mesmerizing shadows in the depths of the canyon and fade with distance into the haze. The view in the foreground, where the snowy rim below our feet yielded to an abrupt precipice, steep cliffs of eroding sandstone interrupted by resolute monoliths that have withstood the many centuries of weathering. We watched the canyon’s face change as the day came to a close, as shadows lengthened and the haze turned the scene from tan to orange to purple. The “wow” factor was still present for me the next morning, and I would love to someday hike from rim to rim (or even float the mighty Colorado!) to unlock more perspectives of this truly awe-inspiring natural wonder.
We concluded the trip in Las Vegas, which is a famously wild place in its own right. But I’ve enjoyed Vegas more as a jumping off point for other adventures in the desert. Nearby Red Rock Canyon is a beautiful preserve surrounded by picturesque red bluffs – I love the Calico Tanks hike that climbs through a narrow rocky canyon to an overlook with a wide-angle vista of the glitzy Vegas skyline. Valley of Fire State Park offers more of the striking sandstone geology (the flowing striations of Fire Wave made for an incredible picnicking backdrop), along with slot canyons, ancient petroglyphs, and a herd of mountain goats. The Hoover Dam is a worthy detour, both to view an early 20th-century engineering marvel and see firsthand the urgency of the Southwest’s water crisis indicated by the pale ‘bathtub rings’ of the shrinking Lake Mead. In December 2018, my cousin Tom and I made a short overnight trip to Zion in Utah, hiking the breathtaking Angel’s Landing on a beautiful afternoon in the peace of the offseason. I would love to return to this area, spending more time visiting the canyonlands of southern Utah, sleeping under the stars in colorful Death Valley, watching for UFOs near Area 51 – there’s an irreproducible magic to the Southwest that makes even bizarre accounts seem possible. I now understand the inspiration that comes to many in the desert, as I was continually awed by its magnificent natural beauty and connected elementally through its stark quietude. And I hope that everyone can experience some of the inner peace that I experienced in places to where my soul longs to explore further.
Worldly Observations 