Roundabout Paria Canyon

OUTLAND TOURING Circling a Canyon Called PARIA

I GO WAY BACK WITH PARIA. Twenty-two years. At the time, I was student-teaching at a Bureau of Indian Affairs boarding school on the Navajo reservation. A Navajo friend, a Paria lover, organized a trip to the deep gorgeous gash that begins in southern Utah and runs down into northern Arizona. Seven of us packed up one weekend with the intention of hiking the length of it, some 37 miles. We caravanned west from Shiprock, New Mexico, but we were stopped by a downpour.

The Paria's walls are sheer, several hundred feet high, and in places the canyon bottom narrows to a few feet. Unless you're a bird, there is no way out in a flash flood.

Three times in the ensuing years, I was involved in expeditions to the Paria that failed for one reason or another. Now I'm not much for sitting opposite turban-topped ladies who spy with dark eyes into crystal balls, but I believe there's a message here.

I'm never getting down into the Paria. I can live with that. So what I do now is drive around it.

It's a strange hobby, circling this great gorge. But it sits amid some stunning country up on the Arizona Strip. Marble Canyon, Lees Ferry, the Vermilion Cliffs all of which can be seen from paved roads. But this time I wanted a view from the backcountry. I started in Page on a fine April day and drove north on U.S. 89 across the Utah bor-der. Thirty-five miles up, I came to the Paria Information Center, short of the Paria River. I stopped to buy a map before continuing north on U.S. 89. Another five miles up, where the highway curls and the left guard-rail ends, House Rock Valley Road begins. It's a Paria flirtation, 30 miles of dirt run-ning along the western edge of the canyon, the Paria Plateau, and the Vermilion Cliffs. I was eight miles along when I stopped at the Wire Pass Trailhead. A hive of hikers stepped out on their way into the gorge. I started out being envious. They were doing what I'd been trying to do since the second Nixon administration. I approached one of them. He was painfully thin, looked like an X-ray, the way serious hikers do. His cheeks were sunken, and his eyes were wide with a look of permanent astonishment. By his teeth, I could see he was an ex-smoker, and I knew if I engaged him in conversa-tion on the topic, he'd be downright evan-gelical about the nastiness of his former habit, and that would make me crave a big smelly cigar. His look of astonishment switched to one of superiority when I told him I wasn't actually going down into the Paria but driv-ing around it. "It's a flanking action," I ex-plained, and ran down the humorous litany of my Paria failures. He frowned and sighed and puffed his cheeks. But he didn't laugh. He couldn't understand that I was doing the Paria in my own admittedly odd-ball way with air-conditioning, a radio, a lumbar roll, a cool-er, and a wide selec-tion of artery-clogging snacks. Pity the poor hik-ers. Adios to you, fel-lows. I sped away in a dust ball of happy indignation, driving under rocky cliffs to a horizon far off. It was the last I'd see of humans all day. At about the 10-mile mark, I crossed back into Arizona, accompanied by two buzzards playing below the sun, making perfect shadows on the road ahead. It was a mostly easy drive. In parts the road accu-mulated rocks that slowed my course, and in some of the washes, the sand was thin enough to sway the back end of my car. But it was dry and posed no serious trouble. The cool afternoon was a spectacle. Sweet green hills in the eastern distance. Above me to the west, rocky ledges strewn with massive boulders holdin holding to the Earth in defiance of everything we can understand.

Circling a Canyon Called PARIA

time I wanted a view from the backcountry. I started in Page on a fine April day and drove north on U.S. 89 across the Utah border. Thirty-five miles up, I came to the Paria Information Center, short of the Paria River. I stopped to buy a map before continuing north on U.S. 89. Another five miles up, where the highway curls and the left guardrail ends, House Rock Valley Road begins. It's a Paria flirtation, 30 miles of dirt running along the western edge of the canyon, the Paria Plateau, and the Vermilion Cliffs. I was eight miles along when I stopped at the Wire Pass Trailhead. A hive of hikers stepped out on their way into the gorge. I started out being envious. They were doing what I'd been trying to do since the second Nixon administration. I approached one of them. He was painfully thin, looked like an Xray, the way serious hikers do. His cheeks were sunken, and his eyes were wide with a look of permanent astonishment. By his teeth, I could see he was an ex-smoker, and I knew if I engaged him in conversation on the topic, he'd be downright evangelical about the nastiness of his former habit, and that would make me crave a big smelly cigar. His look of astonishment switched to one of superiority when I told him I wasn't actually going down into the Paria but driving around it. "It's a flanking action," I explained, and ran down the humorous litany of my Paria failures. He frowned and sighed and puffed his cheeks. But he didn't laugh. He couldn't understand that I was doing the Paria in my own admittedly oddball way with airconditioning, a radio, a lumbar roll, a cooler, and a wide selection of artery-clogging snacks. Pity the poor hikers. Adios to you, fellows. I sped away in a dust ball of happy indignation, driving under rocky cliffs to a horizon far off. It was the last I'd see of humans all day. At about the 10-mile mark, I crossed back into Arizona, accompanied by two buzzards playing below the sun, making perfect shadows on the road ahead. It was a mostly easy drive. In parts the road accumulated rocks that slowed my course, and in some of the washes, the sand was thin enough to sway the back end of my car. But it was dry and posed no serious trouble. The cool afternoon was a spectacle. Sweet green hills in the eastern distance. Above me to the west, rocky ledges strewn with massive boulders holdin holding to the Earth in defiance of everything we can understand.

It made me think of movie director John Ford, who saw the West's glory before most of us. The road ahead was a strip of khaki dust made invisible in spots by the up and down of the hills. When the way leveled, my eye could follow it clear back to the southern horizon, like something out of Oz. Farther along, with portions of House Rock Valley stretching out before me, the ground lay flat for three or more miles, all of it covered in a canvas of sagebrush, the air splendid and fresh against my face. I drove with a window open, now along-side the majestic cliffs that form the facing of the 200,000-acre table of sand called the Paria Plateau, invisible up back of the red rocks.

Circling a Canyon Called PARIA

(OPPOSITE PAGE AND BELOW) A wide spot in the narrows of Buckskin Gulch and an artistic patch of mud near the gulch's confluence with Wire Pass attract our photographer's attention. (LEFT) Heinz and Gisela Schinzel explore a marvelously patterned canyon they "discovered" in the Vermilion Cliffs.

Not a person in sight, no movement. I found a spot to stop and have lunch. I sat on the hood of my vehicle, munching on a chicken-salad sandwich from a convenience market. A lot of fat and flavor.

The sun poured down a cool yellowish light, and I thought of that poor hiker, leaking sweat as he feasted on his scrumptious pine nuts and orange rinds.

I grinned at him under the fine sun. Twenty years ago, I would've desired to be with him, down amid the wonders of the Paria. Judging by the pictures I've seen and everything I've read, it's a fine place on Earth to be. But so is this long empty road.

The day beat on. As I neared State 89A, and pavement, I decided to stretch out, just a bit longer, my flirtation with the Paria.

WHEN YOU GO

The canyon forms a horseshoe, with the open end facing west and the plateau inside. I neared the canyon's southern spur with night coming on and parked to watch the show.

The moon rose, a perfect parchment white, like a great empty eye, watching everything below, and the darkness fell in stages, each stage a special delight of color against the high sandstone cliffs. Soon the sky blackened, and the stars blinked. Still no sign of other people, anywhere.

The Bureau of Land Management's Paria Information Station is in southern Utah, about 35 miles north of Page, Arizona, on U.S. Route 89. The station is manned intermittently from 8 A.M. to 11 A.M., Thursday to Monday from March to November, and it has rest rooms. Be sure to stop there for the latest weather reports and information on the condition of House Rock Valley Road. The road is suitable for a passenger vehicle, except after a rain. It becomes rutted and slippery when wet. Take plenty of water and a good road map.

The Paria Information Center has no phone. For more information, contact the BLM's Kanab Resources Area, 318 North, 100 East, Kanab, UT 84741; (801) 644-2672.

Additional Reading: Whether you prefer

For easy stop-and-smell-the-flowers hikes or days-long backpacking adventures, you'll find a host of recreational opportunities in Outdoors in Arizona: A Guide to Hiking and Backpacking, a guidebook with 48 trails through Arizona's canyons, deserts, and mountains and one-day "backyard" trips in Phoenix, Tucson, and Prescott as well. The 136-page, full-color softcover book costs $9.95 plus shipping and handling. To order, telephone toll-free (800) 543-5432. In the Phoenix area and outside the U.S., call (602) 258-1000.