Water, Water Everywhere…in the Utah Desert

You wouldn't expect to travel to the middle of a great American desert to have dramatic encounters with water, but that's exactly what contributing editor Kerri Allen found in Utah.

The river’s current was pushing hard against the back of my knees, making them shake and making me nervous. I had to make a decision soon.

Traveling to the wilds of Utah, I’d expected to get dehydrated or sunburned on a blazing-hot hike, but I didn’t anticipate trembling among the whitecaps of a cold rushing river.

In the middle of Zion National Park, I was hiking The Narrows, the painfully obvious name for the narrowest section of a gorge whose sandstone walls soar to over 1,000 feet. After a few hours navigating upstream, I was overly confident on my way downstream and ignored the crowds that were timidly hugging the sides of the wall, where water barely grazed their ankles. I’d show them. I waded deeper into the water. And now I was a little afraid.

The current was so strong that there was no way to veer back over to the throng. No way to reverse. Like a deer frozen in headlights, I stood still, the water undermining my already unsure stance. I had to go forward, though I wasn’t sure what that would mean. The ground under me was loose slickrock that I’d been successfully traversing all day with a sturdy walking stick, a stick that, while essential thus far, proved utterly useless in this moment.

I imagined myself tumbling into the rush, skull crashing on rocks, stupid stick twirling through the air as the clusters of people clinging to the canyon walls gawked at and filmed some lady cascading to her watery death.

I crouched down, first trying to “sit” on the water. The current too was strong for that move, so I awkwardly lay down to glide downstream horizontally. And under I went. The water was frigid and powerful, but after a few yards, I stood up — amazingly unscathed and utterly alive.

One of the perks of traveling is being proven wrong, of having your assumptions and preconceived notions wiped away. Maybe the Utah desert was a place for aquatic adventures after all.

America’s Dead Sea

I’d started my journey farther north in Salt Lake City, where I met my always-outdoorsy husband Mike to get our bearings at the contemporary downtown Kimpton Hotel Monaco. It was early summer, and it was already hot.

In our suite, Guest Services had blessedly set out a few large bottles of Acqua Panna and Pellegrino on the coffee table, which we quickly drained before exploring the hometown of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.

Our sights were set on Utah’s national parks and, like many travelers, SLC wasn’t meant to be more than a launching pad. But there was one thing we had to see before we left town. Obvious, no? The Great Salt Lake.

When I asked about a boat ride — or possibly even swimming — in the lake, there wasn’t much enthusiasm. Locals tend to turn their noses up at this body of water and don’t encourage visitors to seek it out. I learned that in the spring, the lake can swarm with biting gnats. By late summer, the air becomes rife with the stench of rotting brine shrimp. Fair enough. But this was early June, and it seemed crazy not to visit the city’s namesake, so we booked a two-hour boat ride for the following day.

A pontoon took a dozen travelers out for a glorious morning of floating on “America’s Dead Sea” — the saltiest and the largest body of water in the western hemisphere and one of the biggest in the world. We were lucky. Nary a buzzing gnat nor a waft of shrimp was to be had. It was a calm and contemplative ride.

Mike and I jumped out of the boat into the cool water and miraculously floated. More and more people got in, and we transformed into giggly children, curiously bobbing along in the salty blue. In a city known for its religious fervor, I was a believer. In nature’s marvels, anyway.

Ride Down the Colorado River

With salt still drying on our skin, we hopped into our rental car and drove 200 miles southeast to Moab, home of the jaw-droppingly beautiful Arches and Canyonlands national parks. (Seriously, these parks make you believe in America, God, the Easter Bunny, all of it.)

Opened in 2022, The Moab Resort is conveniently located about a mile from the entrance to Arches. This was crucial, since we were starting each day at 6 a.m. in order to get to the park before timed entry began or the Southwestern sun got too hot (which was easily by 9:30 a.m.). In between adventures, our Presidential Suite gave us more than 1,000 square feet of space to spread out and cool down. The property has an outdoor pool that faces the mountains, but it was swamped with kids the way the Great Salt Lake is with springtime gnats.

But the resort is also next to the Colorado River, which I had hardly considered while so focused on my red rock hiking plans. At some café, we found a tri-fold tourist brochure for the Canyonlands by Night and Day Sound and Light Show Jet Boat Tour. The family-run outfit has been around since 1963, and their signature two-hour tour straddles sunset and includes a pre-launch dinner. They get right to it in their bizarre and intriguing overview:

“The stories included in the show relate to how the settlers of the area believed the area was created and clashed with the Indians of the area. If you would prefer to experience a tour without reference to God or religion, please consider the Sunset Jet Boat or a Daytime Jet Boat Tour, which do not have narrative stories. We are always happy to help you find the right tour!”

Our curiosity was piqued. A few nights later, we joined at least 100 people in the Canyonlands dining hall. Inside the massive room, a “cowboy”-style buffet dinner of pulled pork, beans, and brisket was on offer. Strangers sat together at long tables and broke bread, trading salt and pepper along with their travel tales.

Then it was time. Our captain donned an unironic cowboy hat, as did the man who appeared to be the owner (or at least the boss). They corralled us onto the boat, and we started down the river. The first hour was narrated live in a typically tourist style, with cheesy jokes and local trivia.

As the sun began to set, things got a little weird. A recorded voice-over began playing, as if yanked from the opening credits of a John Wayne western. It outlined the history of Moab from the beginning. Like, the very beginning:

“By the guiding hand of the creator, light and darkness were separated. The land and sea were set apart, and in the mighty upheavals, the treasures of earth were made available.”

It went on to talk about the Mormons’ arrival, Indigenous people, various clashes and fights for land, and manifest destiny. It was all terribly outdated and cringeworthy (and possibly enraging for some). But as the brochure had fairly warned, we signed up for a narrative story with references to God and religion. What we also signed up for was an exceedingly romantic ride down the Colorado River under a bright net of stars and moonlight, as we wended slowly along a quiet canyon with a group of new friends. Utah was proving to be a land of unexpected curiosities and dichotomies.

(Essentially) Walk on Water in Zion National Park

For the last leg of the trip, Mike and I hauled another five hours southwest to Zion National Park. The chic glamping outfit Under Canvas Zion occupies 196 acres of land with seven types of safari-style tents.

Because this is the desert and still technically a campsite — however modern and hip it may be — guests have to be very mindful of water usage. Our Deluxe tent had a flush toilet, running sink, and pull-chain shower, which made bathing both old-timey charming and new-timey difficult.

Zion is where I’d traverse The Narrows for more than six hours and have my brush with death (or severe embarrassment) in the river’s current. After that particular day — where the “real feel” was easily 108 degrees — I was so depleted that returning to our well-decorated, off-grid tent provided little relief.

The sleeping tents have no electricity, and the tiny battery-powered fans did little to cool me down. I laid on the bed, imagining what early frontier people must’ve endured. Splayed out like a desiccated starfish, I waited for hot heavy sleep to come, too spent to even pour myself a glass of water.

I woke up in the middle of the quiet night, when the air had dramatically cooled, to see silver stars twinkling in the clear sky above. I remembered why you stay in a tent in places like this and not in some climate-controlled hotel room. It may have been harder, but the payoff was greater.

“What makes the desert beautiful is that somewhere it hides a well,” the French poet Antoine de Saint-Exupéry is credited with saying. What I discovered across Utah’s spectacular desert is that the wells and springs and rivers were, in fact, all around us. In the midst of dry air and unrelenting sun there was always some oasis to be found. I was reminded that no matter our best-laid travel plans, there is always a surprise to be discovered — if we simply go with the flow.