Back in Denver, my friend Suz had recommended that we stop at Colorado National Monument which was not far from our route into Utah. We drove through Grand Junction and neared the striking red rocks. The road into the National Monument climbs fast. Red rocks rise like cathedral spires and drop into canyons that make you dizzy. The plateau stretched out before us with snow-topped mountains in the distance.
We stopped at a viewpoint displaying a clear fault line, displaying the slow geological processes that have shaped this landscape. All of a sudden, a bighorn sheep and its baby walked across the road and climbed up an extremely steep cliff to reach vegetation above. We watched for a while. The mother moved with certainty. The little one teetered and leaned, always close to its mother, always learning. And I thought about how the earth teaches patience without a word. We watched them climb a cliff so steep it made our knees weak, and the moment seemed to last forever. What rewards it brings to simply stop and notice the world alive around you.
Before hitting the trails, we stopped at the visitor center. Inside, the walls were lined with interpretive displays, maps, and photographs of the monument across the decades. We watched the short film about the park. It showed how the landscape formed, the people who devoted their lives to protecting this land, and the remarkable plants and animals that call this place home. The rangers were generous with their time, answering questions about trails and pointing out the best overlooks.
Our first hike was along the Canyon Rim Trail, around 2 miles total, which runs along the canyon’s edge near the visitor center. The path hugs the rim, and with each bend the light shifts. The sun catches a wall. A lizard darts across stone. Deep red cliffs rise around us, dotted with pinyon pines and juniper trees while the scent of sage drifts in the dry air. Far below, the canyon floor lies quiet and shadowed, still as if holding its breath. The trail led to Window Rock: a natural bridge that creates a “window” looking out towards the plateau.
Next, we hiked Otto’s Trail: a short, scenic 1 mile trail with incredible views of the canyons below. This trail is named after John Otto, the first park ranger for Colorado National Monument and the man who fought to preserve this corner of Colorado. The trail follows a ridge that reaches out into Wedding Canyon, and from it you get sweeping views of both Wedding and Monument Canyons at once. Walking the trail, I felt perched above the canyons, close to the wind and sun. The rock around me was warm underfoot and the layers of red stone stretching endlessly in every direction. It’s easy to imagine why Otto fell in love with this place.
We continued to drive Rim Rock Road, stopping at various overlooks including Coke Ovens, Red Canyon Overlook, and Cold Shivers Point.
Finally, we hiked Devil’s Kitchen: a two mile roundtrip hike to a natural rock formation known as Devils Kitchen, where towering sandstone fins and spires create an enclosed basin. Devils Kitchen is the kind of place that makes you slow down without even thinking about it. The trail winds through sagebrush with red walls surrounding us in the distance. It was quiet and peaceful. The dusk was only broken by the distant laughs and conversations of other hikers further up the trail. The trail became difficult to follow and we missed an initial turn, but after some scrambling, we made our way to the rock formation this trail is known for. The trail winds between walls of red rock that lean and twist like they’ve been frozen mid-fall, and every step feels like you’re threading through something ancient and alive. We had it all to ourselves, which made the canyon feel like a secret shared only with the wind and the deer grazing below. The sunlight was softening, spilling across the rocks, and we wandered slowly, scrambling over boulders, peeking into small alcoves, letting the quiet settle around us. There was no rush, nothing calling us onward. Just the rocks, the deer, the fading light, and the feeling of being completely present in a place that had existed long before we arrived and would stay long after we left.
Driving away from Colorado National Monument, the red cliffs and spires slowly fading in the rearview, I felt the quiet settle in my chest. We drove into Grand Junction and settled at a gas station parking lot that allowed overnight car-camping. The day had been a string of small discoveries: a sure-footed baby bighorn, the wind moving through pinyon pines, juniper trees casting small bits of shade for lizards below, the glow of stone in late afternoon light. Each trai had its own rhythm, its own way of teaching patience and attention. I realized that it wasn’t the views themselves, or even the monuments of stone, that stayed with me. It was the feeling of being present, of noticing the tiny movements of life around me, of walking slowly through a landscape that has been shaping itself for millions of years and pausing long enough to feel part of it.
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