On Friday, my second day of visiting southern Utah, I decided to make my way to Zion National Park and hike into the Narrows. I’ve done this many times, and I hoped this would be a productive photographic experience. I brought my bicycle with me so that I could avoid the crowds at the visitor center and the mandatory tram. I learned two years ago that next to hiking, the best way to experience the main canyon of Zion National Park is from the seat of my bicycle. The park was full to overflowing and it was difficult finding a parking spot. I eventually pulled off to the side of the road east of the canyon junction just as the road began climbing upwards towards the tunnels and the eastern park entrance. I retrieved my bike from the car, attached my bike trailer loaded with camera backpack and other supplies, and pedaled up the canyon towards Zion Lodge. The crowds are thick around each shuttle stop with dozens and dozens of hikers heading out onto a trail or returning from a hike and boarding the shuttle for the next stop and the next adventure. On my bike, I breezed past these hubs and hives of tourists and enjoyed the solitude of the canyon on those stretches between shuttle stops. I rarely encountered another person as I made my way up the road, until I came to the next shuttle stop. I watched deer browsing along the roadside and enormous tom turkeys strutting among the oaks.

I stopped for a quick lunch at the Zion Lodge and then continued my journey up canyon. I parked my bicycle at the Temple of Sinawava, shouldered my camera backpack and began hiking towards the Virgin River. The trail was crowded and it seemed there was a constant flow of traffic in both directions. I hoped that the numbers would diminish as I entered the river and wound a few turns upstream and leave the crush of humanity behind. Sadly, it was not the case. I found hundreds of fellow hikers in a continuous stream stretching the entire distance of my hike, past Orderville Canyon and through the heart of the Narrows. I only took a handful of photographs because I rarely found a piece of the river not overrun with hikers. It was discouraging to me.

My first trips to Zion were in 1976 and 1977. My father took my brothers and I there on our way to drop me off at college in northern Utah. In those days Zion was largely unknown. There was no shuttle, no congested parking, no tourist industry in Springdale, and virtually no one else wandering trails into the backcountry. This photograph was taken when I was 18 with my two older brothers. We had no special clothing. We hiked the Narrows in rolled up blue jeans and no special water socks or wet shoes. We waded upstream barefoot, and to my recollection, didn’t encounter another soul. These are special memories to me and I hope never to let them fade away. This type of experience is largely lost to today’s visitors. With no protection on our feet I doubt we traveled very far upriver. I really don’t remember. What I do remember was the absolute solitude, the roar and rush of the river echoing off the canyon walls, the sounds of the birds flying overhead, and the only other persons around were my brothers and my father. For an hour or two, we owned the Narrows.