
Business and athletic competition took me to Saint George, Utah last month, and I took the opportunity to spend time out in the canyons of the Southwest corner of the state.
First I went to Zion, knowing that my favorite hike was still closed due to the landslide that blocked it a few years ago, and grumbling that our tax dollars go into so much nonsense and waste and not into outdoor recreation—so important to the mental health of our people.
It would be a hit and run visit. I arrived in the evening to a full park. No surprise. My plan was to continue the celebration of my athletic victory (reward myself for the austerities of months of training and preparation) by having a few beers at Zion Brewery, located at the front gate of the park, and sleep in my van among the fellow dirtbags—hiking and climbing guides—in the parking lot (an outfitter is next door).
In the morning I decided to go hike the closed trail. It’s a nine mile round-trip up to a lookout at the northeast end of the canyon. I figured it was only the first mile that was taken out by the landslide that I saw from the opposite rim the last time I was here. But I happened upon a ranger who told be that the landslide had taken out the shelf—an exposed rock strata—that allowed the trail to cross a sheer wall. So the trail would be impassable. I had to do the West Rim hike again—the only real hike from the valley floor. This route shares the first couple of miles with the paved “trail” to “Angels Landing,” the top priority of, I’d say 95%, of Zion hikers. It’s a zoo, and I was in great condition, so I blew by everyone on the trail, seeking peace at the fork, where I’d turn left and they’d turn right. Beyond the fork, once I calmed down, the beauty of the canyon began to erode my displeasure with our national parks and the crowds. This canyon is spectacular, and now, out alone, moving along the rim, the enchantment came that always comes, and I hiked in awe.

I was reminded of the last time I was in this area—just a few years ago—and my thoughts as I hiked then. Thoughts I had wanted to develop and never did. Questions I wanted to pose and never did.
I have given presentations to photo clubs, beginning with the statement, “I’m not really a photographer. I’m an artist who uses a camera.” I don’t know much about the technical aspects of photography. People who appreciate my images have a particular sense of aesthetics, and respond to my compositions. I don’t mind anyone blaming me for being arrogant, or delusional if I say that these people have a refined sense of aesthetics.
I have a natural eye, but that was just the raw material that I was able to develop a bit more by studying Japanese aesthetics with Dr. Shozo Sato, a genius and master of the subject. Unfortunately, I still fall way short of his comprehension of aesthetics, but the Japanese approach—more accurately the Zen approach—to aesthetics suits me. It is in accordance with my own way of appreciating beauty.
Japanese Tea Ceremony, Chado, was created as an opportunity for the samurai and nobility to calm down and appreciate beauty. The beauty to be experienced during tea can be very subtle, yet sublime. I do not have the expertise in Zen aesthetics to be writing anything educational here, but I can tell you what comes to my mind. My thrill at the sculptures in the red sandstone walls reminds me of the raku and other types of pottery tea bowls that look like stone—indeed that are masterful imitations of the work of nature.

And the occasional twisted, bent and wind-pruned juniper reminds me of bonsai trees, but who (yes, I think of them as individuals), due to their freedom from any pruner, have developed themselves in such a way to express what I call “grace in the face of adversity.”

And the lone pine, growing majestically on some small ledge of the huge vertical wall expresses a thriving in wabi-sabi, vitality in an environment that is lonely, forlorn yet serene, intensely quiet, yet intensely vulnerable to the forces of nature.

I was reminded of my solo river trip on the Green River, when I spent a week paddling my folding kayak 100 miles through Canyonlands National Park. It was a nonstop gallery of sculpted walls that I admired all day, every day, for a week. I’d photograph some, analyzing my options for compositions within the rectangular viewfinder. This seemed like it was my duty—as a human with a rectangle—to study the wall and isolate the best composition of cracks and fissures and stains. I take the challenge seriously, and I have no idea why. It just the natural thing to do—its obvious.
Then there are the courageous junipers. Each with their own form. And it seems to be my duty to acknowledge the best of them, but they are SO difficult to isolate for a composition. I get a little frustrated because it seems like a waste for them to develop themselves in such exquisite form and not be photographed—like a great singer never to be recorded. There is only my mental message to them: “I see you. Well done”.
All of this involved judgement and evaluation, analysis and decision making. Seems crazy. But I hike these canyons to experience this, even if no photo comes of it.
Side note: Studying Geography at Rutgers in the 70’s, I’d sometimes take an easy class to lessen my burden while meeting my credit requirements. The best of these was “Ideas of Nature” taught by Cal Stillman. Professor Stillman was an old man who taught me to ask questions about my experiences in the wilds. The one phrase that he offered and that I will never forget—like so many of the teachings of academia—was his concept of “Appreciation without appropriation.” That is, can we appreciate nature without coming home with something, even a photograph.

From Zion I went to the Escalante region to explore. unfortunately the skies were filled with chem trails most of the time, but I had some good hikes. after a few days, continued up to Capitol Reef National Park to hike the length of a ten-mile canyon I had seen some of during my last visit. It is exquisite, and the upper section is inhabited by a particularly joyful band of ravens that I enjoy watching.

I love the Utah landscapes, and will return for the experience of rapture; a filling of the soul with the provision of divine beauty. I’ll honor it with my little rectangular viewfinder, offer my best images for a few people to enjoy, and write about my experience for a few people to read. Most people would see it as wasted time, this effort, but just seems like it’s the thing I have to do.

Prints of all images are available. See www.tomreed.com for prices. Email me at tomreed@mcn.org to order prints