Raw Arizona

Seidist Symbol

 

Arizona is dry. That doesn’t mean Arizona is boring or lifeless though. A better word for the state might be arid, but that is a bit of a wonky overcorrection that indeed describes lots of its topography yet doesn’t accurately capture the essence of the place and its people. Arizona is weird. Thankfully, that doesn’t mean Arizona is Austin. A+B C. Math holds up, except when it doesn’t. Apples still aren’t Oranges, except when they’re watches. Arizona is “dry” as much as we are quarks. It’s a place where you can still see and feel the faint traces of Old West at the turn of the 20th century like the fading embers of an extinguished candle, before the gradual, sludge-creep of endless “connectivity” came for us all; disassociating us all through iPhones, LED lighting, bots, plastic, turf, screens, likes, sharing, fiat money, Google, 24-hour news, and Whole Foods with penetrating finality. Arizona is not dry. Arizona is raw.

 

Parks and Recreation

I had returned from a month-long sprint of working in nameless cities across the country and some major ones that should as well be nameless or something more appropriate like “Walmart Forever…City” or conceptual, like DFW. Without realizing it, I had become tired of something but couldn’t quite put my finger on it was. Maybe I was jet-lagged, too depressurized and sardined at cruising altitude to think straight. They knew I hate pretzels didn’t they? The month before that, I was in New Orleans for 36hrs, and had been gone 3 months straight before that, a year before that. I didn’t miss home as much as I missed family. The city had changed, the people, the places, all subtle corrections/alterations/over-writes of things that I once knew well, but could no longer connect to with the same reflex. (Treme?) The thing that had been rolling over in my head was that fact that I hadn’t seen the stars. I had grown fatigued from more than that, but nothing quite galvanized my angst like not being able to look up and see something beyond ourselves, beyond our place here on Earth.  New Orleans, with all it has to offer, selfishly, will never give you the stars. It’s the reason, I imagine that so many natives leave to become one.

I didn’t know much about Arizona beyond what I had seen and heard in film. A desert…that attracts strange people, spirit walkers and alien hunters and the like. I knew there was the Grand Canyon too, but embarrassingly after associating it with a 90’s Hoveround commercial. I also thought there would be good Mexican food too. More than that, however, I thought there would be stars, or rather skies dark enough to see them. Stars in mind, I hastily booked a ticket, grabbed a room and planned to get away.

When I arrived in Phoenix, I could see foothills scattered about the city in all directions. It’s the visual I was craving, recalling a touch of my time in Las Vegas a year back. The little planning I did do caused me to book a room in Flagstaff, a verdant mountain town located about 3 hours north of Phoenix that’s famous for the Lowell Observatory, abundant opportunity for outdoor activity, and proximity from the Grand Canyon. Unprompted, a number of people recommended that I stay in Flagstaff as a way to access the Grand Canyon as well as Arizona’s other parks and landmarks, which was first on my itinerary.

The rental company’s computers were down. Their sheer lack of fucks seemed to indicate that the computer error wasn’t rare. As they shuffled back and forth, attending to the line at a slugs pace, I made small-talk with a few of people about whatever people talk about in unmoving lines, other than the fact that the line wasn’t moving. One girl had an ill-fitting University of Arkansas hoodie on. Like me, I assumed she was new to the state and made an appeal to that. “You’re from Arkansas?”, I asked. She looked down, somewhat taken off-guard from the question and replied “oh this? This is a mistake” with a wry, defeated laugh. “I’ve driven through Arkansas”, I quipped. “It totally is”. She informed me that she was a local and kindly recommended a number of local eats, of which a strip-mall Thai joint called Red Thai that has a surprisingly bomb selection of pan-Asian and Thai dishes and beer as well as a seizure-inducing projection of random mahou shojou (lit. Magic Girl) style Anime cartoons on the wall behind the bar (think Sailor Moon). Dizzying, yet entertaining videos aside, Red Thai is worth hitting up.

One by one we sheepishly made our way to the front of the line. When I was my turn, I got the new guy. After going through the motions, some of the more senior staff realized a screw up in his handling and I got “upgraded” to an SUV, a Kia–not Sedona as that would have been too fitting–that after some pouting about the relatively poor gas economy, I accepted it and headed out towards Flagstaff.

The ride up from Phoenix to Flagstaff had been a rolling and twisting course the entire way. About an hour or so into the drive, the stars, perhaps the core reason I came to Arizona, came into my peripheral vision and nearly got me killed trying to steal glances at them on the road. When I eventually pulled into the driveway of my AirBnB, I couldn’t differentiate the neighborhood from that of any off of a service road. The hosts had embellished, like, a lot I thought at the time. After a quick check in with my hosts, I accessed and got acquainted with the place: It was simple, with nice personal touches. In the living room, there was an older model flat screen, a simulated fireplace, your parents’ fluffy furniture, and a number of well-selected art pieces for the “mountain “ decor. I liked it. Before bed, I charted out my week on a napkin, struggling to read slow-to-load travel blogs on what had to be DSL wifi for tips on the best natural sites.

I scribbled my trip as follows:

Day 1: Arrive

Day 2: Canyon de Chelly and Monument Valley (est. 7 hours drive RT)

Day 3: Grand Canyon +/- Meteor Crater (est. 6 hours drive RT, sites included)

Day 4: Sedona, AZ, and Phoenix, AZ arrival (est. 5 hrs drive, sites included)

Day 5: Tombstone, AZ and Saguaro National Park (est. 7hrs drive, RT)

Day 6: Phoenix, AZ and South Mountain (est. 2hrs drive RT)

Day 7: Return

(*Note: Some of the coolest stuff to shoot in Arizona is closed/inaccessible in the winter and or without prior authorization. Don’t be like me. Plan ahead)

Scribbles.

It wasn’t until I went outside in the morning light that I realized that I was, in fact, on a mountain and that, while my hosts had taken some liberties with the home description, they didn’t take many. I like to cook on the road and being close to a grocery store, this go-round, was a net asset, not an annoyance. My breath was visible in the dawn air. My hosts had told me it would be chilly, but I wasn’t as prepared to deal with 20-degree weather as I thought I was, considering my previous year in the frigid Midwest. Allowing myself to acclimate to the cold, I grabbed my equipment, got focused, and made my trip up to Canyon de Chelly.

 

Canyon de Chelly and Monument Valley Meteor Crater

Canyon de Chelly is a National Monument that lies to the Southeast of Arizona near the “4-Points” (Arizona, Utah, New Mexico, Colorado) deep in the Navajo Nation. From Flagstaff, it’s a solid 3-hour drive so gas up completely and set your course before you leave as you’ll likely lose reception unless you have one of the preferred mobile carriers of the Navajo Nation (link). I wanted to see a place I had saw online called “Spider Rock” which was the most notable of Canyon de Chelly’s historic sites.  Along the way, I got to see the gorgeous mountains and valleys of the Navajo Nation. There were colossal terracotta buttes that commanded the horizon along with a seemingly infinite number of rocky foothills, granite crags, blue sky, and desaturated lime-green, saguaro cactus. I was also able to take a more subtle mental note at how sparse the living seemed to be of the land’s inhabitants. I couldn’t properly tell if the distance, not only of the homes but also of the social infrastructure (grocery stores, schools, community centers, etc…) were intentionally so sparse for cultural reasons or because of communal access to wealth. Driving through the Navajo Nation was both an incredibly humbling experience, but also smacked of a sort of melancholy that was always on the edge of the mountains, just before the occasional trailer in disrepair or apparent lack of…everything. I couldn’t help but think about how their people got this land. I mean that with the fullness and gravity of the words. America’s history with its indigenous people is ugly, full stop. The atrocities they underwent compared to the coordination and daftness of their people to negotiate some of it back and the communial attempt was astonishing to take in.

In the Navajo Nation, I saw lots of horses roaming about freely. They had age to them but seemed happy, wild.

In a complete show of how plugged in I am, I probably went slack-jaw when I saw a Circle K and a Burger King come upon on a critical round-a-bout turn on the way up to Canyon de Chelly. It’s like I wanted to see it; it’s like I didn’t want to see it. I’m sure the native people might have this same sort of cognitive gripe. Gas is necessary, for sure but it looks odd set against such beautiful land. Nonetheless, I was a little before a half-tank, but I wasn’t going to risk driving without a sense of when I’d come across a gas station again. I filled up, got refreshed, and continued on my trek.

About an hour later, I came into a small town called Chinle, the town where Canyon de Chelly and Spider Rock is located in Apache County. Chinle is relatively nondescript, but comparatively has far more infrastructure and dense living than anything I had seen in the proceeding 3 hours. I noted the Subway Restaurant with “free wifi”, a random Church’s Chicken, a few hotels and places of worship, and all of the other amenities you’d expect in a small town, all of the historical relevance most small towns could never have.

The Canyon de Chelly Welcome Center in Chinle, AZ

Even though I wanted to enjoy, no, savor my time at Canyon de Chelly, I knew I had to move quickly in order to make the additional hour or so up to Monument Valley, an iconic park notable for its deep red butte rocks that are likely some of the first images most people conjure up of old Western films, just past the Arizona border and into Utah. Time in mind, I stopped into the park service station and got some quick and very helpful information on how to make it to Spider Rock.

From the station, Chinle transforms into Canyon de Chelly.  It was the first place on my trips that I was able to get a sense of about how high up I was, at least 6000ft at last check. Canyon de Chelly has a northern and southern route. Spider Rock, the most famous of its attractions is the last site of the southern route, an approximately 25min trip each way. When I arrived, I saw two guys chatting amongst themselves. Passing them, we exchanged pleasantries. One was an Asian guy in his mid-20s named Dave that was traveling on his own from Pasadena to Chicago. He had a gypsy vibe about him and a cat print on the back of his hoodie. Like me, he was there to see Spider Rock and it was his first time. The other guy was coming into his gray, Indigenous, and familiar with the area. He just seemed to be chilling out, leisurely chatting up strangers. He had no stress in his eyes. Before going out to see Spider Rock, upon learning I was from New Orleans, shouted “Who What!” in apparent admiration for the Saints. I corrected him with a roaring “Who Dat!” and he joined me for a quick chant. Laughing, he shooed me away to enjoy the site and said that the only two teams he roots for are the Saints and the Vikings. Unexpected to say the least.

Dave and I, brief companions to witness Spider Rock, were quiet on the way down and eventually over to Spider Rock. I noticed he was shooting with an older model Pentax, quality shit, hipster shit. I asked him if he was a shooter, but he expressed he was a hobbyist and never looked at the photos he shot until he had forgotten about them much later. I nodded and carried on, uncertain of when I’d see Spider Rock. Either the temperature or the hiking warmed me up and I took off my jacket and wrapped it around my waist–the only time that’s ever appropriate along with wearing North Face apparel and eating trail mix. You’d better be hiking/climbing a mountain if you’re doing so.

When I did get to the summit of sorts and began to see the edges of Spider Rock, the air couldn’t have been more still, more completely devoid of movement, and sound. Save the gentlest wisps of wind, it felt as if I had entered the vacuum of space. I can tell Dave felt it too as he ventured off on his own to experience it. I couldn’t believe how massive Spider Rock was, how beautiful, how deep the canyon, everything! I was floored. The canyon cliff was a good 20 feet out, but it felt so present, and I backed up out of respect and fear. I might have been higher, on a plane or helicopter, but I’ve never felt higher. It was humbling. It was enormous. It was forever.

 

The large spire in the center of the photo is of Spider Rock. Even though I was a ways away, the depth and spirit of the canyon is enough to knock you senseless. It feels like you’re taking in the enormity of our human history in a moment, punching with the weight and force of a million years.

On the way back I got distracted a few times at some of the other outlooks Canyon de Chelly had to offer, increasingly aware that the winter sun would be soon setting. I stopped to chat up a local selling his “art” on the low (a collection of loose rocks he’d found), gobbled up a soggy turkey wrap and washed it down with a flat soda from the airport, and attempted to photograph a shy alpaca. By the time I made it back to the service station, I realized I had an increasingly bad set of choices ahead of me: Forge ahead to Monument Valley or console myself with the visual grandeur of Spider Rock, return to Flagstaff and call it a day. Leaving for Monument Valley would mean I followed the morning’s plan, go the additional 2hrs up and get 45min to figure out the best shot in twilight and then go back another 3hrs. Not doing so seemed to be giving up, white flags. I had been circling the Chinle strip, making illegal, middle-of-the-road U-turns, my thoughts racing to come to a satisfying decision. After some consternation and a touch of shame about bumming a free pinch of wifi from the local Subway, I mapped a course, not to Monument Valley, not to Flagstaff, but to the Meteor Crater in Winslow, AZ.

Radio stations like cell phone signals in the Navajo Nation were spotty at best. To be fair, this was typical across the state but seemed to plague the reservation with greater intensity. I’d catch a country station here, a talk station there, and even a local reservation/public radio style station broadcasting relevant events–weddings and the like–but nothing stuck for more than a few minutes at a time. In the increasingly golden light of the setting sun, the contours of the various mountain faces appeared differently, in deeper contrast than they had earlier in the day. I picked a few spots along the way to snap a few shots as the sky reddened in color. I knew there was a limit to all of this though: The firmament between the light and the land’s majesty and the inevitable blanket of the formless night.

I was 10min ahead of schedule by the time I made it to Meteor Crater. The air had regained its chill as I jogged up the stairs to the concierge. My brief recon on the crater prepared me…kinda, for the $18/person sticker shock of seeing the meteor. As the sun was setting, I thought I could perhaps negotiate a better rate or a quick peep, but to no avail. The upside of it all was that the $18 tickets were that they were good for a couple weeks of re-entry so long as I kept my receipt. Realizing this, I decided to jump in and buy the ticket, rationalizing that I could go again (I wouldn’t). At the urging of the window attendant, I checked out an educational video before going up to the observation deck. It explained how the meteor hit where it did and, without spoiling the process too much, I’ll say that a rock flew in from space really fast and slammed into the ground really hard. Being a bit of a space nerd myself, I understood the mechanics of meteorites. Shamefully, I found myself focusing on more on how the piece was filmed, audibly groaning at the editor’s font/shot selection, unable to contain my jealousy at the fact the DP got to go down into the crater and I wouldn’t.

I had been aware that my breathing was somewhat more labored and forced throughout the day, but it took me aback on the climb up to the highest observation deck on Meteor Crater–they’re 4 accessible and a view further out via the complimentary tour. There’s no sign that says you’re nearly a mile up in altitude, that the air is as thin as floss, but you certainly can and will feel it. There was still a speck of sun in the sky when I got a full look at the devastation the meteor wrought on the land, both transfixing and foreign; simple and clean. Meteor Crater is a bowl in some ways, albeit a very large bowl, but a bowl nonetheless. Over time it had grown various shrubs and trees around the crater rim, but nothing in the interior. The video said that if the crater were a stadium, you could watch 20 football games simultaneously with an audience of 1 million people to give a sense of scale–American’s love measuring things in “football fields”.  It reminded me of the fact that we’re not alone here in this universe as a people, though it may sometime feel that way, and that there’s so much more than this Earth to which were inextricably tied. Being there also reminded me of something else.

When I was a boy, as clear as crystal, I saw a meteor split the NOLA sky, during the day without fanfare or witness, silent and incomprehensibly fast, two-stories above my head during summer camp. In the moment, I recall the other kids playing, innocent and oblivious to the fact that had the arc of attack been slightly different, all those millions of years ago when the meteor likely came hurdling our way, even by an inch, we would have all been vaporized. I too was playing in the brutal summer heat, but unlike the other kids in the moment looked up and saw the meteor. The object was both rock and fire, its tail trailing behind, shimmering flames whipping wildly in the wind. It was and still is, the closest to seeing God I have ever been. I recall the slackjawed expression of the teacher on duty as he, not believing his eyes, seeking confirmation in mine that we had, in fact, saw the meteor. We had. Going to Meteor Crater was, therefore, something of a spiritual hajj for me. Even if it wasn’t my meteor, somehow I wanted to graft meaning onto that moment, a bewildering and transformative moment, where I stopped being a citizen of Earth and became a citizen of the universe.

Above is Meteor Crater. The speed upon impact is said to have been moving at 8 miles per second, striking the Arizona soil with the force of a 10 megaton nuclear weapon, larger than the combined attack yields on Hiroshima and Nagasaki combined

 

The Grand Canyon

I was coming down with a cold. I couldn’t quite tell if it was the cold or the rigors of the drive to Canyon de Chelly, but the snotty, achy symptoms were all the same. Luckily I carried a few Alka-Seltzer tablets in my pack and washed them down with some eggs and a day (or two) old biscuit. Nothing was going to deter me from my schedule. After a quick shower, I grabbed my things and set off for the Grand Canyon.

The previous day’s trek took me northeast of Flagstaff. The Grand Canyon is about 1.5 hours drive northwest of where I was staying. Unlike the comparatively desert environment of the lands up through the Navajo Nation, the ride up through the Coconino Forest, with its large evergreen pines and various other conifers, was greener. When I arrived at the Tusuyan gate entryway for the Grand Canyon, I was greeted by a kind, yet bureaucratic park ranger. I took out my scribble napkin and pointed to a number of the outlooks, calling them out as I went to confirm I was at the “correct” Grand Canyon. (The medicine had to be working). What I meant to ask in the moment was whether or not I had made it to the South Rim of the Grand Canyon, as the North Rim is closed during winter. The ranger nodded with the shadow of a grin and confirmed matter-of-factly that I had made it to the “correct” Grand Canyon. He then requested $30, something that I hadn’t been prepped about in my investigation into the day’s trip. Luckily, I had a bit of extra cash on me for a quick transaction and much like Meteor Crater, my receipt guaranteed me repeat access to the park for 2 weeks. A good deal I thought to be able to see an American treasure.

From the Tusuyan entry point from the AZ-64 intrastate road, I drove another 15 minutes up to the Grand Canyon Visitor Center, a good place to grab a coffee, a restroom break, directions, and various trinkets and souvenirs. Despite not having access to the North Rim, most of what I wanted to see was on the South. A helpful ranger at the information desk provided me information on some of my most requested sites and even directions on how to use the free shuttles to Hermit’s Rest and Desert View on the eastern and western sides of the South Rim respectively. Before seeing any of these other sites, the guide encouraged me to take a quick hike out to Mather Point (about 5min). There I was able to get my first peak at the Grand Canyon.

When I reached the outlook posts on Mather Point, the ground blossomed out before my eyes. A collage of reds, terracottas, burnt umbers, sand, and pops of green from the various ferns that grew on the canyon filled every inch of my retinas with panoramic breadth, and laser sharpness. It made IMAX look like Atari. When people say pictures don’t do something justice, I often find that the picture, in fact, did said thing justice. Photos do cats, contrived hygge-style, sunlit-designer-coffee, and girls pretending to meditate on mountains perfectly acceptable justice. In the case of the Grand Canyon, it’s hard enough to capture the depth and scale of the place, but nearly impossible to capture its energy and soul, of which you can feel. You simply have to see it to believe it.

There were a number of people scattered about: the requisite youth mission group, couples taking selfies, Japanese salary-men on their official non-work, work trip, and a few other unattached vagrants like myself. All in all, there couldn’t be more than 50 people milling about. While that number might sound sizable, we were nothing against the colossal, 10 mile wide stretch from point to point, that the Grand Canyon was. Unlike the oceans, which are effective in terms of conveying scale, it’s hard to see an end to them and thus their size is sort of incomprehensible, like the Universe. The Grand Canyon, on the other hand, commands the sort of ego gulping presence of bodies like the ocean, with a sense of definition and finality that we can judge clearly with respect to ourselves.

Mather Point is the first point of entry if you’re coming up from the south to view the Grand Canyon. I highly recommend seeing Mather Point as it sets the stage for other outlooks and primes you for the height and guaranteed death should you not exercise caution when being more adventurous

After grabbing a few shots of Mather Point, I decided to make my way east towards Desert View, the most visually interesting overlook on the South Rim and next up on my tour. Naturally, that isn’t where I ended up. After considering the Orange Line bus towards the Desert View Watchtower, the door flew open and a driver, looking, speaking, and behaving like Rosanne Barr, demanded I get on the shuttle with the “no-buts” attitude of a mom shuffling a toddler in the grocery store. I hadn’t felt 5 in a while. I found the entire ordeal unexpected and bizarre. Like a child, I griped to myself that I might have made the wrong choice: Somewhere between entering the bus and taking off, I realized that for time sake, it’d be better for me to have control over my arrival and departure schedule and that meant me driving on my own. The bus would end up taking me to the Yavapai Point and Geology Museum, slightly west of Mather Point. When we arrived, with the same zest in her voice, “Great Value” Rosanne order me off the bus, I assume for talking back, but more likely because she felt visitors should see everything the Grand Canyon offered. Regardless, I didn’t know whether to laugh or complain about what was happening to me. Now that I was on the bus I wanted to go to Yaki point! I’d have no such luck on this trip.

A good friend of mine explained to me before I went to the Grand Canyon that “once you’ve seen it, you’ve seen it”. While that’s true in some sense–it’s a 10 mile gorge in the ground–it’s not true in others. While I won’t go into detail about every stop along the way, I will say that each had its merits and if you have more time available to you, spend at least a few days marinating there. You’ll thank yourself for it.

Of all of my stops of my trip, the Grand Canyon was well…the most Grand. Nothing I’ve seen in America compares to it. Here are a few of the stops you should definitely see if you’re on the South Rim:

 

  • Mather Point – It’s the “starter” view and absolutely does not disappoint with getting you adjusted to the Grand Canyon.
  • Yavapai Point and Geology Museum – For those who want to see the canyon and not be exposed to elements while learning something along the way, this is for you.
  • Desert View Watchtower – Like Mather Point, it boasts a visitor center and various shops and stores along with the most interesting visual object you’ll see on the South Rim.
  • Tusayan Museum and Ruin – For the geologist at heart, visit this site for a boutique museum and the opportunity to walk along the ruins of ancient people who lived on the Grand Canyon.
  • Grandview Point – Careful here! To truly get a good view of Grandview Point, you’ll need to go out past the partition and out onto some of the narrower rock paths that have little to no protection if you fall. High reward to a moderate risk.
  • Shoshone Point – This point isn’t marked on the Grand Canyon map, but it’s accessible via a 1-mile dirt trail just past Yaki Point. It boasts one of the most rewarding views of the Grand Canyon and a beautifully balanced rock to focus on for photo enthusiasts. It’s my second favorite view of the trip.
  • Hopi Point With its deep red rocks and views of the Colorado River, it’s a must-see for sunset.
  • Hermit’s Rest – Another great place for sunset. There’s also a trail that leads off into one of the verdant, forest-like patches of the Grand Canyon.

 

Once the sunset, I’d gotten word that there would be a meteor shower that night and that there wasn’t any better place to view it than the Grand Canyon. This worked for me because one of the central reasons for going to Arizona was for stargazing. I decided that the best place to see the stars was where I started at Mather Point. As I walked towards the observation point–or at least attempted to–I stopped to take a few shots of the stars set against features like rocks and solar towers. The closer I got to Mather Point, however, the more irrational my fear became that I’d be somehow attacked by a bear or mischievous/murderous person on the grounds. My thinking went: The Grand Canyon is so large and Mather Point so isolated that I could scream and not a soul would realize I was in paranoid danger. Weighing the risk to reward–I wasn’t going to see an outline of the Grand Canyon–I continued to gaze and shot in the complete dark, just not at the rim. I was out for about 2 hours when I came to the conclusion that I would not see the meteor shower. I wasn’t disappointed though. I marveled at the volume of stars that were in the sky and the faint, ever-present glow of our Milky Way Galaxy. I saw a few random shooting stars, a few star clusters, and a number of satellites whizzing about. As I stared up, I felt completely satisfied and restored in the sense that I was connected to something more and forced down my last bit of Alka-Seltzer.

Deep sky view from the Grand Canyon

Sedona

When light came the following morning, I didn’t have the energy to power through for another sunrise adventure. I had flirted with the idea of going back to Meteor Crater for the tour the facility gave, but that thought was competing with visiting the Petrified Forest. Ultimately, after having spent the entire day at the Grand Canyon, I felt that I’d be selling both experiences short, so I slept in. The other reason was that I was still feeling sick and wanted the extra time to adequately vacate the AirBnB as well as chart out the next few days on the southern half of Arizona.

Once I cleaned up and got my things packed, I charted a course for Sedona. Unlike Canyon de Chelly and the Grand Canyon, Sedona didn’t have one core natural attraction but many. Perhaps a better way of saying it is that the town is the attraction. The ride down from Flagstaff is easily one of the most scenic and beautiful I’ve ever taken. From lush, rolling hills, winding roads, flowing creeks, and towering mountains, Sedona is a land to behold. I can’t count the number of times I pulled aside on the road, threw on my hazards and shot what unfolded before me.

A creek on the road down to Sedona.

Situated in a valley beneath towering mountains, the town attracts arts and adventure types from the world over. From the advent of American cinema and up through the 1970s, its distinctive red rock formations, notably Cathedral and Chimney Rock, became some of the most recognizable exteriors in film history. Even if you don’t think you’ve seen Sedona, you’ve seen Sedona.

Once in Sedona, the one place I knew to go was the Airport Overlook. Looking out from there you can see a number of mountain faces, spanning the length of the town. Viewing it from this vantage point gives the town the mythical, ephemeral quality of Rivendell from Lord of the Rings. It’s that stunning. After taking my shots from the outlook, I decided to take the advice of the parking attendant and hike the Summit Trail down from the Airport Road Overlook. While I didn’t necessarily inquire into this trail specifically, I did want to know what a “vortex” was in the Arizonan context when I paid the $3 dollars to park. She explained that it was the place where the magnetic fields on earth clashed (or something like that) and were widely reported to have healing properties based on the location of the vortex. The one I was in apparently provided a “caffeine-rush” that could be more strongly felt the closer one got to the nucleus of the vortex. “Can’t you feel it?”, she asked with confirmation in her eyes. I closed my eyes and tried to connect with my inner ki, imagining the energy rising up around me like something out of an anime. Sensing more of a migraine than energy, I replied “I don’t”, visibly disappointing her.

The vortex summit was a half-mile hike down a rocky, bumpy down-slope. On more than one occasion I lost my footing and I’m not a clumsy person. The trope about hikers carrying sticks wasn’t just something in Lion King à la Rafiki or Reese Witherspoon in the movie Wild. They’re actually helpful in keeping you from falling down (yes, I didn’t know that and neither did you). Climbing up to the summit isn’t as hard as it looked on the way down. They’re a number of rope assists and makeshift stairs to help the thoroughly uninitiated and winded. As I reached the center of the summit, I once again tried to see if my ki had done anything. My arms were kind of tingling, but as I joked with the girl doing insta-yoga about her insta-yoga, the tingling I was feeling might just be a stroke.

A photo from the vortex summit. 

Compared with the overlook up the trail, the view from the vortex summit is arguably better as it is flatter and provides views of Bell Rock in addition to the others. Furthermore, if you prefer a low work to reward ratio, the view from the vortex gives you the sense of accomplishment of climbing something, you know, if you’ve never climbed anything. I felt accomplished at least. As the sun began to set, I wanted to get a look at the most notable of the Sedona red rocks, Cathedral Rock.

My legs were still burning from the hike down, and I was aware of the fact that the hike back up might be a bit more challenging. The air had warmed up nicely as I climbed my way back up, and somehow I wasn’t as winded as I had been on the way down. A young Japanese couple was whispering sweet nothings between each other on a straggler bench on the trail–the very same bench I had planned on resting. I didn’t however and continued to power through and I was surprised at my persistence and minimal whining. When I reached the summit of Airport Road, I realized that I was warm, energized, unwinded, and surprisingly, no longer felt sick. As I waved goodbye to the attendant on the way out to Cathedral Rock, feeling euphoric from my hike, endorphins surging, the briefest thought crossed my mind: That vortex actually had power and healed me.

 

….but nah. Right?

 

When I actually made it to Cathedral Rock, it was about a quarter to sunset. The better part of the hour had been spent u-turning around the neighborhood surrounding the park. The directions aren’t as intuitive as much as it is to simply eyeball the mountain and navigate by sight. (This isn’t necessarily good advice, but it is advice that gave me good results). The park ranger took the $2 for foot traffic ($10 for cars) and give me directions to get the best twilight shots of Cathedral Rock. Jog-walking towards the mountain base, I set up an took my shots.  It’s about a 5-10 minute jog-walk to get good photos, which in the long light of the setting sun, made Cathedral Rock appear to shimmer and glow a brilliant red. I took a moment to bask in the accomplishment of such a productive shooting day–but only a moment because my rental was illegally parked and I didn’t want the buzz kill of a tow ruining my time.

 

Tombstone

I didn’t think I liked cowboys or cosplay–actually, I’m still pretty sure I don’t like those things–but when you’re in Tombstone Arizona, once the most opulent and lawless city in the old West, you deal…willingly. In researching the southern half of Arizona, I came across the town of Tombstone in considering the Saguaro National Park in Tucson, named for a large number of Saguaro cactus that inhabit the area. Of all the shots that I felt were necessary to capture the spirit of Arizona, I needed to get up close and personal with these mystifying arborescent cacti. What I didn’t realize before, but became increasingly apparent, was how the legacies of the western expansion were too apart of Arizona’s story.

Tombstone is a city located 3 hours from Phoenix in the southeast corner of Arizona, a little under an hour from the U.S-Mexican border.  Like much of Arizona, the land sits on hilly, steepe like terrain that is surrounded by various foothills and mountains, notably a granite dome called the“Sheephead” in the Dragoon Mountains. The dome was named for its uncanny resemblance to, unsurprisingly sheep heads (supposedly there an image of an Apache chief among the sheep, but I couldn’t see it). The town was founded by Ed Schieffelin, a U.S Army Scout on the hunt for ore in the late 1800s and grew to prominence as a destination for miners seeking riches. It’s said that the town got its strange name because of stories of Schieffelin’s various friends warning him not to go to the land upon which Tombstone was founded claiming that if he went seeking ore he’d “find his tombstone”, to paraphrase. Once it was discovered that Tombstone did, in fact, have silver and the promise of riches, people began to settle there. This increased attention brought prosperity as well as infamy to Tombstone. People, like the infamous Earp brothers; places, like the O.K Corral; and the word “cowboy” all have origins in Tombstone’s history.

The Sheepshead as seen from Tombstone, AZ.

Today, Tombstone has a population of a little less than 1500, keeping in line with its historical demographics, if not violent past. Many of the old western style saloons and other architectural fixtures remain intact while trolleys and horse-drawn carriages dot the streets with tourists. Cosplayers–they prefer to be called “living historians”–who dress the way individuals it did in the city’s heyday, catcall for business and tours, and the smell of sweet barbeque permeates the air. What was once a lawless town with a fearsome name and reputation, is these days part small town, part family-friendly tourist destination (though a cosplayer or two might pull a knife out on you or your kids to show you how things were done in the old days).

I am seen here geeking out with a group of kindly cosplayers

I let my nerdier side take over and I took the time to visit a few of the museums in the area and shop around. Unlike at Disney, which often samples and reproduces versions of real places and their culture, I was being exposed, in some ways, to the actual culture of a time in Tombstone’s history. I couldn’t resist the impulse and switch to my boots, picked up a few things–a sarape, badge, and hat– along with some souvenirs and walked around town channeling badasses like Jaime Foxx in D’Jango Unchained or young Clint Eastwood in The Man With No Name.  I got to watch a campy daytime theatre production of old western life in what was called “Old Tombstone” and went on a trolley tour where our velvet-voiced guide pointed out the various historical landmarks and points of interest. I also chatted with lots of people who lived in the city to try to get a sense of who they were and what the town had become. One woman who ran the museum talked about how she had spent her entire life in Tombstone and didn’t have “itchy feet” as she said I did. Her only fear it seemed was a reasonable one: She didn’t want to become like her mother. Another encounter involved a cute and industrious couple that gave up their fast lives in finance in the heart of Chicago to move for a slower, yet more fulfilling life in Tombstone. I could feel that the people who stayed in a town so ominously named, while few, were bursting with love, life, and pride for the place they lived.

Old Tombstone has old buildings and shops built in the style prominent at Tombstone’s founding. You can watch a “shootout” as well as pay mini-golf.

Other than the various shops, museums, landmarks, and restaurants I saw in Tombstone, another curious feature of the town (or perhaps the region) was the presence of well-armed, paramilitary border patrol agents. More than once, I saw these agents moving about town, eyes shielded by chrome, polarized aviator glasses; bodies bursting at the seams with equipment like a can of biscuits. On the way into the town, there was a heavily outfitted checkpoint, the likes of which I had heard of yet hadn’t seen before. There were a number of official-looking SUVs, radar guns, and barbed wire along with a few guardsmen sheepishly going about their patrol. I also realized that, like alcohol checkpoints, this setup was likely mobile and in some ways, effective. Perhaps these officers were welcome in Tombstone, natives even who were just going about their day, doing their jobs. I could rationalize the immigration officers being in town, but something still unsettled me about this.

Despite the jovial atmosphere, the presence of border agents in Tombstone, eating brisket like the rest of us, on soil that had once been used by Native Americans, smacked of the same racial and greedy thrust that led to their systematic eradication. Then, cowboys and injuns would effectively battle it out for the land, ore, and other resources justified at some level by the wretched and repugnant concept of race science. Now, the descendants of the victors in that war fought to keep what their ancestors had taken by force–on one side the Orwellian-named ICE (Immigration and Customs Enforcement) and on the other, the invading hordes of brown “coyotes”, “jihadist” and “aliens”. In the shadow of 9/11 and the advent of the misguided, endless“War on Terror”, I had realized, changed so many things in so many subtle, frightening ways. The “land of freedom” had grown increasingly paranoid it seemed, so too had the “Wild West”.

As I packed up to return to Phoenix, I considered going to the Saguaro National Park, but I was once again losing the sun and the sky had become bitter, grey, and overcast. As much as I wanted to end my day riding off into the sunset, like the heroes in the old Westerns, I’d have to be content just simply riding off.

 

Phoenix

I didn’t have a particular goal for my last day in Arizona. It was a sorta grab-all day for things I had missed, like the saguaro cactus, the Frank Lloyd Wright residence in nearby Scottsdale and otherwise touristy things (botanical gardens and contemporary art centers and such). I would have done those things too if I didn’t sleep in again (they’re top of my last day in Arizona list for next time). Instead, I chose to do something which had really wanted to do but the perfect weather had prevented: capture a time-lapse in Arizona. Phoenix, by default, would be where I got it.

Arizonans don’t like Phoenix, or perhaps what it represents: The city. Driving through the city, I personally found Phoenix to be a perfectly fine, if not somewhat visually utilitarian city. Many of the homes were built in the Spanish or Adobe styles, with some blending elements of both. The adherence to style and color was impressive if not somewhat oppressive in how well it’s done. Coming from a city like New Orleans that’s built on a marshy-crescent and utilizes conflicting cardinal directions as well as confusing nomenclature for its streets, I appreciated the grid-style, “vulcanesque” sensibilities inherent in Phoenix’s city planning. Leaving the business district and inner portions of the city in the suburbs, this “monochromatic” impulse pays off in that if you get high enough, you can see that some areas are designed in shapes–grand circles, crosses, and even ripples. Sometimes things are more than what they seem. Perspective is everything. I’m sure Wright, with his iconic sense of style, understanding of spirit and form in architecture, understood and accepted this about Phoenix, his final resting place.

To get my time-lapse,  I headed to South Mountain, a group of mountains, unsurprisingly, south of Phoenix that are reported to have great views of the city. When I got there, I had planned to take the hike to the top to get the view from the summit but came to the realization that the hike would be overly strenuous for the reward of a good view of Phoenix. Apparently, I could get as decent a view with a brisk hike up one of the smaller foothills the park attendant recommended. This was also convenient because I had (drum-roll) saguaro cacti spread about it. It was a complete win. Being closer to the city, the foothills seemed more attended than anything I had seen the entire week. There were families, a bridal party taking their wedding pictures, pickup soccer games, and various couples enjoying the view. There was also graffiti and surprisingly trash, which I found both visually interesting but ultimately depressing. None of that was going to stop me from getting my view of Phoenix though, shitty people aside.

When I actually got to the top of the foothill, I was able to see Phoenix as I think it was intended; from above, as its name of the mythical bird for which it is named suggests. I sat on a nearby rock and began to look out and reflect on my trip, taking in the sounds of the people around me, laughter filling the air as my camera did its thing. As I began to lose light in the west, directly north of me was the city, suddenly shimmering as if set ablaze. What I saw in that moment was bigger than words, so self-apparent that all I could do was laugh and then not, until things were quiet and I was left agape.

Phoenix at sunset from South Mountain.

When the sun set on Phoenix, I grabbed my stuff and took stock of my work. The photos I felt were dramatic and impressive, every one of them except those of Phoenix itself. I couldn’t be closer I felt, but it would have taken a different camera setup or moving a mountain. Understandably, my frustration lie at my own feet. Climbing down the foothill, I took some parting shots of the large saguaro cactus in the area. They were like giants next to me, their forms oddly anthropomorphic. The cactus had “skin” that wrinkled and furrowed as well as  “hairy arms” set in the orans position as if engaged in eternal prayer. I could see us in these trees, and them in us as well. Being next to the cactus made me feel a sort of kinsmanship with my environment, and even with time itself. How many people had stood where I stood? I would be hard to guess, but the realization reemphasized how important it was for people to see this place.

Phoenix was founded before Arizona became a state in 1881 by a former Confederate veteran, the former happening on Valentine’s day, 1912. It was said of one the founder’s convoy, the city should be named Phoenix because it was built on the ruins of another civilization. Perhaps it was an acknowledgment of a greater truth, the abhorrent wars with the Native Americans or the fact that it’s easily one of the sunniest places on earth, second only to Yuma, AZ on the Arizona-California border.

Theodore Roosevelt, famous for his stance on conservation and the establishment of the first national monument in the U.S, once said this of the Grand Canyon and more generally Arizona:

“Leave it as it is. You cannot improve on it. The ages have been at work on it, and man can only mar it. What you can do is to keep it for your children, your children’s children, and for all who come after you, as the one great sight which every American should see.”

Travelling around the state, brief of my time was, I was struck at how much of the land was unadulterated, visible as it would have been to my grandfather and his before him. For vast stretches of land, no cell phone reception,  not so much as a radio signal could be caught. While it could be interpreted in some senses that this means that Arizona is lacking in development, I would contend, as Theodore Roosevelt might, that some things are fine as they are. Development doesn’t always have to imply that a community gets a Walmart, Starbucks, or some other feature of our modern urban sprawl. Progress too isn’t best defined by our ability to connect, multitask, and go fast.  In the interest of speed, of volume, of capital, we’ve erected “McCities” and the internet as both testaments to our increased growth and capacity as a society as well as hallmarks of our hubris and decadence.

As one of the first generations to have been exposed to various levels of digital and or virtual reality, combined with the whiplash-like speed of the internet, the world quickly became strange and distant; foreign, cold and smooth like plastic. Being in Arizona brought me to terms with ephemeral nature of our modern conveniences and set them in contrast to all of the natural wonders I got to see. These gifts of technology, our increased access and connectivity suddenly felt small and inconsequential, affected even. Scrolling through my photos, I began to wonder about the very nature of my passion and profession and then things got meta: I make the content for the screens, capturing as best I can those moments I deem beautiful through glass and a screen of my own. No matter how well I tried to hold the essence of what lay before my eyes in Arizona, no photo, no video could do so satisfactorily. The reason, I concluded was simple: Arizona is raw. Much like life, it should be experienced in person, with one’s own eyes and hands, nails caked with satisfaction until it sinks into their pores and deeper still down to the bone that nothing ever beats the real thing.