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.