With Hobbit's Mourek

Back in Zion after a year.

When weather discouraged us from road-tripping during Christmas break, we swore that we would go back to Zion in the spring. Besides, we also planned to visit Death Valley and the hobbits, climb in Alabama Hills, and ski at Kirkwood (as long as we would be able to reach it with our bus). We left the order and length of our stays at individual spots pretty open, beginning to plan only after we involved our Japanese friend, Rumiko. Her son Bryce, Tom's school mate, is in joint custody of her ex-husband; we had to adapt our trip to the alternating rhythm and their driving limits (so that Rumiko would not have to drive many hundreds of miles without a chance to switch with someone).

After poring over maps one evening we selected an optimal route and a meeting spot (Lone Pine, Wednesday, high noon). We still had to check that hobbits remained in their den and were willing to accept guests, reserve a hotel in Springdale, Utah (it's the very last town before Zion and therefore quite loaded with tourists), pack regular stuff for a one week vacation on the road, add a bag with ski clothes (our helmets, boots and skis stay at Kirkwood, thanks to Kovars' hospitality), and also twenty-gallon bag with climbing gear for five people. And chains, in case we'd run into some problem, for our bus does not have a four-wheel-drive.

And I also set out to Lunardi's, our favorite grocery store, which carries Krušovice in their beer section. We consider it a suitable present for beer-loving Hobbits — they must surely suffer in the deserts of Las Vegas! Alas, Lunardi's spoiled my plans — they only had a couple of dark beers, but no pale Krušovice. A warehouse lady called around all their other branches, but the situation was the same everywhere — plenty of dark ones, pale ones sold out (we like to "cut" them half and half), on back order.

Inside Zion National Park, tourists use (local) buses with trailers, from which one can observe the coupling and pretend to be driving at the "windshield".

Kids tend to run ahead on hikes these days.

On Friday I picked up kids from school at noon and we managed to get out of the southern end of the city before weekend jams developed. Our early departure meant one complication — we reached Paso Robles, where we like to eat at a Thai restaurant named BASIL, by four thirty in the afternoon — too late for lunch and too early for dinner. We didn't want to push our meal off till Tehachapi, and so we tried Bakersfield. Hippo claimed that we were bound to find something there, and after a short wandering we found ourselves at Roadhouse. Kids loved this chain restaurants — thanks to peanuts free to grab on every corner, juniors busied themselves until dinner by eating nuts. Lisa dropped the shells on the floor with a delighted expression on her face — an experience she would not be allowed many other places — here, an intermittent layer of crushed peanut shells enhances the feeling of the place.

Whilst on our way, we were startled by snow occurrence in Lost Hills, at mere fifteen hundred feet above sea, here in California (at an approximate latitude of the coast of North Africa), in April. Later in Tehachapi we even accumulated a snow cap on the roof of our car overnight, but sunshine returned in the morning. Following the recommendation of the hotel receptionist Yolanda, we tried to locate a new railroad museum, but they would open by ten thirty and by that time we needed to be on our way. At least we let Tom admire outdoor exhibits, mostly old signaling equipment, and eventually allowed him to buy a t-shirt imprinted with pictures of trains (at the condition that he would throw away his three years old, totally worn-out, beloved old t-shirt). Lisa successfully begged for a set of tiny plastic horses.

We headed towards hobbit's home like if it were our own. Henderson has a few of our favorite Trader Joe's grocery stores, and we bought ourselves a snack (so that we don't always eat the hobbits out), and then everything went smoothly. Again I was surprised how you can stop seeing some people for a whole year and then just drop into the relationship at the stop you left it many months ago. Kids welcomed Amber and Lisa (who is generally afraid of dogs) even dared to pet this mild and patient lady dog. Tom was mostly interested when we were going to take Amber for a walk and if he'd be allowed to toss a ball for Amber to chase. In the end, the whole outing took us quite a while — and a cold wind picked up towards the evening. Last year same time, we were swimming in hobbit's pool; now I was shivering in my fleece jacket with a hood firmly pulled down to my nose. Besides conversation in the evening, we made a discovery that an absence of pale Krušovice (beer) was not critical at all, for hobbits turned out favoring DARK beer. Too bad we did not check with them; we would have brought more.

Lunch with a view.

Three waterfalls.

A new cat, Mourek, came to check us out in the evening. By the second day he gathered enough courage to crawl up into Tom's lap. Tom loves cats and they usually pay back the same coin; it was rather unexpected with the very shy Mourek — Tom was in seventh heaven. Then we convinced the hobbits to try sushi with us. They had been avoiding such exotic food till then, which was easy to understand — it's rather expensive fun, if you're likely to discover you're not about to devour a raw fish after all. We were glad to be of assistance ordering various delicacies, and then watched with satisfaction as even Michelle dared to taste salmon with rice.

And then it was time to say good-bye; a reservation at Majestic View Lodge in Springdale, Utah, was waiting. We did not even have to ponder where to go for dinner — Flying Monkey with its authentic Italian pizza is a class well above all the rest of the diners (inhumane institutions usually offering hamburgers and steaks, with a generic brown sauce and irrelevant varieties of fried potatoes on the side). Surprisingly, the Monkey was crowded on this Monday evening, but it did not bother us. We were planning to stay in Springdale, our bags were securely moved to the hotel, and we were in no hurry. Only Tom began to complain about a tooth ache. Somewhat frightened (our kids develop a lot of cavities) I checked out the damage and found Tom's rear gums swollen — a molar was growing there. So we quickly went to buy children's anesthetic toothing salve to a store.

We decided in the morning to drive to the park — needing to stop on our way to fetch some snacks for the day, and because the local bus shuttle has, after all, long intervals. Then we got confused at the entrance to the park, not knowing whether to park outside and pay at the pedestrian's booth, or pay in the drive-through and then park. Either way, we wanted to switch to the park shuttle; we don't come here often enough, it seems. Of course we managed in the end — even to buy an annual pass for all national parks.

Virgin River.

Kids ignore the bucolic, majestic natural surroundings.

And then we were finally sitting in the park bus, heading for Grotto. Even here we were clear in our plans — our camera gave up during our last year's hike to Emerald Pools before we could reach the waterfalls; we were determined to fix this problem. Thus, we brought a full, two-camera backup — a new family camera, and another pocket point-and-shoot, which I got on Christmas. Drawing a comparison between instances of the same hike, with perhaps a year of difference, always surprises me. Mostly how our children speed up and improve, while we (seem to) age and slow down. We hardly kept up with our offspring near a fork in the trail above the main falls.

It must be said that our kids rather ENJOY such hikes — the more jumping and scrambling and balancing, the better. One can see how they are practiced — and most of the time cope with difficult terrain better than many adult. With small exceptions — at Upper Emerald Pool, Lisa stepped into the creek. Fortunately for her it was rather shallow and in this spot, and Lisa's Gore-Tex boots lasted the half second underwater without soaking up.

We picked our way back through the most interesting part of the look — UNDER lower falls. I think that Lisa really embraced the idea of water-proof boots, and soon she vigorously trampled in the deepest mud. Thus we got back to the bus stop partially covered in red clay, but still (the kids, that is) full of energy. This hike somehow took us less time than we had expected, and so we jumped on the bus and went the to terminal, to Riverside Walk. We had been here a few years ago with Lisa still in the carrier back-pack — and never finished it due to a falling-ice closure. Even this time the trailhead was "decorated" with signs announcing that the Narrows were closed — from a certain point, the trail follows into the river and one has to wade. During snow melt and storms the water is deep, wild — carrying logs and rolling boulders — and in such case wading is not the healthiest exercise. Not to mention air and water temperatures — shady corners of the park still held snow.

Hidden Canyon Trail contours the cliffs with a view to a waterfall.

First chains took us by surprise.

The children, naturally, immediately demanded to play on the river banks. Besides throwing pebbles, they found one more attraction there — heaps of river sand. An so our offspring completely ignored a majestic view to a hundreds of feet tall waterfalls, and dug in the dirt. At least they were enjoying it. Eventually we parted from water and sand, and hiked the rest of the tourist path. There were fearless ground squirrels, a herd of mule deer (who, like the squirrels, were completely unfazed by the presence of people), and even one wild turkey. The last pebble beach before the trail disappeared in the stream was decorated by dozens of pebble cairns. We had to admire the builders' skills — some were very elaborate, tall and bizarrely forking rock towers.

On our way back, the kids practically never left the top of the low wall on the side of the trail. Soon, however, they began to ask to stop and rest — it seems that they can be worn out after all. Trailing behind them, Sid and I mulled over our dinner options — and all that we came up was Flying Monkey again. This time, Lisa alone wanted pizza — Tom ordered pasta, Hippo got a calzone, and I tried an item from the bottom of the menu: roasted vegetables. I was a bit worried that it may be nasty, but incorrectly. Peppers, zucchini and whatever else, roasted in pizza oven and mixed with two kinds of cheese, were unusually tasty.

Over a map and a park newsletter, we discussed at dinner, what next. We come visiting Zion practically every year; to find in this relatively small park an area we had not been before (or at least have not been for some time), is not so easy. We were thinking about Kolob Canyons on the other side of the park, but it would mean getting in the car and driving around the whole area on a freeway. Eventually we agreed to try a hike to Hidden Canyon from the main valley. A park shuttle would take us to the trailhead; according to the newsletter, it can be completed in two and half hours, and altitude gain is eight hundred feet. The chart indicates that the route is not suitable for people afraid of heights — but they say the same about Emerald Pools that are swarming with columns of tourists of very senior citizen persuasion with canes, alternating with made-up teenage ladies who stumble on the dirt path in their ultra-thin flip-flops, cutely squealing while pressed to the sides of their manly companions.

Already above the top of the falls.

Walls of Hidden Canyon are covered with moss.

Tom's main concern was whether we would have enough time after the hike to visit the local "muselum". We easily promised it to him, thinking that a two-and-half hour hike can't take us a whole day, now can it? Content with such a good plan, we merrily set out on the following morning from the Weeping Rock bus stop. The trail was peacefully slithering among the canyon floor rocks, with a view to a beautiful waterfall. The only thing we had underestimated was temperature. Zion is on desert weather — while in the sun, one bakes. It's cold in the shadows — and the early section of the Hidden Canyon trail follows the western cliff. Thus we were bound to add a few layers, myself and children even reaching for hoods.

We kept finding snow in the corners, even enough for a snow fight. At higher elevation, snow and ice lay on the path, and we had to proceed with caution. Then we hopped over a ridge — and felt immediately warmed on a sun-filled slope. Snow and ice had disappeared, along with the hitherto well-paved trail path — instead, we continued on dirt. Soon the trail began hugging the rock wall — and sported chains. Kids were thrilled and conquered this section without a problem. Subsequently we turned around a rocky corner and gazed at moss-covered stone steps like from a fairy-tale. We run up them with relative zest, met a couple of friendly tourists and mentioned to them that we would never force our children up the Angels Landing trail, for it's too scary there. Sometimes your foot enters your mouth so quickly you don't even notice it — for on the top of the stairs it became clear that this trail continues up the MIDDLE of the cliff wall, some nine hundred feet above the valley bottom.

With a jump over a brook (which ended abruptly a few yards downstream by a waterfall into the valley), the trail ended and Hidden Canyon began. We chatted a little with people who were returning from the canyon — their messages varied — it's good, it's impassable, there's a rocky arch, one cannot reach the arch, etc. So we decided to check it out personally, with our eyes, skin and boots, what's the real deal.

Arch hiding in an inconspicuous spot.

And back into the valley, down the chains to the right.

Tom enthusiastically accelerated into the canyon, his male explorer nature taking over. Lisa was eager, too, but we still had to help her sometimes — she is, after all, much smaller and cannot reach as Tom does. We took opportunistic turns in reminding her that she's so small because she does not eat enough (we endure daily fights convincing her to eat at least something), but I doubt that this would have any effect.

After some time we reached a spot that looked impassable. We stopped for a snack, but Tom could not stand still and went ahead to try to cross a wide creek one more time. Eventually he convinced us to follow him up — the canyon looked more passable farther on. We even found the arch — it surprised us, how many people walked right past it without noticing. A little way past the arch was the definite end of our hike — a climbing section through a waterfall was not very inviting. Still this route managed to upgrade itself to the best in Zion National Park — a view-rich ascent, interesting trail, adventurous sections, though manageable by children — simply ideal.

Our trek back continued while kids maintained high spirits — wading, scrambling, jumping, chain holds — all those are exactly according to their idea of great fun. They were also motivated by the idea that we would still make it in time to see the "muselum" — visitor center, where they show an interpretive movie every half hour. Although our originally intended short and easy trip lasted altogether four hours, we managed to sneak into the first five minutes of the last show and ended with fully satisfied children. We took them to a dinner at (where else?) Flying Monkey, thus becoming regulars. To give a proper farewell, we toasted Zion with our beer; next day we were to drive to Lone Pine.