Winter arrives quietly in canyon country, and some years, it barely arrives at all. When snow does find its way into Arches and Canyonlands, it feels less like a season and more like a brief visitation. The red rock wears white for a fleeting moment, familiar landscapes turn softly unfamiliar, and the desert reveals a side of itself that few visitors ever get to witness. These photographs come from those rare winters - when timing, weather, and a bit of luck converged to transform the parks into something both starkly different and deeply recognizable at the same time.
Winter in canyon country always feels a little like borrowed time. Snow never stays long here, and maybe that’s part of its magic. When it does arrive, it transforms landscapes I know by heart into something quieter, softer, and - somehow - even more beautiful. A beautiful place made more beautiful by snow… what’s not to love?
I’ve always had a complicated relationship with snow. Growing up in Western New York - right at the apex of two Great Lakes (hello, lake-effect snow) - I collected a lifetime’s worth of winter memories. There were the joyful ones: sledding, building forts, endless childhood adventures. And then there were the others: white-out drives to college, slow frozen treks across campus, and being literally snowed into my house for two weeks during the Blizzard of ’77. Snow, for me, has always carried a full range of emotions.
Since moving to Utah, though, snow has taken on a different personality. In the Moab area, especially in Arches and Canyonlands, it feels less like an obstacle and more like a gift. The red rock, the fins, the mesas and canyons all soften under a thin white blanket. Edges blur. Light behaves differently. Silence deepens.
Silence is one of the things I’ve always loved most about hiking in the desert. Until my first visit to southern Utah in 1986, I didn’t know it was possible to stand on the edge of a cliff, look out across thousands of square miles, and hear absolutely nothing. No wind. No birds. No distant human noise. Just silence - true, complete silence.
That silence has followed me ever since. On some hikes, the only sound is my own heartbeat - an oddly fitting companion while walking through a landscape I’ve loved for decades.
Winter hiking, at least when snow is present, reshapes that silence. The stillness is gently broken by water - meltwater trickling through sandstone, seeping into cracks, moving quietly but everywhere. The dust and sand of summer are replaced by an outrageously pristine surface that feels almost out of place, yet oddly familiar. It mirrors the desert’s sun-bleached sterility in a colder, cleaner form. The desert’s purity always finds a way to shine through.
And with water comes life.
Alongside my usual landscape scenes, I’ve included several photographs of animal tracks, many captured in the Island in the Sky District of Canyonlands National Park. Wildlife is everywhere in canyon country: coyotes, mule deer, desert cottontails, jackrabbits, bobcats, foxes, ravens, hawks - just to name a few. During the warmer months, signs of their presence can be easy to miss.
Winter tells a different story.
Snow transforms the desert into a living narrative. Tracks appear in every direction - stories written across a soft white canvas. Paths of movement. Moments of interaction. Quiet struggles for survival. And sometimes the stark evidence of death. Nothing is hidden.
Once again, the desert reveals itself with a clarity and honesty that few places can match.
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| You can really sense Rhonda's excitement after I convinced her to trade a warm living room, a cozy blanket, and hot chocolate for several hours of hiking in freezing temperatures. It almost always results in me owing her a very special dinner, but somehow the photos usually make it worth the price. 😉 |
Photography Tips
Bring your camera. 😆
Seriously, that’s my equipment tip. The rest of this deals mostly with park access and safety.
Winter is a fleeting guest in canyon country, which is exactly what makes photographing it so special. Snow transforms the familiar red rock into something almost otherworldly, softening harsh lines and adding contrast that simply doesn’t exist the rest of the year. For photographers, it’s a rare opportunity to capture scenes that feel both dramatic and serene - sandstone fins dusted in white, junipers frosted at the edges, and skies that seem to glow a little deeper blue in the cold.
One small piece of gear that makes a big difference in winter shooting is a good pair of fingerless or convertible photography gloves. They let you keep enough dexterity to operate dials, buttons, and touchscreens without fully exposing your hands to the cold. When you’re standing on a windswept overlook waiting for first light, or fumbling with a tripod in the snow, being able to flip a fingertip open for a quick adjustment is invaluable. It’s one of those simple comforts that helps you stay out longer, work more deliberately, and ultimately come home with better images instead of numb fingers.
If you’re based in or staying near Moab, Arches is usually the first move when snow falls. It’s closer to town, easier to access, and importantly, quicker to reach before the snow begins to melt. And melt it does. Southern Utah sun doesn’t waste time, even in winter. Those pristine white blankets can turn into patchy slush in a matter of hours, sometimes less. Being able to get into the park quickly can make the difference between photographing glowing snow-covered arches at sunrise and arriving to bare, wet rock by mid-morning.
When colder systems settle in and temperatures stay low, Canyonlands becomes every bit as rewarding - arguably more so if you’re willing to work for it. The Island in the Sky district sits at a higher elevation than Moab, which often means colder temperatures and roads that can be icier, especially in the morning hours. Up on the mesa, winter conditions feel more committed - the white tracing along canyon rims and mesa edges adding scale and depth that’s difficult to convey otherwise. Scenes that feel expansive in summer suddenly feel immense in winter, particularly when low clouds or fog drift through the canyons.
That said, winter access always comes with a dose of realism and caution. Road conditions can change quickly after a storm. What starts as wet pavement in Moab can turn into snowpack and ice as you climb in elevation toward the both parks (the Arches entrance road switchbacks immediately go up 800 feet). In-park road maintenance is minimal and icy roads can be downright dangerous, particularly in shaded sections and along mesa tops where sun exposure is limited. Four-wheel drive helps, but judgment matters more. Start slow, allow extra time, and remember that no photograph is worth sliding off a canyon rim.
In summary - drive safely. Your images will be better when you arrive calm, cold, and ready, rather than rattled from the drive.
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