Archless National Park

 

I often go to Arches National Park specifically not to see the arches.

That might sound strange, considering the park’s name, but Arches has so much more to offer - towering sandstone monoliths, intricate erosional stone art, desert flora and fauna, and endless subtle details that reward anyone willing to slow down and look. Recently, I’ve been thinking about how most people experience national parks, and honestly, it’s a little sad.

If you’ve read any of my past posts, you know I’m not a fan of bucket-list hikes. Years ago, I noticed a growing trend on social media: people posting photos of themselves on the most difficult or famous trails in national parks. At first it seemed like mostly guys doing the macho thing - broadcasting accomplishments like badges of honor. But as more people began planning trips based on social media posts rather than guidebooks or firsthand exploration, those challenging trails began to dominate the conversation.

Before long, the “bucket list” hikes became the defining experiences of their respective parks. The message - sometimes spoken, often implied - was that if you didn’t complete the iconic hike, you hadn’t truly experienced the park.

Nothing could be further from the truth.

If you’ve gone to Zion and experienced only the stress of the lottery system, the crowded shuttle, and the nose-to-butt ascent up Angel’s Landing, then in my opinion you haven’t really experienced Zion. Zion is so much more than a single narrow trail leading to a viewpoint photographed millions of times before you arrived. There are countless other trails where solitude is still possible, where the canyon reveals itself slowly and quietly.

The same can be said of the Delicate Arch Trail in Arches. Every park has its bucket-list hikes - but every park also offers better experiences for those willing to wander beyond the obvious.

The real magic of the parks in southern Utah - and the desert Southwest in general- isn’t found in checklists. It’s found in solitude. In the deafening silence. In the scent of sun-warmed sandstone and desert plants. In the subtle beauty that reveals itself when you pause long enough to notice it.

That magic is nearly impossible to find on the most crowded trails.

Forty years ago, when I was living in New York State, I remember hiking in Letchworth State Park with some friends. Letchworth is beautiful, with several impressive waterfalls, but most of its trails are paved - or nearly paved - and going off trail is strictly forbidden.

Once I began visiting national parks in the West, I got my first taste of truly wild landscapes. On a later trip back to Letchworth, I couldn’t resist hiking down toward the river in search of quiet solitude and reflection. It didn’t take long before a ranger on the rim spotted us and shouted through a megaphone for us to leave the gorge. As his amplified voice echoed through the canyon, I remember longing for the freedom I had discovered out West.

At the time, I joked to my friends that the best thing about national parks was that “you can kill yourself there.” What I meant, of course, was that in wild places there are no guardrails. No padded edges. You’re responsible for yourself. That responsibility comes with risk- but also with freedom.

And the rewards can be immense - sometimes even life-changing.

That doesn’t mean you have to venture deep into the backcountry to experience the magic of the desert. Far from it. Often, it’s simply about slowing down and paying attention.

In Arches National Park, for example, there are many opportunities for at-large exploration. Follow the rules: travel on slickrock - the smooth, resilient sandstone - and avoid stepping on fragile biocrust. From there, trust your instincts. Wander a little. Look closely. Listen carefully.

Seek out the magic of the desert. It’s there- you just have to notice it.

The photos in this collection come from a springtime visit to Arches National Park. It was a day of wandering, a day full of quiet discoveries - and a day without arches.

When I look back on forty years of exploring this park, my best memories aren’t about the arches.

In fact, they have nothing to do with them.

The Sad Loss of Timed Entry

One of the more surprising changes in 2026 was the cancellation of the Arches Timed Entry reservation system. I’ve always been a strong supporter of Timed Entry - it was easy to use and dramatically improved the experience inside the park, especially when it came to finding parking and avoiding overwhelming crowds. In fact, for several years before Timed Entry was introduced, I stopped visiting Arches altogether, even though it sits just ten minutes from my front door.

During my career in tourism, I dealt with countless frustrated visitors who spent hours waiting in line, only to be turned around when the park suddenly closed after reaching maximum capacity. Timed Entry eliminated that uncertainty. Visitors knew when they could enter, and once inside, the park felt calmer, safer, and far more enjoyable.

Timed Entry may not be a perfect solution, but to remove it before something else is in place is pure madness. After more than forty years of visiting Arches, there are few bigger fans of this park than I am. But with the removal of Timed Entry, I suspect I’ll be spending more time exploring other parks - at least until a better solution comes along.  On the plus side, everything I talked about in this post applies to all the other parks in southern Utah.  2026 might be the perfect year to go somewhere else.