I first heard of Moab in 2015, while scrolling through Instagram. Millions of people have seen photos of its iconic sandstone arches and magnificent canyon views. They certainly drew my Mom and I to Moab for a week-long trip that year. We did all the classic hikes and activities for a first-time visit to Moab, and I have been returning to its epic vistas ever since. In the last few years I’ve read Edward Abbey’s beautiful desert writings, I’ve slept countless nights under the stars, and I’ve put many miles on my feet in desert sand.
Covid has been tough on everyone. No doubt about it. Summer is coming, people are getting vaccinated, and understandably—people want to get out of the house and out into the great outdoors. It’s time for the Great American Road Trip to the National Parks, all of our country’s greatest treasures! Moab, and its Parks, are certainly on the list of must-sees for many Americans eager to get outside.
But in Moab, among the iconic sandstone arches and magnificent canyon views, lies a fragile ecosystem. One where life can literally be destroyed by stepping only one foot off-trail.
I spent the last five days showing a good friend of mine these places—he had never been to Utah before, he had never been West of Vail, and he had never even seen a dark sky (how crazy is that)! I loved watching his face light up as he gazed up at the arches for the first time and as he walked along shale towers standing hundreds-of-feet tall. It’s something that everyone deserves to and should experience. The wilderness is magical and the desert is certainly something special. I’m incredibly lucky that I get to show him places like these.
But what blew both of our minds on our little adventure were the crowds and traffic that we had to navigate through—in the middle of the week, in May! The traffic getting into Moab was rough, waiting a half-hour to get into one of the nearby National Parks was frustrating, and hiking out into the desert to an iconic arch only to be greeted by over 100 people, many of which were standing in a line waiting to get their picture taken under the arch, was mind-boggling. We watched tourists feed ravens, we watched older couples purposely walk off-trail and disturb ancient soil crust to avoid a few small rocks in the trail, and we were amazed by the number of graffiti left behind on desert rocks.
In a sense, we were horrified by the things we watched the masses do to a beautiful world, which we are all lucky and privileged to witness. How do people walk on this Earth with no regard to keep it beautiful and with no respect for its lands? I know this is a question that environmentalists, Native peoples, and others have been wrestling with for generations, but it was eye-opening to see it happen right in front of us.
My friend and I instead enjoyed our limited time in the National Parks close to Moab and went on a few longer hikes off the beaten path, a short drive outside of Moab where we hoped there would be significantly fewer people. We were amazed by what we found—only 45 minutes outside of town and the trailhead parking lots had plenty of spots, people actually had trail etiquette, there was no notable graffiti, and we felt that we could find little spots and moments to ourselves with views and features just as good as those in the National Parks. The people who did their homework, who appreciated the wilderness for being silent and without the angry masses, respected the desert just like we did. This was our type of adventure.
It’s easy for me to look at that long line of traffic waiting to get into a National Park and be cynical. But these people are here to see something amazing, just like I am. I’m guilty too—I have purposely tagged my posts on Instagram with the names of these places, in the hope of getting more likes (I’m changing my ways), and I’ve wandered way off trail just to get a photo. And because of Instagram and a million other reasons, people are visiting National Parks at record numbers, and covid-times make phenomena like these even harder to predict.
If we all think about how our cars, food, trash, actions, feet, Instagram posts, hashtags, and thoughts are impacting our most beloved national wonders, we can start to limit our impact to keep our Parks and our wilderness pristine. So maybe don’t sit in an idled car waiting to get into a busy National Park at peak season, maybe don’t feed the ravens, read the sign explaining how crypto-biotic soil crust can be destroyed from one footprint and then maybe stay on the trail, and maybe consider not tagging your Instagram post with the name of the National Park you were in. After all, the place itself is worth more than the number of likes you get on your picture!
The desert is truly a life-changing place—it certainly changed my life. Learning about how our actions impact the places we, as a country, love, can help us to preserve their life-changing qualities and beautiful vistas so that everyone can continue to visit them for generations to come. Remember: take nothing but pictures, leave nothing but footprints. The mystery of the wilderness is part of the fun, so let’s be responsible to keep these places wild.