Where Only Angels Could Land

by Kimberly Winters (United States of America)

A leap into the unknown USA

“Since 2004, seven people have died falling from the cliffs on this route.” Hesitance crept into my mind as I observed the image of a stick figure falling from the heights. As the shuttle departed the sixth stop in Zion National Park, I resumed reading the sign. “The 1.1 mile (1.8 km) round-trip route from Scout Lookout to Angels Landing is a strenuous climb on a narrow ridge over 1,400 feet above the canyon floor…” Three teenage girls walked past me wearing haloes, wings, and matching t-shirts; the mood was set for October 31, 2017. Initially, I thought fall foliage in southern Utah would be underwhelming. However, I was surrounded by fiery reds, brilliant oranges, and golden yellows. With every twist and turn of the Virgin River, species of elm, maple, and oak flourished in the desert. Two hours uphill and twenty-one switchbacks later, I arrived at Scout Lookout via the West Rim Trail. An abundance of chipmunks scurried among the rocks. When I sat down to rest under the shade of a small tree, I was surprised that one darted across my lap and climbed up to perch on my shoulder momentarily. The scene before me was formidable. Stacked layers of ruddy rock escalated to a point beyond my sight; a thick chain was reinforced along the jagged incline. As I watched others turn backward, my thoughts returned to an eighty-year-old woman I met earlier that morning; she claimed this was her second time in three months to complete the trail. As I faced the precipice to test my own limits, a voice in the crowd exclaimed, “You know people have died out there!” Taking on the first hill, I found security in the strength of the chains as I focused on the next step forward. Since it was the middle of the week and there were less people in the park this time of year, it was easier to go at my own pace. As long as trail etiquette was followed, safety didn’t feel like an issue, even when meeting another person on a one-way ledge. Midway, when the trail became largely exposed and narrow, I inevitably froze. The path was only a few feet wide. One thousand feet below was only a step in the wrong direction. Suddenly, it was difficult to see how far I had progressed; how much farther I had to go loomed before me. All was quiet on top of the world, except my pounding heart. As I reached for the chain and stepped into the groove of the stone step, I heard my own voice repeating Philippians 4:13. “I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.” Time stopped. I admired how an endless blue sky emboldened the painted walls. What could possibly spoil this promised land? As my eyes scanned the lower ledges of the cliff, I found the answer. Plastic bottles and trash laid at least fifty feet below me. Almost a year earlier, the National Park Service had to close the trail to scrub off graffiti, remove rock cairns along chained sections, and clean up litter left by hikers. I recalled reading the “Leave No Trace” principles of the park; desert soils and plants recover slowly or not at all. When I reached a wider section of the trail, a few hikers had stopped to take a break. As I settled near them, I was reminded of the good in the world. “Oh, you’re bleeding! Here, I have a band-aid,” said one of the women. I hadn’t even noticed the scratch on my finger. Like a mother caring for her child, she opened the packaging and reached out to gently wrap the bandage around my finger. A simple kindness from a stranger was as memorable as reaching the top. The last portion of the trail was an uphill battle; it took muscle, chains, stamina, and strategic footwork to reach the pinnacle. Across the surface of the great monolith, I was eye level with the Great White Throne. As the mid-day sun poured light into Zion’s canyon, I stood where “only angels” could land.