Thirteen Miles and a Gift Named Ian, Canyonlands National Park, the Needles District, UT

Believe me, I am fully aware that I am vertically challenged. I am missing a few good inches to manage the next section. My body fills with fear. I would have to jump forward and up just to reach it..

I am thrilled to return to the Needles District of Canyonlands National Park. This magical place has truly stolen my heart.

Located an hour and a half south of Moab, this area is worth visiting; even if you only have a single day. Just driving through the scenic route in the park offers a deep sense of its vast wilderness. It is remote, with the nearest gas station about an hour away, so be prepared with a full tank of gas. If you do explore this part of Canyonlands, make sure to drive into Campground Loop A. It offers the best views of the Needles.

There are two kinds of hikes here: short and strenuous. Near campsite #1, you can climb up the rock formation and feel the magic of this place without going far. If you have the time and ability to hike, you'll enter a world of breathtaking wilderness.

One challenge is finding a campsite. Loop A is first-come, first-served, with only 16 sites. Try to arrive by 9:00 a.m., and hope someone leaves by 10:00.

Oh wow… something cracked open in me.

It's only when I sit down quietly with myself that I can begin to put into words what happened just an hour ago.

I had just arrived at the campground, looking for an available site. Yay! Site #8 is open! I rolled down my window and gently asked the young couple if I could park there while I went to fill out the registration form. They both kindly said, "Yes, no problem."

By the time I came back, it was around 9:30. I still hadn't had breakfast, so I politely asked the young man if I could please use their picnic table for a few minutes while they finished packing. They were nearly done and clearly getting ready to leave.

And then, he snapped.

He raised his voice and told me I was being rude. Aggressively, he reminded me that they had the site until 10. I clearly triggered something in him. He could have simply said, "Sorry, we'd like to enjoy our last few minutes in peace." That would have been enough.

Out of nowhere, something shifted inside me. I was no longer the strong, empowered woman I am today. I became the powerless little girl I used to be.

I wasn't angry at him. Not even for a second. What I felt instead was deep sadness. I could see the pain behind his reaction—a pain that led him to reflect it outward instead of reaching for the kindness he was surely born with.

I froze. I just drove away. I felt so small, I couldn't even muster a simple apology. After all, he was right. The site was his until 10 a.m.—even if it was only 30 minutes away.

I went on a hike, hoping the thunderstorm would hold off, but my soul was storming inside. Where is all the work I've done to heal from my childhood trauma? Where did it go at that moment?

And then it hit me.

We are never fully released from our trauma. It still finds a way to trigger us now and then. But I am in a better place now, and I need to remind that little girl inside me that no one has the power to shrink you to zero again.

As I write these words, tears roll down my cheeks. I know I still need to nurture her. Gently. Always.

Good morning, new day.

Yesterday's weather was unpredictable with a mix of sunshine, rain, and thunder. Not knowing how to take the day, I kept a slow pace and did a few short hikes, but my thirst to experience the beauty hidden in the canyons is growing stronger. I had several options, but I decided to hike the Lost Canyon Trail directly from the campground.

Last night, I attended a beautiful ranger program about the local wildlife. It turns out that, after all, there are mountain lions here. Of course, that raises a question in my mind: Was I stalked by one two years ago?

This is what I wrote on my first visit in January 2023: "Ten minutes into the hike, fear grips me straight in my gut. I try to understand why. Why is this space giving me this creepy feeling? I've been hiking for so many years by myself, but I've never had this feeling." (Book 1, page 75)

My eyes scanned the landscape for any movement, but there was nothing—just that weird feeling I had never felt before.

You're probably asking: So why am I here again, by myself?

Well… I probably have a better chance of being hit by a car than eaten by a mountain lion. And since I don't plan on avoiding roads, I'll take my chances with the lion :)

The silence of the desert is pure pleasure. Hiking on these giant rocks is what attracts me the most. The stillness in this vast landscape creates a kind of magic for me.

At the trailhead, I chatted for a bit with a guy who's heading out for a few nights of backpacking. We're going in the same direction.

I already knew this hike included a ladder and some rock scrambling. Still, I go. I manage the ladder with pride. Maybe knowing the guy is not far behind helps.

At the bottom of the canyon, the world is peaceful. Birds sing, breaking the silence with beautiful music.

You definitely need a tracking app here. AllTrails warned me several times that I was off-trail. That would be a funny headline: Solo hiker gets lost in Lost Canyon.

But then—what a disappointment.

I had been hiking for about four hours, covering six miles. I reached the point where the trail begins to climb again, which is my favorite part. But this time, I couldn't do it.

Believe me, I am fully aware that I am vertically challenged. I am missing a few good inches to manage the next section. My body fills with fear. I would have to jump forward and up just to reach it. What if I miss? I am falling backward… a free fall down into the canyon.

I had no choice but to retrace my steps, knowing there was another difficult descent ahead. It is 2 p.m. now, and I have enough daylight, water, and food, but my muscles are already protesting. My goal to keep hikes under eight miles was long gone.

No hikers in sight. I wondered where the guy was. I knew he planned to camp nearby. A mile and a half into my return, my disappointment melted into acceptance. This is my dance with the universe today.

And then—look who's here? :)

I saw Ian coming my way. He looked puzzled as he knew I should be heading in the opposite direction. I explained my situation. Ian kindly offered to help me continue the loop with him. His plan is to leave his heavy pack at a nearby campsite and hike lightly.

Ian is a gift. No matter which direction I take, I'll end up hiking more than my body would like. I enjoyed Ian's company and the vulnerable conversation we shared.

When we reached the challenging section, it no longer felt intimidating with Ian's steady presence and helping hand. At the trail intersection, it was time to part. I wished Ian a safe and beautiful journey in this vast wilderness. I felt immense gratitude.

As I got closer to the end of my hike, pain gripped my calf. Please, no. I've worked so hard to heal from this injury. I've been patient, careful, and disciplined. For over a month, it felt as if the injury never happened.

Now I limped through the final hour of my 13-mile hike.

Around 8:00, just as the sun retreated behind the rocks, a light drizzle began. The past two days, rain had come and gone quickly. But this time, it stayed. It fell heavier.

My thoughts went to Ian. I hope he has a tent. I hope he is dry.