ZION NATIONAL PARK — Brian Hicks, a software professional from Oakland, Calif., looked at me quizzically. He had just rented $38 worth of gear from a place in Springdale called Zion Adventures Company so he could hike the Zion Narrows in wintertime. He had a dry suit, three layers of rubber wear for his feet and waterproof head wear.
"Any danger of flash floods this time of year?" I asked, knowing that the Narrows has a reputation for that sort of thing.
"The guy who rented me the gear said the chances of that this week are nil," said Brian, which is when he got the quizzical look.
"Naw," he finally said, "He wouldn't lie to me for $38."
It is the offseason at Utah's most famous national park. All the tourists are either hibernating or off to Wal-Mart buying giftwrap. Almost all of them anyway. The place is like a ghost park. When I talked to Brian, we were at the trailhead opposite Angel's Landing, and our cars were the only two in the parking lot. The herd of deer grazing next to the Virgin River outnumbered us three and a half to one.
Earlier in the week, I had come to stay at the Zion Park Inn in Springdale, at the entrance to Zion, to get away from it all so I could work on a writing project. I didn't realize how successful I would be. There are more people at Clippers games. A tax audit draws bigger crowds.
"So what brings you here?" I asked Brian. He said he had switched software companies and he would be starting a new job the next Monday, so he was playing while he could. He got on the Web at his home in Oakland, looked up a bed and breakfast in Springdale, booked a flight to Vegas, rented an SUV, and five hours later he was at the base of the Great White Throne ready for three days of serious hiking.
He had just one question.
"Where is everybody?"
We looked around us at the canyon walls and soaked in the amazing silence. Zion is cool this time of year. Temperatures in the 50s and 60s and no pesky flies and mosquitoes. There's something nice about having a national park all to yourself. Lonely, but nice.
Even the Euros have gone.
The shuttle buses that never stop during the summertime sit in the parking lot like some boarded-up amusement park ride.
"The guy at Zion Adventures said a quarter million people hike the Narrows every year," said Brian. "He told me that when I hike it tomorrow, it will only be me."
I bumped into Brian in Springdale after his hike. He'd spent all day trekking up the Virgin River from the Temple of Sinawava through the Narrows and now was dining on fish and chips at the Pioneer Cafe. He said he walked for miles through the narrow canyon walls, with the distant blue sky high above. He was dry as a duck in his rented gear. He might have hiked forever if not for that job waiting in the Bay area on Monday, plus he had to get the dry suit back to Zion Adventures by 5.
"Was it just you?" I asked.
"Never saw another living soul," he said, "and the water never got any higher than my knees."
He had that faraway Edward Abbey look in his eyes as he finished his meal. "It makes you wonder why everybody doesn't do this," he said. "But then again, if they did, we wouldn't have our own private national park anymore."
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