The Call of the Wild

everyone wants to let a little wild out sometimes

We had unfinished business in Moab, Utah.  Unconquered arches called to us from our campsite in Arizona.  With no set travel plans, we packed up and began our journey across sun-scorched, red-rocked landscapes to settle up with Arches National Park. 

Spontaneous travel has its pitfalls.  We often risk not finding a campsite in our chosen destination when we roll into town without reservations.  As soon as the cell phone gained coverage, I began calling every campground near Moab, in hopes of finding an unclaimed site.  After several rejections, I figured we'd be boondocking.  We approached Slickrock Campground with little hope.

Entering the office, I was greeted by a ferocious feline who held me at bay while the woman at the front desk helped the camper ahead of me.  Curling his black tail around my legs, he brushed against me with a purr that spoke volumes of his personality.  I was properly warned: behind the front desk a sign was posted, notifying campers to "Beware of the Guard Cat".  While he did his best to deter me, I finally made my way to the woman behind the desk.

While hotel staff are generally uniform in attire and dialog, campground staff are as diverse as the landscape of our magnificent country.  My host was no exception.  Beautifully unique, she smiled through a pierced lip, tucking back an unruly curl that had broken free from the bandana meant to contain what couldn't be tamed by a braid.  The ink on her arms told stories, and I would have inquired, had I not been so distracted by our lack of accommodations.  

Thankfully sites were available, and I began my usual negotiation process.  As Good Sam members, we were already privileged to a discount, but I always try to get the best deal possible.  Asking if additional breaks were available to firefighters, her dark eyes lit up.

"My brother is a smoke-jumper!  I am so appreciative of all those guys do.  How 'bout I give you another 10% off?"

We set up camp quickly, and scarfed down dinner at ravenous speed.  We knew daylight was giving way to the dark skies of night, and we intended to see some arches before bed.  As we snaked up the switchbacks at the entrance to the park, the sun dipped behind the western mountains, leaving only a glow to remind us of its departure.  The temperatures cooled, and we rolled down the windows to enjoy the refreshing air that came rushing into the truck.  Sticking her head out of the vehicle in canine-like fashion, my free-spirited daughter kicked her head back to let out a primitive howl.  Giggles filled our cab, and she dared us to join in.  Of course we obliged; everyone wants to let a little wild out sometimes.

We parked, immediately noticing the eerie silence.  Little beams of light and the crunch of desert floor beneath four sets of sneakers was all that identified us against the vastness of night.  The trail turned, leading us between spires of rock that dimmed what moonlight existed.  Trudging through deep sand, we huffed and puffed as we dove deeper into the rocks whose shapes were hidden behind the dark curtain of night.    

It's amazing how a short .4 mile trail can seem like a trek across the sahara with no light to give perspective.  When we finally reached the arch, we were victors, celebrating the long-anticipated quest.  Hoots of joy rose above the canyon walls, and we momentarily forgot about life beyond them.  All that existed was us and a conquered arch.

Not every adventure turns out the way you plan it.  Sometimes you miss your goal altogether.  Sometimes it takes more than one attempt to accomplish what you set out to do.  That night solidified a deep truth for our family: it's not about the destination, but the memories you make getting there.

​

---