Into the Total Perspective Vortex of Arizona's natural wonders

The Total Perspective Vortex has been described as the ‘most savage physic torture a sentient being can undergo’. When someone steps inside, they are given a split second glimpse of the entirety of creation, as extrapolated from a fairy cake, with a tiny little dot saying ‘you are here’ - a terrifying revelation of how microscopically tiny we are in relation to the universe. 

The daunting desert of Arizona

Douglas Adams, the genius writer of TheHitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, may well have had the great southern deserts of Arizona, Nevada and Utah in mind when he came up with the Vortex. Driving around them last weekend, my mouth was in a permanent ‘O’ of astonishment as every bend (or, rather, shallow curve 50 miles from the last) revealed new and ever-more spectacular landscapes, stretching on and on into the distance. 

San Francisco Mountain towering over the plains

My destination was Flagstaff, an old town on the famous Route 66 that nestles in the shadow of the snow-capped San Francisco Mountain – yes, really, I left San Francisco to arrive at the foot of San Francisco. That fact made me inordinately excited. En route from Las Vegas, I stopped at a manmade monument - the Hoover Dam, with its soaring bridge above and Dalek-like towers. I confess, however, that I couldn’t help thinking of the splendid 19^th-century dams of the Elan Valley in Wales, where torrents of water gush down to the thirsty people of Birmingham over elegant walls topped by copper-covered onion domes. The sparse concrete lines of this 1930s structure just didn’t excite me in the same way.

The Hoover Dam, with the road bridge beyond

But the landscape I entered on the other side of the Colorado River certainly did. Endless miles of sagebrush and prairie grass stretched away on either side of the road. For the first time in my life, I was grateful for cruise control – my hired Chrysler 200 showed a disturbing tendency to creep above the speed limit if I didn’t use it. As dusk fell and the gradient rose, pine trees began to gather in on either side, the pale, dry grass beneath them glowing like phosphorescence in the fading light. Arriving in Flagstaff, Arizona, 7,000ft above sea level, the temperature had dropped and the tall trees around my friends’ house evoked all sorts of spooky stories. Fortunately, the welcome inside, not to mention a pot roast, chased all terrors away.

Miles and miles of tarmac just waiting to be eaten up by my wheels

I was in Arizona because of an invitation issued by members of the Grand Canyon Hounds when we had hunted together with the Tejon Hounds in January. I can never turn down an offer of hunting, and as I had never seen the Grand Canyon, I couldn’t resist the opportunity to see it for the first time from horseback. The view of the North Rim from the saddle is certainly one I will never forget. Yet the weekend proved to be about so much more than hunting, for the landscapes that stretch on and on, broken by canyons and mesas, were instantly beguiling. I will return to the hunting in the next chapter of this blog, but I cannot move on before trying to give some impression of the area’s natural beauty, however impossible it is to convey in words and photographs. It might remind you of another quote from Hitchhiker - 'Space is big. Really big. You just won't believe how vastly, hugely, mindbogglingly big. I mean, you might think it's a long way down the street to the chemist, but that's just peanuts to space' - but the photographs at least are worth glancing at!

Me aboard Cinco - and that streak in the background is the Grand Canyon

Even the gloomy weather of my first day, with a weak sun trying to penetrate the clouds, couldn’t detract from the spectacular rock formations of Sedona. Dark red, ringed about with straggling trees, they rise unpredictably from the desert floor, forming pinnacles and towers and brooding bulks, with fanciful names from Coffeepot to Cathedral, Sphinx to Steamboat. There’s even a Snoopy rock lying next to a Mushroom. Impervious to the ghastly strings of motels and fast-food joints in the valley, they receive the hordes of admiring hikers with lofty indifference, safe in the belief that they preceded us by centuries and will still be there, yielding only to wind and weather, long after we have gone.

Cathedral Rock, Sedona

Bell Rock, the last red-rock edifice on the 179 to the south of Sedona

Bright sunshine and a brisk wind accompanied me the next day as I drove east along the old Route 66 (now Interstate 40) to Winslow, an old, shabby town immortalized in the Eagles’ hit Take it Easy. Naturally, I had to embrace the modern world with a ‘selfie’ on the corner, with the bronze statue of a guitarist that, together with the mural behind, now makes the most of the town’s 15 minutes of fame. Winslow has its charms, with an art gallery, museum and flowering trees, but it just needs a tumbleweed bowling down the street and a cowboy chewing a plug of tobacco to complete the picture of the Old West. 

'Standin' on a corner in Winslow Arizona'

The obligatory selfie

There's still romance in the name Route 66. My kingdom for a Harley Davidson!

A few blocks down the main street stands La Posada, a charming hotel with a Spanish feel and informative displays telling the story of Winslow, which grew due to the building of the Santa Fe railway that brought tourists visiting desert delights such as the Petrified Forest and Monument Valley. Its potential was spotted by Fred Harvey, manager of a hospitality empire that stretched across the continent along the railway, who determined to build a luxury hotel here, and engaged notable architect Mary Colter in the 1920s. Widely regarded as her masterpiece, La Posada is a rambling building intended, successfully, to look as if it has grown up over time. It was staffed by the 'Harvey Girls', widely credited with civilising the cowboys along the railway by settling down with them and getting them out of the saloons. In the later 20^th century, La Posada fell into disrepair, but was rescued by the tireless efforts of Allan Affeldt, who negotiated for three years to buy it from the Santa Fe Railway and finally opened it in its present state in 1997 after a $12 million restoration. Unfortunately, my explorations of the hotel were interrupted by an unshaven man in a dirty yellow sweatshirt who asked for my life history while massaging my hands. Being English, I couldn’t pull away in disgust as I would have liked to have done, but, thankfully, he met my refusal to take him to Flagstaff with equanimity. Even so, I confess to scarpering somewhat quicker than I might otherwise have done!

La Posada, built by Mary Colter in the 1920s

Between Winslow and Flagstaff lies Meteor Crater, a vast depression that, today, is obvious as the landing site of a huge ball of burning matter from outer space, but which, when it was first discovered, was taken as a volcanic crater. (One nearby volcano, I was told by former volcanologist and current master of the Grand Canyon Paul Delaney, was erupting during the Battle of Hastings in 1066.) It was years before the indefatigable mining engineer Daniel Moreau Barringer proved his theory that it was caused by a falling meteor. Having first seen the crater in 1902, he worked until his death in 1929 in the hope of finding a giant meteorite, not knowing that it would have disintegrated entirely on impact, but he at least knew the satisfaction of having his theory accepted. Now, the site is still owned and run by his descendants in partnership with the surrounding Bar T Bar Ranch, and features an excellent little museum on the edge of the crater. Standing on the edge, it looks as if a gentle stroll would take you to the bottom, but, in fact, it is 550ft down and 4,000ft across, with a diameter of 2.4 miles. The Statue of Liberty would be lost inside. A set of telescopes trained on various features includes one that focuses on a 6ft cutout of an astronaut standing in the bottom, together with a 5ft by 3ft American flag, the same size as that planted on the Moon. The astronaut is barely visible with the naked eye – proof of just how huge this thing is.

Looking across Meteor Crater to a southern storm

Honestly, he is down there

Can you see him?

The Grand Canyon itself is equally incomprehensible. In the crystal-clear Arizona air, my brain struggled with the notion that it is 10 miles across and a mile deep – it looks as if one could reach out and touch the far side. It is only when you spot the mighty Colorado River looking like a Hampshire stream at the bottom that you start to notice the ridge upon ridge of craggy rock, each a mountain in itself, that fill this natural wonder. The edges are surprisingly wooded, and I love to think of early explorers battling through the undergrowth and suddenly teetering on the edge of something that would make even the most laconic of pioneers raise their eyebrows. 

Truly - those tracks at the bottom are a mile away

Blissfully free of safety barriers, a tempting promontory 

thrusts its way into the canyon

Rather beautiful, isn't it?

A watchtower at the southern end of the canyon. 

Built by Mary Colter of La Posada fame, it was designed to look 

as if it was a centuries-old Native American relic, 

but  it was actually completed in 1932

Smaller, but equally wondrous for different reasons, is Walnut Canyon, just east of Flagstaff. Home to the Sinagua people (Spanish for ‘without water’) from about 1124 to 1250, it is a deep ravine of rock, pine trees, cacti and juniper with apparently sheer sides. Looking closer, one can see evidence of brickwork amid the stones, marking where the inhabitants built their homes under overhanging limestone bluffs. Presumably, they thought nothing of scampering barefoot up and down between their neighbours across cliffs that would require full climbing equipment today. Some are accessible, however, from a trail that winds tactfully down around a central ‘island’ of stone. Elegant boards at regular intervals offer information on the lives of the Indians and the plants they would have used for everything from eating to medicine, in a typically understated, but informative way. I have been most impressed with the way the American National Parks are run, with well-designed visitors’ centres, unobtrusive landscaping and helpful staff. There are taps galore for filling water bottles, with the laudable aim of halting the modern-day blight of plastic, and the water, fresh from a canyon stream, is unfailingly cold and delicious.

A typical home of the Sinagua, nestled under a limestone overhang

Spot the houses about two-thirds up from the bottom...

A typical National Parks information board, with stuff you actually want to read

A completely different experience is offered by the astonishing Antelope Canyon, so named for the antelope that once roamed the area. Visitors bounce about for 10 minutes in a 4x4 driven by one of the local Navajo guides to reach a slot canyon that appears as a mere slit in the indigenous deep red sandstone,. Formed by the mere passage of wind and water, it is a holy place for the Navajo and can be dangerous in summer when flash floods rage through, leaving branches and tangles of twigs resting in crevices several feet up. The sunlight slanting down through the narrow openings above sets the stone aglow with red-gold sunbeams, illuminating the painterly curves of the canyon walls and leaving the floor in shadow. At certain times of the day, beloved by photographers, slim rays of sunshine will strike the bottom of the canyon in a celestial spotlight more magical than any seen on the stages of Broadway. Our Navajo guide, AJ, tinkered with my phone’s camera so it took stunningly beautiful images – this is a place that is gorgeous even when captured by the most cack-handed of amateur snappers.

Hidden beauty: the entrance to Antelope Canyon

Hall of wonders

Literally, the heart of Antelope Canyon

Sculpted by the masterly hand of wind and water

Me

The southern exit. It's hard to imagine a flash flood crashing and raging

against these walls as it fights to find a way through

Crossing into Utah, I descended in the gloom to Zion National Park, driving through towering walls of rock that loomed like something from Gormenghast. Exiting the 1.1-mile-long Zion-Mt Carmel tunnel, a tour-de-force of engineering completed in 1930, I was brought up short by flashing lights – a black truck had gone off the road and was being winched onto the back of a flat-bed. Glad to find there were still other people in the world, I inched down the switchbacks behind them to Springdale and my motel. 

A stricken truck is hauled out of Zion Canyon

In the morning, not a cloud marred the sky and I drove to the end of the Zion Canyon Scenic Drive at about 2 miles an hour, craning out of the window for a glimpse of the canyon rim. At the far end, a neatly paved trail leads to a spot past which only those equipped for river wading can go. Tempting as it was to explore, I opted for a drier stroll up to the Emerald Pools, which, sadly, are not very emerald and were crowded with families on spring break. The paths themselves were fairly empty, however, and I had a blissful time wandering around in the sunshine and taking far too many photographs. Zion attracted 19^th-century artists in search of the Picturesque just as the Lake District in England did, and paintings by the likes of Thomas Moran emphasise the majesty of the misty heights and the tumbling Virgin River below. Flash floods are common here, too, but I saw nothing but peaceful pools and sparkling waterfalls. Zion means ‘place of refuge’, and it is well named.

The mysterious depths of Zion - to go further, you have to wade

Early sunshine edging down the canyon walls

Water cascading into the Lower Emerald Pool

Bit steep...rockclimbing, anyone?

A view that has inspired artists for nearly 200 years

Who needs casinos when this kind of tranquillity is available?

After all these natural splendours, the casino strip of Las Vegas was a nasty shock, a temple to excess, consumerism, vulgarity and bad taste. I’m sure it could be fun to get dressed up and win thousands at roulette, but for me, I would take the wild beauty of the desert canyons over a fake Eiffel Tower, rammed up against a plastic version of Camelot, every time. America is a land of contrasts, and a circuit of the glorious south-western deserts of the Colorado Plateau sure has it all.

Fake Venice

Plastic New York

A temple to consumerism

Ah, that's better. The Grand Canyon

Me at the Grand Canyon - looking a little odd in riding clothes after a morning's hunting!