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The magic here, however, lies in the inconspicuous, in the hidden, and often the magic of the deserts only reveals itself to those who bring patience, a spirit of discovery and plenty of water.
Arizona's desert landscape stretches endlessly. As far as the eye can see, sandy, stony aridity. Our drive on a dead straight road directs our gaze longingly to the left and right. Right at the Utah border, we pass mountains. Striped mountains. The most beautiful earth tones pile up on top of each other like a layer cake. Rusty red is followed by beige, then a layer of grey, followed by a cream tone, then bronze and light brown on top. All the shades change once again as the sun and clouds play their shadows over the Painted Desert mountain cake. A dance of colours and light. And so the first impression of barren monotony fades.
In Page, a town in the far north of the state, suddenly water in the desert. Not far from the road, the Colorado River meanders through a deep valley, lined by metre-high rock faces, which – seen from above – present themselves in all their imposing glory. A short, dusty walk at a late hour, then we suddenly stand in front of an impressive abyss. The Horseshoe Bend. In the setting sunlight, the waters of the Colorado – streaked with emerald veins – are a deep dark blue, while the stony flanks are bathed in a wide spectrum of colours. In the fading daylight, dark plum and delicate violet move from the valley to rich orange-red and vibrant crimson at the edge of the precipice. And as clouds and mountains on the horizon completely swallow up the ball of light, Horseshoe Bend, along with water, sand and stone, also sinks into night-blue colours.The next day, Lower Antelope Canyon presents us with another colourful face of the Arizona desert. In contrast to the Upper Antelope Canyon, the canyon of the Lower runs further upwards, so that more sunlight enters the winding shafts. Thus, with every step we take, we are presented with a natural spectacle unlike any we have seen before. Countless arched formations of brushed-looking stone rise into the gorge above our heads. Illuminated by the still glaring light of the afternoon sun, magnificent shades of brown, grey, violet, red and yellow appear, changing according to the angle of view. And although the constant gaze upwards, left and right makes it difficult to walk carefully along the narrow path, no colour change, no matter how small, should go unnoticed.
A very different kind of spectacle presents itself in Monument Valley. Here, sandstone cliffs, visible from afar, rise up to the sky, owing their unmistakable shape to the relentless desert winds. Winds that can quickly grow into storms and powerfully whip fine dune sand and the smallest stones against everything in their path. A noticeable peeling – even to us – which has characterised the shape of the monuments since time immemorial, so that they resemble inverted muffins. As impressive as the sight of the muffin-shaped rocks is, as harrowing is the sight of the nearby Navajo towns of Kayenta and Winslow. Drought and despair go hand in hand here with sandstorms and hopelessness and shape the landscape and social picture. The many street art works on abandoned buildings along our way also tell of this. And so only the oversized graffiti and collages paint colourful pictures against eternally dry landscapes.
The fierce wind carries us further south along a long stretch of road. We pass groups of delicate shrubs, shaggy grasses, prickly trees and even pricklier cacti that grow and thrive wonderfully in the dry soil. They form an ever denser sea of sage, lime and jade green. A sea that seems to overgrow the beige desert sand a little more with every mile.
We are approaching Flagstaff, a town in the middle of Arizona. And the small bushes and cacti in the north turn into dense coniferous forests. Here, evergreen conifers like pines, junipers and cypresses dominate the landscape, heralding the end of the desert and the beginning of the high mountains. We have arrived at the Grand Canyon, where the waters of the Colorado River have been winding tirelessly through the deep gorges for millions of years. And with the truly breathtaking view of the rust-red canyon, we acknowledge the power of water, wind, sand and stone. One last impressive proof that the desert is not a dreary place, but a landscape full of life and beauty.
All words and photos by The Sturgheons.
