SPRINGDALE, Utah — After a weeklong trek through the mountains and evergreen forests of Colorado, it was finally time to dip out of the high elevations and return to the desert.

The last day in the Rocky Mountain State was a batch of mixed emotions. Leaving our hotel in Boulder, we took the drive out for a day stop in Nederland, a beautiful, quirky town perched high in the Indian Peaks range. Its lush, dense forests and nearby bald cliff faces paint the quintessential portrait of a quaint mountain town. There, Taylor and I made our rounds passing the various shops and attractions, also enjoying what we declared the best meal of the trip at Busey Brews and a walk-through of the local mining museum, where we learned about the bustling days of tungsten mining that brought international fame to this small community.

Following a brisk 2-mile jaunt to Lost Lake, we took flight once more, heading to our next campground at Golden Gate Canyon State Park in Golden, Colo. Besides a light drizzle that began to dot our windshield, the day seemed as light and fortuitous as our demeanor. That would change, however, upon our arrival.

As the sky began to darken both from the arrival of evening and the worsening weather, we circled the campground over and over, scanning the posted sites for our allotted space. After the third trip around, we finally gave in and stopped at the ranger station. Giving the attendee our reservation number, he entered it into the computer before letting loose a brief sigh and shooting Taylor and I a reserved look.

“I – I see what’s going on,” he said while keeping his eyes locked on the monitor. “You actually booked a backcountry site.”

He proceeded to tell us how to get to our campsite: a 10-minute drive back to the highway, 20 more minutes on the road to a pull off called Nott Creek before a 2-mile hike into the woods to find our plot.

“Well how hard is the hike?” Taylor asked.

“Mountain Lion is one of our more difficult trails,” the ranger said, looking at the ceiling as he broke the news of tough terrain as well as a significant elevation gain.

At that point, I couldn’t help but laugh at the unraveling circumstances. By now, at around 7:30 p.m, the storm had evolved to a downpour and there was only about 45 minutes worth of daylight left, meaning we would finish pitching our tent by flashlight with completely soaked clothes and gear. Had we known ahead of time – and had the booking website made it more clear about the difference between frontcountry and backcountry – we would have taken the challenges on head first, but confronted with the situation at hand, we chalked it up as a loss and instead booked a cheap room at a Motel 6 a few miles back toward civilization.

Deciding to not let the setback get to us, we chuckled about how our good fortune had revolved into reciprocating karma.

The next morning, we packed up Pearl once again and took to the road, heading southwest to the town of Moab, Utah. Similarly to anyone headed to the Beehive State, a moniker chosen and representative of the hardworking Mormon settlers of the mid-19th century, our daily itinerary was filled with visits to the five National Parks: Canyonland, Arches, Capitol Reef, Bryce Canyon and Zion.

Pulling into our campground in Moab, the vibrant colors in the encompassing rock formations jumped off their time tested walls. Whereas Colorado held deep values of navy blue and castleton green, Utah was painted in hues of rich indigo and tangerine. The pallet of purples, oranges, pinks and reds reflected itself on the evening sky as we set up our tent and settled inside, once again in new lands only charted by our imaginations.

Holding a spot on my bucket list, Canyonlands National Park was the tip of the spear when it came to interest in Utah. Carved over thousands of years by the surging Colorado River, the 527 square mile park is home to hundreds of colorful displays of topography including buttes, mesas, arches and, of course, canyons. Looking across the land from the Island in the Sky viewing platform, it seems as if the landscape was crafted by an almighty cookie cutter, carefully plucking away the land and leaving behind a sharp and steep edge that gives way to nothing but hot, dry air.

Given my own personal excitement, Taylor and I chose to spend the entire first day diving in and around as much of the prehistoric pockets as possible. Walking along the northernmost rim, we surveyed the depths that hang just a mere few feet from our dusty hiking boots while marveling at the rock walls that were smoothly eroded by long forgotten rivers and canals. Here too, the striations in the stone displayed an array of pastels from violet to crimson.

The following day, our last in the Moab campground, we hit the ground running and planned to keep our pace at a full sprint, choosing to hit two national parks back-to-back while also navigating to our next encampment.

First up was Arches National Park, a 15-minute drive from camp and probably the most common image that pops into one’s head when the thought of Utah’s parks arises. Upon our arrival, Taylor and I hiked through an extinct river bed while studying the cracks in the red monumental structures that linger overhead before driving through the park and gazing at the somehow naturally made loops and bridges cast in the rocks. Next, we took off to the lesser-known Capitol Reef National Park, which, due to a road closure that cut the park in half, was a disappointing visit save a viewing of petroglyphs from the indigenous people of nearly 2,000 years ago.

With two parks left on the checklist, we proceeded to visit Bryce Canyon on the following day, taking off from our new homebase in Orderville. While Bryce’s views were almost unimaginable, with yellow and orange rocks standing in columns like melted candle sticks against a background of dark green forests below, there was a feeling of angst bubbling to the surface.

Although the views were truly spectacular, everything that came with it was overwhelming and frustrating. As we made our way to the various pull offs to look down the cliffs, we found ourselves battling through crowds of rude tourists who would shove and nudge their way to prime positioning for cell phone photos without so much as an “excuse me” or apologetic hand gesture. What made matters worse was that we couldn’t get any separation from the hordes. It seemed as every time we found some space, some peace and quiet to take in the scenic views by ourselves, it would last only minutes before a tour bus or van would arrive and let loose a swarm of 20 or 30 fellow spectators.

Zion National Park, with wall-to-wall traffic, crammed parking lots and even more inconsiderate travelers, was even worse. The park seemed less of a place to take in the magnificent, natural beauty and more of a nature-themed Disneyland. Instead of hiking the trails, which would have instilled more appreciation for the land given the hard work it took to get there, the panoramas were delivered via drive-through. The whole spectacle disgusted us so much that Taylor and I retreated to our campground at the first chance we could. For the time being, our fascination and appreciation for the national parks were dashed.

Determined to still get the most out of Utah, we ultimately decided to book one more night and get back to our roots. We wouldn’t be distracted by the allure of national parks or tourist traps. Instead, we would resort to our lonesome hikes on anonymous trails. Our last day was spent with no one else but each other and nature, the latter seeming to be more admirable with an accompanied chorus of silence.

Up next: Las Vegas

(Hunter O. Lyle is a summer travel columnist for The Era with publications of his two-month trip across and around the United States appearing each Friday. To contact the author, email drifttrip2024@gmail.com)