Ridge Climbing in the heart of Zion

Zion has always been a land of tight spots. The main canyon constricts until it becomes a deep wound in the earth. Hand cracks have a way of widening into 5.9+ squeezes, which have a way of opening into 5.10 chimneys. And when you’re jammed onto a shuttle bus, sandwiched between a 300-pound tourist and the window, it can feel downright claustrophobic. Zion is defined by close calls and even closer quarters. However, there is more than one perspective.

Away from tourists’ repetitive questions and the murmur of shuttle buses, Zion National Park is a place of peaks, ranges, and knee-knocking open space. It grows from the stubble of juniper desert into a swell of red and white sandstone. Here, arcing arêtes form the skeletal structures of blunt mountains shaped like slouching giants, and twisting ridges, jagged gendarmes, and teetering blocks lead into the heights. Rock quality varies from good to nightmarish. Feet skate across stone bleached the color of exposed bone. Sand-choked cracks gnaw at your untaped hands, and belay ledges are studded with cacti. Even on the cleanest spines, such as the North Guardian Angel’s East Ridge, you will encounter loose rock. Beneath your weight, monstrous blocks creak like ancient floorboards. You learn to interpret the perverse language of shattered sandstone and read the subtle gestures of sweeping ridges.
This is desert alpinism, where sand replaces snow, and you are more concerned about your rope running through cacti than over jagged ice. These are journeys cloaked in mystery, the passage of earlier visitors marked only by petroglyphs and aging summit registers. This is desert ridge climbing.