Bristlecone
A Story of Resilience from Bryce Canyon National Park, Utah
With the kids committed to their in-laws for Thanksgiving, my wife Connie and I decided to embark on a new adventure. Hiking National Parks. Connie walked religiously every week with her girlfriends, logging 5-6 miles each Friday. I was in the best shape of my life, working out regularly. So we felt we could handle the rigors of hiking mountain and canyon trails.
We chose Bryce Canyon for our first national park experience. That’s how we found ourselves awakening at 5 am on Thanksgiving morning to watch the sunrise over Bryce Canyon.
It was a bitterly cold day, with wind chills below zero, but we were both determined to make the most of the experience. We dressed in several layers, then slipped on our North Face parkas and headed outside to the car. A blast of icy frigid air greeted us in the parking lot, but undaunted, we braved the bitter cold.
We drove the winding road to the canyon’s apex in utter darkness, marveling at the breathtaking display of stars and planets in the moonless sky. When we arrived at the trailhead parking lot, we put on gloves, scarves, and wool caps, said a quick prayer, and headed out for our adventure.
When I walked around and opened Connie’s car door, a gust of wind nearly yanked the door off its hinges.
“It’s freezing,” Connie said. “Do we really want to do this?”
“I know it’s cold, babe. But once we start walking, we will warm up. You’re gonna love this! I promise.”
“Okay, Mark. If you say so.”
The trailhead led into a beautiful forest of Bristlecone pines. The bristlecone is one of the oldest and most resilient trees, and the ones in Bryce Canyon were over 1,800 years old. This remarkable tree can fully regenerate itself even on the brink of death. It can survive under the harshest of conditions.
As we descended into the forest, a carpet of frosted needles and frozen pinecones crackled beneath our feet. The tree’s needles glistened as the thick canopy buffeted the wind and protected us from the fierce elements. As the trail widened, I took Connie’s gloved hand in mine, and we walked in complete silence for about fifteen minutes.
We exited the evergreen forest and walked gingerly to the canyon’s edge. Before us was a spectacular array of multicolored hoodoos—the tall, thin rock formations that are the signature of Bryce. They filled the canyon in all directions, as far as the eye could see. The sun was peeking over the horizon, and the sky was awakening with the colors of autumn: burnt orange, sienna yellow, glowing amber, and fiery red. We stood in awe, oblivious to the biting winds that ripped through the multiple layers of clothing.
“I can’t feel my face,” my wife said, breaking into a smile. “And I don’t care because this is magnificent. It is absolutely worth it!”
I smiled proudly, glad I had persuaded her to do it. “Yes, it definitely is worth it, babe.” I wrapped my arms around her from behind and whispered, “I love you, Connie.”
“I love you, too, Mark.”
We stood in silence, feeling the connection only God’s incomparable Creation could bring.
“Oh look,” Connie said, breaking our reverie. She pointed to a small log structure about fifty feet away.
“Cool. That’s the gazebo I read about. Let’s check it out,” I replied.
We walked inside and found a brief respite from the bitter cold and howling winds. By this point, I was numb to the cold, but Connie sat, shivering, in my arms.
“What’s that?” she asked, pointing to a plaque on the log wall of the gazebo.
I stood and read the inscription out loud. “Silence alone is worth being heard.” - Henry David Thoreau.
“Beautiful,” said Connie.
We sat. I thought of the Bristlecone Pine. I thought of how resilient Connie and I have been, surviving decades of dysfunction. In our late fifties now, we were spending Thanksgiving alone, just the two of us, for the first time ever. It felt to me like the early days of our courtship when it was just me and Connie against the world. We had always found a way to survive.
Connie broke the silence. “Thanks for taking me here, Mark. This is really spectacular. I’ll never forget it.”
I nodded in agreement.
“Now let’s go back. I’m freezing,” she announced.
We both laughed.
Contributing Writer:
Mark Smith , hiker of 13 National Parks, and planning to hike many more.
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