My Dad’s Last Walk: Hiking Among Bryce Canyon’s Hoodoos

A walk through Bryce Canyon’s fragile landscape—and the realization that our bodies are just as temporary.

Methodical steps weave us through towering orange-hued pillars of sandstone. A lone pine tree’s vibrant green stands accentuated between the monoliths. Hoodoos appear permanent, yet they are constantly changing and fragile—much like my dad.

I’m careful to move slowly on the Queen’s Garden/Navajo Loop trail in Bryce Canyon National Park. My dad leans on two walking poles. Severe arthritis has twisted his ankles, yet he remains as silent and stoic as the hoodoos around us. The Canadian healthcare system and its long wait times haven’t been kind to him—it’s been years of waiting just to see a specialist as his ankles continue to twist, swell and deform under arthritis’ grip.

Setting off on the trail under the sun’s first low rays yields a canvas of soft oranges, corals and reds. We descend slowly into Bryce’s hoodoo-studded canyon, like Orpheus entering a more welcome underworld.

This is arguably Bryce Canyon’s finest hike. Visitors flock to the many viewpoints on the canyon rim, rightfully so, but it’s not until descending amongst the mass of rock that you appreciate the scale of what nature has so miraculously constructed. Bryce’s high elevation (8000ft) plays a part in hoodoo formation. Early mornings are crisp and cool, midday dry and scorched. Water seeps into cracks by day and freezes at night, splitting the rock from within. Wind and rain finish the work.

Crumbles on the path are a reminder of the impermanence of this place, like our own bodies, shaped by internal and external forces.

It can take an entire day to ponder the formations on the trail. Thor’s Hammer, Queen Victoria and two natural bridges question whether our imagination is more creative than nature itself. Near the end of the loop, Wall Street, a narrow, dramatic slot canyon squeezes like a vice. The air is eerily cool, the narrow path untouched by sun. On the ascent, don’t look back. If you do, you’ll want to return to the soft glow of the otherworld.

This small bowl of land is just a fragment of the spectacular landscape Utah has on offer—a dream trip for my Dad. Hiking amongst the hoodoos was his last great hike.

With each deliberate, carefully placed step, his poles scratch against the amber-hued earth as we begin the slow ascent back to the rim. Seemingly permanent and solid like the hoodoos, our bodies are not guaranteed. They crack and crumble unexpectedly.

Because the best way to honor a place like Bryce is to be fully present in it, I’ve put my exact logistics—where I stay, what I avoid, and my preferred sunrise spots—into a 2-page PDF Field Notes. It’s waiting in the Paid Subscriber Library as a thank-you to those who support my work.

---

If we haven’t met yet, I’m Richard Philion. I traveled the world during my dance career and continue to explore with the same passion. If you love adventures to both new and familiar places, I’d love to connect and share our mutual love for travel. Through the Travelling Troubadour, I hope to inspire and inform with stories, tips, and itineraries.

Feel free to message me directly—I’d love to meet you.