29 May 2023
After finishing the Fossil Discovery Trail, I walk back to the car with the feeling that the day is far from over. From the parking lot along Blue Mountain Road, I step onto the Sound of Silence Trail, a path that promises not fossils, but space, rock, and quiet. The desert receives me immediately. Sand crunches under my boots, cacti rise from the ground like guarded sentinels, and the air feels dry and open, filled with light.
Only a short distance in, the scenery expands dramatically. I find myself standing before massive sandstone formations, their surfaces sculpted by wind and rain over unimaginable spans of time. The rocks glow in shades of orange, red, and pale white, layered like pages of an ancient book. Each step forward feels like entering deeper into a geological story written long before any human presence.
Gallery I flows across the next page, opening the landscape visually.
The trail soon drops into an intermittent stream bed, a wash carved by rare but forceful desert rains. Walking here is slower and more demanding. The rock layers are tilted and broken, thrust upward at sharp angles, one more impressive than the next. The walls press in and guide my movement, and I feel small between them, as if walking through the bones of the earth itself.
Gradually the wash narrows further. The views disappear, replaced by concentration and careful steps. For a while, the trail feels confined and difficult, and I move forward without stopping, waiting for the landscape to open again. When it finally does, the change is almost overwhelming. I climb back up onto a ridge, and suddenly the world spreads out in every direction. I stop again and again, unable to resist taking photo after photo.
To the northwest, Split Mountain dominates the horizon. Its sharp, dramatic form is streaked with white, standing apart from the surrounding terrain like a monumental sculpture. Below it, desert badlands unfold in waves of red, orange, and gold, cut by gullies and dotted with cacti and scattered trees. The contrast between the pale mountain and the richly colored land beneath it is striking and unforgettable.
Gallery II accompanies this wide-open section of the trail.
For about a mile I follow this scenery, walking along the ridge with Split Mountain never leaving my sight. Then the trail leads me toward a steep expanse of slickrock. From a distance, it looks smooth and almost gentle, but as I begin to climb, its scale becomes clear. The rock rises steeply, and I move carefully, keeping low. At one point I stop, crouched on the stone, unable to stand upright because I fear losing my balance. I take a photo, knowing it cannot capture the full height or tension of the moment, and then carefully descend again. Even from below, the slickrock resists being fully contained in a single image.
Gallery III fills several pages here, following the ascent and descent.
The final section of the trail demands attention once more. The path becomes harder to follow, and the descent requires patience and care. Yet the effort is rewarded generously. Vegetation becomes denser, greener, and alive with color. Flowers bloom among the rocks, and cacti display delicate blossoms that seem almost improbable in such a harsh environment. The valley opens gently, and the desert feels suddenly generous and welcoming.
Gallery IV closes the visual story with life and color.
As I complete the loop, I feel deeply satisfied. Apart from a brief ten-minute stretch through a narrow wash with no views at all, the hike has been nothing short of wonderful. The Sound of Silence Trail has lived up to its name, offering quiet, vastness, and a powerful sense of time written into stone. I leave the trail with tired legs, a full memory card, and the lingering impression of walking through a landscape shaped not for people, but patiently, relentlessly, by the earth itself.