Grand designs
CHRIS GRANET IS BLOWN AWAY BY THE BEAUTY OF NORTHERN ARIZONA
OUR bright pink jeep teetered on the rim of a nearvertical rockface. I somehow expected our manic driver would now reverse and take us back to safety. y. But, of course, he didn’t.
The engine roared. The e girls next to me squealed. And over we went. The back of the jeep – and all of us in it – was hoisted aloft like the end of a see-saw as we inched downwards. I was now no longer able to contain my own squeals. “There’s no weepin’ in jeepin’!” our driver, Roger, hollered with a wicked grin, before continuing to effuse anecdotes, jokes and facts, as if he wasn’t driving down a 70-degree incline. This was by far the most off-road part of my trip to northern Arizona. In fact, this was the most off-road I’d ever been. Not long before, I’d been gawping in awe at the incredible landscape that surrounds the small city of Sedona. As I had been all day. So many magnificent rusty red mountains and rock formations. Peaks and pinnacles. Cliffs and canyons. Like a smaller Monument Valley, yet just minutes from town. I’d never seen anything like it. “God created the Grand Canyon, but lives in Sedona,” driver Roger had said. I don’t think he was exaggerating.
Our tour group had flown in a few days previously. It was a sunny Friday afternoon when we’d landed in Phoenix, in stark contrast to the dismal British November we’d left behind. The state capital is nestled on the northern edge of the giant Sonoran Desert, but we didn’t hang around, instead hitting the highway north into the mountains and the start of the Colorado Plateau.
As we climbed, the temperature dropped along with the night. Our destination was the former capital, Prescott, up at 5,300ft. Once on the frontier of the old Wild West, the pretty little city is now a world away from its former incarnation as a gritty gold and silver-mining town from where brutal campaigns were waged against the local Native American tribes.
The Friday night streets were dark and sleepy until we reached Whiskey Row on the far side of the historic main square, Courthouse Plaza. As its fantastic name suggests, Whiskey Row is a strip full of lively old-school saloons where cowboys and miners once congregated. There were still plenty of cowboy boots and rakishly-angled hats on display, but the hard drinking and gambling of old was replaced by locals and tourists alike jauntily line-dancing to live music. After throwing back a few bourbons, I couldn’t help but attempt to join in. It wasn’t pretty.
I was feeling a little delicate the following morning as we headed out of town to go kayaking on nearby Watson Lake. But my bleariness was soon swept aside when I caught sight of the hypnotically surreal landscape. The reservoir was surrounded dd b by rounded dd granite it rock formations and boulders, 1.4 billion years in the making. Gliding over the tranquil waters, I navigated around the hulking rocks under a giant sky of blue. It felt otherworldly. Our next stop was over the nearby Black Hills into the Verde Valley, home to one of the three major wine regions in Arizona. Our day was spent visiting a couple of nice wineries – Alcantara Vineyards and the Southwest Wine Center – where we sampled a variety of vinos that left us a little hazy on such a clear afternoon. We stayed the night in the tiny tourist city of Cottonwood, with its cute Main Street of tourist shops and restaurants, before heading out the next day towards the looming red rock mountains of Sedona that were blushing further in the early morning sunshine.
We began with Red Rock State Park to the west of town. From its five miles of trails you get great views across the last of the Verde Valley to Sedona’s most famous mountain, Cathedral Rock, the towering cluster of sandstone buttes and pinnacles that stand sentinel over the bloodshot bluffs beyond. We then went on to Sedona itself, to Uptown, which is its downtown, if that makes sense. There, we perused the busy tourist shops and boutiques before heading out on the aforementioned Pink Jeep Tour. After Roger had scared, thrilled and educated us in equal measure, we returned at sundown for dinner and further impressive views at the Vault Uptown restaurant. I had a steak that was as deliciously pink as the hills and dusky sky. Very yum. The following day we continued
upwards and northwards to Flagstaff, up on the Colorado Plateau proper. It was surprisingly chilly and verdant compared with where we’d just come from. Due to its elevation – almost 7,000ft – Flagstaff is much cooler than Phoenix in the summers and covered in snow for several months in winter.
We had a hearty lunch accompanied by beer tasting at the cool Lumberyard Brewing Company before heading a little unsteadily on to the Museum of Northern Arizona. There, we saw great displays about the natural and Native American history of the Colorado Plateau, named after the river which runs through it. Stretching across Arizona, Utah, New Mexico and, of course, Colorado, it contains an incredible 26 national parks and monuments,
with its vast and mesmeric geology making it one of the most beautiful regions on the planet. Afterwards, we perused Flagstaff’s small but cool Old Town, with its low-rise redbrick buildings that are home to trendy boutiques, bars and cafés before staying the night at the funky High Country Motor Lodge, a former motel that’s had a $13m renovation to hipster-fy it. Flagstaff’s clear skies and altitude make it famous for stargazing, but when we went to the Lowell Observatory situated on a hill above the town that night, of course it had to be cloudy. The next day we headed on to the main event, the Grand Canyon. But we needed feeding first, so pit-stopped for a platter of traditional American breakfast at the Pine Country Restaurant in Williams, another great little tourist town with an Old West feel, situated on the historic Route 66. It’s also the start of the Grand Canyon Railway, the relatively pricey tourist train taking two hours 15 minutes to trundle to its destination.
The Grand Canyon was even more mind-blowingly beautiful than expected. Too vast to comprehend, let alone put into words. It stretched out in all directions. So many layers. So many sub-canyons. Cliffs. Crevices. Strata. Colours. Shades. Shadows. One mile deep, a mind-boggling 1,900 square miles in total. It would have taken days just to get a handle on it all, but we only had a few hours. That was enough, though, for a fantastic Hummer tour along the canyon’s South Rim with Navajo guide Jerry Lefthand, a cool dude who gave us fascinating insights into Native American history and culture. Our final stop was for sunset at Grandeur Point. It was relatively busy, but yet at the same time quiet, as most people were sat in awe-struck silence watching the sun sink before the greatest of the world’s natural wonders. “Does this all become normal to you after coming here every day?” I asked Jerry.
“Never,” he replied within the blink of an eye. Suitably told, I turned back to take in the vast vista and soon became silenced myself.
Most people were sat in awe-struck silence watching the sun sink before the greatest of the world’s natural wonders