Returning to the Vermilion Cliffs Wilderness
Some landscapes stay with you long after you’ve left them. For me, the desert has always been one of those places—quiet, vast, and full of hidden stories etched into stone. In April 2025, I solo-backpacked through Coyote Gulch, weaving between cool canyon walls carved deep into the earth. Now, just 52 miles south of that canyon, Bill and I returned to explore a different kind of desert magic—Vermilion Cliffs National Monument, where swirling sandstone rises across the plateau instead of cutting down into it.
Vermilion Cliffs straddles the Utah–Arizona border, a place where time has been sculpting stone for millions of years. Here, a maze of wind-carved formations, high-desert plateaus, domes, and ridgelines paints the landscape in reds, apricots, purples, and ghost-white sandstone. While our previous trips pulled us into the narrow corridors of Buckskin Gulch, Paria Canyon, and Wire Pass, this Thanksgiving we set our sights upward. Above the slot canyons, the whimsical sandstone of the Paria Plateau stretches toward the horizon, its surface cracked, folded, uplifted, and carved by wind and sky.
One of the most fascinating places here is White Pocket, a swirl of Navajo sandstone shaped by ancient geological upheaval. Early ranchers called these natural basins “pockets,” where rare desert rainwater collected in soft stone. Today, it’s a playground of twisted stone: domes, waves, folds, hoodoos, and color streaks that look painted rather than formed. Its twisted formations tell a story geologists are still deciphering—water-soaked dunes collapsing under their own weight, freeze–thaw cycles polishing the surfaces, and iron-rich minerals weaving color through every curve.
The Vermilion Cliffs is more than geology—it is also steeped in human history. Ancient peoples left their stories carved and painted into stone, while early settlers relied on these natural pockets and alcoves for shelter and precious water. Today, condors glide along the cliffs, slot canyons wind through the desert floor, and remote sandy tracks lead to some of the most surreal formations in the Southwest.
And with that, we began the journey—trading Colorado snow for Utah sun and easing into a long weekend shaped by stone, starlight, and silence.
DAY 1 — Into the Swell at Nightfall
Leaving Colorado in Winter’s Shadow
We left Colorado beneath a sky thick with falling snow, the road winding toward the Eisenhower Tunnel in a soft blur of gray. It felt like winter’s whisper before we slipped into the warmth of the Southwest. As we descended, the snow faded, the clouds thinned, and the horizon slowly opened.
By the time we crossed the state line at the Welcome to Utah sign, the world had shifted completely. The afternoon sun stretched long across the open hills, turning the landscape a muted gold. Farther west, the sky deepened into a glowing desert palette—tangerine near the horizon, turquoise above, with the road unfurling straight into the sunset.
Entering the San Rafael Swell
As daylight thinned, we followed a gravel road into Utah’s San Rafael Swell, a place we’ve roamed many times but somehow had never spent the night. The Swell rises like a broken wave of stone—sandstone cliffs and ridges twisted upward, wind-carved alcoves, and hidden canyons peeling away in every direction. Old mining relics rust quietly in the sage. Primitive roads vanish into wide, empty silence.
We arrived after dark, guided only by the Jeep’s headlights and the faint glow along the horizon. The landscape around us was little more than silhouette and shadow, the shapes of cliffs and ridgelines barely visible against the night sky. We found a dispersed campsite perched on a sandstone shelf with panoramic views of the valley below. The dogs leapt from the Jeep the moment we parked—tails high, noses pressed to the air—running joyful loops across the slickrock while we set up camp.
Stars Over the Swell
Twilight deepened and the stars arrived. The air was crisp, the wind gentle. And when night finally settled in, the stars were unreal—a sky unspoiled by light. The desert feels vast by day, but at night it becomes infinite.
Morning revealed what darkness had hidden. As the sun crested the distant cliffs, the rocks around us ignited in fiery orange, glowing warm and brilliant in the first light of day. The entire Swell seemed to wake at once—sandstone catching fire with color, the air crisp and still, and our little camp perched on the edge of a vast sunlit valley.
Steam curled upward from our coffee mugs. The walls of the Swell lit up in shifting shades of peach and rose. Even the dogs paused to watch the sunrise, standing still for a rare moment before darting back into exploration mode.
Packing Up for the Journey Ahead
It was the perfect beginning—a quiet morning wrapped in golden light, the Jeep warming in the sun, and the desert waking slowly around us.
We packed up camp, knowing we still had five hours of driving before reaching our Thanksgiving base at Stateline Campground. This would be our jumping-off point for White Pocket, petroglyph sites, and the swirling sandstone world of the Vermilion Cliffs.
DAY 2 — Camping on the Borderlands
Southbound Toward the Vermilion Cliffs
By late morning we were back on the road, winding our way south from the Swell toward the Vermilion Cliffs. The landscape slowly shifted from layered sandstone to rolling desert hills, dotted with juniper and creosote. The sky stretched wide and clean overhead, a perfect blue that only the high desert seems able to hold.
Not far from Kanab, we turned onto House Rock Valley Road, a long, dusty stretch of washboard gravel that rattled the Jeep and sent soft clouds of red earth swirling behind us. This familiar road is the gateway to some of our favorite canyons—Buckskin Gulch, Paria Canyon, Wire Pass—but today we drove past those trailheads with a different destination in mind.
As we continued south, the roadside signs shifted—first declaring Grand Staircase–Escalante, then Vermilion Cliffs National Monument—quiet reminders of how many protected lands converge in this corner of the desert. Eventually we reached one of my favorite little thresholds: a simple brown sign announcing we were leaving Utah and entering Arizona, a small moment that somehow always feels a bit magical.
Stateline Campground: A Home Between Worlds
Just beyond that sign sat Stateline Campground, a remote eight-site gem with four campsites in Utah and four in Arizona. We chose Arizona, because how often can you say your Thanksgiving home sits at the meeting point of two states, two national monuments, and one of the great long trails of the American West?
The campground is also a terminus of the Arizona Trail, an 800-mile route stretching from the Utah border all the way to Mexico. A stone monument near the trailhead holds a poem honoring the journey—its heat, its solitude, its grit, its quiet reverence. Reading it, you can almost feel the footsteps of all who’ve moved through this landscape on their way north or south.
Settling Into the Desert Evening
Our campsite nestled itself naturally among junipers and red earth, framed by cliffs glowing gold in the afternoon sun. The dogs wandered happily between the trees, noses low, tails sweeping in slow, contented arcs.
The afternoon slipped into a peaceful rhythm. We set up camp, followed a short spur to the Ridge Path, and watched the sun make its slow descent across the plateau. The air cooled, the shadows stretched long across the valley, and the familiar hush of desert evening settled around us.
A Quiet Thanksgiving Eve
This spot—simple, spacious, silent—felt exactly right for the holiday. Tomorrow we would head deeper into the heart of the Vermilion Cliffs, toward the swirling sandstone wonderland of White Pocket.
But for now, standing on the border with the last light fading over distant mesas, we felt the desert gather itself around us, quiet and full of promise.
Two days in, we’d crossed state lines, chased desert sunrises, and settled into a tiny campground on the very edge of Arizona. The Swell had given us stars and silence; Stateline had given us space to breathe and reset.
In Part 2, we step fully onto the Paria Plateau—into White Pocket’s swirling sandstone, hidden rock shelters, ancient petroglyphs, Wrather Arch’s canyon cathedral, and a Thanksgiving feast under a sky full of stars and soaring condors.
Stay tuned: the heart of the Vermilion Cliffs was still waiting.
Western Wanderlust Chronicles 
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