Canyonlands: Four Lands, Two Days, Zero Lost Children
We didn’t know Canyonlands would feel like a fantasy map—until we were in it. Think Lord of the Rings meets Settlers of Catan, with a sprinkle of parenting panic and a strong wind advisory. Canyonlands isn't just one place—it's four distinct lands: the Needles, Island in the Sky, the Maze, and the Rivers that separate them. We explored two, and even that felt like a small miracle.
The Needles (and Newspaper Rock)
Our Canyonlands adventure started not with the canyons—but with ancient art. Newspaper Rock, just off the road coming into Utah from Colorado, was a quick stop to admire thousands of years of artwork in one place. Layers of petroglyphs—bighorn sheep, human figures, spirals—covered a rock wall like an ancient text waiting to be translated. After that brief pause, we pushed ahead into the Needles District with the naive hope that we'd somehow cut through Canyonlands and emerge in Moab. Spoiler: you cannot.
We pulled out our road atlas (thank you Verizon dead zone) like cartographers from the 20th century and quickly confirmed our suspicions—this land does not connect. Not by road, anyway. The Colorado and Green Rivers slice it clean through. We’d have to backtrack. But we didn’t regret it for a second.
The Needles felt like dropping into a Star Wars set—bizarre spires and layered rock formations jutting up from the red earth like the ruins of a giant's castle. We made it to Pothole Point, a short trail through weather-worn rock full of small, round water pockets and wild, twisted formations. We had to bribe a few small hikers with lollipops to stay upright in the gusts.
Island in the Sky (and snow in the desert)
The name Island in the Sky is no exaggeration. We drove between two grand canyons until reaching what feels like the edge of the earth. Somewhere between bone-chilling wind and snow flurries, we realized this was not going to be a long day of hikes. It was cold. Poky remained unimpressed from his post in the warm car, while the rest of us bundled up and ventured out.
At Grand View Point, the expanse was truly spectacular—like looking out across an endless world carved in red stone. The trail hugs the rim of the canyon, and it was right about then that James, our smallest explorer with the biggest sense of invincibility, decided to run toward the canyon rim. Not near it. Toward it. He had to be physically intercepted by a helicopter parent. The hike was promptly and unceremoniously called off. No regrets. Better to cut it short than spend the rest of our lives explaining how we lost a child to the canyon.
Next up was Mesa Arch, the legendary photo spot. A quick half mile loop that felt a lot longer when carrying a child who insists on being airlifted the entire way. James’ boots never touched the soil. But we made it, and we got the photo—five kids seated (miraculously) in front of the arch, with a sheer drop behind them. No one launched themselves into the void. A parenting win.
Until next time
We didn’t make it to the Maze—yet. That remote western district calls for a better off-road vehicle and a little more time. Maybe when our crew’s a bit older…or a bit less inclined to sprint toward cliffs. There’s so much more to explore. This park is enormous, wild, and stunningly unconnected. This trip was just a teaser.
Poky enjoyed the parking lots and the long drives, but he’s put in a formal request for our next stop to include a national forest or monument where dogs are allowed on trails.
For the humans not relegated to the car, we left a little chilled, windblown, and grateful—grateful for the vastness, the beauty, the red rock playgrounds, and the fact that we still have five kids. Barely.
