Zion is a beautiful, crowded, red-rocked nightmare. If you’re looking for a peaceful wilderness experience where you can find yourself in the silence of nature, you’ve picked the wrong park. You’ll be fighting for permits like they’re front-row tickets to a reunion tour, and then you’ll spend half your trip smelling the sunscreen of the person hiking ten feet in front of you. But, for some reason, I’ve spent three of my last four vacation weeks there. I work a boring 9-5 in logistics, and Zion is the only thing that makes me feel like my knees actually work.
The permit lottery is basically a gambling addiction
Let’s be honest: the permit system on Recreation.gov is a scam. It’s not a management tool; it’s a psychological experiment to see how much rejection a human can take. You pay your five bucks just for the chance to apply, and then you get that automated email at 3:00 AM telling you that you didn’t get the Subway or the West Rim. I’ve lost the lottery four years in a row for the Left Fork. Four years. I’m starting to think the rangers just give those permits to their cousins.
If you don’t get the advance permit, you have to do the “Last Minute Draw.” This involves sitting in your hotel room in Springdale, hitting refresh on your browser, and praying to gods you don’t even believe in. It’s stressful. It’s annoying. It’s the opposite of “getting away from it all.” But if you win? That little PDF is better than a winning scratch-off ticket. I might be wrong about this, but I swear they prioritize people who use older browsers. I switched to an old version of Firefox last year and finally got a site at Wildcat Canyon. Probably a coincidence. Whatever.
Anyway, if you can’t get a permit for the big-name spots, just go to Kolob Canyons. It’s the northwest corner of the park. Most tourists don’t even know it exists because it’s a 40-minute drive from the main canyon. The sites are easier to get, and the red rock is just as tall. Just don’t tell too many people. I like it quiet up there.
That time I almost died of thirst on the West Rim
This was May 2019. I was cocky. I’d read on a forum that Potato Hollow spring was “flowing well.” I packed two liters of water for a 14-mile stretch because I didn’t want the extra weight. I’m a weight weenie—I literally cut the handle off my toothbrush to save 12 grams. I know people will disagree, but I think weight matters more than comfort every single time. Until it doesn’t.
I got to Potato Hollow at 2:00 PM. The “flowing spring” was a damp patch of moss on a rock. I spent forty-five minutes using a tiny plastic cup to scoop water out of a hole in the dirt that looked like a coyote’s bathtub. It was tea-colored and smelled like old gym socks. Even after filtering it, I felt like I was drinking liquid dirt. By the time I reached the Grotto the next day, my tongue felt like a piece of sandpaper. I didn’t even care about the view of Angels Landing. I just wanted a Gatorade from the lodge. I spent $9 on two bottles of blue sugar-water and it was the best purchase of my life. Never trust a spring report older than 24 hours.
“Zion is a desert. It sounds obvious, but you don’t realize how much that matters until you’re sucking moisture out of a rock with a Sawyer Squeeze.”
The part about gear (and my irrational hatred of trekking poles)
I’ve bought the same Osprey Atmos 65 pack three times now. I don’t care that it weighs over four pounds empty. I don’t care that there are lighter, cooler packs from brands like Zpacks or Hyperlite. The AG suspension is the only thing that keeps my lower back from seizing up after ten miles. I’ll carry the extra weight just to feel that mesh hugging my hips. It’s a toxic relationship, but I’m committed.
What I mean is—actually, let me put it differently. Gear doesn’t make the trip, but bad gear ruins it. Specifically, trekking poles. I hate them. I think they make you look like a confused spider. I know, I know—they save your knees on the descent. Everyone tells me I’m being an idiot. But I’d rather have my hands free to take photos or scramble up rocks than have two aluminum sticks clicking against the sandstone for eight hours. It’s a hill I’m willing to die on. My knees hate me, but my dignity is intact.
- Water storage: Bring at least 4 liters of capacity, even if you don’t fill them all.
- Shoes: Don’t wear heavy leather boots. You’ll get blisters. Wear trail runners. I use Altra Lone Peaks (size 11, wide toe box).
- Poop bags: You have to carry out your own waste in many parts of the park. It’s disgusting. Do it anyway. Don’t be that person.
Total lie.
Why I actually hate the Narrows
I’m going to say it: The Narrows is overrated. It’s a wet, slippery hallway filled with people who have no idea what they’re doing. You’re basically hiking in a river of communal foot-water. The first two miles are a zoo. You’ll see people in flip-flops slipping on the bowling-ball rocks and screaming. It’s not backpacking; it’s a slow-motion disaster movie. If you want to do it, do the top-down overnight route. It’s 16 miles and requires a permit. You’ll actually get some solitude for the first half. But honestly? The West Rim is better. The views from the top of the plateau make the canyon floor look like a basement. The scale of the place is just… it’s too much to process sometimes.
The logistics are a headache
If you’re planning a trip, the shuttle is your life now. From March to November, you can’t drive your car into the main canyon. You have to park at the visitor center (good luck finding a spot after 8:00 AM) and wait in a line that looks like the queue for a Disney ride. I once waited 55 minutes just to get on a bus to the trailhead. It’s soul-crushing.
Last time, I got fed up and paid $42 for a private shuttle from a shop in Springdale just so I didn’t have to deal with the crowd. It felt like a waste of money, but it saved my sanity. If you have the cash, just pay for a private drop-off at Chamberlain’s Ranch or Lee Pass. It’s worth every penny.
Also, don’t eat at the pizza place right outside the park entrance. It’s $30 for a mediocre pie and the service is indifferent at best. Drive twenty minutes out of town. You’ll find something better and you won’t feel like a tourist being milked for every cent. Zion is expensive enough without the “scenic view” tax on your pepperoni.
I sometimes wonder why I keep going back to a place that requires so much paperwork and patience. Maybe it’s the way the light hits the Great White Throne at 6:00 AM, or the way the air smells like sage and hot dust. Or maybe I just like the struggle. I don’t know. I’ve already got my calendar marked for the next permit drop. I’ll probably lose again.
Is it even worth it if it’s this hard to get in?