A Dark Sky

The website told me not to use my GPS, so I didn’t.  It was past midnight, and I was searching for Hovenweep National Monument on the border of Utah and Colorado.  I knew the place was extremely remote, so when I turned onto an unpaved road through an open range of cattle I thought it was possible I was still heading in the right direction.  After all, I had driven down a similar road in South Dakota to reach the Badlands.  I expected to reach my destination within twenty miles. 

The gravel road was patterned with rough grooves.  I could hear my tires launching bits of scree that clanged against the underbelly of my car.  I was driving about ten miles an hour because the road curved around several bends and climbed rolling hills.  I was entering one of the darkest places in the United States, so only my high beams illuminated my narrow path. There was a gas station thirty miles behind me and nothing in front of me but farmland.  A black cow with a white spot on its face was lying in the road.  I kept telling myself the monument would be just up ahead, and I was convinced that I had followed the directions from the National Park Service website.  After a half an hour I realized I was lost, so I turned around.

I wasn’t overly concerned because I had enough gas, food and water in case I were to have car trouble.  When I go to far-flung places, I expect to be inconvenienced.  Sometimes I feel ashamed when I merely plug in my destination into GoogleMaps.  Especially when I visit sites founded by ancient explorers, I want navigation to be part of the experience, and getting lost is a reasonable outcome for not following a robot-plotted course.

 

With all that being said, I wasn’t having a grand time because my eyes were strained from scouring the darkness for signs of kamikaze deer.  I blasted the music to help me stay awake as I drove back down the farm road until my tires hit the pavement.  I found the turn that I initially missed and followed the county roads until I reached the campground at Hovenweep.  When I turned off my headlights, my eyes began adjusting to the darkness surrounding me, and soon I could see by the greyish light of the stars.  I could see them everywhere, even on the horizon.    

The national monument qualifies as dark sky park according to the International Dark-Sky Association, a non-profit organization aiming to preserve areas unencumbered with light pollution.  In order to earn the label of a dark sky park, it helps to be far from a major city.  In addition to remoteness, special lighting must be installed where it is deemed necessary for safety and commerce reasons.

Lights should be equipped with motion-sensors and should only illuminate essential spots.  The intensity of the light should not be excessive, and the light should be pointed downward and encased with a fully-shielded fixture.  Blue emissions should be minimized as this color brightens the sky more than any other due to its higher temperature.  Low-temperature lights such as low-pressure sodium (which are commonly used for streetlights) should be used because they emit warmer colors of light.

All these measures are taken primarily for stargazing purposes.  In your average suburban backyard, you may be able to see 500 stars, but you should be able to see over 5,000 stars in a dark sky park.  Gaining dark sky status attracts visitors who want to see the primordial skies untainted by human development.  Before the light bulb was invented, the world was a very dark place at night.  If you grow accustomed to living in a moderately-populated town among the constant glow of streetlights and endless buzzing of neon signs, you may forget what it’s like to be blanketed in darkness.

Back when humans were using lanterns and pitchforks to light their way, nocturnal creatures didn’t have much to worry about.  In terms of animal evolution, light pollution is a relatively new issue that now threatens certain species.  Certain birds depend on starlight and the sun-and-moon cycle to properly time their migrations.  If they happen to fly near major cities, the light pollution could confuse them and force them off course.  Other nocturnal creatures who use darkness as cover from predators are at a disadvantage if their hiding places are exposed.  And I realize most people, like myself, don’t feel bad when a bug splats on your windshield, but this fatal attraction could potentially have severe consequences.  The decimation of insect species can have a domino effect for those animals dependent upon a plentiful bug population for food.

There were no lights at the campground except one with a motion-detector near the bathroom and my headlamp.  I paid my overnight fee and set up my camera on the picnic table.  The GoPro has a night photography option in which the aperture can stay open for thirty seconds.  The aperture works similarly to your pupil in that it takes time to absorb a changing scale of light.  I turned off my headlamp and took a few night lapse photos of the stars.  I wasn’t entirely sure what I was looking at. I only know basic constellations that children can recognize, and I have only an elementary understanding of astronomy.

I stared a while at the speckled sky with a lingering uneasiness hanging in the back of my mind.  Experiencing total darkness while completely alone in an extremely remote location was a novelty that I wasn’t completely comfortable with. Every now and then I would turn on my headlamp and scan the bushes I heard rustling.  A jackrabbit would saunter away when I shone the light into its eyes.  I turned the light off and resumed stargazing.

 

I was not afraid of the dark, nor did I expect to be ambushed by a mountain lion.  I was unaccustomed to the monochrome surroundings and a roofless night spent looking up.  I could hear the laughter of nearby campers that I couldn’t see.  I thought this place would do for solitude but would be better with company.  Times of limited visibility are ideal for storytelling when a voice can be detached from a moving mouth.  Self-consciousness has a tendency to dissolve while ruminating under burning orbs that have been around longer than your planet. 

Saguaro

Before I left Florida for Utah, I bought a GoPro Hero Black 4 so that I could film the landscapes that I would soon find myself in.  My goal is to document my trips with my writing, photography, and now cinematography.  I am cautious in my approach because I do not want to appear haughty with my expeditions, and I am leery of the term traveler.  I only wish to report what I see to shed light on a particular lifestyle and to debunk any myths that close relatives and friends from home may have about what exactly I am doing.  The GoPro, then, is just another way to share my vision and to add another dimension to the story.

The camera is able to shoot in 4K, but neither my laptop nor my phone can operate with such a high resolution, so instead I shoot in 1080p, the type of image you would get on a high-definition television.  The camera has a clear case that enables you to submerge it into water.  The audio is generally poor as it picks up the wind and the camera rattling inside its case, so when I edit videos I usually overlay the film with a musical soundtrack.  I have a few accessories for the camera such as a tripod that doubles as an extension arm, a chest harness, and a head strap.  Initially I was very self-conscious of putting a camera on my head, but it is an extremely useful tool to capture my point of view of the scenery during a hike, especially when both my hands are occupied scrambling over rocks.   

Another advantage of the GoPro is that it can reach places you wouldn’t want to put your face, such as directly in front of a cactus needle.  After sleeping in the Walmart parking lot in Tucson, I drove to Saguaro National Park to hike in the Sonoran Desert and to see the largest cacti in the country.  Although Saguaro is a nine hour drive from Bryce Canyon, this is the closest I’ve ever been, and my goal to visit every US national park justified the commute.  When I told my coworkers where I was going, they thought I was a little odd——to spend so much time in a car only to see a prickly plant.  This cactus grows only in a small portion of the country, and the saguaro is the ultimate symbol of the American Southwest. My trip would be incomplete without seeing these giants.

A saguaro begins its life as a tiny black seed.  Its chances of reaching adulthood in the dry Sonoran desert are incredibly slim, but if it is lucky enough to grow under the shade of a palo verde or mesquite tree the seed is spared from the worst of the heat.  Temperatures routinely soar over one hundred degrees in the summer, which one would expect, but the desert has a complex climate that surprised me.  When I thought of that ecosystem, I imagined barren lands full of sand dunes, but the Sonoran Desert intersects the Tucson and Rincon Mountains, so the nights can be cold and higher elevations can receive snow.  Not only must the saguaros battle the intense heat, but they must also survive the winter freeze. 

If the seed survives, the saguaro continues growing at a slow rate.  By the time the cactus becomes a teenager, it can be a foot tall.  After a half decade, the saguaro can reach seven feet and then begins to sprout arms after seventy-five years.  The grandest of all saguaros that surpass the age of 150 can be fifty feet tall and weigh over 16,000 pounds.  They usually die around the age of 200.  Their waxy skin withers under the sun, and their woody ribs are exposed. 

Saguaros have a shallow root system buried three inches under the surface, but the roots extend horizontally and their lengths are equal to the cactus’s height.  The infrequency of summer rainstorms undoubtedly kill a fair share of plants, but a saguaro is able to survive with 200 gallons of water per year.  Their waxy skin and pleated shape improve water retention, while the spines provide defense against intrusive animals. 

Despite the thorny deterrents, many birds such as the Gila woodpecker and the gilded flicker carve out holes in the cactus to build their nests and to seek shelter from the summer heat and the winter cold.  Most other animals in the desert only come out at night.  Even the flowers follow this pattern.  During the spring, the white saguaro flowers blossom, but only after the sun has disappeared.  Bats, honeybees, moths, and white-tailed doves feed on the nectar and pollinate the seeds. When tomorrow comes, the flower wilts, only to reopen night after night for roughly one month.  Survival in the desert amounts to taking advantage of minuscule windows of time in which nature eases up on its usual harshness.

I entered the visitor center theater to watch a slideshow about desert life when I spotted a ten dollar bill on the floor.  I looked around to see if anybody was watching me, and I put the money in my wallet.  The slideshow quickly got repetitive with endless pictures of cacti and desert shrubs.  The images were overlaid with narration of a Tohono O’odham Native American.  The Tohono O’odham depend on the saguaros for their fruit, and they respect the desert in which they live. They treat the saguaros as sacred entities, and in many ways their shapes resemble humans, albeit with long, field-goal-post arms and no legs.  

The man speaking over the slideshow was saying that when you die you return to the earth.  If you throw trash on the ground, to his belief, you are essentially throwing trash on your dead relatives. As I composed my own photos and tracking shots through the cactus forest, I watched the ground for rattlesnakes and anything that could stab me.  When you walk in the desert, the Tohono O’odham speaker said, you must be careful:  not only for the spikes that can cut into your skin, but also because of the nourishing bodies under your feet that give life to this harsh terrain.  

In-N-Out

During my first weekend off, I headed south to the Sonoran Desert of Arizona.  On my way through Phoenix, I stopped at an In-N-Out Burger, a popular fast-food joint that sells juicy burgers, hand-cut fries, and classic milkshakes.  A young man probably in high school took my order at the cash register, and he seemed genuinely pleased to be there.  He was wearing a white uniform, paper hat, and a red apron fastened with a giant safety pin.  The employees get paid twelve dollars per hour and receive benefits, so this is nothing like working at McDonald’s.

I ordered a double-double (two burger patties with cheese, lettuce, and an onion), fries, and a chocolate shake.  Nearly every time I drive through the Southwest I stop at an In-N-Out, and usually it is packed, no matter the time.  The fast-food joint is extremely popular because the food is incredibly inexpensive (my meal cost eight dollars) and the ingredients are actually fresh, a rarity among competitors.  The chain, which is comprised of over 300 stores, is family owned, and Lynsi Snyder, the president, refuses to franchise or expand eastward.  But there are valid reasons for the company’s exclusivity. 

You can find a McDonald’s or Wendy’s in nearly every major town in America, but In-N-Out’s limited availability makes it a must-stop when you find one. Each time I see the golden arrow from the highway, I get excited.  The restaurants are only available in six states:  California, Oregon, Nevada, Utah, Arizona, and Texas.   In-N-Out has distribution companies in California and Texas, and each store must lie within a day’s drive to ensure the meat stays at a safe temperature, as the burgers are never frozen.  Each store has no freezer or microwave, and each meal is built in an assembly line fashion to deal with the high demand. 

A friend from California introduced me to In-N-Out, and after my first experience in Sacramento I have been hooked, but apparently there is a secret menu I wasn’t aware of.  One day while I was waiting for my order, I heard a woman order fries animal style and her burger protein-style.  A quick google search reveals that animal style fries are covered in melted cheese, grilled onions, and a secret sauce.  Protein-style is a bun-less burger encased in a lettuce wrap.  The fact that there is an exclusive club within an exclusive chain suggests that In-N-Out is no ordinary fast-food joint, but part of the cultural fabric that is the western United States.

Gossip

An easy way to lose friends here is to stand in someone’s way of making money.  Another is to throw something at a person’s face.  Within two weeks of the season, there was a drunken incident that turned ugly, and I have heard reports from those involved and those who observed.  Everyone mentioned forthwith will be anonymous, although anyone familiar with the incident will surely know the players in this drama.

Two of my friends, whom I will refer to as Thelma and Louise, had a difficult time adapting to the social environment that comes with seasonal work.  This was their first experience working in a national park, so I gave them advice and listened to their qualms——issues for which I mostly had sympathy.  They worked the breakfast and lunch shift with coworkers who have been employed here for years.  Seniority and favoritism is institutionalized here.  Newcomers are at the bottom of the barrel, and assimilation into a well-established unit is by no means easy. 

The best strategy, I believe, is to be nice to those in charge even if you detest them.  Eventually, you can get what you want, or at the least be left alone.  The last thing you want to do is end up on a senior member’s shit-list.  Unfortunately, Thelma and Louise soon found themselves on too many of such a list just by speaking their minds and choosing to question the status quo. 

During one shift, a few senior members were making fun of a former coworker who suffered from a neurological condition.  Thelma and Louise overheard this discussion and were offended by their remarks and so made their opinions known.  The senior coworkers initially apologized to Thelma and Louise, but behind closed doors and presumably outside of earshot they began talking behind their backs, saying things like:  They should go back to where they came from.  Thelma could hear everything that was said.  They couldn’t take this type of treatment anymore, so they quit and moved to a different department.

Thelma and Louise were known for being rowdy and a bit odd at times.  Despite their usual youthful antics, they are harmless and, at most, misunderstood.  We are living in isolation, so gossip spreads quickly.  When word got out that Thelma and Louise quit, the gossip-spreaders began to form their own opinions of the two girls without truly understanding the situation.  I asked a friend who was in with the senior members, and I also asked the girls about the situation so as not to make assumptions, and I sympathized with their plight.  The crew they were working with is known to be stubborn if you cross them, and I commended Thelma and Louise for speaking their minds about an issue they were passionate about.

This was only a pretext for what was to come.  A few nights later, Thelma and Louise were accused of stealing toiletries left behind from someone who quit.  Whether this accusation is true or not seems irrelevant when you consider the outcome.  A new character enters the scene.  I will call her Mary; she was the one making the accusations.  I only worked with Mary once and was only able to form an opinion of her based on minimal evidence.

 

She has a spunky personality, and she seemed to enjoy the outdoors.  I bumped into her in the park a few times while out on a hike and another time while photographing the sunset at a remote outlook.  She told me that she worked in a national park before.  She also revealed that she once attended college but chose to drop out.  From another source, I heard that she smoked weed the day before we were drug tested and claimed to have found a solution for doctoring the results of the saliva sample.  I got the impression she wasn’t the most responsible person in the world, but then again she seemed to have a plan to save up money to replace her totaled car by picking up any extra shift available.  She was a hard worker, and she seemed sensible despite making a few irresponsible and ill-timed decisions.

One night she started throwing bottles of shampoo at Thelma and Louise during a drunken rampage.  The two girls locked themselves in the bathroom and called the Park Rangers.  When I later questioned witnesses, they said that was too extreme and overly dramatic.  Apparently, the situation could easily have been handled by our security guard, who would have gotten everything under control with only minor consequences.

The Park Rangers arrived at the scene, and Mary spit in the Ranger’s face.  They threw a bag over her head, and she kicked the Ranger and screamed, “You’re hurting me.”  She was promptly arrested.  While she was in handcuffs, Thelma and Louise came out from their hiding place and yelled derogatory terms at Mary while she was defenseless.  I heard this the next day from both Thelma and Louise.  Thelma pulled up a picture on her phone of Mary’s mug shot at the county jail.  Her hair was messy, and she lowered her eyes and hung her head.  She was charged with assaulting a police officer, and bail was posted at over $5,000.  The story spread throughout the village.  Despite the vacancy, work resumed as normal.      

I have worked a few seasonal jobs alongside a cast of questionable characters, but my first few weeks at Bryce Canyon have been filled with drama.  The incident with Thelma and Louise was only the beginning.  A coworker who waited tables alongside me was recently fired when the company decided to read his background check.  It turns out that this fellow had multiple DUIs and a few arrests for physical assault.  Perhaps the most shocking fact about that entire situation was the discovery proved to be no shock at all.  It is a true, but unfortunate inevitability that criminals can infiltrate seasonal work.

In addition to multiple firings due to criminal activity and the usual excessive drunkenness and failed drug tests, there was a bloody car crash, the details of which I will not describe, and a missing person case. 

A housekeeper didn’t show up for work the previous two days, and her roommate revealed to me potential clues left behind.  The housekeeper is an older woman who happens to be very spiritual and was experiencing real estate issues with her family.  She was last seen a few days ago driving out of the park in her own car, and she has left all of her belongings behind.  On the desk, her roommate found a newspaper with random doodles of shapes, a prophetic phrase dealing with the wrath of the gods, and an address in the nearby town of Tropic. 

“You have to follow this lead,” I said to the roommate.

“I’m going there tomorrow,” she said, “But I’m not sure what I’m going to find.”

“You have a unique opportunity to solve a mystery here.  The outcome could be full of intrigue, or it could be completely mundane.”

We have a small cast of characters that we see every day at work or in the employee dining room, so whenever something noteworthy happens everyone will know about it sooner or later.  Secrets are worth holding onto, but they are worth even more when they are divulged among the small band you trust.  I’ve been advised to stay out of the drama, and I do not care to cause any problems, nor do I wish to be the subject of a stranger’s discussion over breakfast.  However, I have vowed to myself to investigate the details of strange incidents to more accurately describe the social network one finds at seasonal jobs.

We are detached from the normal goings-on of the rest of the world, so gossip becomes the local news.  There is a good chance someone else is listening to your conversation in public areas, and there’s an even better chance that someone will watch you make a fool of yourself.  I witnessed a hulk of a man pound on someone else’s door, imploring that he come out from hiding so he could smash his face.  I was walking with two friends from the dorm rooms to the canyon rim during a moonless night to watch the stars, but we hung back so that we could be the first to witness a breaking story. A hotel concierge approached us on the trail on his way home from work and asked us: “Are you here for the show?”       

The Park

The hoodoos of Bryce Canyon look like orange candlesticks.  They’re formed by erosion, flowing water from summer rainstorms, and the freeze-thaw cycle.  During half of the year, the temperature drops below freezing at night.  Water expands when it freezes, and it cracks the surrounding rock.  This process pokes holes in rock walls called fins.  As the windows expand, the top of the arch collapses and flash floods wash the debris away.  A bulbous spire called a hoodoo is formed.  Bryce Canyon National Park has the largest collection in the world.

There are very few animals here compared to most national parks in the west.  All of the grizzly bears in this area were killed by early settlers decades ago, and even black bear encounters are highly unlikely.  Mountain lions and rattle snakes are out there but are rarely seen.  The animal you will most likely see is the Utah prairie dog.  There are colonies of them in the meadows behind wooden fences.  Although they look cute, they carry the plague and generally are not as afraid of humans as you would think. And, of course, there are deer.

Located in southern Utah, Bryce Canyon is considered to be high desert country.  The elevation ranges from just under 8,000 to over 9,000 feet, which means you breath in 30 percent less oxygen here.  The temperature usually plummets below freezing at night.  During the day, the temperature could rise into the 70s and 80s, but it doesn’t get unpleasantly hot like it does in nearby Zion National Park.  The remoteness and lack of light pollution offers an extremely clear view of the night sky.  On moonless nights, you can see the Milky Way. 

The origin of the name has nothing to do with obvious topographical features, nor is it derived from the language of the native population. In 1876, a Scotsman and Mormon convert named Ebenezer Bryce settled into a cabin near the modern-day town of Tropic, which is a ten mile drive from the park entrance.  Bryce's arrival takes place three decades after Brigham Young led the Mormon exodus from Nauvoo, Illinois to the Southwest, which at the time belonged to Mexico.  After a victory in the Mexican War of 1848, Utah became an American territory.  

Thousands of members of the Church of Latter Day Saints flocked to the Great Basin and Colorado Plateau where they built civilizations even in the harshest of valleys. Under the direction of the church, Ebenzer and his wife Mary homesteaded in southern Utah to foster new communities.  Trained as a shipwright and a practical builder, he constructed a road into the canyon's amphitheater so that he could collect timber.  The local's deemed the place Bryce's Canyon, and the name has stuck for the last 140 years.    

Most visitors include Bryce on their itinerary as a package deal.  The most affordable and popular option is to fly to Las Vegas, rent a car, and drive to the Grand Canyon.  The next stop is Zion, and Bryce is a close neighbor.

The second most likely trip is nicknamed the Mighty Five.  The goal is to hit all five national parks in southern Utah starting in the west and heading east:  Zion, Bryce, Capitol Reef, Arches, and Canyonlands.  They are all remarkably close together.  The first time I drove through this state, I managed to see four parks in one long day.  I watched the sun rise at Bryce and hiked the Navajo Loop.  From there, I drove through the Escalante-Staircase to reach Capitol Reef, where I saw a panel of petroglyphs and drove down the ten-mile scenic road.  I watched the sun set at Arches and camped in Canyonlands later that night. 

Of all Utah’s parks, Bryce is by no means the star.  Zion takes that crown.  Arches offers the most iconic image of Utah and is steadily increasing the number of visitors each year.  In 2013, the annual visitation increased by 20% in one year.  Capitol Reef consists mostly of backcountry trails and dirt roads that require a four-by-four vehicle.  Canyonlands mostly attracts the athletic mountain bikers and hikers eager to escape the large crowds.

 

National Park	Number of annual visitors
Zion	3.66 million
Bryce	1.75 million
Arches	1.4 million
Capitol Reef	780,000
Canyonlands	540,000

In 2012, the Utah Office of Tourism unleashed the Mighty 5 campaign urging visitors from all over the world, especially Europe, to spend their time and money in the red-rock landscapes.  The next year, Arches annual visitation jumped from 1 million to 1.3 million.  Gateway towns profited immensely as well.  Moab, which is only a few miles from Arches and a short drive to Canyonlands, raked in over $145 million in 2014.  The much smaller hamlet of Springdale, located just outside Zion, generated over $170 million during that same year.  Despite the lucrative results, the campaign has had a negative impact in the form of massive congestion. 

The National Park Service was designed to preserve the natural beauty of our country and to provide solitude in the wilderness for those who sought to escape the hectic pace of city life.  But now it is common to wait in traffic for over an hour just to enter a popular park.  Parking is nearly as impossible to find in a major city, and photographing scenic vistas such as Delicate Arch without a crowd of tourists in the frame is an improbable task.  The visitors are quickly becoming part of the natural scenery, which is meant to be untamed, wild, and even dangerous.

 

Shuttle systems in both Zion and Bryce have been implemented to decongest roads and stave off at least some pollution caused by all the motor vehicles. In Zion, riding the bus is mandatory unless you are staying at the hotel, and in Bryce it is highly recommended.  Some parks like Yellowstone don’t necessarily have problems with congestion (except during bear and bison jams) because they are massive, and the attractions are spread out.  But many road systems in parks are designed like bottle necks:  there is only one way in and one way out.  Bryce Canyon follows this pattern.

The park is situated north-to-south on an eighteen-mile road from the visitor’s center to the park’s zenith at Yovimpa Point at an elevation over 9,000 feet.  Most of the visitors don’t even bother driving past mile marker two.  The amphitheater is the heart of the park.  Along the canyon rim, visitors can walk along a paved trail from Sunrise to Sunset Point, ideal viewpoints at both dawn and dusk.  From these spots, a visitor can descend into the canyon and hike the Navajo Loop, a moderate 1.3 mile course that takes the visitor past the iconic Thor’s Hammer, a mighty square rock somehow holding onto a thin spire.

The Navajo Loop is a mere sampling of the canyon, but most of the visitors clog up the path.  Located nearby is the Lodge at Bryce Canyon, equipped with two hotels, a dozen wooden cabins, two restaurants, a general store, and two campgrounds. If you drive a few miles up the road, you can find yourself completely alone.

Even though my bank account is directly enhanced by the Mighty 5 campaign, I have uneasy feelings about the futures of national parks.  There is a diverse range of people who visit the national parks:  hikers, photographers, fishermen, and families from all over the world.  When visiting a national park, I enjoy a strenuous hike that rewards me with a vista worthy of a photograph.  I realize that not everyone wants the same experience.  Some people merely want to go for a scenic drive, park in a nearby lot, walk a few hundred yards on pavement, and take a picture of a canyon they won’t bother to hike in.  For older visitors and large families with young children, this is reasonable, but I have also seen some incredibly stupid behavior.

While hiking up a slickrock canyon with uneven footing and the occasional gap to jump across, I saw a man pushing a stroller.  I’ve witnessed several people hiking in the desert during the heat of the day with no water.  I’ve seen men wearing sandals hiking up mountains, and women wearing dresses and high heels into canyons.  When I worked in Yellowstone, I heard of a family who applied bear spray to their skin under the assumption it was to be used like mosquito repellent.  I wonder why people who don’t know how to prepare themselves for the wilderness even want to leave their homes in the first place. 

Regarding the economic spike and increase in visitation, a hotel owner from Moab says, “[Visitors] are just going to have to accept that it's not going to be a pristine experience. People need to drive in, take their pictures, leave some money, and drive away. These are the people whose experience we need to improve.”

The rest of the world is already catering to these types of people, so why should the National Park Service follow suit?  These are free, public lands designed for recreation, not consumption and moneymaking like a Disney theme park.  There are possible solutions such as creating a reservation system to stagger the flow of traffic, to make solitude an option, and to better sustain heavily impacted lands.  

Although visitation is overall on the rise, problems dealing with overpopulation and congestion center around the top ten most popular parks. 

The Great Smoky Mountain National Park on the border of Tennessee and North Carolina is the busiest park in the country.  Over ten million people each year flock there in hopes of seeing a bear.  Its popularity undoubtedly is owed in part to its proximity to several major eastern cities like Atlanta, Charlotte, and Nashville (not to mention the tourist trap of Dollywood and Gatlinburg).  I saw a bear jam there extending three miles long, but once I sauntered off into the woods I found only a few hikers on the trail. 

It is possible to avoid the crowds at the popular parks by spending time on the fringes, but it can also be pleasing to visit less-well-known destinations such as Big Bend National Park in Texas, Wind Cave National Park in South Dakota, or the Everglades in Florida. 

Another option is to visit the national monuments instead.  Deeming land a national park requires an act of Congress, but a president alone can create a national monument, which is still governed by the Park Rangers or the Bureau of Land Management.  Natural Bridges National Monument in southern Utah, for example, offers similar scenery to Arches National Park, but nobody was in my pictures, and I could enjoy my hike in complete solitude. 

Sipapu Bridge at Natural Bridges National Monument.  I saw two other people on my hike.

Delicate Arch at Arches National Park.  There was a line of tourists waiting to get their picture taken under the arch.  I unknowingly cut in line and was accosted by a foreigner.  I had to wait a few minutes to get a shot with nobody under the arch, but I couldn't get a perfectly clean shot with nobody in the frame.  

If you want to be alone in the wilderness these days, you have to be willing to go to places most people have never heard of:  Great Basin National Park in Nevada or Black Canyon of the Gunnison in Colorado.  In some social circles, Bryce fits this description.  When I told a friend I was working here, she said she didn’t know such a place existed.  Millions of others do.  Whether or not this popularity is good for posterity, I am unsure.  Parks like Bryce were once buried treasure, and now the secret is out.