Tag Archives: national parks

A visit to Arches National Park as it all fell down

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On Friday, March 6, Logan Airport was packed with travelers heading out on winter escapes. People crowded together, waiting to board with ski bags and backpacks. But in the bathroom, everyone was washing their hands with a furor I’d never seen before.  The virus was around, but everyone was still traveling. Why not? We’d heard about a few cases, popping up here and there, but the virus was a distant annoyance, not a threat.

Still, I wondered: was the virus closer than we thought?  The news about the virus in Italy was especially ominous, but Italy was an ocean away. At the ski resort of Park City, Utah, in the lift lines and in the crowded mountain cafeteria-style restaurants, people jostled against one another, conversing in many languages: French, German, Spanish — and Italian.

Although I enjoyed our reunion with old friends in Park City, I was ready to get away from the crowds, and head south and east to Moab, Utah, to explore Arches National Park before heading home to Maine and my students.

The Courthouse Towers greet visitors shortly after entering Arches National Park. We visited in early March, in the first days of “prime season.”  The park was busy but not mobbed, reminding me “off-peak” is the best time to many National Parks. It closed shortly after our visit because of COVID-19.

Arches is a relatively small national park of about 120 square miles. You could tuck it into a corner of Rhode Island, which is about 10 times larger. But the park terrain is rugged and often dangerously hot, which deterred exploration of its many nooks and crannies. When established as a National Monument in 1929, its 90 arches were cited as national treasures, and until 1970, Arches National Park still had 90 arches. But thanks to an ambitious documenting effort carried out by a handful of people over a thirty-year period, we know now that  the park has more than 2,000 arches.

The arches are constantly changing, with new ones forming over decades and centuries,  and old ones eroding, crumbling and even collapsing. In 2008, Wall Arch collapsed in the middle of the night. No one witnessed the collapse but campers at the Devils Garden Campground reported hearing thunder that night. The next day, park rangers found that the arch was gone, its tons of sandstone rubble strewn over the Devil’s Garden Trail. In September, 1991, a huge chunk of Landscape Arch, the longest known arch on the planet, broke off.

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Landscape Arch, on the Devil’s Garden Trail.  Prior to 1991, hikers could walk up to the arch, but after a huge chunk fell to the ground, the park built fences to keep hikers at a distance.  Several park visitors witnessed this event, including a man who videotaped it (see link to video at the end of this post).

Although Arches has plenty of backcountry terrain that can be explored with all-terrain vehicles, most visitors experience the park via the 18-mile scenic drive, with many trailheads for day hikes located off this road.

We began our visit by setting out for the end of the road, to the Devil’s Garden Trailhead, which would take us to Landscape Arch, and then to the Double O Arches.

As we hiked past Landscape Arch, the hikers thinned out, but plenty of people remained on the trail. On one side of the trail loomed the  hoodoos of the Devil’s Garden. Although the Devil’s Garden isn’t a massive area, it is easy to get disoriented among the sandstone formations, so hiking is allowed there only by guided ranger tour.

On the trail to Double O Arch, hikers scramble up and onto a sandstone fin that may some day become an arch. Hiking along the narrow fin, we weren’t really thinking of social distance, but of courteously maneuvering so that all hikers could pass back and forth safely.

 

The lower half of Double O Arch, with a a much larger second arch directly above it.

Back in Moab, news of the virus was circling, even if the virus not yet circulating. At dinner at the bustling Vietnamese-inspired 98 Central Restaurant, the owners provided  wipes to sanitize phones. At the Park Service Visitor Center, staff had tape had placed tape over the water bubblers, but we could still draw water for our bottles  from the hand-cranked pump outside. Posted signs reminded visitors to wash their hands.

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Exploring North Window Arch (and then its twin, South Window), located off a short side road from the main Park road.

Among the Arches, the idea of the virus seemed unreal. But then, everything started tumbling down. My daughter received an email from her college, telling her not to return. Who had ever heard of colleges closing down? In Boston and New York, the virus was exploding at exponential rates. For better or worse, it was easy to get phone service in the park, and I had to restrain myself from constantly checking on virus-related news.

On our second day, we decided to hike out to Delicate Arch, probably the most famous arch in the park, and well-visited, even though visiting requires a moderately strenuous 3-mile round-trip hike. The hike sets out from Wolfe Ranch, where 69-year-old Civil War veteran John Wesley Wolfe settled with his son Fred in 1898.  Wolfe, who hailed from Ohio, had suffered since the War from a nagging leg injury, and hoped that the drier climate might help his leg. Here, they grazed 1,000 head of cattle on 100 acres for about 10 years.

For several years, John Wesley Wolfe lived in this one-room cabin along with his son Fred, daughter Flora, her husband and their two children. This cabin, built in 1906 when Flora arrived, replaced a previous structure where John and Fred had lived for about 8 years, and which Flora deemed inhabitable (National Park Service photo).

The hike to Delicate Arch took us up along open sandstone slabs, easy on legs used to the steep trails of eastern mountains (but probably hot as hell on a summer day). In the distance, thunder rumbled, and we kept a close eye on a dark cloud to see where it was heading.

The arch and the surrounding landscape were dramatic, especially as dark clouds swept across the sky. But oddly, the experience was underwhelming. Partly because lots of people were there, and partly because my mind was cluttered up with news about the virus. Would I be returning to my classroom when I got home? Should I be concerned about my mom flying on an airplane on her return trip from Florida?

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Delicate Arch, one of the iconic sites at Arches National Park.

On Friday, we drove back to Salt Lake City to catch a midnight red-eye back to Boston.  At the airport, the crowds had thinned. I had purchased window seats for the three of us, so that we could doze against the cabin wall. Now, the middle seats were empty.

In the aisle seat of my row, an older gentleman from Wyoming, dressed in full cowboy regalia, was heading to Ireland for a long-planned trip of a lifetime. He seemed unaware of the virus, or that it might impact his plans. I wondered what would happen to him and continued to wonder, when, a few days later, flights from Europe were suspended (although I know Ireland andGreat Britain, were the last European countries for which flights were shut down).

After the Arches came the virus days. Many hours of sitting at the computer, working with students and administering at a distance. Lots of checking on the news. Later, I learned that Park City — along with Sun Valley, Idaho — had infection rates (but not case numbers) equivalent to New York City, mostly because travelers from hard-hit urban and international locations had unknowingly delivered the virus to the further reaches of the country. Now, I feel grateful — and lucky –that I did not pick up the virus, or spread it to someone else.

Someday, I’ll get back to Moab. I want see the sunset at Dead Horse State Park, and explore bike trails suitable for a mild mountain biker. But for now, armchair travel will take the place of planes and trains. My armchair sits next to the window, which offers a view to other dramas: bluebirds building nests, a flock of congregating turkeys, a small gang of foraging deer. I’ll take it, with gratitude.

Sources and resources

On September 1, 1991, park visitor Michael Muller captured the crumbling of Landscape Arch on video, exhibited at this National Park Service site.

For more information, visit the website for Arches National Park.

August days in Death Valley

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During the summer months at Death Valley, birds sometimes drop out of the sky, killed by the extreme heat. Would our car die as well? As the car slid down Highway 190 into Death Valley, the temperature indicator continued to climb: 105, 110, 112, 115, eventually topping out at 123 degrees F. Would the tires hold up? Can cars even drive in such heat?

We’d hardly seen another vehicle on this road on this hot August afternoon. But when we pulled into the parking lot at Father Crowley Vista Point, we felt better, as plenty of other visitors joined us there for views of Rainbow Canyon.

We had read that birds sometimes sometimes drop out of the sky, and then, on a short morning hike, we found this little bird, still warm.

Visiting Death Valley at the peak of summer is a unique experience. It’s probably  not for everyone,  but I went there in August, 2018, and had a lovely time exploring the park, the largest outside of Alaska.

Although we had a car full of camping gear, camping was not an option. As we drove by, one lonely tent sat in the campground at Emigrant, and not a single tree.  The temperature here was about 119 degrees, and probably  15 or 20 degrees higher in the  heat-absorbing tent.  But summer is “low season” at Death Valley, and we scored a last-minute air-conditioned room at the Furnace Creek Ranch, motel-style accommodations with a mediocre family-style restaurant and a fantastic pool. Across the road, the fancy Furnace Creek Inn beckoned with all of its 1920s glamour and low summer rates, but alas, the inn was full.

In the winter, I could spend a lot of time exploring the nooks and crannies of Death Valley, which features mountains and canyons galore, as well as the lowest point in the United States, Badwater Basin. There is also the weird Scotty’s Castle, one-time vacation home to Chicago businessman Albert Johnson and his wife Bessie, along with their sidekick, the con artist/cowboy Walter Scott. Unfortunately, the Castle is closed until 2020, as it sustained severe damage in a 2015 flash flood.

In the summer, signs posted everywhere remind visitors that hiking after 10 a.m. is dangerous and not recommended. Thus, we set our alarms for 4:45 a.m., intent on greeting the day at Badwater Basin. By dawn, the temperature had cooled to a reasonable 100 degrees or so — a dry heat.  By 5:30 a.m.,  we were wandering around the Basin in blissful solitude.

Soaking up 282 feet below sea level as the sun rises as Badwater Basin, the lowest point in the United States.

By the time we left the Basin around 7 a.m., three or four other people had gathered. I love national parks, but they are often very crowded. Lack of crowds is a huge benefit in visiting Death Valley  and other parks off-season.

After the sunrise, when the temperature had climbed to a reasonable 105 or so, we headed up a nearby gravel road to the trailhead for the short hike into Natural Bridge Canyon.

The hike up Natural Bridge Canyon is do-able in extreme heat, especially before 10 a.m.

The hike — about one-mile round trip, depending on how far you hike in — offers some fun rock scrambles and interesting geological features.

Scrambling up the rocks in Natural Bridge Canyon.

Then, after a drive along Artist’s Palette loop road, (which shows off its best colors closer to sunrise or sunset) we returned to the air-conditioned visitor’s center to check out the exhibits, and then to our room at the Ranch for siesta.

The pool at the Furnace Creek Ranch feels very decadent in this land of little rain, but I still enjoyed lounging around in it during the hottest part of the afternoon as well as later in the evening, when the temperatures cooled to a balmy 105 degrees or so.  An abundant natural spring supplies water to the pool through a gravity-fed system, and the water is then re-used to irrigate the landscaping, gardens and the resort’s golf-course. Learning all of this — and that the resort is a California Green Lodging Certified property — eased any remaining guilt I felt about cooling off.

That evening, after a visit to the glamorous Furnace Creek Inn for a late afternoon snack, we headed to Zabriskie Point to catch the sunrise and watch the colors of the sunrise play out across the folds of the Death Valley.

Zabriskie Point at sunset. Don’t be fooled by my solitary pose — sunset at Zabriskie always attracts a crowd, even on the hottest days of summer.

Death Valley attracts many European visitors in August, and we found ourselves surrounded by a mix of French, German, Italian, Spanish and other voices.

After sunset, the temperature cooled down.

Evidence suggests that like many places on earth, Death Valley is heating up even further. Summers have always been hot at Death Valley. But in 2018, Death Valley had it warmest ever July, breaking the record set during 2017, with an average daily temperature of 108.2, six degrees higher than usual.  At the Furnace Creek weather station, the high temperature hit at least 120 degrees on 21 days. On four days, the temperature soared to 127 degrees.  (The highest temperature ever of 131 degrees Farenheit was “reliably recorded” at Furnace Creek on June 30, 2013).

An outdoor museum at the Furnace Creek Ranch showcases wagons, tools, and other artifacts leftover from the 1883-1889 borax mining era at Harmony Borax Works, near Furnace Creek. Various mining operations continued to operate in the park for most of its history, with the last mine closing in 2005.

A  “wet bulb” temperature of 100 degrees F (35 Celsius) and 85% humidity that equals 167 degrees is the maximum heat limit for human survivability, because the body’s cooling system can’t keep pace with the heat (see Leahy source, below).  The NOAA National Weather Service Heat Index shows the combinations of heat and humidity that produce specific “wet bulb” temperatures.

But wet bulb temperatures below 167 degrees also kill people. In 2015, a heat wave that generated wet-bulb temperatures of 122 degree F killed over 3,500 people in India and Pakistan. Chicago experienced a similar heat wave in 1995, and hundreds of people died. Thanks to climate change, we can expect more Death Valley-like days everywhere in years to come.

The Timbisha Shoshone people, who still call Death Valley home, knew how to  survive in this harsh environment. But Death Valley earned its name for a reason. At Furnace Creek, the spring-fed pools and air-conditioned rooms changed our experience of the heat from a threat to a novelty that we could experience, and then retreat from to a cooler environment.  But around the world, millions of people in hot zones — along with plants and wildlife — have no access to a cooler artificial environment. I wonder how we will adapt as major cities around the world routinely experience stretches of Death Valley days.

Being an optimist, or perhaps willfully blind, I’ll end by saying that I look forward to returning to Death Valley, but probably in another season, when birds don’t drop from the sky, and I can spend the entire day outdoors exploring this amazing national resource.

Good-bye, Death Valley, until I return in my camper van (a few years down the road).

Sources and resources

This cool map of Death Valley, from the National Park Service, displays in a couple of different ways.

“Death Valley posts hottest month ever recorded on Earth, for the second July in a row,” by Ian Livingston and Jason Samenow.  The Washington Post, August 1, 2018.

“Parts of Asia May Be Too Hot for People by 2100,” by Stephen Leahy.  National Geographic News, August 2, 2017.

 

Winter wonderland: Among the hoodoos at Bryce Canyon

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When we stop to pull off jackets, I take in the snow-draped hoodoos towering above us. What was it like for Mormon pioneer Ebenezer Bryce to wander into this amphitheater for the first time back in the mid-1870s? Did he believe that he had found some version of God’s country? Or did he view the slots and twists created by the hoodoos as obstacles in which his livestock might get lost?  Undaunted, he made Bryce his workplace, and built a logging road into the heart of this place named for him.

Descending into the hoodoos on the Navajo Loop Trail. We brought microspikes in case the trail was icy but didn't need them.

Descending into the hoodoos on the Navajo Loop Trail. We brought microspikes in case the trail was icy but didn’t need them, as ice and snow had mostly melted off the trails.

 

Up on the rim of the Bryce amphitheater, visitors gather to take in the spectacle of the Bryce Amphitheater.  At the major stops on the 18-mile scenic drive that winds towards Bryce Point, buses full of Chinese tourists, visiting during their New Year’s holiday, empty into otherwise empty parking lots.  But here on the floor, where Bryce once logged the pine trees, and less than mile from the rim, we are the only hikers on this warm February morning.

February view from the bottom of Bryce Canon, which isn't really a true canyon but a X. Two weeks earlier, a storm had dropped almost two feet of snow here, but it had mostly melted on the canyon floor. But there was still plenty of snow on the high plateau, and the Park Service offers a snowshoe hike to winter visitors.

February view from the bottom of Bryce Canon, which isn’t really a true canyon but an amphitheater formed by headward erosion (rather than erosion from a stream or river) . Two weeks earlier, a storm had dropped almost two feet of snow here. Snow still blanketed the top of the 9,000-foot plateau.  The Park Service offers a snowshoe hike to winter visitors.

 

The National Park Service worries a lot about visitors numbers. This being America, more is always better, especially because some bureaucrats in the Park Service believe that more visitation translates into political support that yields the increased appropriations needed to support more visitors.

National park visitation statistics are a complex beast. At some parks, declining visitor numbers cause concern while at others, increases in visitation create problems. In Utah’s five national parks, however, attendance is steadily rising, with visitation to Bryce Canyon almost doubling from 2006 to 2015, from about 890,000 in 2006 to 1,745,804 in 2015.

On the Navajo Loop Trail, just below Wall Street, where the hoodoos close in to form narrow passages. The passage through Wall Street was closed due to danger from falling rocks (the winter's warm-cold-warm cycles wreaking havoc), so we had to retrace our steps on the Navajo Loop.

On the Navajo Loop Trail, just below Wall Street, where the hoodoos close in to form narrow passages. The passage through Wall Street was closed due to danger from falling rocks (the winter’s warm-cold-warm cycles wreaking havoc), so we had to retrace our steps on the Navajo Loop.

 

If today was a summer day at Bryce Canyon, a wall of visitors would be crowding the rim, shooting pictures. Here on the Navaho Loop Trail, I would be confronting a small army of day hikers, backpackers, and walkers in flip-flops and sandals

Today, on this winter morning, our family of three wanders among the hoodoos, and wonders.

Winter sunrises in mid-February are a little chilly, but not really not that cold..

Winter sunrises in mid-February are a little chilly, but not really not that cold, with plenty of space to shooting photos.

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Morning view of Thor’s Hammer.

 

 

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More hoodoos and their relatives, eventually to become hoodoos, as erosion wears away the sandstone.

 

 

Sources and resources

For more information on Bryce, see the Bryce Canyon site at the National Park Service.

Bryce Canyon Lodge offers limited winter lodging in one building, while the Ruby’s Inn complex — a world unto itself — has plenty of lodging options, including an indoor swimming pool.

For more on the human history of Bryce Canyon, see the National Park Service’s  Bryce Canyon Historic Resource Study. Bryce Canyon is named for Ebenezer Bryce; he did not “discover” the canyon, but settled in the vicinity in the 1870s. and built his road.

We also visited busy (but not summer-busy) Zion National Park on this trip, and, after Bryce, experienced the wonder of being the only park visitors at Capitol Reef National Park, outside of Torrey, Utah.

 

Closing the door on Angel’s Landing

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This time, when I gave up on trying to climb to Angel’s Landing in Utah’s Zion National Park, I knew I wouldn’t be trying again. The third time won’t be a charm; I won’t cross the hike off my bucket list.

A view of the knife-edge abutment known as Angel's Landing (late-morning light). Yes, it is as skinny as it looks, at least in a few tricky spots.

A view of the knife-edge sandstone ridge known as Angel’s Landing (late-morning light). Yes, it is as skinny as it looks, at least in a few tricky spots.

Yes, I was disappointed as I descended the steep chained-covered sandstone to the line of hikers waiting to climb up. I knew that the view from  Angel’s Landing wasn’t 100% more magnificent than any other in the park.  But I had been primed to claim the hike as my own, after chickening out on a visit to Zion eight years earlier. And if I couldn’t do it now, eight years deeper into middle age, I never would.

The hike to Angel’s Landing is the most popular in Zion, despite being named by Outside magazine as one of the world’s most dangerous. The trail is a 1/2-mile long offshoot of the West Rim Trail (with a total distance of  2.5 miles from the bottom of Zion Canyon).

Climbing that last half-mile to the Landing requires scrambling up a steep sandstone face, using a set of chain ropes for support while navigating a constant stream of hikers coming and going. Once hikers surmount that first pitch, they move on to other challenges, including spots where the ridge narrows to a width of five feet, with 1,000-feet drop-offs on both sides.  Near the Landing, hikers step up a narrow stone staircase, where a chain railing offers the illusion of safety.

Eight years earlier, I’d known the risks and calculated them small – yes, five people (now six) had fallen to their deaths since 2004, but thousands made the trek each year. I had hiked steep trails all over the world. Piece of cake.

Looking down at the switchbacks known as Walter's Wiggles, first crafted by the Civilian Conservation Core in the 1930s. A bit of an incline, but pretty easy for seasoned hikers.

Looking down at the switchbacks known as Walter’s Wiggles, first crafted by the National Park Service in the 1920s.  A bit of an incline, but pretty easy for seasoned hikers.

On that end-of-March 2008 visit, the park was bustling with visitors eager to explore the canyon on the weekend before the road closed to cars for the season (from April to October, shuttle buses moves visitors in and out of Zion Canyon). My friends and I hiked towards Walter’s Wiggles in a stream of humanity, including several parents pushing strollers.

At Scouts Landing, where the Angel’s Landing trail shoots off from the West Rim Trail, my friend Natasha said she knew her limits; she was happy to relax on the rock slabs while three of us continued on.

Following behind my two friends, I began to scrabble up the sandstone slope, placing my feet in toeholds carved by thousands of hikers and grabbing the chains for support. About halfway up, I froze. This felt dangerous. If I slipped, I might tumble to my death, or severe injury. Yes, thousands had done it, and only a handful had died, but I was a mother. I had a young son waiting for me back at home. I couldn’t afford to die. I turned back.

Now, on this second attempt, the young son was a young man. Our family of three made it up the first pitch, but the climb was nerve-wracking and not much fun. When my husband announced, “I don’t need to do this,” my son agreed. After five seconds of thought, I concurred.

Carefully, we picked our way down the slope back to Scouts Landing, where a volunteer ranger was doing a talk on California Condors, whose numbers had once dwindled to fewer than 25. An active breeding-in-captivity program has resurrected the population, but these massive birds with a ten-foot wing span, the largest in North America, continue to die off, mostly due to lead poisoning from ingesting lead bullets. About 71 condors fly around Arizona and southern Utah, according to the U.S. Forest Service.

South of Zion, at the Vermillion Cliffs National Monument in Arizona,  condors are released into the wild every year and monitored for movement, with attempts made later in the season to recapture the birds to test for lead poisoning. If wildlife biologists are able to catch lead poisoning early, they can treat it. But sadly, every season, they find too many magnificent dead birds.

After listening to the talk for a few minutes, my husband suggested continuing on the West Rim Trail. From Scout’s Landing, we hike for ten minutes or so to an overlook with a good view of Angel’s Landing. Instead of the crowds congregating below us, we were alone, although eventually an older couple joined us. The man had a pair of serious binoculars. With the binoculars, we could make out figures standing at the far edge of Angel’s Landing. We could see other scrambling up another steep pitch that looked very perpendicular.

“Now that how did that hiker get on that pinnacle?” the mans asked, pointing to a narrow pinnacle jutting up from the canyon floor.  “He must have needed ropes and gear to get up that.”

Squinting, I could see something – a figure perched on the pinnacle’s edge, possibly a hiker sitting and dangling his legs. My husband asked for the binoculars.

“That’s not a person,” he said. “That’s a bird.”

California Condor in flight, with tracking tags. Photo via Wikipedia and Creative Commons.

California Condor in flight, with tracking tags. Photo via Wikipedia and Creative Commons.

And then, liftoff: a massive California Condor spread its wings and dove into the shadow created by Angel’s Landing, then began to soar upwards in slow circles.

As its circles became wider, the condor drew closer to our view-point. When its wings tipped at an angle, the condor almost looked like a drone coming in for a landing. And then the condor swooped low to the ground, preparing to land, about 20 feet in front of us.

At the last second, the bird picked up a thermal and soared upwards. We watched its ballet for several minutes, until the condor soared downriver through Zion Canyon.

On Angel’s Landing, the hikers were intent on the sandstone slope, clutching the chains, making sure to plant three points of the body on the ground at all times.  They had to focus; they couldn’t afford to let their eyes and minds wander. That’s what I love about hiking–how it demands my full presence in the moment. But at Angel’s Landing, I couldn’t have the hike and the condor.  Something to remember the next time I have to give up or turn back. Where will I see my next condor?

Twlight view of The Watchman, a warm-up hike we did upon arriving at Zion, with the trailhead right behind the Visitor's Center. On this February visit, we saw one other party here at the party -- the advantage of visiting Zion off-season. However, being President's Day weekend, the park was busy, and on Sunday, we were "gated out" of Zion Canyon because the canyon had reached its car capacity (we did get in later that afternoon).

Twilight view of The Watchman, a warm-up hike we did upon arriving at Zion; the trailhead begins behind the Visitor’s Center. On this February visit, we saw one other party on this late-afternoon hike — the advantage of visiting Zion off-season. However, this being President’s Day weekend, the park was busy, and on Sunday, we were “gated out” of Zion Canyon because the canyon had reached its car capacity (we did get in later that afternoon).

 

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After being turned away from the Zion Canyon gate, we drove through the Zion Tunnel to the East Entrance and explored a bit of that side of the park, including the Canyon Overlook  hike (at the East Entrance gate). Although this scene suggests solitude, this short trail was busy with hikers, including many families and young children.

One advantage of a Zion lock-out is that it required us to explore other areas on the eastern side of the Zion Tunnel. Not an official trail here, just a fun spot for climbing around. We did try to get to Observation Point trail from Zion Mountain Ranch, but the dirt road you to take to get to the trailhead was muddy and rutted and/or snow-covered and too much for our rental.

Not an official trail here, just a fun spot for climbing around on the eastern side of the park. We attempted to get to the East Mesa Trail, the easy route to Observation Point which starts out as a dirt road at Zion Mountain Ranch, but the road was muddy, rutted, and/or snow-covered and too much for our rental SUV. The hike to Observation Point, whether from the canyon floor, or via the back route we scouted, is a great alternative to Angel’s Landing.

Sources and resources

“Frequently Asked Questions” for Zion National Park. National Park Service.  Note that more people have died at the bucolic Emerald Pool (typically from slipping and falling) than at Angel’s Landing. Also, a map of Zion hiking trails (most useful as an overview and NOT a trail map).

Outside Magazine‘s list of the world’s 20 most dangerous hikes. Note that New Hampshire’s Mount Washington is on the list along with Angel’s Landing.