The plan for Thursday was to rise early, rent appropriate gear, and hike/wade Zion’s most famous region, The Narrows. Emily woke up not feeling particularly well, however, and so we nixed that and I got breakfast alone while she slept.
It was a crisp, quiet morning, and I enjoyed the solitary walk from our motel to a nearby restaurant called The Pioneer, the only place in town open for breakfast Thanksgiving morning. The dim orange walls of Zion hovered quietly nearby, so large, still, and beautiful that they seemed almost surreal.
My walk took me past an elk farm where I was fortunate enough to catch two males in combat, antlers locked together and powerful shoulder muscles twisting in opposition to one another. From time to time, the larger of the two would gain the upper hand and twist the neck of his opponent until the beast whimpered in submission. Then he would release the loser and eye him warily. This proved wise, as the smaller male came back three or four times to test his luck before finally giving up. This was already more excitement than I usually see in a day, and I hadn’t even had my coffee yet!
After breakfast and some coaxing, Emily finally felt up to a short hike. We headed for the 
Emerald Pools, a “must see” destination in Zion, and had ourselves a nice hike. We were looking for something very basic, and though this path turned out to be a bit longer and more strenuous than we anticipated, Emily was recovering quickly and ultimately it was a pretty good fit for us.
Emerald Pools, a “must see” destination in Zion, and had ourselves a nice hike. We were looking for something very basic, and though this path turned out to be a bit longer and more strenuous than we anticipated, Emily was recovering quickly and ultimately it was a pretty good fit for us.The path itself followed the banks of the Virgin for a ways through a lightly forested region to the Lower Pools, which was the bottom of three pools formed by water that seemed to cascade out of the rocks themselves. In actuality, this was rainwater that had seeped into the porous sandstone and came to the surface only when it encountered a layer of shale that it could not pass, so in a way, it really was coming out of the rocks. Unfortunately, it hadn’t rained in a while, so the cascades were little more than trickles.
The pools themselves, however, were still pretty neat. The slow but steady flow of water had carved an impressive cave into the canyon wall, and the algae in the pools gave them the green color for which they were named. From the right angle, it also lent them a mirrored surface that reflected back the majesty of the nearby cliffs.
After ascending to the highest of the three pools, we made our way back down to the main trail and followed a two-mile loop back to the parking lot. This trek took us along the rim of one of the lower canyon walls and provided some spectacular views of the valley and river below:
By the time we got back to the car, we were quite hungry and looking forward to a big Thanksgiving dinner. The only problem was that we didn’t have a reservation anywhere, and only a few of nearby Springdale’s restaurants were open to accomodate the swarm of tourists who descended on Zion for a long weekend. Thankfully, a willingness to sit at the bar meant that we were able to get seats right away at The Switchback, where we’d had a delicious meal our first night in the area. They offered a great buffet with a wide variety of entrees, sides, and desserts for something like $30/person. A similar holiday mean in Boston would have been more than twice as much, I’m sure.
The only drawback was that the buffet was poorly laid out and we had to wait in a fairly long line with a bunch of families that, it being Utah, were either Mormon or at least weird. There were a lot of women in plain dresses and unfashionably long hair, well-dressed and well-behaved children, and tall, quiet man with greying, carefully parted hair.
One of these gentlemen was just ahead of me in the line, and for ten minutes or so I had nothing better to do than contemplate what a creepy looking guy he was. He was a slender man and carried himself with an awkwardly stiff posture, wore neatly pressed black slacks with a zip-up red turtleneck thing, and sported one of those conservative haircuts. The creepiest thing by far, however, were his grey eyes that stared straight ahead as though he could see his personal salvation just ahead of him.
When we finally got to the first station, the salad bar, he methodically scooped several tongfuls of lettuce into his bowl, occasionally glancing up at me but saying nothing. He was very insistent on getting a description of each of the eight salad dressings available. When the server finished her litany, the man looked at me as though he and I alone shared in the secret that Our Lord And Savior would not approve of these options, and in fact he walked off without any dressing at all.
I thought nothing further of it until we met again at the bread station. His cold dead eyes locked with mine, and he asked, with no hint of mirth in his voice, “Are you following me?”
After several full-body shivers, I responded, “You must have good taste,” but he just turned and walked away without another word.
The line died down after that, so subsequent trips didn’t take nearly so long, and all in all it was an enjoyable meal and a great Thanksgiving.