I arrived at Zion’s Grotto trailhead at dawn with a mix of excitement and dread swirling in my stomach. Ahead of me loomed Angels Landing, a 5.4-mile round-trip hike climbing 1,488 feet from the canyon floor.
Zion blew my mind… but not always in a good way. Here’s the honest review I wrote after my trip.
I clutched the permit I’d secured in the lottery – a new requirement that tightly controls access to these famous trails. The early sun painted the towering red cliffs gold, but even their beauty couldn’t calm the flutter in my chest.
At the trailhead, an ominous sign warned that since 2004, 13 people have fallen to their deaths on this route. My palms grew clammy. What am I getting myself into? I wondered as I took a deep breath and started up the path.
The first section was deceptively gentle – a flat stroll across a bridge and along the Virgin River, the sound of flowing water accompanying my nervous thoughts. Soon the trail steepened, zigzagging upward. My legs warmed up and my breaths fell into a steady rhythm.
As I ascended through the shaded cleft of Refrigerator Canyon, the air turned cool and refreshing, giving me a brief respite from the climb. But all too soon the real work began: I reached Walter’s Wiggles, a notorious series of 21 tight switchbacks carved into the cliffside.
Each turn was only a few strides long, and they stacked one above the other like a stone ladder. I leaned forward, hands on my thighs, as I powered up each steep switchback.
My calves burned and my heart pounded with exertion. By the time I crested the top of Walter’s Wiggles, my breathing was ragged and sweat dampened my back – but I had made it to Scout Lookout, a wide sandstone perch about two miles in.
I allowed myself a triumphant smile and a gulp of water, thinking “That was tough, but I’m here.” Little did I know, the real test was still ahead.
Stepping onto the Edge
Scout Lookout was both a relief and a reality check. Dozens of other hikers milled about, resting on rocks and taking photos. From this vantage point, I got my first close look at Angels Landing’s infamous final stretch – and my stomach flipped.
The summit stood less than half a mile away, but the route to get there was a narrow stone spine only a few feet wide, with 1,000-foot drop-offs on both sides. A single chain was bolted into the rock as a handrail, and I could see people clinging to it like ants on a tightrope.
In that moment, fear settled over me like a heavy blanket. The rational voice in my head noted that if you have a fear of heights, turn around at Scout Lookout – and plenty of people were doing just that.
A pair of hikers next to me debated continuing; one shook his head and said, “Nope, not worth it,” and I felt a pang of envy and relief on his behalf as he turned back. I wiped my slick palms on my pants.
Why was I, legs trembling and acrophobia threatening to take hold, still considering going on? I peered upward at a line of determined souls inching along the ridge. They moved slowly, carefully, each one holding the chain,exposed cliffs falling away on either side.
My mind flooded with doubts: What if I slip? What if someone else slips? I remembered the sign tallying fatalities and my heart lurched. The wind picked up slightly, a reminder of how precarious it could get up there.
My inner voice screamed to play it safe: You don’t have to do this. There’s no shame in stopping here. After all, Scout Lookout is a reasonable stopping point for many; even the park rangers suggest turning around here if heights are too much. I had already achieved most of the hike’s distance and elevation – maybe that was enough.
I sat on a rock to steady myself, my legs feeling like jelly, and gazed out at the stunning view of Zion Canyon that I could see even from here. Was the last half-mile worth the risk?
For a few long minutes, I genuinely considered giving up. In my mind I saw myself back at camp later, proudly but a bit regretfully telling others I “got to Scout Lookout, but couldn’t do the chains.” I knew they’d understand. But will I? a quieter thought asked. I’d dreamed of this hike for so long.
I recalled the day I’d entered the permit lottery, the excitement I felt when I won my slot. I thought about the stories I’d read of hikers who pushed through their fear and were rewarded with that epic summit view. If they can do it, maybe I can too, I reasoned.
A deep resolve formed in my chest, battling the fear. I stood up and tightened the straps of my daypack. I’ll just go a little further and see, I told myself, heart hammering. With trembling hands, I stepped forward to the base of the chained section.
Facing My Fears
The moment I gripped the cold metal chain, a jolt of adrenaline shot through me. This was it – no turning back now. The rock underfoot sloped sharply, and the only way was up along the knife-edge ridge.
I focused on one step at a time, one handhold at a time. My world shrank to the feel of the iron links in my sweaty palms and the sandstone beneath my boots. The first few yards were steep and required a bit of scrambling; I had to hoist myself up ledges using my arm strength.
My knuckles were white from how hard I clung on. I didn’t dare look down – not yet. But I could sense the immense void on either side. The canyon floor was nearly a quarter-mile below, an abyss that made my head spin if I thought about it.
The trail lived up to its reputation: at points it was only a couple of feet wide with sheer drops on either flank. In some spots there was just a narrow ledge with the chain to pull myself up. I pressed my body close against the rock, taking care with each foot placement.
A misstep here was unthinkable. The exposure was unlike anything I’d experienced – it felt as if I were balanced on the edge of the world. My heart thudded in my ears, and I caught myself holding my breath whenever I navigated around a particularly narrow outcrop.
About halfway up the ridge, I reached a small flat saddle where I could stand with both feet and not hold the chain for a moment. I exhaled shakily, allowing myself a quick glance around. Big mistake. One peek over the side and I saw nothing but air and tiny trees far, far below.
My stomach lurched and I instinctively dropped to a crouch, my head swimming. Don’t look down! I reminded myself fiercely, echoing every hiking tip I’d read. Fighting back panic, I forced my eyes back up to the rock and stood again.
The climb continued, and so did the traffic. Hikers were both ascending and descending on the same route, so patience was mandatory. Several times I had to pause on a cramped foothold, back pressed to the wall, while others coming down carefully edged past me.
Everyone was courteous – we exchanged nervous smiles and words of encouragement in hushed tones, as if loud voices might disturb the fragile grip we all kept. In one tricky section, the chain dropped away for a few feet, and I had to traverse a sloping rock face with no handrail.
My heart leapt into my throat, but a descending hiker reached out to point me toward a good foothold. “You’re doing great,” she said gently as we squeezed by each other. I can do this, I told myself, inhaling deeply. I wiped one hand on my shirt and continued upward, repeating that mantra with every step.
Every muscle in my body was tense, but I noticed something curious as I went on: I was actually beginning to trust myself. I moved more steadily, finding a rhythm in the scramble.
My fear was still there – oh yes, my mind was already planning how very careful I’d be on the way down – but it had shifted into a kind of focused alertness. Rather than freezing me, it was sharpening me. I double-checked each hold, but I no longer felt like I might faint on the spot. In fact, I felt a surge of determination.
The summit was getting closer; I could see the cluster of people standing atop the final capstone of Angels Landing just ahead. “Almost there,” I whispered to myself.
My arms were quivering from the constant grip and my legs felt rubbery, but I wasn’t about to quit now. With a final burst of resolve, I hauled myself up the last few yards of chain, over a boulder, and suddenly… I was there.
Awe and Accomplishment
Standing on the summit of Angels Landing, I felt an overwhelming swell of emotion – a cocktail of relief, triumph, and pure awe. I let out a whoop of joy that echoed against the canyon walls.
The view was everything I’d hoped for and more. Zion national park sprawled beneath me in all directions, a dizzying drop of nearly 1,500 feet straight down to the valley floor.
The Virgin River wound along the canyon, a thin ribbon of green and silver. The red and white sandstone cliffs across the way stood majestic and sunlit, guarding the canyon as they have for eons.
Far below, the shuttle buses looked like toy cars and the crowds on the road like tiny dots. A few wispy clouds floated at eye level, and a lone condor circled on an updraft not far above – a silent companion sharing the morning thermals.
I walked carefully to a broad flat slab at the true highest point and sat down, my legs still shaking. Other hikers were scattered about the summit, some chatting excitedly, others sitting in quiet contemplation. I took off my pack and drank some water, the cold sip never tasting so good.
My hands had new scrapes and my gloves were covered in red dust, but I felt proud of those marks – they were hard-won badges of this adventure. I closed my eyes for a moment, feeling the sun warm my face and the breeze dry the sweat on my skin.
When I opened them, I found myself gazing across at the immense landscape with fresh perspective. Just 30 minutes ago, I’d been terrified, ready to abandon this quest. Now I was literally on top of the world, and the sense of accomplishment was profound.
I thought about the other hikers who had turned back at Scout Lookout – I understood and respected their choice, yet I was grateful to be here. By pushing through my fear, I had earned a view – and an experience – that would forever remind me what I’m capable of overcoming.
Fear and Triumph
On the trek down (yes, I had to steel myself for that return across the ridge, which was still daunting, though a bit easier now that I knew what to expect), I had plenty of time to reflect on the day.
Reaching the summit of Angels Landing taught me something deeply personal. I learned that courage isn’t a lack of fear – it’s feeling the fear and moving forward anyway. I also realized that sometimes the scariest paths lead to the most spectacular destinations.
In life, just as on that trail, if you want the reward of an extraordinary view, you have to face the void beneath your feet.
Back at the trailhead, I looked up at Angels Landing one more time. It’s easy to see why a awestruck visitor long ago remarked that “only an angel could land there”. Standing up on that pinnacle, I certainly felt closer to the heavens – not just in altitude, but in spirit.
I had ventured to the edge of my courage and come back with a memory of sublime vistas and personal victory. I almost turned back, and maybe a part of me will always marvel that I didn’t. But now that I’ve done it, I carry a piece of that summit with me.
Whenever I face something that scares me, I’ll remember the day I hiked Angels Landing – the day I faced my fear, held on tight, and kept going all the way to the top.