In the middle of winter, I began calling the Virgin River Gorge (VRG) the “Twilight Zone.” The Cambridge Dictionary defines the Twilight Zone as an area where two different ways of life or states of existence meet.
This description came to me on a particularly cold and damp January afternoon. I was sitting on the slab perch beneath the Planet Earth Wall, at the base of Dirt Cowboy, preparing to climb. The temperature hovered around 42 degrees, but, without a breeze, all of us were shedding layers as we climbed.
The VRG draws fame from its juxtaposition—the common refrain jokes that the cliff houses the best limestone in America, but in the worst location. Anyone who has spent time here understands that the VRG’s paradox only begins superficially with its freeway-adjacent location and mind-boggling weather patterns that vary minute-to-minute. In one way or another, the physical contradictions of the place infect your bloodstream and color your experience.
There was a contrast built into the way I approached my climbing day-to-day, and how I considered the season as a whole. For me, my desired outcome seemed completely unimaginable, yet altogether inevitable.
Jasna Hodžić, PhD 