Looking at these photos in December, I’m less disappointed with them than I was in April. As the intensity of the moment fades from my memory, from the tiny scorpion hanging out in the sand at the door of my tent, to the bite of a chill wind and even a few snowflakes, to the exhaustion of hours of cross-country travel, clamoring over slickrock ridges and across deep sand plains, to the dizzying ledges and walls that looked too steep to walk on, the images become better surrogates of the experience.
