Carved by Time: A 150-Foot Rappel Into Southern Utah's Hidden Canyons
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Sometimes the best photos come from the moments you almost talked yourself out of.
"Carved by Time" is one of my favorite shots I've ever taken. It's also one I very nearly didn't get — because it required rappelling 150 feet into a slot canyon in southern Utah, and I'd never rappelled in my life.
It Started with a Text Message
A friend of mine knew someone with a house near Zion in southern Utah. She was putting together a group trip and wanted us to experience something her family had done many times before: canyoneering into a slot canyon. Not hiking to a viewpoint. Not walking through a tourist-friendly path. Actually rappelling down into one.
Like a lot of y'all, I've seen Peter Lik's famous photograph of Antelope Canyon. That image had been living rent-free in my head for years. But what intrigued me about this trip wasn't just seeing a slot canyon — it was the idea of getting to the bottom of one that most people will never see. Many of these canyons in southern Utah are so remote that you literally can't photograph them without rappelling in. To me, that was more interesting than just walking into Antelope Canyon with a hundred other tourists.
Now, I wouldn't describe myself as afraid of heights. But I also don't typically go seeking out adventure and danger on that level. So there was definitely a part of me thinking: what am I getting myself into?
The Road Trip Down
Most of the group flew into Las Vegas and drove over. I chose to road trip from Austin — which turned into a much bigger adventure. I worked my way through Colorado and then down through Utah, stopping in Moab along the way. That stretch of the trip is where several of my other Southwest prints were born: the towering sandstone frames of Arches National Park, the golden glow of Delicate Arch at sunset, and the sweeping canyon views from Deadhorse Point. Those are stories for another time, but that drive through Utah's desert landscape was incredible on its own.
I eventually made it down to Orderville, Utah, where we were basing the trip. The next morning, we loaded up and headed to Roam Outdoor Adventures to get our gear and sign the waivers.
Suiting Up (and Second-Guessing)
There's something about putting on all the harnesses and getting your helmet fitted that makes things feel very real. As I was cinching down my harness straps and adjusting my helmet, a part of me was definitely wondering what I'd gotten myself into.
I had my camera sling with me — a small bag that lets me keep my Sony A7RV and a mid-range zoom lens tight against my body. That's important when you're squeezing through narrow sections of canyon where the walls are barely wider than your shoulders. The last thing you want is your camera banging against the rock as you descend.
A short UTV ride brought us to the head of the slot canyon. Our guides started us on a gentle slope — more of a teaching moment than a real challenge. They showed us how to let line out, how to hold our body position, and how to keep our feet planted against the wall so we wouldn't slip and smash our face into the rock. Pretty motivating instructions.
I got the hang of it fairly quickly. The first few rappels were short, maybe 10 or 15 feet, with the canyon just barely over our heads. Our guides were impressed with how the group was doing — impressed enough that they decided to take us on the upper intermediate route.
That's when they mentioned the 150-foot rappel.
The 150-Foot Drop
We'd been canyoneering for about an hour and a half, working through a series of small ledges and a couple of sections where we had to climb out of the canyon, walk along the surface, and rappel back in around obstructions. Then we reached a spot where the canyon opened up and we could see a crack in the ground ahead.
You couldn't tell much about it from up top. The ground just sloped off and disappeared. Our guides gave us the briefing: watch for loose rocks at the top, don't kick anything off, and when you get to the bottom, stand clear so you're not underneath the next person coming down.
People started going. As each person backed over the edge, they just slowly disappeared. And you could tell by how long it took them to reach the bottom that this one was different.
Then it was my turn. I got connected, got my rope ready, and started to back my way over the edge. That part was routine by now. But as I leaned back and glanced down out of my peripheral vision, I realized I couldn't see the bottom. I could see the waves of the slot canyon walls stretching down, and then... nothing. Just an abyss below me.
Committed
There was a concave section partway down where the wall curved away from me. I had to follow the shape of the rock — leaning out, then back in — which was trickier than anything we'd done before. About halfway down, I realized I'd been going for a long time. My legs were getting sore. My abs were aching from keeping my body perpendicular to the wall. It turns out that rappelling exercises muscles that don't get much attention in daily life.
But at that point, you're committed. There's nowhere to go but down.
As I got about three-quarters of the way down, the canyon narrowed significantly. I'm a little over 6'2", and my helmet scraped the wall — I had to tilt my head sideways to fit through the gap. Then my camera bag got caught on the rock behind me. I had to hold my rope with one hand and wrestle the bag around to my front so it wouldn't get scraped against the canyon wall. That was its own little adventure.
The very bottom was so narrow that I couldn't stay perpendicular to the wall anymore. I had to lean my back against the rock and walk my feet down, then sort of awkwardly fall off the wall at the bottom. Not graceful, but it worked.
The View That Made It All Worth It
I got to the bottom breathing pretty heavily. Disconnected my rope, moved off to the side, and took a second to catch my breath.
Then I looked up.
This canyon — which to the best of my research doesn't even have an official name — opened up above me in a way I'll never forget. The sandstone walls glowed with warm light, sculpted into smooth, flowing waves by millions of years of water and wind. And way up at the top, a thin strip of brilliant blue Utah sky peeked through the crack.
I'd been dreaming of capturing a shot like this for years. Standing at the bottom of that canyon in the soft Utah sand, staring up at those carved walls, I knew this was the photo I'd come for. I pulled out my camera and started shooting.
"Carved by Time" is what I saw in that moment — the view that was waiting at the bottom of a very long rope, after bumping my head against the wall a few times and nearly getting my camera stuck in a crack.
More Than Just a Photo
For me, this image represents something bigger than the canyon itself. I had real doubts about whether I wanted to go rappelling. I'm not the guy who signs up for danger. But I said yes to something that scared me a little, and on the other side of that fear was one of the most incredible experiences of my life — and a photograph that wouldn't exist if I'd played it safe.
That's what I love about this kind of adventure photography. The best shots aren't the ones you plan for. They're the ones that happen when you say yes to the text message, drive across three states, strap on a harness you've never worn before, and back yourself off a cliff into the unknown.
If canyoneering in southern Utah is something you've been curious about, I can't recommend Roam Outdoor Adventures in Orderville, Utah enough. The guides were fantastic, it's surprisingly affordable, and they have routes ranging from beginner all the way up to advanced. You don't need experience — just a willingness to trust the rope and see what's waiting at the bottom.
Bring This Story Home
If this story sparked something in you, "Carved by Time" is available as a museum-quality fine art print. It captures every detail of those sculpted canyon walls — the warm glow of the sandstone, the flowing lines carved by centuries of water, and that brilliant strip of blue sky overhead. It's a daily reminder to take the adventurous path.
Or explore more adventures from the American Southwest — from the first light hitting Mesa Arch in Canyonlands to the quiet dunes of White Sands and the endless open road through West Texas. Each one has its own story waiting to inspire your next discovery.