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By Joanne Z. Tan
As the highlight of the entire 9-day adventure, I planned to do the 20-mile through-hike from the top to the bottom of The Narrows in Zion National Park on Day 7, which happened to be Sunday, Father’s Day, on June 21, 2026.
The Narrows was on my bucket list. For years, every time I saw a photo of people hiking in the water within narrow cliff walls on both sides, I was intrigued. Four years ago I was passing Zion on route to New Mexico, and took a quick shuttle bus ride to take some photos at the Temple of Sinawava at sunset. A young woman got on the last 8:15PM shuttle bus at the Temple of Sinawava, and involuntarily groaned with pain when sitting down. She said she just hiked the entire Narrows. When I asked her if it was worth it, she enthusiastically nodded her head while saying “yes, yes!” She advised me to rent water shoes, socks, and poles from a store before the hike.
I drove from Provo, Utah the day before, and spent Saturday afternoon getting a wilderness permit issued, renting the water shoes, socks, and a wooden pole from Zion Outfitters. I confirmed my next day early dawn pick up from a private shuttle bus, the Red Rock Shuttle. I had paid for all these online months ago.
From ChatGPT, I learned that it would be very difficult and impractical to hike back and get back to the Park once I started from the top. The hike would take 12 hours, so I needed to start as early as possible.
The private shuttle’s earliest departure time was 6AM, and the ride would take one and half hours to reach the top of The Narrows at about 7:30AM, so I secured a spot for that time. The last Zion National Park shuttle bus departs the Temple of Sinawava (near the end of The Narrows) at 8:15PM. I must make the last shuttle bus, or I will have to hike hours out of the Park to my hotel near the Visitor’s Center in darkness, after a very long day.
My 26-year-old son Daley was nervous about my plan to hike through The Narrows, fearing my safety. To calm his worries I kept telling him “if I don’t feel I am up to it, I won’t do the whole hike, only a part of it.” He couldn’t join me on this trip due to both altitude sickness and a back injury. Some other friends I shared this plan with all cautioned me about flash flooding, fearing the worse case scenarios. I appreciated their concerns out of love and care. I know myself: I am not a reckless thrill seeker. I only take calculated risks that I have prepared for.
The ranger behind the Wilderness Permit desk was a young man, obviously experienced in The Narrows. My permit had four people, but three of them bailed out. He said that the hike’s total distance was about 20 miles, counting the distance into and out of The Narrows, at the beginning and the end.
“You need to use your Garmin device in case of an emergency.” He said. But my Garmin Mini 2 could not be activated after I left home since it required using my desktop computer at home – I learned belatedly. “You have an iPhone? If there is a life-threatening situation, just call 911.” (I was not sure how that would work without cell phone signals.)
The ranger then demanded that I pack these items, in case I could not make it out of The Narrows within 12 hours: Flash light, iodine tablets for treating water, first aid, emergency blanket, extra water and food, if I had to camp there overnight. “Carry at least 3 liters of water.” He said.
Even though there was no rain forecasted in Zion and up stream, in case of flash flooding, he said the last five miles would be the most risky since there is no higher ground to run up to.
What he said made me feel a bit of trepidation, but I never doubted that I could complete the through-hike and get out on time. I have had years of wilderness backpacking experience. Just four days ago I hiked 17 miles at the Great Basin National Park, then summited Wheeler Peak the next day with my friend Gary. We overcame altitude reactions and ascended more than three thousand feet elevation from 10,000 to 13,167 feet, over a round trip of 10 miles. It took us a whole day.
Nonetheless, I heeded his advice and packed a bare-minimum first aid kit in a ziplock bag, one piece of lightweight aluminum emergency “blanket”, a headlamp and some iodine tablets, even though I knew all along I’d never need to use them.
I packed a whole day’s supply of water, food, and first aid into a lightweight runner’s “backpack” (Solomon ADV Skin 5). For food, I had beef jerky, compressed waffles, trail mix, a Cliff Bar, two tubes of Gu (a sugary paste with caffeine for energy jolts). The two-liter bladder/reservoir contained clear water, the two flasks, together counting for another liter, contained electrolyte water.
I set my alarm at 4:30am, but kept waking up every couple of hours the night before.
Outside the hotel was still in pre-dawn darkness. I had a solid breakfast in my hotel room, using hot water from the coffee maker to make instant oatmeal mixed with freeze dried blueberries and trailmix, and a banana.
After breakfast, at 5am, I read carefully again what I printed out from ChatGPT: keep a steady pace, conserve energy for later, do not stop to rest, eat every 1-2 hours while walking, use the pole to check the rocks in water, do not linger too long to take too many photos, just keep going – then I can finish within 12 hours, to make it out before the last shuttle bus. This advice proved to be very helpful later in The Narrows.
The driver of the van was a thin, talkative, kind, and cheerful man in his 60’s. There were 10 passengers altogether, all hiking from the top of The Narrows.
All the way, he was chatting with two excited passengers next to him and behind him, which made the long ride a lot more light-hearted. The last half an hour was extremely bumpy over an unpaved rocky mountain road. We were being rocked back and forth and sideways. The man next to me said: “This is like a Disney ride! We got up at four in the morning for THIS?”
After we reached the top, there were two cars already parked in the small space of a dirt-and-rock “parking area”. So we were not the earliest hikers that day.
The shuttle driver asked me: “Are you with anyone?” After I told him that I was going to hike alone, and wouldn’t camp overnight, he said: “Do you know the Narrows is 18 miles long? 18 miles?” “Do you have a map?” He was worried that I’d get lost.
“Well, just walk along the water, right?” I took out a rudimentary map given by the Ranger.
He was getting more worried. He took a picture of me. I said, “Oh, in case I become a missing person?” He nodded, then pointed to the groups of passengers and commanded: “You stay with them.”
I asked the rest of the 9 passengers: “Anyone doing the through-hike today?” No one.
The three groups of them, all consisting of husbands, wives, and family members, were going to hike half way, camp overnight, and hike out the next day.
“We are not as brave as you,” said one woman.
Before getting into The Narrows, there were a couple of miles of walking along a small creek. The road at the beginning branched and one of them was marked “private property”, I was uncertain if I should take it, thankfully one of them had hiked The Narrows before, and said “yes, take it.”
After a while, I could not hear them talking behind me. I was walking steadily fast, on my own.
I didn’t see anyone in The Narrows for the next four hours. Was it because it was Father’s Day? Were people intimidated due to the warning on recreation.gov about the challenging nature of a through-hike?
Often, the dirt path forked in two directions. I needed to decide which one to take.
I followed fresh foot prints with round pole prints next to them, either in powdered dirt or moist dirt close to the creek, feeling grateful to those ahead of me. I will never forget the pattern of the imprint of those boots I was following.
The babbling creek was literally singing to me. Birds chirping prettily, and creatures like toads were all making themselves known, loud and clear. It was absolutely enchanting.
Every twist and turn was a pleasant surprise, all different and beautiful in its own way. The sun caught the tops of the pine trees high above the narrow canyon. Sometimes a gigantic single column of a rock stood in the middle of the creek. Another column was on the side, topped by a tall, dead tree. How could a tree grow on top of the sandstone and become so big and tall? How did it die? Why wouldn’t it fall down?
Sometimes, the towering cliffs carved out by trickling water over millions of years were as clean-cut as if by a knife;
Other times, interesting formations showed various forms and mysteriously sculpted shapes.
Occasionally, a huge slab of rock or boulder, fallen from the top of the 5-10 story high cliffs, landed right in the middle of the creek. I followed the only human footprints and pole prints around it, on a path up the steep canyon side in the grass, shrubs, and trees, and climbed up and down like a goat.
The early morning was not too hot or cold, everything was fresh and pristine. I was absorbing the beauty every step of the way: the narrow canyon, rock formations in colors of red, beige, or blueish black, the tiny pool full of black swimming tadpoles, the pleasing water music from the flowing creek splashing over round pebbles all around me.
I heard voices as if one or two people were talking in the canyons. I looked around but there was no one. Another time it was a man’s voice, with just a couple of words I could not decipher. I turned around but there was no one. Were the voices blown in by the breeze from above or below the canyon? Or was it the “spirit” living there?
Those who know me can testify to the fact that I am the last person on earth who imagines hearing things, or believes in ghost stories. Even if it might be the “ghosts” talking, it was as real as possible, and I was totally unafraid, unconcerned, and undisturbed. I remember the movie “Train Dreams“ where the man heard his wife and toddler daughter, who lost their lives in a forest fire, talking behind him while he was walking in the forest many years after their death. He did not turn back for fear of disturbing the spirit.
It was a weird feeling that I could not meet anyone ahead or behind me. “Where IS anyone?” I wondered.
It was getting hot towards noon. I remember the advice from ChatGPT: do not stop, keep a steady pace, conserve energy for later, eat as you go. I sipped small amounts of water and tried to conserve it.
Finally, I heard people’s voices and saw a young couple coming up from behind. “At last!” I said.
The couple in their early 30’s were polite. After I asked them to take a picture of me (and I offered to take their pictures together, which they accepted), they moved on. They wanted to be together and I kept my journey to myself.
Now the foot prints I was following were fresher with mud, wet from walking in the water.
I kept repeating to myself: “Watch your steps!” “Mind your steps!” “Focus.” “Pay attention.” Sometimes I said it aloud to myself in English, sometimes in Chinese, “Yi Bu, Yi Bu.” “One step at a time, step by step.” I realized that I could not be too mindful of each step since I needed to “dance” my way forward, letting the feet and legs feel their way, and not letting the mind control.
I was determined to walk out of The Narrows without a sprained ankle or a broken leg. When I was climbing down steep drops from the tops of large rocks or boulders, I said to myself: “Do NOT jump! Slide down, slowly!” Two days before, at a wedding in Utah, I met a friend who just recovered from a broken tibial plateau from jumping onto his feet from a certain height. He could not walk or drive for three months. (I was wearing new, expensive hiking pants when sliding down the abrasive rocks, which made me even slower to avoid damaging it – a good thing.)
It took a lot more mental discipline to intentionally slow down at treacherous parts.
Melodies, sometimes from “Oh My Father”, or “How Great Though Art”, or Karen Carpenter’s “On Top of the World”, came to me. When descending Wheeler Peak with Gary, I said the feeling I got at the top of the summit was “on top of the world, looking down at the wonders of God’s creation”. Unwittingly, the tune stuck in my head.
Sometimes a verse from an old rock song creeped up, and kept repeating the same verses, along with my steps. The music kept me going as my companion in the canyon. I did not intentionally recall any particular verse, they just came to me.
Then I heard the sound of water falling, much louder than the gurgling sound of a stream tripping on rocks. “There must be a water fall!” And there it was! “How do I climb down?”
I looked beside the water fall, and found a steep drop through a narrow crack between huge rocks. I carefully climbed through it and down about 8-10 feet.
Another time, next to the rapids was a path on the hill in bushes. The only way to pass through a stacked pile of huge rocks was by SQUEEZING through a very small gap. I barely squeezed my body sideways through it, and was wondering how could an overweight person, or a more robustly built body get through this?
“Wall Street”, or what I assumed was referred to by others. Not all twists and turns in The Narrows revealed beauty. This particular dark and very narrow stretch inspired doom and fear, I gingerly and with some dread walked through it. It was lined with very dark colored rocks about 15 stories high on both sides, the path in between at the bottom of this “abbyss” was just 3-5 feet wide. It was not as well lit inside as other parts of The Narrows. I felt very relieved after I got out of it. Standing in the wide open space in the high noon sun, I made a video of its exit.
From hour five to hour seven, I saw another couple, both in their 30’s, coming from behind. We briefly chatted and moved on our own ways. During the first 15 miles, I encountered two couples, four people total. They obviously wanted to be together, and I had no desire to follow them.
The entire 18 miles was a constant mental calculation about how to negotiate my way through the ever changing landscapes and paths, constantly exercising caution while trusting my legs and feet to do their work autonomously. I was looking up at the walls of red and black sandstone cliffs towering several stories straight up. I was enjoying the beauty ceaselessly unfolding, listening to the singing water as it trips and dances over the rocks. Truly, the water was singing.
As the miles winded down, the flowing water gathered more small creeks, and more rapids started to appear. The water expanded wider. What was hardly at the ankle level now is often above the knees.
Five times, I tripped and almost fell during the second half of The Narrows, mostly stumbling over rocks on the banks since I was extra vigilant over slippery rocks in the water. My Apple Watch buzzed me the first three times: “It seemed that you fell, do you need help?” Then it gave me choices: Press “contact emergency”, or “I am OK”, or “I did not fall”, I clicked “I did not fall”. It stopped asking after the battery died, to my relief.
These near falls happened when my vigilance, focus, and mental concentration were relaxed or distracted. It was humanly impossible to keep constant vigilance over 12 hours.
The pole was a life saver. It broke the near falls and prevented a lot of pain or maybe possible injuries. The water boots and neoprene socks had superb grip that prevented slipping. I wish that the upper parts of the boots around the lower shin were not so rigid. They ate into my flesh every step of the way, so that I almost limped from the pain it caused.
Around 3pm, I ate the two tubes of Gu to boost my energy. The 2-liter bladder of water was all sipped and gone. I started to drink from the last liter of electrolyte water but purposely tried to save some for later.
This Virgin River 18 mile trek saw the creek grow from a small baby into a teenager.
The water got deeper.
The small creek was gradually swelling into a river, with stronger rapids, as a lot more water joined from other creeks and small waterfalls.
It was around 4:30 or 5 PM, I passed the last Camp Site on the map. I knew I was getting into the last five miles. The ranger was right: There were no longer any paths up the banks where I could go “mountain goating”, or sliding through cracks of huge rocks, or using tree roots to pull myself up and down – the “fun” part of hiking. There was only the river to wade in between 10-15 story high canyon walls. The water was cold.
In the middle of the water, there was a huge boulder that had obviously been climbed over and over by thousands or more hikers in many years past. Its surface was polished by human hands. On either side of it, the water was deep. Behind it, the water level was low and walkable since this huge rock blocked the water flow in front. But to get over to the other side of this huge rock required first climbing onto it, then over its top.
I put my entire body over this slippery slab of sandstone polished by the bodies of all my predecessors, and tried to reach the top with both hands. (I was glad that I was wearing gloves which saved my hands from slipping or being scraped by rocks and tree limbs). Only then did I feel a slight reminder of my old back pain and the strained muscle pain at my right groin. All these days of adventuring, the pains were hardly noticeable.
My hands reached the top and pulled my rock-hugging body up. Then I carefully lowered my pole, to first test the depth of the water, then find river rocks at the bottom large enough for me to lower my body onto (remember, do not jump.) Then I waded onwards.
Around 6PM, the water became chest high and maybe even higher. My I-phone for taking precious pictures was in a waist belt pouch. Now I needed to keep the iPhone pouch dry with one hand over my head, while the other hand held the pole. But I needed both hands to hold the pole in water in order to search for rocks while keeping my body in balance, to allow my feet to find footing.
I waded to the other side to see if the water was not as deep, only to find it was just the same.
I needed someone to help me hold my iphone pouch to keep it dry, so I could focus on wading through this deep water. Just as this thought came to me, I spotted someone on the other side of the river, standing on a big rock in the water.
“Hi! I need some help! Can you help me?” I shouted out.
“Yes! I am coming!” The young man started to approach me from across the river.
“Is your name Michael? You are a God-sent angel!”
“My name is Josh, Joshua is a biblical name too, you know. I am from North Carolina.” He answered.
“My name is Joanne Tan, Hey, our names both start with a J. I am from the San Francisco Bay Area.”
“Did you hike up from the bottom?” I asked him.
“Yes.” He replied.
“Is this the deepest it gets, or did you see water deeper than this?” I asked.
“This is as deep as it gets.” He answered, to my relief.
“Can you hold my iPhone while I get through this?” I requested.
“Absolutely! Did you come from the top? How far is it?” He took my pouch and raised it up.
“Yes, I started at 7:30 this morning, it is 18 miles.” I replied while slowly walking on the rocks at the bottom of the river.
“18 miles?! 18 miles?!” He said in disbelief.
We then waded together for a while, and I can’t believe that I asked for help (the river humbled my pride): “Can you walk with me? I have been hiking the past 15 miles, my legs are getting tired.” He gladly said yes, and we chatted as we walked next to each other. As the water got a bit less deep, I asked him to take a picture of me, and he happily snatched a few selfies with me.
As we waded on, more people were walking up from the bottom – that’s how the vast majority of people experience The Narrows. Then the river turned, there was a pebble “beach” at the corner where he found a note from his step father Joe, who turned back after Josh had left him behind earlier (or Joe could not keep up with Josh.) He read the note, and said to me: “I am sorry I need to catch up with my folks. Good luck to you!” He then sped away.
Ahead of me I saw a father in his 40’s and his teenage son around 14 years old. They too, were walking from the bottom up the Narrows. I caught up with them and asked: “Can I hike with you? I have been hiking down by myself the whole day.” The father said “of course,” and, “My name is Jordan, my son’s name is Kelvin, we are from Iowa.” Another first name starting with J! We chatted as we waded in the water. I could not help asking him: “how far till the end? How much further?” He said: “Almost there. Almost there.”
Both the Wheeler Peak hike and The Narrows taught me that the hardest part was towards the end when I was so exhausted. Companionship truly made a difference during the last couple of miles of any strenuous long hike: having someone walking with me made it psychologically more bearable. The mere fact that I could complain with someone and share my fatigue and pain was comforting.
After we stepped out of the river mouth, and walked on the paved concrete path toward the bus stop, this last couple of miles seemed so long because I was physically and mentally spent.
It was 7:30 pm. “Are we there yet?” I asked Jordan. “Only half a mile left.” He replied. Jordan and I exchanged information about tents, camping gear, his favorite national parks, and where he was staying at Zion: he and his son were camping at the camp ground near my hotel. Walking together and making friends along the last exhausting miles was another God-sent gift.
I finished The Narrows in exactly 12 hours: starting at the trailhead 7:30am, and reaching the mouth of the creek 7:30pm, allowing me plenty of time to hike the paved 1-2 mile to the Temple of Sinawava bus stop.
I drank about 2.5 liters of water, and saved some just in case.
I truly cannot say that I hiked The Narrows on my own because the hardest part was towards the end, when I had “angels” at the moments when I needed help most. They shared the last exhausting miles with me. Their companionship and pure friendship made a great difference.
“Je suis très fatigué“, I said to myself. I was dog tired. The 30-minute bus ride almost put me to sleep. After I stumbled off the bus at the Visitor’s Center, I heard a voice excitedly calling from a crowd of people at the bus stop: “Joanne! Joanne! You made it!” Then Josh stepped forward and hugged me tight and long. “I am so happy you made it!” Josh’s pure joy immediately revived me from a zombie-like trance of exhaustion. “Join us for dinner!” Josh said excitedly. I said: “You were in the right place, at the right time, you were an angel to me. Dinner is on me!” We walked into Zion Canyon Brew Pub where I had 20% off by staying in the nearby hotel, Cable Mountain Lodge.
The whole day in The Narrows, I ate a pack of sweet and spicy beef jerky, sweet condensed waffles, trailmix, and two tubes of Gu full of sugar. The only dinner item I wanted was fresh veggie salad with grilled shrimp.
Josh, his step dad, his brother, and his nephew were also camping near my hotel. Josh told me that he ran his own business, an entrepreneur just like me. He lives in a very small town where he converted a former jail into a hotel and a restaurant. He is also a pottery artist and we shared our passion as artists. His step dad asked me if I was staying in the hotel with a swimming pool, I said yes, and he expressed his desire to jump into it. Over dinner I shared with them about the concerns of the ranger and the driver at the beginning of the hike. Josh exclaimed: “But you did not need to camp overnight! You made it out the whole 20 miles!”
The “strangers” sitting at the dining tables next to ours started to cheer for me and congratulate me. “That’s amazing!” one of them said. I was a bit embarrassed. Hard as it was, I did not feel it was that big a deal. It was not Mt. Everest.
Human connections taking place in wilderness, though brief, can last in the memories so much longer because they are pure, authentic, selfless, loving, and joyful. What drew us there was the same common love for nature, exploring, and adventure. The meetings were random, but full of heart and soul when sharing the same passion with fellow adventurers.
After we all return to our daily routines, demands from work, and pressure of living the modern digital life, how much of that warmth and joy can we retain? And for how long?
I was looking forward to a long, hot shower to soothe the painful toes and lower shin where the boot tops ate into every step I took. I thought I would be sleeping like a baby after such a long day – from 4:30AM till 10:30PM, a 19-hour day, but I was so exhausted that I could hardly sleep.
I had a nightmare of stepping onto many small, round, dry rocks that were rolling while I was slipping and about to fall. I kicked myself awake, only to feel the pains in my toes and lower legs.
A week after, the bruised and swollen lower shins of both legs are still bruised and swollen. My big toe nails became blue and purple with the kicking and stumbling on rocks, both in water and along the banks. Three other small toe nails become black from the same ordeal. The night before the hike, I clipped all my toenails as short as possible, but that could not prevent the bruising contacts with rocks on the paths.
I am so grateful to the Almighty for blessing me with good health at my age, a child’s intense curiosity, and a passion for exploring God’s wondrous creations. I know that the only way to continue my good health is to be active, to explore, to have goals (such as hiking the John Muir Trail next year), so I will keep pushing my limits outside my comfort zone.
It all boils down to what I choose to yield myself to, what centers my attention, and thus what centers my life. The back pain, the muscle strain in the groin were lessened from my ignoring them instead of letting them dictate what I can and cannot do. By taking these adventures in spite of these pre-existing pains, they did not become road blocks. By not yielding to the pains, the pains yielded to me: The back pain and the muscle pain diminished. After each round of painful physical exertion, the muscles got stronger, and the pain yielded to my belief, literally and physically.
In life, yielding to my own fear and weakness leads to a self-limiting life, or even a downward spiral. But believing in my strength and having a “can do” attitude leads to the so-called hero’s journey that expands with God’s law of growth along the Fibonacci Spiral.
Life is like The Narrows. It starts with a small creek, swells into a river, and emerges into a lake, and eventually becomes one with the sea. Then starting all over again as vaporized clouds that rain or snow on the mountain, and becomes a creek again. I wrote a poem “Is Life One Way, or Round Trip” about this.
The river keeps charging forward, making music with the rocks and trees in its path, instead of being stopped or going backward. So is life.
God is not static, Christ lives, each of our journeys should be an ever expanding, forward moving, eternal progression.
Age has nothing to do with internal growth or spiritual expansion. Either I am growing, or stagnating, or withering, at whatever age.
My day-by-day account of the entire book “The 9-day Adventure That Changed My Life” will be available with pre-payment for download, at 10PlusBrand.com/courses. You need to first open an account in order to pay the $10 for the entire book. Thank you for supporting my work!
© Joanne Z. Tan, 2026. All rights reserved.
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Joanne Z. Tan is a global brand strategist, thought leadership coach, and founder of 10 Plus Brand, Inc. and its subsidiary AIXD.world. She advises executives, founders, and organizations on building influential, differentiated brands that drive visibility, credibility, and revenue growth. Her work integrates strategic positioning, AI-era brand architecture, and executive thought leadership to help leaders become recognized authorities in their industries.
AIXD (AI Experience Design) is a global platform and community focused on advancing responsible, human-centered artificial intelligence. It brings together leaders, technologists, strategists, and innovators to explore how AI can be designed, implemented, and governed to enhance human experience and long-term business value. Through thought leadership, collaboration, and strategic dialogue, AIXD aims to shape the future of AI – human symbiosis with impact, innovation, and integrity.
© Joanne Z. Tan, 2026. All rights reserved.
