The Wave, Journey into the Heart of the Stone Wave

Some places make you dream. The Galapagos. Easter Island. Japan. Iceland. Antarctica. Polynesia. Just these few words set my imagination ablaze, and a thousand images begin to overlap in a colorful chaos. I dreamed of all these places, hoping to visit them one day. And I did. But there are still other places that give me slightly different dreams, tinged with an indescribable quality that renders them inaccessible. Like The Wave.

A lover of stones and landscapes in ochre and orange tones, The Wave represents the perfect picture to make me fantasize. And yet, a sort of sweet nostalgia clouded this dream. Reality: I knew I might never go there. Too complicated. And especially too few permits available to make this dream accessible.

And yet...

It was August 18th. We had just returned from Zion, where we were dazzled by completing two of the most beautiful hikes of my life. And this August 18, 2019, will forever remain a very special day for us. It's the first anniversary of our little traveler... and the day we won the lottery to see The Wave! (Because you need a permit to hike in this park, and the demand is so great that they organized an online lottery and a > in their offices).

As the saying goes, the third time's the charm (or never two without three?).

This was our third attempt, and probably the last, to gain access to this natural park. The first time, I went with a lot of excitement, but without much hope. The second time, I believed: there were fewer of us, we were determined...

During our third lottery, I had absolutely no faith. The room was overflowing with people; we had never seen so many in attendance. We even came without the necessary documents and money! We went because our hotel was right next door, and it would have been silly not to try. Plus, some travel friends just happened to be there that morning; it was a chance to say hello...

First number drawn. Ours.

I admit, I screamed. But I mean, a big scream! The kind that makes the whole room turn to look at you.

I, who spent my time going back and forth with Manoa, who found it unrealistic to stay still for half an hour... I walk into the room just as I hear our number announced! Just thinking back on it gives me chills all over and butterflies in my stomach!

François will stay inside for nearly 2 hours for the mandatory safety briefing. Departure planned for tomorrow morning before dawn.

It is still pitch dark when we board our TARDIS. No one on the roads. We plan to arrive just before 7 AM, the official opening time of the park.

We leave the paved road for sand tracks and plunge into the belly of the desert. It feels like our car is sliding down the esophagus of a giant monster. Gradually, we are swallowed by this void. Every passing second cuts us further off from the world. The road narrows. The phone signal diminishes until it disappears...

Every pebble looks like a rodent ready to scurry away. Every bush has a lion ready to pounce (yes, there are mountain lions here!). And every bump in the road has snakes lounging in the middle.

Eventually, we cross paths with a rabbit, or even a young bunny (fans of Kaamelott know what I mean!), bounding ahead of our tires and expertly avoided by François.

We drive the last 15 kilometers at 12 mph. The road seems endless, and the path still so dark. The car shakes all over, creaks, and rumbles in a dull sound... And Manoa is still sleeping peacefully, my hand gently resting on his blond head to shield him from the chaos of the road.

Gradually, the darkness of night gives way to blue hour. The mountains are adorned with golden halos. The view opens up slowly. How amazing it is to see these vibrant landscapes, so green, when soon we will be in one of the worst furnaces in the world, made of ochre and orange rocks.

We are in a strange state. We don't exchange a word, except now and then quick > supported by a glance that says it all. It's the excitement. A feeling very similar to stage fright before going on stage. That's it. We're nervous! After the lengthy speech received the day before along with our permits for the hike, and the touching warning messages from one of our Instagram followers whose father died last year while hiking at The Wave... yes, we are mega nervous!

But we have prepared ourselves as best as possible. And we set a time limit to turn back, whether we reach The Wave or not.

With every passing second, darkness gives way to light. Just two kilometers left and we'll be there... and not a single trace of other hikers so far.

There's the parking lot. 4 cars parked. Not a soul in sight.

Car parked, bags loaded, baby awake and in the carrier. We are ready! We write our names in the book at the start of the trail. A moment of emotion and tension. It's the last trace we leave to civilization... This book also gives me a vision. It reminds me of a scene from the film >, where the hiker writes her name in a similar book. We dreamed of hiking the PCT and changed plans along the way... But here we are, here. My heart races just thinking about this turn of events, this strange revenge of our dreams...

We walk at a brisk pace, regularly taking our bearings, drinking just as often. And yet, despite all this tension concerning safety, I can't help but be in awe.

How. Beautiful.

Beautiful isn't strong enough. Breathtaking is too overused. I can't find the right words. I hope the few images, taken with our phones to save the weight of the camera, can do justice to this magical place. We haven't yet reached the red rock and the mythical Wave of The Wave before I'm already in ecstasy.

Thank you life.

The few wooden stakes remind us of reality and the trail, here and there. We follow the path, which is visually nonexistent, while thinking of all the unfortunate souls who got lost here. And we understand how easy it is to lose all bearings. Especially with this heat that only increases as the sun begins its climb.

Manoa is peaceful. He's used to being in the carrier for long hikes. I comment on the landscape to him, telling him how beautiful, astonishing, and magical it is... I talk to him about the colors, the movements of the stone, every trace of life we encounter along the way.

We even take a photo of Pipou, his little firefighter character, where the landscape reminds us of a >. Manoa is thrilled to see Pipou in the spotlight!

At the foot of the large sand dune below The Wave, we catch up with a traveler accompanied by a photographer guide, whose work we had already recognized in Kanab. We exchange a few words about the improbability and pleasure of being here, unable to say which feeling overpowers the other.

At the end of the climb, the theater set we are all waiting for reveals itself. The one for which we left so early, walked so far, took all these risks... The Wave.

Oh. My. God.

Far from wanting to turn into Janis (Friends fans know!), but Oh. My. God. If I thought I was at a loss for words up to this point... I was mistaken. It's now, truly, that all my vocabulary runs away.

I wish I were a great writer capable of sharing these movements and colors with you. If I love rocky landscapes so much, it's because of these two forces. They give the rock all its power and beauty.

I remain in awe. A bit like in front of a landscape so dreamed of, so seen in photos and on screens, that it seems unreal. But no, it is indeed part of our dimension. I can testify: The Wave truly exists.

I hesitate to touch it, fearing the rock might crumble under my fingers and leave only a pile of sand and dust. Manoa doesn't concern himself with such questions. As soon as he's on the ground, he crawls, sits... and gives me one of the best memories of this trip.

He gently raises his head, following the curve of the wave. His head rises higher and higher. And with it, I feel his awe and surprise grow just as much. His eyes are wide open, and his mouth lets out a magnificent >. A waaaaw that will only end when his little eyes reach the top of the wave. A waaaw of pure joy and incredible magic.

To those who still think it's pointless to travel with a baby, that they don't take anything in. Manoa answered all your remarks with one word: >! The debate is closed!

The limitation on the number of people and the early hour we started this hike allowed us to be practically alone at the site. In addition to the 3 travelers we crossed paths with upon arrival, we discover a group who came to take fashion photos and who arrived long before us.

We are careful not to disturb each other. To take our time and our photos. But mostly so we can soak in this magical place. Every nook offers a movement, light, and different color. A puddle increases the surreal impression of being in a mirage... Or in a Dali painting.

I know I am experiencing something very special. Like our arrival at Machu Picchu, when we were the first to enter the site. In such moments, my mind goes blank. Everything stops. My heart races or slows down. I can't tell. In these moments, all my senses are on high alert. As if I were trying to capture all the nuances of my environment and soul simultaneously. A kind of recording for a 3D impression in my memory, to relive this moment over and over again.

Few moments in my life have had this effect on me. But, several months later, as I delve back into this article I started that same day, from the back seat, I realize that the emotion is still there. Almost intact.

Thank you life.

With great seriousness, François tells me, after only half an hour on-site: >. I know he is right. But I feel like a child trying to negotiate one last cartoon with their parents before going to bed. Just a little more, just a tiny bit more.

We must stick to the plan. The one we developed to minimize risks as much as possible. I look at our baby and know that I will always do everything to ensure his safety. I pick him up, hug him tightly, and explain that it's time to leave this magical place. As I settle him in the carrier, I already speak of it in the past tense. >. Manoa, still ever so enthusiastic, responds to my waaaw with a waaaw that melts my heart.

Onward!

On the way back, we cross other groups heading toward the mythical place. Some barely wearing a tank top and seeming not to have any water... We hope everything will be fine for them, and continue. François's bag lightens with all the water we drink almost continuously.

Manoa falls asleep at the breast, then wakes, either from heat or thirst, I think. We quicken our pace and push ourselves, as the stifling heat plunges us into a state of lethargy.

One foot after the other, on this radiant ground, we feel as if we are moving through an endless movie set. Where The Wave was confined, between elevated walls and sides, the landscape here seems infinite.

Moments of doubts, followed by others of relief: phew, we're still on the right path.

When we return to the brush and leave the blazing desert, we feel like we're turning a page in this adventure. The furnace is behind us. The Wave already belongs to our past. It's almost in a sprint that we reach the car.

François writes our names in the register, a little book that connected us to civilization. We took just under 3 hours to complete this hike. Proud, but mostly happy and so grateful, we take the wheel again.

Goodbye The Wave.

Now that we've seen you, I want nothing more than to return. One day. With a bigger Manoa who will walk by himself. And always with stars in our eyes and > fading into the skies.

Thank you.

I planned to provide detailed practical information in this article... But it's already long enough! I will gather it in a future article.

And this article is from our grand journey through the USA and Canada. Many articles are already on the blog... and (even more) will follow!

A few reading suggestions to immerse yourself in this beautiful journey: