Bring on the Fog

Finding a new perspective in the Colorado National Monument

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Back in November 2025, Adam and I needed to decide on our next vancation for Thanksgiving break. It had been four weeks since the trip out east, and we were still feeling exhausted from that drive. We kept waffling between various locations because getting to any of them felt like a chore. Then Adam mentioned driving to the western side of Colorado, to the Fruita/Grand Junction area. Adam could get in some rides in familiar territory, I had an excuse to visit the Colorado National Monument again, and it wasn’t that far from home, so it felt like an easy trip.

We camped for a few days at an area state park, waking up one morning to thick fog. Because it was November, there were very few people camping with us, so the fog was quiet and a bit eerie. Think “The Mist” - I half-expected something to jump out at me from nowhere. Instead, I braved the potential horror film ending. I grabbed my camera, put my winter jacket over my PJs, and walked a 100-foot radius around the van.

As I walked around, different parts of the park materialized from the gray. There was no wind, no birds, and no people, so it almost felt like time stopped. The world was frozen, with only me to witness it.

This mini-adventure was heightened by my senses. The quiet dampened my ears, and I realized I could only hear my heartbeat and my breath. I could smell the cold earth, first frozen, then slowly thawing. My eyes caught the flora, dripping as the frost melted, and I moved hesitantly to avoid disturbing the elements.

We don’t often encounter fog in Colorado, so I was very excited to start our hike in the national monument. There was a possibility that we would be hiking through fog with red rocks appearing from the ether. The magic of those possibilities was quite short-lived as the fog lifted about five minutes outside of the state park. It was evident, as the skies faded from a white nothing, that we were in for a sunny, bluebird November day.

To get to the trailhead, we drove up the 23-mile Rim Rock Drive, past rock layers dating back 1.7 billion years ago. The narrow, steep road winds along some gorgeous red rock canyons. Adam graciously drove (slowly), so I could roll down the window to take pictures.

We rounded a corner, and I let out a gasp. We were now above the fog, the clouds thick along the Colorado River, covering Fruita and Grand Junction in a white sea. From above, the landscape looked completely different.

It was a whirlwind of emotions that morning, something that I am trying to better tune into. From being initially excited to hike through the fog, then being disappointed when it lifted, we hadn’t actually lost the foggy view. It was just a different one. It was also a subtle reminder that disappointment doesn’t mean it’s going to be a “bad” day. Emotions are not positive or negative; they just exist, and they are all necessary. Sometimes, instead, I need to look at them differently.

And with that, from our island in the sky, we were ready for our hike.

Cheers.