Breaking bread with mountain friends: A journey to the top of the world

Zion - An imaginary place considered to be perfect or ideal.

Although the photos below need no explanation, the writer in me wants to attempt to describe what I saw yesterday.

Never before in my life have I been so caught off guard by beauty. Upon entering the Grand Canyon, the mind prepares itself for what the eyes are about to see -- something truly grand. But what hit me on my hike through Zion National Park yesterday, I never saw coming.

It's a relatively small park located on the edge of Springdale, Utah -- a town packed with character and friendly faces. My new German friend Lothar and I split the $25 entrance fee, figuring to snap a couple pictures before heading to Vegas for some real excitement. The ranger told us we couldn't have chosen a more perfect day to come. We said that was nice and drove in.

Two hours later, our legs sore from the 1,500-foot climb, our eyes sore from all the staring, we sat on the edge of the world and agreed we could die that day and be okay with it.

And that fate wasn't out of the question. With tennis shoes and one water bottle per person, we didn't exactly come prepared. On a handful of occasions, our legs slipped out from beneath us on the ice patches that dotted the path up the mountain. I heard Lothar trip behind me. When I asked if he was okay, he was too stunned to comment for a few seconds.

We inched along the 500 feet of steel chain that would be necessary support during any weather conditions. Our tight grip on the metal was the only thing that kept us from falling at times. I could do nothing but watch as my sunglasses slipped out of my sweatshirt pocket, falling five football fields toward the earth.

"I can't believe they let anyone come up and here and do this," I said to Lothar. Bold or just plain ignorant, our doubts didn't make us turn back.

We hadn't seen another person since halfway up the mountain. And he was heading toward the parking lot.

I was breathing heavy and had to leave my water bottle behind in order to grip the steel with both hands. But I felt we were getting close to our destination -- Angel's Landing -- a place where, according to the bartender from the night before, one person dies each year.

Then I heard a voice.

"Hello there!" said a man with a French accent.

I lifted my head up to see a young couple standing 100 feet higher than us, looking very content on the snowy peak. For the next five minutes, we lost sight of them. When we finally reached them, they were sitting on a rock beneath a tree, snacking on bread and salami.

We introduced ourselves and chatted about the view. For meeting someone for the first time on the top of a mountain with no other sign of life for what seemed like miles, they acted like it was perfectly normal. I don't typically make friends on top of mountains, so I thought otherwise. I thought, this story just keeps getting better.

Sabastian was from France. Eleanor came from Russia. They both spoke pretty good English, and asked very sincere questions about our travels. They shared their buffet of salami and bread, handing us pieces well after we said we needed no more.

Sebastian gave me his business card, saying if I ever wanted to visit France, Russia, or San Francisco -- where he was currently living -- to get a hold of him.

We thanked our mountain friends for the food, then stared out at the horizon one last time. It was getting dark, so we had to begin our descent down from the place that made my heart beat fast from fear and exhaustion, but mostly from beauty.