What it's like to travel on the Rocky Mountaineer
While some resemble elephantine penises, others are like dizzying whirls of meringue rising from the desert. The one to my left looks uncannily like a piece of fried chicken.
I'm perched on a boulder in Utah's Arches National Park — a seemingly infinite expanse of red-orange sandstone arches and rocks of varying shapes and sizes. A visit to the park — home to the densest concentration of natural stone arches in the world — is part of the 'Rockies to the Red Rocks' itinerary on the Rocky Mountaineer train, a route launched in 2021. It departs from the nearby city of Moab and clicks and clacks its way through hulking canyons, ghost towns and wine regions, ending up in Denver, Colorado. I'm excited for all that awaits me, but as far as passionate biologist and park guide Chris Tull is concerned, it doesn't get much better than where I'm standing right now.
'It's a bit like you've died and woken up in Wonderland,' he says, gesturing to the almost-spectral landscape around us. 'The depth, complexity and nuance of Arches keeps you coming back over and over again.'
Nature defies gravity in Utah's Arches National Park.
Photograph by Rebecca Stumpf
The 120sq-mile park is a labyrinth of paths and lookout points and contains more than 2,000 arches; Chris mentions he's visited the park hundreds of times but has only seen 190 of them. On our morning trip, we spot a good four or five arches and rock formations. There's a hoodoo (rock pillar) shaped like the Egyptian queen Nefertiti, which tops a weathered mountain that has lasagne-like layers of sedimentary rock in the park's signature colour of red. And there's Delicate Arch, a 52ft-tall, wishbone-shaped landmark that features on every licence plate around the state. It's backdropped by the La Sal Mountains on the distant horizon, reminiscent of the distinctive painting style of landscape artist and TV presenter Bob Ross.
'This place dates back to Jurassic times,' Chris tells me, adjusting his Ray-Bans. 'Ten thousand years ago, this land would've been a coniferous pine forest; you couldn't see the desert for the trees. Woolly mammoths, cave bears, giant sloths — they would've been roaming all over here.'
As morning slides into afternoon, the clouds start to clear, revealing the snowcapped peaks of La Sal. I take one last look at the phallus and the fried chicken before heading towards Moab — I've a train to catch.
Rocky Mountaineer runs from Moab to Denver.
Photograph by Rebecca Stumpf
Expect to sip cocktails such as this vodka gimlet in the train's bar.
Photograph by Rebecca Stumpf
Heading east
One hour later, I sink into a marshmallow-soft chair in the Rocky Mountaineer's glass-domed lounge car as the train pulls away from the station. For the next day and a half, we'll be chuntering eastward approximately 350 miles, following the serpentine Colorado River upstream. The red sandstone rocks of Utah will morph, mile by mile, into the snow-clad, alpine landscapes of Colorado, the most mountainous state in the country.
We chug along the Cane Creek Subdivision, a sweep of crimson canyons and desolate desert. Leaving my fellow passengers chatting in their seats, I head to the bar. Here I meet 75-year-old host Cheryl Yeats, who's worked on board since the route launched. She pinballs around the bar as she fixes me her signature vodka gimlet. 'I've been to 48 out of 50 states, but there's nothing quite like the Rocky route,' she says as we pass through swathes of golden-brown hinterland towards the Utah-Colorado border. 'When you're approaching Denver, for example, it's almost like you're going into Emerald City, the views are just beautiful.'
As I take my first sip of the gimlet, a voice comes over the PA system. 'Ladies and gentlemen, we're now approaching Ruby Canyon,' says London native Jessica Byrne, the main train guide. Within seconds we're enveloped by prodigious, truffle-like sandstone cliffs. The canyon stretches 25 miles across the state border but, I'm told, the cliffs are only visible from the train or by rafting along the canyon's river. Sure enough, as we pass a set of colossal, protruding rocks, a solo rafter appears, dwarfed by his surroundings.
Some miles into Colorado, we pass through Palisade, home to the state's main wine region, where lush vineyards lie beneath towering cliffs, strung along desert valleys. As we head further east, the 11,000ft-high Grand Mesa, the world's largest flat-topped mountain, slowly comes into view, like a city rising out of the ground. A few miles later, winding north, we catch a glimpse of the town of Parachute, where, in 1904, the infamous outlaw Kid Curry held a conductor at gunpoint after escaping from prison.
It's one of the final sights of the day. At Glenwood Springs, in the foothills of the Rockies, we disembark and check into a hotel for the night. Drawing the curtains, I spot our train resting at the station, and, in my head, can still hear it clicking and clacking along the tracks.
In true American fashion, flags are waved to celebrate the train's arrival and departure.
Photograph by Rebecca Stumpf
Pastures new
'This is some of the most beautiful scenery in the entire country,' says Jessica as we travel through Glenwood Canyon, just a few minutes into our journey the following morning. The 1,300ft-high canyon walls, clothed in oak brush trees, tower over our train.
By breakfast, the landscape rolling by is worlds away from the red hues of Utah. The cliffs, a mix of sandstone and Cambrian rock, are cloaked with spruce and chartreuse shrubs. In the distance are the snowy peaks of the Rockies, beneath an isolated group of clouds. The closer we get to Boulder, more and more mounds of snow appear on the ground. We're on the home run now, passing through small towns and ski resorts. It's hard to believe we've gone from Mars-like scenes to this in just over 24 hours.
As the train make its final approach into Denver, I catch the Emerald City-like views Cheryl mentioned — it looks straight out of The Wizard of Oz. In the gangway I bump into Thomas Frantz, on-board maintenance technician and self-proclaimed train doctor, who helped build some of the cars for the Canadian Rocky Mountaineer. The Denver native oversees everything from getting spare parts to making sure the engine's working properly.
'I've rode this journey 300 times. I know every telephone pole, every boulder, every rock, and I'm still not tired of it,' he says, before a message coming in on one the three walkie talkies attached to his belt interrupts him. 'This stuff never gets old, it's too gorgeous out here.'
His words echo in my head as I clamber down onto the platform in Denver. It's tempting to get straight back on board, and relive every telephone pole, every boulder and every rock all over again.
This trip was supported by
Two days start from $1,725 (£1,365).This trip was supported by Rocky Mountaineer
National Geographic Traveller (UK).
To subscribe to National Geographic Traveller (UK) magazine click
Published in the March 2025 issue of(UK).To subscribe to(UK) magazine click here . (Available in select countries only).
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Little streams turn to small lakes. Photograph by Jonathan Gregson The concession's low-intervention approach towards the wildlife on its land means the animals remain unhabituated to both vehicles and humans, and their natural instinct is to run away from both very quickly indeed. Photograph by Jonathan Gregson The rest of my time in Palmwag produces further very good weather for rhinos, and further rhino sightings. We spot Tuta, Kasper and Arthur as they plod along a dry river bed in the soft evening light, and again as they enjoy a roaming buffet of wild grasses on an early-morning stroll through the hills. Each time, they eventually catch our scent on the wind and take off for the horizon with a surprisingly dainty little trot. The concession's low-intervention approach towards the wildlife on its land means the animals remain unhabituated to both vehicles and humans, and their natural instinct is to run away from both very quickly indeed. 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Photograph by Jonathan Gregson After an undisturbed sleep, I find him sitting by the fire in the muted pre-dawn light, a blackened tin kettle sat within the embers. 'You see the bushman's TV is already on,' he says, gesturing to the flames. 'It always tells a good story.' He heard the saw-like calls of the leopard as it padded through at 4am and 5.30am. 'The animals need to get used to the camp, but they will,' he continues. 'The big leopard will soon be sitting in the trees around us.' With breakfast soundtracked by turtle doves crooning from those same trees, I could get used to the camp myself, but the bush waits for no one, and I set off with guide Tristan Lewis for a day's exploration. We're soon driving through a landscape pocked with water holes, with makalani palms towering above. 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The rain has messed up some of the tracks, too, and Tristan occasionally has to coax the Land Cruiser through deep, water-filled channels in the mud, or turn back and find another route. We're on the lookout for a pride of lions seen near the reserve's border with Etosha when one particularly troublesome puddle finally defeats us. After radioing in for a replacement vehicle, Tristan points to a pair of male white rhinos grazing some way in the distance. 'It's not so bad being stuck when you're stuck by rhino,' he says. 'Shall we go for a walk?' He collects his rifle and we quietly creep towards them over sandy soil scattered with lion paw prints. 'We've spent hours and hours with these rhinos,' Tristan whispers as we draw closer. 'We know their behaviour is relaxed. They're not like black rhinos — black rhinos are a handful.' We're 60 feet away when the two males finally become aware of our presence. Tristan motions me to crouch down and be quiet. 'They know we're here, now we give them time to decide what to do,' he says softly as they stand facing us. 'You can see they're curious.' After a few minutes trying to figure us out, one cautiously pads in our direction, head down, ears rotating. He's so close I can hear him breathing when Tristan slowly rises — the rhino instantly canters away. Over the next 30 minutes, the pair repeatedly amble towards us, only moving away when Tristan gently shifts his position. 'They're comfortable with us but we don't want them too close,' he murmurs, watching as they graze. 'They're wild animals and we want them to stay wild.' It soon feels completely natural to sit quietly in the sand, passing the day with animals each weighing up to 2.5 tonnes and sporting impressively long and pointy horns. 'It's nice when they let you into their space and they're not threatened by you,' Tristan says when the rhinos eventually decide to move on. 'You can share this incredible time with them.' It's a parting gift from the rains of Namibia — a vehicle stuck in the mud, a moment of pure magic. As we wander, slightly giddy, towards the guide who's come to pick us up, I'm reminded of something Bons had said to me as we sheltered from a storm in Palmwag: 'The rain is very good for everything — for nature, for animals, for us.' Getting there and around: Flights from the UK to Namibian capital Windhoek entail a stopover. South African Airways, British Airways and Virgin Atlantic fly via Johannesburg and Ethiopian Airlines flies via Addis flight time: prop planes fly to airstrips in Damaraland and Etosha, and are organised by your tour operator or accommodation. If driving, rent a 4WD from Windhoek's Hosea Kutako airport; it's seven hours to Desert Rhino Camp, and a similar time from there to Onguma and Etosha. When to Go: Wet season in northern Namibia falls between November and April, though rain doesn't fall each year and can be intermittent when it does. Dry season (May to October) is a good time for wildlife-viewing, with animals gathering at the few water sources. There's little temperature difference across the year, with highs of 25-30C and lows of 10-17. Where to Stay: Weinberg Hotel, Windhoek. From N$5,654 (£235). More info: How to do it: Africa specialist Yellow Zebra Safaris offers one night at Windhoek's Weinberg Hotel, three nights at Desert Rhino Camp and three nights at Onguma Camp Kala from £9,524 per person, including meals, drinks, safari activities, domestic flights and transfers, and international flights, plus the option to spend a night in the Dream Cruiser star bed. The same itinerary with the last three nights at Onguma Trails Camp (open April to September) costs £8,289. This story was created with the support of Yellow Zebra Safaris. Published in the September 2025 issue of National Geographic Traveller (UK). To subscribe to National Geographic Traveller (UK) magazine click here. 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