Lessons from the Fiery Furnace
It’s more than a place, it’s a state of mind.
Although it sounds like a mythical underworld, the Fiery Furnace is an actual place: A massive expanse of red sandstone walls, formations and boulders within Arches National Park in eastern Utah.
I’d never heard of it before taking a recent trip to the park with my husband and three friends. While checking out the visitor’s center, I spied a sign, “Today’s passes for the Fiery Furnace are sold out.” In my experience, anywhere you need a pass to go is probably somewhere you want to be, so I asked a ranger how to get one.
He led our group into a room where we watched a video and were lectured on the many rules of the Fiery Furnace. They include:
Stay on the rocks and washes and off the sand dunes and fragile “biological soil crust”. There are no trails in the Fiery Furnace so if you see a trail, it’s a “social trail,” meaning something man-made that doesn’t belong.
Don’t follow other groups. But stick together. And keep your voices low.
Bring plenty of water. And pack everything out (including, and especially, “human waste”).
We were also instructed to take note of landmarks so that we wouldn’t get too lost. “But you will get lost,” the ranger said. “That’s the whole point of the Fiery Furnace.”
And with that, we were issued a pass for the following day.
Exploring the Fiery Furnace requires stamina, agility and a good sense of direction. — The National Park Service website
This trip was part of an annual tradition we call “Spring Adventure.” So far every adventure had included a visit to a National Park and an element of running or hiking. Within this group there are Ironman finishers, ultramarathoners and former Division 1 college track athletes.
For the first Spring Adventure two years ago, the group went to Zion National Park and also ran through Buckskin Gulch. I wasn’t on that trip, but I did join last year’s adventure to the Grand Canyon, where my husband and a friend ran 46 miles from the South Rim to the North Rim and back. The rest of us settled for a measly 18 miles, hiking down to the bottom and back up, each at our own pace.
It was my first visit to the Grand Canyon and for weeks after I couldn’t stop thinking about it. I felt that the experience — descending down into the abyss and climbing my way out — had changed me in some way that I couldn’t quite explain. It was more than a hike, more than an adventure. It was an odyssey. Looking back, it seemed as if I’d been walking on another planet, for days.
So while I imagined Arches would beautiful and dramatic, the bar was high.
We spent our first afternoon in the north end of the park exploring Devil’s Garden, an ideal place to see several of the park’s namesake arches. But with our Fiery Furnace pass in hand for the following day, the group was brimming with anticipation for the main event.
Although I kept it to myself, I was feeling a bit ambivalent. For one, I’d seen this trip as an opportunity to get out of the exercise rut I’d been in and start to build my fitness back up. Based on past Spring Adventures, that’s what I was expecting. While navigating the Fiery Furnace would require physical strength and agility, it was clear that we were not going to be running through it.
Then there was the fact that the Fiery Furnace, as it had been explained to us, was a maze with many dead ends. Of course this was supposed to be part of the fun — the problem solving — but it clashed with with my goal-oriented worldview of getting from point A to point B, or reaching a summit. I wasn’t proud of this. I know it’s supposed to be about the journey, not the destination. But there it was.
Finally, there was my fear that one of us would get hurt. I’m not normally a worrier. I trust people to know their limits and make good decisions, and obviously this was a very athletic and fit group of people. But after nearly losing someone I love to a head injury, I can’t help myself. I know how easy it is for something to go wrong.
In spite of these feelings however, there was no chance I was missing out on the Fiery Furnace. I’d come for adventure after all. I only hoped that by acknowledging my hang-ups and concerns — even if just to myself — I’d be open to the possibilities waiting there.
We arrived at the Fiery Furnace trailhead in late morning, our packs filled with snacks and water. It wasn’t too hot and it seemed unlikely that the Furnace would live up to its name.
From the start we had trouble discerning the primary entrance from the “social trails” that had been created. We finally chose a route, but after about a hundred yards any semblance of a trail faded and the five of us — trail runners who have spent hours of our lives looking for the right way to go — were on our own. There was no right way. So began a day of suggestions, negotiations, and explorations, over, under, around and through the boulders, walls, and canyons of the Fiery Furnace.
“What’s over there?” “Let’s go this way.” “Come check this out!” “I think we can climb up that.” “Can you fit under there?” “I see a way through those rocks.”
One of the most remarkable things about the Fiery Furnace is how empty it is. This is thanks to the fact that, as we had learned, they limit the number of passes sold each day. Unlike other areas of the park, teeming with tourists, we encountered only a few other groups. For the most part, it felt as if we had the place to ourselves and it was deeply quiet and still.
The Fiery Furnace was also beautiful and dramatic and unlike anything I’ve ever seen. However, I’m reluctant to try and describe what it looked like in words. For one, I’m not sure I could do it justice (neither do these photos, but you get the idea). But also, it was about so much more than what we saw.
Perhaps the best comparison I can offer is one of those outdoor team-building courses. Except that there was no facilitator. There was no safety net. And we weren’t trying to become a team. We were just friends who had no choice but to act like one.
We solved problems together. Sometimes we hit a dead end, sometimes we found a way through. We pushed on side-by-side and despite the ranger’s warning, were never truly lost.
We helped each other. Sometimes we needed a hand to climb up or down, or just someone to show us the way. We always had each other’s back.
We held each other accountable. Sometimes we needed to remind each other: No social trails. Stay off the dunes and biological crust. Keep your voice down.
We trusted each other. Sometimes a few people went ahead to scout the route, but mostly we stuck together, and no one was left behind.
In other words, inside the Fiery Furnace, we were the best versions of ourselves. Which is to say, we were more than just ourselves, we were part of something bigger. We were part of a group that needed each other to endure, and we were part of the place we were exploring. It struck me how very rare that is in life today.
In the face of this, my individual concerns and issues disappeared. The Fiery Furnace wasn’t about “exercise” or reaching some arbitrary destination. I’ll admit, there were moments I wished we had helmets on. But we all emerged in tact.
A week has passed. Just as last year’s adventure stuck with me, I’m still thinking about this year’s trip and what it means to me. But while the Grand Canyon was a solo journey, the Fiery Furnace was a crucible of teamwork and friendship.
We’re all back to regular life, which doesn’t involve navigating a rocky labyrinth. Sometimes it may feel that way, but if we learned anything inside the Fiery Furnace, it’s that we have each other to lean on.
