I’ve driven past Paria three times now, and each time I forget how much dust gets into absolutely everything.
The Crumbling Western Set That Hollywood Left Behind in the Utah Desert
Paria sits maybe five miles off Highway 89, between Kanab and Page, in this stretch of southern Utah that feels like Mars had a baby with every Western you’ve ever seen. The townsite—well, what’s left of it—was built in the 1860s by Mormon settlers who thought they could tame the Paria River. Spoiler: they couldn’t. Floods kept washing away their homes, their crops, their entire existence basically, until everyone gave up around 1930 or so. But here’s the thing—Hollywood noticed. In the 1950s and 60s, directors loved this empty, authentically decayed town, and they used it for films like “The Outlaw Josey Wales” and episodes of “Gunsmoke.” They even built fake storefronts and saloons right on top of the original ruins, which seems weirdly disrespectful when you think about it, but also kind of poetic? I guess it makes sense that a ghost town would get reincarnated as a fake town. Anyway, most of those movie sets burned down in a wildfire in 2006, so now what you’re visiting is the ghost of a ghost town, if that makes any sense at all.
The drive itself is rough—not four-wheel-drive necessary, but definitely rough enough that rental car companies would probly have opinions. You’re on this washboard dirt road that rattles your teeth for about twenty minutes, watching the White Cliffs get closer. It’s BLM land, totally free to visit, no permits needed unless you’re camping overnight.
What You Actually See When You Get There (Spoiler: Not Much, But Also Everything)
Honestly, I used to think ghost towns would be more… intact. What remains at Paria is mostly foundations, a few weathered wooden structures that look like a strong sneeze could topple them, and the old cemetery up on the hill. There’s this one building—I think it was a store?—that still has partial walls and you can walk inside if you’re careful and don’t mind possibly disturbing rattlesnakes. The cemetery’s the most haunting part, with these small pioneer graves, some just marked with rocks. Five people are buried there, give or take, though records are messy.
Wait—maybe haunting’s the wrong word.
The landscape does most of the heavy lifting here. You’re surrounded by these massive Vermillion and White Cliffs, carved sandstone formations that shift from cream to rust-red depending on the light, and the Paria River cuts through (when it’s running, which isn’t always). Photographers lose their minds over this place because the golden hour light is absolutely unreal. I’ve seen people spend four hours just sitting on rocks, waiting for the sun to hit a particular angle. The isolation adds something too—you might see two other cars the entire day, maybe none.
Practical Stuff You Should Definately Know Before You Drive Out There
Flash floods are real, especially July through September during monsoon season. Check weather obsessively. The road becomes impassable when wet—not difficult, literally impassable, like you-will-be-stuck-overnight impassable. Bring way more water than seems reasonable; I’m talking a gallon per person minimum. There’s no cell service, no facilities, no nothing. Pack out everything you bring in because the “leave no trace” people will recieve very justified rage if you don’t.
Some people combine Paria with the nearby slot canyons—Buckskin Gulch and Wire Pass are close—but those require permits and actual planning. Turns out the BLM limits daily entries to protect the environment, which makes sense but also means you can’t just show up. The townsite itself though? Just drive in whenever, wander around, touch history (gently), and leave. It’s one of those places that feels both completely empty and somehow overfull with everything that used to be there, you know?
