Stripes in Stone: A Trip Through Zebra & Tunnel Slot Canyons

Deep in the remote, untamed wilderness of Grand Staircase-Escalante National Monument, where time and water have carved sandstone into labyrinthine passageways, two slot canyons beg to be explored—Zebra and Tunnel Canyons.

Zebra Canyon, with its razor-thin walls streaked in crimson and ivory, is a place where light dances and shadows whisper. Named for its hypnotic, striped sandstone formations, the slot canyon is a surreal, almost otherworldly experience. Navigating its sinuous curves and narrow corridors requires careful maneuvering—at times, hikers must chimney through tight spaces to make their way forward. Then there’s Tunnel Canyon, a darker, more mysterious passage where water pools linger in shadowed alcoves, and the walls seem to stretch endlessly upward. Unlike the vibrant hues of Zebra, Tunnel Canyon is defined by its eerie beauty—an underground cathedral sculpted by millennia of flash floods. Together, the two canyons form a memorable journey through the wilds of Utah, where the raw power of nature meets the thrill of exploration.

Trailhead elevation 5,341'

Water none

Don't miss bringing water shoes for the inevitable water in both Zebra and Tunnel

Hiking Zebra & Tunnel Slot Canyons

I roll into the dusty heart of Escalante from clawing my way through the narrow, twisting chasm of Bull Valley Gorge. My mud-caked boots hit the ground outside Escalante Outfitters, where I visit for some gear tape and one of their legendary sandwiches. I then head east and venture down the washboard hellscape that is Hole-in-the-Rock Road towards the trailhead for Zebra and Tunnel Slot Canyons.

Fate smiled on me today. The parking lot, usually overrun with the boots and chatter of fellow hikers, is surprisingly empty. Not a soul in sight. At the unmarked trailhead, I fill my bottle and set off into the wild. The path weaves through an open desert basin, a cracked, golden landscape often grazed by cattle.

The path parallels Harris the wash for the first mile and a quarter, gently coaxing me onward as the terrain begins to pulse with color and shape. Just beyond a mile into the hike, crimson-streaked sandstone formations emerge, reminiscent of the surreal landscapes of Yant Flat — streaked with the brushstrokes of time and storm.

Not long after this, I enter Harris Wash and come upon a weather-worn wooden swing gate — an implement of the cattlemen’s domain, creaking faintly in the breeze.

I pass through it and continue through the wash before rejoining the rollercoaster footpath. Then, at roughly 2.25 miles in, the path dips back into the wash for the final time.

Here, I veer left, my steps sinking into a deep stretch of sand. Scattered all around me are Moqui marbles — strange, spherical stones, born of time and pressure, like the bones of the desert itself. Then I see it — the narrow mouth of Zebra Slot Canyon.

Knowing what lay ahead, I toss on my Tevas and press on. The slot greets me without fanfare, its opening humble, even plain. But this changes fast.

Within a hundred feet, the walls close in like a vice — from a generous ten feet to less than the width of my shoulders. By 150 feet in, I'm shin-deep in icy water, wading through a thirty-foot-long pool that steals my breath with each step. The canyon narrows even more beyond this, then opens in strange rhythms.

Midway through the canyon, the walls grow so tight I have no choice but to chimney up, pressing arms and knees against either side to climb above the bottleneck. Could I have squeezed through below? Maybe. But the price would’ve been scraped skin and bloodied toes — a toll I wasn’t willing to pay.

Then, suddenly, I'm there — in the sacred heart of the canyon. The walls bloom around me in undulating stripes of crimson, orange, yellow, and rust, so vivid they look painted on by some divine brush.

Light filters down in soft beams, catching the curves and casting shadows that shift with every passing cloud. It's like stepping into a dream carved from fire and stone.

I wander back and forth through the slot, mesmerized. Each time I turn, the colors change — the sun playing tricks, now revealing, now hiding the canyon’s full glory. I stand in awe, humbled by the quiet majesty of it all. I had come seeking adventure — but what I found was reverence.

Zebra is a brief wonder — barely a few hundred feet long — but what it lacks in length, it makes up for in relative challenge and immense beauty.

After soaking in the striped cathedral of Zebra for what felt like a suspended moment in time — an hour, maybe more — I reluctantly turn away, and retrace my path through the narrow sandstone corridor. Just beyond the slot’s mouth, I catch sight of a footpath veering left, which leads me toward my next destination: Tunnel Canyon.

I scrambled up a jumbled modest mess of boulders, crest the rocks, and find myself in front of a barbed wire fence. A small raised section beckons, and I slide beneath it, belly to earth.

Once through, the terrain tilts upward, revealing a slickrock slope bathed in sun and chaos — a sprawling field of Moqui marbles scattered across the stone like celestial seeds. Thousands upon thousands of them, as if the desert sky had once shattered and spilled its stars here. I follow the fence line, weaving along its edge until the land suddenly collapses — the path dropping away into a chasm.

I descend, the air cooling slightly as I curve around a sharp 90-degree turn — and there it is: Tunnel Slot Canyon. Its entrance is subtle and unassuming. A shallow pool stretches before it — twenty feet long and filled with cold, shin-deep water that laps lazily at the rock. I wade through, the chill biting but manageable. The canyon walls here lack the mesmerizing stripes and intricate textures of Zebra — a more muted palette, a simpler structure. But then again, few places in the world other than Peek-A-Boo and Spooky Slot Canyons could rival the surreal splendor of Zebra.

Tunnel is brief — a hundred feet, maybe less — a narrow passage carved by time and flood, opens up abruptly into a wide, sun-drenched expanse. The world feels vast again, the sky huge and blinding above. Somewhere ahead, the path curves gently and reunites with Harris Wash — the same dusty artery that had drawn me out here.

And just like that, the loop began to close — but the desert, in its quiet, ancient way, had marked me once again.