Explore Our Editor’s Favourite June News Exclusive / Canyon Spirit: America’s Southwest By Luxury Train / By Natasha Dragun

Rocky Mountaineer’s reimagined US rail journey traces a three-day route between Salt Lake City and Denver, pairing red-rock canyons, alpine forests and slow-travel theatre

Somewhere between the red rock bluffs and the blue-grey peaks, I lose all sense of time. The world outside my window is too vast, too ancient, too achingly beautiful to measure in hours.

Canyon walls rise like sleeping giants, their flanks streaked with rust and shadows. A ribbon of river glints below, cutting deep through stone that hasn’t seen rain in a long time. Wind etches stories into the sandstone.

Light shifts constantly: gold in the morning, copper by lunch then bleeding into violet at dusk.

Out here, aboard Rocky Mountaineer’s newest North American rail route, the colours hum and the land seems to unfold just for me. It feels like the Earth is exhaling. I quickly fall into its rhythm – slower, steadier, quieter. The kind of quiet that lives in my chest long after the click-clack sound of the train fades.

Rocky Mountaineer has long been a rail legend in Canada, cutting tracks through impossibly beautiful countryside in British Columbia and Alberta. It took its model of luxe days in domed carriages to the US states of Utah and Colorado in 2022, plying a path between Moab and Denver in sustainable style. Come 2026, the train extends its route and gets a makeover: welcome to Canyon Spirit.

Credit: Cayetano, Gil

A legacy reborn

Rocky Mountaineer’s original journeys through Canada are the stuff of slow-travel legend: coaches with 180-degree views, gourmet dining, days designed for daydreaming. But this new Canyon Spirit offering, I realise, is different. Not a mirror of that experience, but a reimagining – a fresh route, a fresh identity and a fresh way to encounter the American Southwest. For three days aboard Canyon Spirit, I watch the desert become canyon become alpine forest..

The journey now begins in Salt Lake City (with a stop in Moab) and ends in Denver, or vice versa – a three-day itinerary with overnight stays in handpicked hotels along the way.

No sleeper cars. The point here isn’t to speed through the landscape, it’s to immerse yourself in it by daylight – wide-awake, wide-eyed. Although I do find myself nodding off. Rail travel is like the transportation equivalent of Vicodin.

The scenery is also hypnotic, tracing a route across river gorges before plunging through sandstone tunnels; skirting plateaus and gliding into evergreen forests. It’s also, I’m told, a feat of engineering, especially the stretch through Glenwood Canyon, where the tracks flirt with sheer rock faces and the train feels like it’s channelling a new path.

Sunset at Arches National Park

The luxury of presence

There’s no script on board Canyon Spirit, just personality.

The commentary rolls out in rhythm with the land – dry, wry, often funny, always grounded in place. One moment it’s a geology lesson, the next it’s a story about local moonshine or a reminder to look left for a flash of bighorn sheep.

Hosts are fluent in the art of pause, knowing when to let the view speak for itself and when to drop in a line that makes the whole carriage smile. Everything feels unforced – stitched together by people who know this country and know how to read a room.

And then there’s the food. At lunch, I’m served a Colorado smoked salmon superfood salad, paired with a crisp riesling from Colterris Plum Creek. Dessert is a dark chocolate tart with a hint of mesquite.

Every course arrives with a side of story – where the ingredients come from, how the flavours echo the land. Later we’re invited into the lounge for a sampling of local bourbons, like Colorado’s luscious Spirit Hound Honey.

Onboard

GoldLeaf Service

Scenery that stays with you

On day two, we glide into the red-rock playground near Moab. The stone here what you expect to see when you reach the edge of the Earth: eroded by wind and flash floods into cartoon-like formations, balanced on cliffs, curled into arches.

We overnight in Glenwood Springs, in a heritage hotel with claw-foot bathtubs and striped awnings. It feels like stepping into another century. I walk down to the river before dinner and watch the sun slide behind the canyon wall. It’s hard not to feel like you’re part of something older here – something far beyond yourself.

It’s hard not to feel like you’re part of something older here – something far beyond yourself.

Historic street sidewalk in Colorado on Grand Avenue and Italian restaurant

Back on board

By the third morning, the landscape begins to green. The rocks soften. The rivers grow colder, faster, clearer. We cross wooden trestle bridges and roll past pine-scented forest. Bald eagles hover above the water.

The windows fog briefly as we rise in altitude. Our hosts weave tales of old rail lines and frontier towns, of pioneers and plate tectonics, of mining booms and sacred land.

Denver comes into view without ceremony.

The tracks ease into the city and we follow, slower now, as if the train itself is reluctant to stop. Around me, no one hurries. There’s no scramble for luggage or lines to form. Just a quiet adjustment – from windows back to sidewalks, from open space to schedule. The journey is over, but the tempo lingers.