Hot springs, Rhodimer research
July 31, 2009

This morning, I was determined that we get to the hot springs before the rain came it as it has every afternoon. It seemed that plan would be dashed because storm clouds had amassed even before we were up and about. Even so, with temps in the very low 60s, we trundled on in there and were pleased to see what looked like imminent storm dissipate. For the whole morning and half the afternoon, we lolled, soaked, ate, sunburned, read, soaked, relaxed and in general had a dandy of a time.

Perhaps I should add here that while I read the paper via internet, Chris put breakfast on the table, washed the dishes, packed our lunch, gathered our swim gear and just generally got us ready to depart. Thanks, Chris!

Last night, I had emailed cousin Jerry as soon as I remembered that his great grandfather, brother to my g.grandfather Charles Bradner Rhodimer, had lived in Pagosa Springs. Although Jerry allowed as how there was nothing in particular he wanted us to research, I, as usual, lacked control when it comes to genealogy, so I determined that it would be the greatest fun if we could find Jerry’s g.g.grandparents’ farm here. And besides, that was enough lolling, etc. for one day.

We walked the half-block to the courthouse and did indeed find information about his Rhodimers, Browns and Walkers, all of which we have not assimilated as yet. We located an entire block of property owned by his g.g.grandmother Alice Mariah (Brown) Walker. The property has been cleared and is now the town sports complex, all with frontage on the San Juan.

We (Chris, really) also found the farm of his g.g. grandparents (Alice and her husband William Henry Walker), now a golf course, lake and condominiums. We looked for his g.grandfather’s residence, but because of a new bridge and a new highway, it was impossible to determine for sure if his house still stands, most likely not. On that particular street, there was only one really old looking log cabin (now the American Legion post) and it is probably not it. We could only judge by early 1900 lot progressions and so much has changed. Also, we saw a photo of a 1911 flood on that street that pretty much wiped out what was there, mostly crude log cabins.

By the time we finished with the courthouse foray and walked back to the springs, rain and lightning were starting so we went to the market and home. Question to self: Does it ever not rain here???

More birds today: Stellar’s jay, mountain chickadee, Bullock’s oriole, red-naped sapsucker, starlings, Brewer’s blackbird and a magnificent trumpeter swan (a life bird for us). Not wanting to be struck by lightning, therefore dashing back to the truck, I will try for a photo of the swan tomorrow. He swam right up to us - just gorgeous!

Mountain air, birds, bears?
July 30, 2009

7 p.m. sitting under the awning waiting for the next rain, 67 degrees and dropping rapidly. Neighbors stopping by to visit, birds absolutely swarming everywhere; I have never seen anything like this many birds in one spot. We’ve added Canada geese, blue heron, spotted sandpiper, white-breasted nuthatch, mountain bluebird, western bluebird, rufous hummingbird, American coot, evening grosbeaks, violet green swallows, barn swallows.

Last night, the temps were into the 40s, so I assure you that comforter that was put aside in Moab is back in use. There’s been a lot of storm activity, plenty of rain, thunder and lightning. When we’re at the hot springs, we see the “counter” come out and time the thunderclaps after the lightning. They get everyone out of the pools when it gets as close as two miles. Then most of us huddle in the lobby peering out the windows waiting for the all-clear.





Rowdy has really perked up in this great mountain air, went on a crazed tear throwing mice up in the air and chasing them. I guess he’s a high country cat.

Before hitting the pools, I had a super massage from the same woman who gave me one when we were here last year - Myra - and enjoyed some good conversation with her, as well.
Our only boo-boo of the day was to go off in clear sunny weather and leave the bathroom roof vent open. Had to run back out here and clean up the mess. Thank goodness it wasn’t the vent over the bed . . .

The hot springs has opened up several new pools that were under construction last summer, each one is different and wonderfully landscaped. One of the new ones had quite a water chute that I love standing directly under while the water pounds on my neck and back - fabulous!

We’re right on the San Juan River (oops, just realized I called it the Animas yesterday) so took a stroll down to the water this evening through extremely thick lush foliage and enjoyed birding and exploring there. Gotta get that fly fishing going!





We have extended our stay here through Sunday, it’s just too luscious to leave. We were originally told there was no space for us after Friday. Everything in the area appears to be very full.











I got little sleep last night because Rowdy freaked out and insisted that I get up to see whatever it was that he knew was outside. I mightily resisted but he persisted until I arose to peer out windows with him into the black night. I doubt not there was something there (he doesn't carry on at night otherwise) but danged if I could see it. I have heard today that bears come right into the park, in one case right into the neighbors' pickup bed to partake of the garbage bag carelessly left there. So tonight I have my flashlight ready; it seems it will be too cloudy to utilize moonlight.



Best menu item (at the Bear Creek Saloon & Grill): Garden burger, made with innocent vegetables enjoying the warm sun . . . yanked from the ground, tossed into a tub, beat with a stick, then crammed into yummy patties . . . served with grilled mush and onions.

Pagosa Springs, here we come!
July 29, 2009

What a wonderful, diverse drive this is - traversing the southeast corner of Utah and the southwest section of Colorado. This morning, we’ve enjoyed the last of Utah’s ochre cliffs and driven through the winter wheat and pinto beans farming areas around Dove, blithely leaving behind the Dolores River and McPhee Reservoir temptations. I’m sorry that we will miss seeing Gene and Carol who are at an RV park on the Dolores. Next year will be a bit more planned, mayhaps.

I love seeing those red-gold ripe wheat fields rolling through the gentle hilly country, punctuated by pinion/spruce islands and hilltops, and interspersed with neatly disked fallow fields. It looked as if the dry-farm beans did not get precipitation sufficient to germinate or mature well, but the grain was beautiful and nearly ready for harvest.

Not far from our start, we saw a huge sign lettered on a cliff face for “Hole ‘N Rock”, but that particular little tourist trap was closed so we will have to catch it later. In fact, as I peruse my surroundings, I realize once again that we could happily spend months upon months nearly anywhere and continue to explore and enjoy ourselves.

Since I began this little enterprise of putting fingers to keyboard to relay my stream of consciousness, two folks have brought to my attention the fact that traveling from Arizona to Utah is the wrong direction for getting to the South. I appreciate that advice, lest I end up at the Arctic Circle. To clarify: our easternmost goals are North Carolina to spend time with Mom & Dad W. and Florida to visit oldest son Darren. What happens before and after that (well, there Sara and Trinity Grace in Topeka) is the great unknown, but it will without a doubt include ancestral research and other interesting stuff.

We’re experiencing lots of climate change in this short first week (only a week?!) - pleasant summer weather at Panguitch, 6,600 feet, then heat in the rocky area of Moab, 4,000 feet, now heading for Pagosa, 7,100. If these numbers are not exact, see my encyclopedic partner, as in most matters relating to numbers.

The Rocky Mountains are astounding, whatever the exact numbers. I’m looking forward to the cooler clime in Pagosa. While in Moab, I missed the cool nights like we get at home.

We passed a large pasture with many majestic elk. Exciting until I realized that it was an elk meat farm. Made me consider once again becoming a vegetarian.

Birds I think I left out of the list: violet-green swallow, cliff swallow, great blue heron and phainopepla.

Oh cripers, here we are in our home away from home up in the mountains near Pagosa. The place happens to be for sale should anyone be interested. On the off chance this turns into an actual transaction, I want a finders fee - thanks!

It’s a super place on the Animas River called (I think) Elk Meadows River Resort with a private home, cabins and RV spaces. It hailed on us as we were setting up, has remained somewhat stormy, on and off raining, cool - 60 degrees at 8 p.m., love this great mountain air.

We barely had our feeders up before we were swarming with birds to the point that it felt as if we were living in an aviary. Very fun - three kinds of hummingbirds (black chinned, calliope, broadtailed), dozens of them, plus pine siskins, Cassin’s finches, black-headed grosbeaks and robins, and that’s in the first five minutes as seen from our “dining room” window. I’ve never seen so many grosbeaks. Neither has Rowdy, and he’s loving every minute of it. We also got a magpie on the way here.

We got in very early afternoon and were quickly off to the incredible mineral hot springs in town. Aaaah! I’m way too relaxed to try to describe the indescribable, so will stop for now and try later maybe. Suffice it to say that my gratitude is boundless for such bounty.

Best sign of the day (on the marquee of a Durango motel): “Last motel for 150 feet”.

Colorado River rafting
July 28, 2009

Yahoo! Our first trip on the mighty Colorado, and only our second raft trip ever. What better place to be on a hot day than on the water and that’s exactly where we were all day. Well, actually I was in the water for a good part of day. Even when not in the river, a person remained very wet because of all the water wars. We went with Canyon Voyages, a choice we were happy with. They brought along an oar boat for those who wanted to just sit, a couple of paddle boats for those who wanted to get in on the action of rowing and four inflatable double kayaks that we took turns with.

Chris and I started in the kayaks. The inflatables handle very differently than our sit-on-top boats, but we managed to maintain a fairly forward motion and didn’t dump going through the rapids. We did think they were harder to deal with. There was no water over a Class 2, no problem even for the kids along on the ride.

This trip gave us plenty of time to swim alongside the boats, which I enjoyed very much. My swim suit will never be the same though, methinks after trying to rinse out the muddy water from it. Next stop is the springs at Pagosa; maybe that will wring out the mud and replace it with mineral water.

The half-day people were put out before lunch and replaced by the afternoon half-dayers. Second shift was almost entirely French folks. We were served a nice lunch on the beach.









In fact, at all the sites we’ve visited in Utah, we have encountered more French than anything, I think. This RV park does have a lot of Germans, though. We met one amiable fellow from Dusseldorf last night.

And . . . we met another one - grandparents RVing with grandkids, this time a couple with four young’uns from approximate ages six through 12, and they’ve been out for a month so far, 6,000 miles with 1,400 to go, clear back to Corpus Christi. Maybe there’s something to this whole thing . . .

We learned from our river guide that the tamarisk beetle is actually from Japan, not Egypt as we were told yesterday.

Today was the one-month anniversary of Dad’s passing. We had a good cry this morning, missing him. If he were still with us, I would be making my daily call to him and telling him that I went rafting on the Colorado. He would say, “No kidding?” always seeming to be incredulous at the things we do.

One little boo-boo I made when we set up here: first I remove the sway bar from the trailer hitch and lean it up against the trailer. So far, so good. Next I start lowering the front jack to level the trailer. Oops, what was that pop I just heard? Hmmm, seems I leaned the sway bar in an unfortunate place and popped a hole in the trailer siding. So now we’ve run off to the hardware store for that handy-dandy JB Weld. It is, after all, a small hole now hopefully weathertight.

Best sign of the day: “Flue shots - chimney cleaning”.

Canyonlands
July 25-27, 2009

Troglodytes, Moab . . .
Driving down the road - despite Chris’ usual silent traveling mode, he immediately turns into Chatty Cathy the minute I open the computer to write. He just finished a book I got for him at a yard sale and wants to relate it all to me. I’m happy he’s finished it because it was a real nose sticker. It was “Nothing like it in the world" by Stephen Ambrose, turned out to be an excellent history of the railroad in America although he said it lacked some cohesiveness and had one major historical mistake regarding codes during the Civil War. They should have had me to edit it, eh what?

Moab is an interesting little place, put on the map by the uranium mining boom of the 50s, and remaining viable evidently because of tourism - lots of Colorado and Green river expeditions and red rock tours. Our park, Spanish Trail RV Park, looks out on the LaSal (don’t look at me; I didn’t tell them to spell it that way) Mountains with a peak nearly 13,000 feet, and surrounded by Utah-red cliffs. There are some other RV parks here right on the river, which I will choose for next stay if it’s in the summertime. This one is very nicely kept, though, just a bit far out of town and away from the river and other attractions, also more exposed, perfect for a wintertime stay.

After driving all day (okay, only five hours) to get here, Chris immediately wanted to get back in the truck to go for a drive. Reluctantly, I agreed and of course we had a great explore along the Colorado up to where Kane Creek comes in.

There was a super rock art site, Moonflower Canyon, with an interesting feature: it showed a number of upside-down figures. Did these folks have a higher-than-usual incidence of unfortunate missteps up top?

A second unusual feature was logs placed inside a rock crevice, notched for stepping, worn smooth by use and arranged to allow access to the higher reaches (you wouldn’t catch me climbing up there, though, lest I be memorialized too). It reminded me a bit of Crack in Rock, the backcountry of Wupatki National Monument we backpacked into with Barb and Bud. That one didn’t utilize log ladders, but the feel would be about the same upon being “born” onto the topmost level after scrambling up inside the crevice.

While in the Kane Creek area, I had a real deja vu experience that I may have finally figured out. There is a series of some very odd domiciles - cave dwellers. These troglodytes have carved out huge caverns in the cliff face and are living in them. Some have nothing across the entrance, just a gigantic opening like one I saw with a fence and gate that proclaimed “private residence”.

The most elaborate cave dwelling we spied had a traditional house front built onto it.

For some reason, this all seemed familiar although I’ve never been here. Perhaps I read an article and saw photos somewhere?















Arches . . .
Arches National Park was next on our agenda, so bright and early (well, not very), we anticipated the exposed heat of the day and slathered on sun screen, filled water bottles, packed sun hats and headed off. Into the park for a few miles, (I love that Golden Age pass or whatever they call it now; they even let Chris in for free with his more mature mate. I remember when Dad first got his. It seemed to me that he was way up in years at the time) we begin to understand that the rain we couldn’t even see when we left home is not stopping any time soon and our rain gear was back in the trailer. What a waste of sun screen, also time. Out of the park we go, back through Moab, out to the RV park to pick up garments to keep us dry, back to the park where the entrance attendant cleverly states, “You’re back again.” We agree and go on our way.

We are surely getting in our share of walking. We hike out to every arch, every trail and some off-trail hiking. It would be a shame to miss anything as long as we’re here, and we’ve gotten perfect weather for seeing it all. In addition to the incredible views created by distant (and close) falling rain, clouds and mists, the temperature has dropped about 15 degrees and stays that way until late in the day. It was quite a treat while in the Park to see usually dry washes running flash floods and waterfalls off the faces of monoliths.

I take photos in a vain attempt to convey the majesty of what I am seeing, and find it no more satisfactory than using language for the same purpose. I suppose I shall have to leave Utah soon: I’m running out of adjectives. I photographed the smaller arches we saw in the beginning. By the time I got to later, more gargantuan structures, I was overwhelmed. The last one I shot was the massive double arch. In my picture, it looks like a little tiny unusual but otherwise uninteresting geologic shape when in reality, it is humongous.




I did get a nice shot of Chris helping balancing rock.


















One of Chris’ pics of me in a smaller arch gives a bit of perspective.

















As in most of the others, we climbed up onto the bottom side of the double arch, this being more of a struggle than others. Then we saw that there was one last fin of rock to surmount before one could catch the view out the other side. It was one of those deals that I look at, know I will be sorry, and do it anyway. These climbs I get myself into are scary going up, but terrifying on the way down. That’s when Chris goes ahead of me so that if I fall, I can squash him, too. Just save the bird book - that’s all I ask.





Canyonlands, birds, tamarisk . . .
Monday morning found us doing yet another jaunt - this time to Canyonlands National Park. Quite a different feel here: fewer people (possibly attributed to the weekday but I suspect it is less visited), different geology sliced into unbelievable convolutions and monuments resulting in even more vastness, deeper rock color shades and much more stratified.

A really amazing place, my favorite in Utah (oh yes, except for Zion and Natural Bridges National Monument). It’s kinda like pie: whichever I’m eating at the time is my favorite. We did Bridges years ago with the kids. I so loved hiking barefoot to cliff dwellings in the bottom of canyons with small sandy streams.)
































One stop here brought us to yet another arch, one that obviously found itself in the wrong national park. This one was fairly small and short; however, it stuck out over an abyss so deep one could not see the bottom. Along comes this little hippie chick with hair that hadn’t seen shampoo nor brush since she left home, hikes up her little airy fairy skirt, trips (a euphemism only) out onto the arch and does a cartwheel while her beau photographs her. Scene moves to me - afraid to attempt a cartwheel in my own back yard, much less in a place in which I could go careening out into space. The thought will undoubtedly cause nightmares.

One little mishap when I stepped onto a sloped sandy slickrock and went down onto my knees. Jarred me some, but a bit of reiki before proceeding and I was right as rain except that I look like I fell off my bike and skinned my knees. Thank heaven I wasn't up there with the hippie chick when I slipped.




Today we ate lunch hunkered under a scrubby juniper for shade, sitting on the rim in awe at the scene before us.

Near there, I spotted an unusual, and to us unexplainable, atmospheric sight - a light blue stripe in front of a cloud. I’m including in my blog a photo of that and several from Canyonlands just because they’re totally cool. Maybe someone will tell me what the stripe is.

At the last place we stopped and hiked to, I heard the strangest noise, mysteriously unidentifiable. Shortly, we saw the source: white-throated swifts were zipping past us as fast as if a sword were slashing through the air.

Other birds we’ve gotten recently include house finches that finally found our seed feeder, house sparrow, Say’s Phoebe, lark sparrow, blue-gray gnatcatcher, rufous and black-chinned hummingbirds.

We have noticed since we’ve been here that most of the tamarisk in the watercourses is dead, but the surrounding vegetation appears healthy. If they were spraying the tamarisk, how then would it not affect other plants? Chris discovered from a ranger that they have imported a beetle (she thinks from Egypt) that kills only tamarisk. It’s obviously doing the job over vast areas. We shall hope it doesn’t have some unknown disastrous affect like many other highly touted imports.

On our way out to Canyonlands, we could see the Henry Mountains off in the distance. It was the last mountain range in the lower 48 states to be named and explored. So I learned from my encyclopedic partner (and so much more).

I’m getting some wonderful stories back from folks reading my blog/trog - thanks for reciprocating! Just remember, I also want the news from you all and from back home.

Moving to Moab

July 24/25, 2009

Saturday morning after a rainy night finds us packed up/hooked up/tanked up and heading north on Highway 89 from Panguitch. Plainly, there is much more to the economy of the area than I realized coming in from the south. We are driving through a large valley flanked on both sides by substantial mountains. Attesting to plentiful water, we see extensive irrigated pasture lands and fat cattle. As we begin to leave the valley, the landscape gives way to sagebrush and grass. As in most places in the U.S., the remnants of early habitations stand as testimony to the isolation of early settlers - bare board walls and empty windows gaping at the ease with which we now traverse their formerly quiet domain.


Trout, rock art, back roads. . .
Canyon country they call this; the reason is clear. Everywhere are mountains with fantastic multi-hued rock formations of gigantic proportions. Yesterday, we chanced upon a panoramic view that defies description: sage green interspersed with the darker shade of fingers of fir forest, pastures far below, all backdropped by deep blue mountains banded by red and white rock layers - breathtaking!

How we came to that vista is another story, one which I hesitate to relate, but in the interest of thoroughness will tell. First however, I shall begin at the beginning, as they say. The day was set aside for fishing - licenses were bought and tackle was ready. We determined to return to the meandering creek we had visited earlier. Upon arriving at the end of the road, we found campers, so thought we might not want to share the area with them. Turns out they were packing up, nearly ready to leave. It was one man camping with five children and he was still smiling - obviously deserves a medal (that reminds me of another heroic act we witnessed, but I’ll get to that later).

We climbed down into the canyon and spent quite a few hours lure fishing (I have decided for sure to ask Sharon to teach us fly fishing when we get home - she has offered, but it seemed the time was never right). It was really a lovely time, peaceful and quiet. The birding and fishing were both fair - three rainbows and a brook trout, spotted towhee, western tanager, chipping sparrow, song sparrow and belted kingfisher (there’s one we don’t get in our back yard).












Then we determined to attempt a closer approach to the cave with the petroglyphs. It was across the creek from us but access was further hindered by a large island and the swampiness surrounding it. Well, we did get closer, right across the creek to be precise, and I only mucked up one shoe in the process. Probably would have been better to sink in with both; at least then they would match. At any rate, we got better photos showing the rock art.


When we had pretty well fished the twists and turns of the creek (if I had a Dixie National Forest map, I could probably put a name to it), we decided to try another dirt road that we thought might approach it further downstream. Apparently forgetting that we were driving Toter, the Toyota Tundra trailer toter, not Ruby, the four-wheel-drive Toyota 4-Runner, we continued on Forest Road 405 far past the point of good sense. The trail continued to narrow, hemmed in by trees, until it appeared that we would not be able to turn around. That bit of concern gave way to relief when we came to a more open area that would allow us to reverse direction. It was obvious we would not be able to follow that particular road to the creek anyway, if indeed it even went to the creek. Beginning the turnaround, Chris turned the Toter toward the uphill side and backed up toward the downhill side - oopsie! There go the back wheels off into soft stuff, digging themselves into substantial ruts from which they could not climb. What a sinking sensation, literally. And I thought we were old enough to know better . . .

Being the self-reliant entities we are, we immediately wondered if the Good Sam roadside assistance tow truck could or would get out to that distant locale and how long it would take them if they could or would. Alas, it seemed that if we wanted the Toter to go home with us, we would need to find a better remedy. Happily, we had him unstuck within a half-hour. The solution involved rocking the truck back up onto the dirt ridges we had created by spinning the rubber off the tires, filling the craters with rocks (luckily plentiful), shooting those rocks out the back while burning off more rubber and repeating the process until we were clear. Oh, how I wish I had photographed our dilemma, but until we were out, it seemed to be one of those occasions a person would like not to have memorialized.

Once free, we wandered on more dirt roads to who knew where until we came upon the previously mentioned panorama, and later the highway. In approximately 1.5 hours, we had traveled about three miles down the highway from where we started.

Pioneers, rodeos, ranchers, grandchildren . . .
No cold pool today, just nice showers after our ordeal, grilled chicken and then off to the Panguitch Invitational Rodeo. Seems this is Pioneer Days, commemorating the date that Brigham Young and his party entered the Salt Lake Valley in 1847, originally called the Day of Deliverance, thus parades, rodeos, fireworks and the like. The event, held in a very nice indoor arena, was obviously a primarily social event - very interesting and fun and very different from Prescott’s rodeo. It proceeded with very little pomp and circumstance, just real cowboys and cowgirls competing and sitting in the stands with us when it was not their event. As far as I’m concerned, there are no finer folks than ranch people. I am forever grateful to have spent my life in their company and for that heritage.

The other heroism we witnessed were fellow RVers who were touring the West and elsewhere for five weeks with their 10- and 12-year-old grandchildren (think about that!). The man stopped by our rig when we were sitting outside and Chris was playing the keyboard. He was asking kayak questions and stayed to visit (I suspect he just wanted to be away from the crew). They were taking the kids kayaking, wanted to do so on Lake Powell, so that led to Chris offering advice re places. Before long, his wife and the kids tracked him down, so we had a nice visit with all of them. The couple was from Missouri; the youngsters from Connecticut. It seemed that the close quarters were wearing on all concerned, not too surprisingly.

While with us, the boy used his cell phone to call his father who was celebrating his birthday so Chris could play “happy birthday” while the children serenaded. Before our new friends departed, they bought a cd.

Remind me not to go RVing for five weeks with grandchildren. . .

Landscapes, Mom's, sculpture . . .
We are seeing lots and lots of agriculture in a series of valleys as we continue. Many different types of mountains on both sides, including Delano Peak, 12,169 feet, that sports some snow up high despite the season. We’ve also been surprised to see extensive lava flows for the past few days. As we passed through the Circleville area and farther north (I think that was in Circle Valley), we noticed many references to Butch Cassidy. Will have to look up what his association was with this area.

There was also some attractive whitewater rafting through there. This is a must-return - a pretty valley, great looking river fishing opportunities, some float kayaking possibilities and rafting - and all within a day’s drive of home.

We have turned onto Interstate 70 heading for Moab, where we will settle for a spell. We shy away from Interstate travel in general; however, the only other route to get from here to there today is a winding mountain road that we have been on sans trailer and prefer not to do with the Totee trailing.

Stopping to borrow facilities, we saw a sign for the “famous Mom’s Cafe” in Salina (long “i”), so decided to go there for my birthday, even though it’s not. The eatery is in an 1889 cut-rock building. Mom has up and retired, we were told, but her fame lives on.

Near there, we spied a huge plaster statue of an Indian, apropos of nothing that I could discern. At its base, the sculptor’s name and date were amateurishly inscribed into the concrete, along with the information that the subject was Ute Chief Blackhawk. Oh, for answers to all the mysteries!

Travels with Rowdy . . .
Evidently, Rowdy has finally manned up to the whole RV experience. Of course we are carrying many items for his comfort - his gigantic “princey pillow”, his collapsible house, his carrier in the truck with a pillow on top and cushions inside, his stuffed bunny on whose lap he sits, toys and treats. Even with all that, he used to hide under bed pillows every time we prepared to pull up stakes and move. He advanced to only cowering in the open when it was time to put him in the truck, and now all he does is to shoot us a slightly snarly look.

And this is the first trip in which he has not prowled on guard all night long the first night out. Doesn’t sound like a big deal, that is until you realize that he weighs 14 pounds and that our prone bodies in bed were on his continual prowling route - check out one window, walk across us, check out the other window, peep upon jumping down with a thud, walk across floor (thunka-thunka-thunk), jump up at next window, and so on, alllll night loooong. Hmmm, just realized his weight equals his age - gad, I hope that trend doesn’t continue.

Blogging, heat, bighorn sheep . . .
Was it only two days ago that I published my first blog? Oldest son Darren called and when I told him I’d done a blog about travel, he renamed it a trog. Not long ago, I had no idea what a blogger was, and now I are one. . . I think it’s going to be fun and a good way to share. It was not nearly as simple to do, however, as the website proclaimed. In fact, by the time I finally got it set up, I was to the tearing-hair stage and enlisted Chris to lend a hand on the final niceties. There are obviously refinements that can be done; I will work on them gradually.

We are proudly a two-laptop family now, thus Chris can write music whilst I am blogging, journaling, charting family history and so on. Friend Pam just reminded me via email of some time in the distant past when she and I were designing ads at the Real Estate Guide and I was upset with Dad because he was touting the email type of communication and I thought it too impersonal. She opines that he set me on the road to computer geekdom. I fear that particular memory has been wiped from my brain’s data bank. Pam’s retention of minutiae I lost five minutes from its occurrence is phenomenal, so I’m sure it’s true. I just can’t get it on my recall screen.

Spectacular beyond spectacular! The drive we’ve just completed is one of the most incredible I’ve ever seen. We’re in Moab at an elevation of 4,200 or so feet, as opposed to the environs we’ve just left, 6-10,000 feet. I’d like to say this is of no consequence; however, the thermometer tells me differently. I’m already sorry I bought the thing. It sits there on the window at 6 p.m. registering somewhere around 95, as if laughing at me. Oh well, I can truthfully say this location was Chris’ idea. The views from our Spanish Trail RV Park are fabulous, but I think my activity of choice here will be a Colorado River raft trip, perhaps one each day.

On our way today, we pulled out to a place called the Devil’s Canyon overlook. To stretch our legs and see the sights, we walked off a ways toward the rim and spooked up a bighorn sheep. For reasons known only to himself, sandal-clad Chris had to go down a gravelly, slippery incline right to the absolute edge of the abyss in order to call back a description of the animal’s route despite my continuing whimpers of dismay (we’ve since had words). The sheep worked its way under the ledge on which Chris was poised at the edge of disaster, came around to the other side and posed quite nicely for his portrait. (Chris and I then had more words.) I was really concerned when I noticed that Chris had the bird book slung over his shoulder - that’s my irreplaceable birding journal!

July 20, 2009
Our journey began twice this morning - once in expectation of continuing, and the second time after returning home to retrieve the book I am reading. It seemed a bit extreme to turn back when we were already nearly to Drake, but then I think it set the stage nicely for the remainder of the trip. Thus, whenever we pass something we want to see, we are ready to find a turning-around spot so we don’t miss a thing. Those turns are substantially more difficult to make with the trailer trailing along behind as all good trailers do (hence the name).

At any rate, Rhonda Hamilton loaned me the book even before she got to read it, knowing that I would be spending time in my beloved South. It is titled “The Widow of the South” appropriately enough, and is set in the Civil War era.

This turning-around business is ingrained in me. Happily, I found Chris to be trainable to the concept. He responds quickly any time I yell “Stop, stop, stop” or “Go back, go back, go back”. Seems I am inclined to express the urgency of the situation by repeating these commands three times.

Most anything can precipitate the need to return whence we just were: an unusual bird on a fence post, a road-killed armadillo (only the first one, though), an incredible photo opportunity, possibly an intriguing dirt road (it must go somewhere or it never would have been built), a glimpse of anything that needs further inspection.

We confused the heck out of Rowdy when we pulled up in front of the house we had left a half-hour previous. He pressed his face up against the truck window and attempted to will himself back inside, to no avail.

The U-turn stood us in good stead as we left Flagstaff. We happened to see Mary’s Cafe, our standard stopping-place of old, as we zoomed past at lunch time, sooo with some difficulty, Chris got us pointed in the right/wrong direction. We were very happy that we went to the trouble of doing that; it saved our bacon, literally. Because we always put Rowdy in the trailer when we stop for longer than a fuel-up, we discovered on opening the door that the freezer had popped open, strewing only a few items across the floor. Disaster was averted: if the remainder of the contents had thawed, more and more would have escaped their formerly icy confines. Imagine if we’d decided Mary’s was too difficult to get pointed back to: Chris’ carefully planned and packed food storage would have transformed itself into sodden baggies of garbage slipping and sliding across the trailer floor.

After lunch, we had thought to walk to the Elden Pueblo Ruins near Mary’s, but thought better of it as lightning popped overhead. How odd that neither of us has ever gone there. Perhaps that will be part of a future day trip.

Further north, on the Navajo Reservation, we witnessed flash flooding and the wonderful water sheeting across the red landscape as it is wont to do there. We also saw quite a few thriving corn fields planted in the Indian way - seeds placed deep into the soil where they can find moisture, maturing to plants spaced far apart so as not to compete with each other for water. All is dry farmed, obviously receiving enough rain this summer to produce a crop.

Most journeys have a destination. This one, however, is a work in progress. This morning, we didn’t know which direction we were heading. Now we are in Utah, at least I think I see it through the pelting rain. We have been driving through storm since before Flagstaff. It has given us jaw-dropping vistas as we pass into and out of rainfall, clouds and mist. I have been known to require stopping in the middle of the road to get a photo I want; however, I missed some doozies on this drive because the traffic precluded that option and there was no place to pull over.

When I threw out the possibility of going to/through Utah this morning, Chris allowed as how he’d never been to Bryce Canyon - what?! Gotta fix that.

Note to self: I like Kanab and the surrounding country very much, must spend more time here. I keep forgetting how close it is to home. Further back near the Grand Staircase Escalante National Monument is a place called Paria Outpost, a likely looking place to “camp” and explore this incredible area.

Coming up here, we were reminded of our honeymoon when we hiked out to see the “old Paria” town site. Topping a ridge, we spied the most incredible ghost town ever. Unfortunately, we discovered on arriving there that we had come upon a movie set. The real old Paria was across the river, a collection of rocky rubble. Ah well, a memorable hike it was.

As we ascend into the mountains, we are awed by the now-irrigated neat and tidy farms and homesteads around Orderville (named for the United Order, not the condition of the farms). That greenery gives way to the even more lush river valleys higher up. It looks like an angler’s haven here - this area will have to be a fishing destination, too. Lots of ranch land here being developed, it seems, the common way of the West. The one price I saw posted was $79,900 for acre lots fronting the river. This one day’s drive has yielded some of the most incredible landscapes imaginable. I would consider it a must for a visitor to the West.

At bedtime, I discover that water had made its way into our little home and onto the bed. Happily, it was confined to a pillow and blanket that could be put aside. Chris discovered that the window caulking had dried and allowed seepage from driving in the driving rain yesterday (question to self: if we walked in it, would it then be walking rain?). Oh well, not nearly as big a mess as last year’s leak resulting from Hurricane Ike’s rain getting into our food storage compartment.

I am anticipating that this trip will not be nearly as frenetic as last year’s, perhaps more relaxation. Fat chance, you might say. We shall see.

The day’s temps have ranged around 60 degrees - exceedingly pleasant.

I am grateful to have the opportunity of this travel; it was being very hard to be at home and be constantly reminded that Dad is not with us any more. His death at age 94 on June 28 was certainly not unexpected, but we have spent the past 20 years with his needs foremost in our minds. Releasing that habit will be facilitated by being out of our element. This is just his kind of trip, something he and Pat did many times in their smaller travel trailer.

July 21, 2009 - my 63rd birthday!
Birthday morning was a bit of a dud if, like me, you consider doing nothing a dud because doing nothing is definitely what I did (or didn’t do, as the case may be). Darren texted me a bday greeting first thing, and Chris gifted me with a lovely small sculpture and a wonderful secondhand book of early western photos. I absolutely love old photos, seeing the folks in their everyday life and wondering and learning about them. Several other calls and emails reassured me that I had not been forgotten.

I finally mustered enough energy to get into the truck and away we went, ostensibly heading toward Cedar Breaks National Monument, thinking we would mostly go for a “Sunday drive.” If you don’t know what a Sunday drive is, you’re probably younger than I am, but then sometimes it seems that just about everyone is.

Not surprisingly, we had not gone far on our drive before I found the dirt road onto which we should turn. Just a short way off the paved road, our trail ended at the top of a canyon fabulously walled by convoluted cliffs. A creek (in Arizona, it would have been a river) in the bottom brought a whole new meaning to the word meander as it wandered snakelike from wall to wall. The remainder of the canyon floor was filled with sage brush, wild roses, currants, gooseberries, wild irises, columbines and much more greenery than I can put a name to.

Chris wanted to hike to the bottom, of course, but I hesitated at the depth and steepness. Of course I agreed to the hike after a few seconds of consideration and found it to be not near as steep nor as long as I had originally anticipated. Amazingly, both of those dimensions grew to much greater proportions on the way out later.
It was well worth the climb down in - what a beautiful little canyon! We spent quite a bit of time there savoring the fishing possibilities and birding. Even got two life birds - a Clark’s Nutcracker and a Cordilleran flycatcher. We started the trip bird list with those in addition to raven, robin, turkey vulture, black Phoebe and broad-tailed hummingbird. Plenty of other birds in that canyon that we didn’t positively identify, but we do expect to go back to hook a few trout, so will get some more then.

The deer flies were a bit pesty but didn’t bite much, possibly because we were wearing our trusty Bug Bam bracelets “because mosquitoes suck” (that’s for you, Shannon).
Even more exciting was when I spotted a critter swimming in the river. We watched it for a long time - diving to the bottom and surfacing with a mouthful of mossy stuff that it carried to its den. Its nest was on the opposite bank so we could watch it hippy-hop up into it. Unfortunately, it hippy-hopped pretty rapidly, leaving us without a clear enough view to decide if it was an otter or a muskrat, but it definitely was not a beaver. Very fun to watch his labors.

Once we tore ourselves away from that great place, we headed back down the road toward Cedar Breaks, but alas, an even more fabulous photo op presented itself, and we were required to waylay ourselves at the roadside watching a shepherd on horseback and his dogs moving a huge herd of sheep.
I was mesmerized by the patient, methodical team working. We were close enough to hear the horseman’s whistles and calls to the dogs, two of which never stopped, continually working their way around the animals. Those two were the typical herding dogs, but two others were much larger white canines that seemed to have a completely different job. We surmised that they were on the watch for predators.













At long last, we drove on. Neither of us had ever been to Cedar Breaks, so glad we went - what a spectacular place it is! I have no words to paint the picture it deserves - deep canyons of startling red rock formations that have eroded into tortured shapes. We hiked a mile-long ridge trail out to Spectra Point, watching the light change on the strange sights below us. At the same time, we were keeping a close eye on our footing; the trail was treacherously precipitous. We heard one boy about eight years of age say, “Cool, no matter which way you fall, you die.” I didn’t think it was all that cool, but we did make it out to the point where we were enthralled to see a 1,600-year-old bristle cone pine - incredible!
There were places on the path where I was sure if Barbara were there, she would be doing a more secure crab walk rather than risk toppling over the edge. I have to admit I didn’t make great time - a sometimes-steep hike at higher than 10,000 feet elevation results in a lot of huffin’ and puffin’. I was surprised to find a trail of that precariousness in a National Monument - it could be the end of a bunch of taxpayers, after all.

And for the final act of my birthday, we came home to shrimp cocktail and wine, then off to dinner at historic downtown Panguitch’s Cowboy’s Smokehouse. Mediocre food, good atmosphere and an excellent female vocalist who sang lots of Patsy Cline - my favorite. A lot to pack into an afternoon; I think time stood still for us.

July 22/23, 2009
Started the day by agreeing that we greatly disliked the “park” we were in . . . despite being loathe to move, we checked out the KOA down the road. We were at the Hitch-n-Post, a dusty, gravely collection of overnighters and storage, it seemed. The bathrooms and showers were nice, but since we don’t live in those, it wasn’t enough to stay put. Another irritant was the lack of internet access. They had wifi but their provider was down almost all the time we were there. This was significant for me because 1. I want to stay in touch with folks back home via email, and 2. I have in mind to set up a blog, an impossible undertaking without internet. Also, we are in the midst of doing a virtual backup of our computer contents, another impossibility without the magical internet. Sometimes, I think the whole thing is a figment of my imagination, but then I can’t even fathom electricity.

We had tried to do the virtual backup with Mozy, but despite that it worked fine for Leslie, it absolutely would not for us - unexplainable (see above remark). I have switched to Carbonite and am almost completely backed up on a trial run without even giving them any money, so very pleased with that. We keep cds of our genealogy research and music productions but I feel so much safer having this other option. The genealogy is gigantic and irreplaceable.

The KOA is lovely, grassy, well-kept, with friendly, helpful staff and a pool, so the choice was clear despite the hassle (and their internet access works). It’s just about as much trouble to move a short distance as it is to travel all day. In this case, it was very worthwhile. I had the nicest conversation later with the owner, Bob. He’s from Rockford, Illinois, and came out here RVing and ended up buying the campground.
I was very curious about the gigantic three-room tent that is permanently set up here. Bob said a Netherlands company has set up 20 of them in the West. They charge Hollanders $150 per night for their use - yikes!

We’re still diddling with first-few-days-out stuff in the trailer: moving things to where we can find them, adding niceties such as a hook for the clipboard, etc. In this small space, it is important to me to have everything put away or I get very grumpy. Cleaning seems also to be a constant; could it have anything to do with traveling with a black cat that manufactures and releases hair at an unbelievable rate? Of course I can deep clean the whole trailer in about a half-hour - love that part! We’ve put up the wind spinner and bird feeders outside. With those and my chicken tablecloth on the picnic table beneath the awning, I feel right at home sitting here in my camp chair with bare feet in the grass. I have not a complaint in the world.

Panguitch is small. I’m guessing it would not have survived without tourism for the amazing natural red rock wonders and the abundance of fishing hereabouts. This morning, we walked through a residential neighborhood near here. Found friendly nice folks, most of whom seemed to be watering their lawns, and added to the trip bird list - starlings, barn swallows, mourning and Eurasian collared doves, Cassin’s finches, and kingbirds - nothing we don’t have at home.

Yesterday after the move, we drove to Bryce Canyon.
It had been 35 or so years since I had been there, hadn’t at all remembered how hugely vast it is.
We walked a bit on the rim and then had a nice little hike to a waterfall and so-called “mossy cave”.
The trail followed a rushing stream that is channeled into the canyon via the Tropic Ditch. The area’s settlers downstream at Tropic lacked permanent water, so worked for two years digging their ditches - one upstream to get the water into that canyon and one below that picked it up and transported it to their settlement.

The previous days’ storms had moved out, bringing temps from the 60s to the 80s, which inclined us to the mile-long hike instead of the longer rim walk.

What a refreshing treat after hiking in the heat to return and jump into the pool to "cold off". Well, maybe just a bit too much of a treat. Chris resisted and only colded off up to his knees.

Today is for sitting, writing, reading, leisurely walks, setting up the blog, working on photo organization (might make the tiniest dent in that). Chris talked to Leah, who said lots of rain at home and our place is all good.