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.