A revolting development
July 15, 2016

Best get this out of the way: we have destroyed our trailer's steps.  No, we didn't set off without raising them, which is probably the most common way that RVers wipe them out.  It was simply a freak accident: while pulling into an RV park, a boulder lurking in the shadows jumped out and bit us - hard - in the pocketbook.

Not repairable, unfortunately, but plans have been made to have them replaced when we get into Vernal.

Feedback - Linda & Dan . . .

I have to share the feedback from my friend Linda after she read about us going into the Zion narrows.  Her story made me laugh out loud.

"One of my favorite trips was when Dan turned 18 and we went to Zion.  We camped and hiked the narrows with blow up air mattresses in our packs.  Blew them up and floated down.  Seemed to be very entertaining to the tourists. 

We kept running into a Japanese family and they would point and laugh and mimic us floating down the narrows."

Red Canyon . . .

We did not have far to go as we moved from Glendale to Tropic.  I had to know how a small town in Utah came by the name of Tropic.  Turns out it was determined in 1889 when water was diverted from the east fork of the Sevier River via a ten-mile canal, dropping 1,500 feet in the process, with the expectation that abundant fruit and produce would be the result, a la the tropics.  Keep in mind that project was accomplished in the days of horse-drawn equipment.

Because we had ample time along the route, we took full advantage to enjoy the stunning scenery in Red Canyon.  Plenty of folks stop in that area to snap shots from outside their vehicles, but they are really missing the boat by limiting themselves.

Hiking there kept our heads constantly swiveling to take in the awesome hues and formations.

Moving and lost . . .

Last night at Glendale, we were hemmed in by a woman on one side and her brother & sister-in-law on the other side.  Nice folks, from the hotter-than-hades clime in Bullhead City, Arizona, heading for Prescott with an eye to a relocation.  Clearly, they are smart folks.

Then there were the two disheveled, lost, discombobulated women who hit us up for help when they found us off to the side of the road.  They wanted to know if they were near the Grand Staircase/Escalante National Monument.  They had come from Las Vegas, Nevada, to see the monument, had no idea really where it was and little idea where they were, and had been literally searching for it all day long!

Chris informed them they most assuredly were not there nor would they get there in the daylight still available nor would they get to "see" it even if they could have gotten there.  Their sedan would have been an unlikely vehicle to traverse the Monument's rough dirt roads; it was sad that they truly had no idea.  It seemed as if they thought they might drive up to a "sight" there, something like Mount Rushmore, do some oohing and aahing, and go home.

  
Sky battle . . .

You never know what you might find at the end of a dirt road, but typically, it is not something airborne.  On one recent boondock, though, I heard the fevered calls of a raven as we were toodling along and called a halt to determine what was happening.

For the second time on this trip, we witnessed a raven desperately harassing a golden eagle that had evidently gotten too close to the smaller bird's nest.  When you see an eagle alone, it is impressive; however, to see it in conjunction with another bird, especially one that is considered large, puts its massiveness into perspective.

The battle went on for an extensive period; the eagle must have taken substantial persuasion to leave the area.  It was challenging to get a photo during all their jinking and diving.  I was thrilled that one shot captured them both in the same frame.

We have been keeping a bird list for the journey, but haven't been sharing it in the blog, although I think I may begin at this late date without backing up on what has already transpired. 

In Tropic, our space is barren enough that we thought we might not put out the feeders, but then changed our minds.  To our great surprise, we have had more hummingbirds here than anywhere else, and a lot of them are rufous, that infamous ruffian that consistently attempts to keep the nectar to himself.

Our list numbers 46 so far, a relatively small number, and many are common birds that we see at home.  A few of our sightings are the pygmy nuthatch, willow flycatcher, white-throated swift and one of my favorites, the lark sparrow, plus Bullock's oriole and our first magpie of the trip.


Water . . .

Once the sky fight had ceased and peace returned to the land, we set off to hike.  Because there was a stream of water in that otherwise dry sage-covered high desert, I opted for our route to follow it.  It was quite a meander; as we proceeded upstream, it was obvious that the tiny trickle is sometimes a raging torrent, the evidence being the deepening wash with much flood evidence and eroding banks.

Along the line, we were surprised to find several springs where we could see the water coming right out of the ground.  Ranchers have dammed the flow in places to create good-sized pools. 

We were delighted to find that one underground pipeline was gushing cold clear water upward, an opportunity I would not have dreamed of passing up.  I bathed extensively in the water spout and encouraged the señor to do the same.  What a treat!

 

Our trek took us higher up into stands of old growth ponderosa with the colorful pinnacles of Bryce Canyon in the background. 

When we climbed up out of the stream bottom, we found a very old two-track that had conveyed nothing but cattle for many years. 

We followed that for a spell until daylight and water waned, then reluctantly turned back.  Surely there were even more things of interest just ahead that needed to be seen by me.

On our drive out, stopping at an old cemetery, we discovered that it had served the town of Georgetown, a burg that now has exactly zero residents; the only building still standing is a small cabin.  Other than that and the burying ground, there is no evidence that the settlement existed.

A Paiute woman . . .

One grave at Georgetown was of special interest.  Later research determined that my initial surmise about her story was correct. 

This is what I have discovered so far:
"Southern Paiute Woman - Paria River - River bank side was caved away in a flash flood and her bones were shown along the edge.   She had a bridle and soup bowl buried with her.  She was lifted out and reinterred March 26, 2003 in the Georgetown Cemetery for her final resting place".