Seven - oh
July 23, 2016

Much anticipated and now passed in a flash: I am now 70 years of age and feel not a whit changed.  The number, which not so long ago sounded so advanced as to be ancient, now scarcely registers on the scale of believability.

My mother died at 47; since that time, I have counted my years as how many more I was privileged to live.  Thus, I now have had 23 more years of life than she.  I hope I have at the very least done some justice to that gift of time, although certainly much of it has not been utilized in the most productive manner.  I try to forgive myself that and to do better as I go along.

In the process, I have gained some insight into how very difficult it must have been for her those last few years when she knew she would not see her children grow to adulthood nor be able to kiss those grandbabies as they came along.

In approaching my 70th, I had hoped to have that milestone feted in some notable fashion with family and friends; however, the reality was far different.  We were on the road, moving from one RV park to another, both in Utah, the route being through the Book Cliffs with a summit over 9,000 feet and more than enough steep winding highway to focus my attention.

So-called social media and cell phone kept me in touch with a plethora of greetings, at least whenever the twists and turns of the mountains made it possible to gain a cell signal.  It filled my heart with gratitude to know I was being thought of; in retrospect, I get that 70 is a number like any other and that I need not obsess over a birthday, whether it's considered a milestone or not.

I am grateful for my life, grateful for my family, grateful for my friends and grateful for the beautiful and amazing world in which we live.  And onward we go.

Vernal, Dinosaur National Monument . . .

With Chris continuing on a dino kick, Vernal seemed an appropriate way-station because it is near the Dinosaur National Monument.  Turns out there are sights of every stripe in the region enough to keep us busy for several seasons, at least.

We began with the better-known of the local activities and hied ourselves over to the Monument.  I was glad we had already done dinos at the Cleveland-Lloyd quarry because this one alone would have left me feeling a little let down.

As with Cleveland-Lloyd, many thousands of ancient skeletons and bones have been sent to museums world-wide from there.

 

True, it is amazing how the former lake bottom has been lifted by incredible beneath-the-crust to nearly vertical, allowing visitors to come face to face with a jumble of dino remains, but I somehow expected more.  That was another of those shuttle deals - hop on the bus and be transported to the quarry site, but this time, we had the option of hiking the return trip.

Of course, we chose that option, relishing the Utah scenery and seeing fossils and the dinosaur bones that seem to be everywhere in this land.

In town . . .

We are liking Vernal quite a bit: very friendly folks plus the bonus of being in a town that has actual grocery shopping and dining out alternatives.  We had to laugh at the dining places listed in Huntington - pretty much limited to convenience store taquitos and dogs, but here, we dined at a very nice steak house for my big day.

I had heard that Vernal was a "city" (this from a Huntington native, so one sees that it's all relative in perspective) that was booming because of oil.  Those words struck terror (well, maybe only concern) into my heart as I visualized Mid-shudder-land, Texas.  The reality is a much less populous center than Prescott, but with plenty of amenities, enough to suit the tourists.  We see little of oil field activity here: a few offices of the companies and quite a few pump jacks as we crawled our way over the Book Cliffs.

Some of the Utah regions we have visited are teeming with foreigners, a great many of whom brave a trip to this country without knowing our language.  Here, though, the vast majority of tourists are Utahns; this region is not well known to outsiders, but is amazingly diverse in the sights and attractions, so much so that we have opted to stay for a second week, although at a different park.

Farmer's market, Pioneer day, winter . . .

Unbeknownst to us, we were in Vernal for the Pioneer Day parade, celebrating July 24, the day the first group of Mormon pioneers led by Brigham Young entered the Salt Lake Valley, where they settled after being driven out of Illinois, a State holiday.

The parade's theme seemed to center around doing good in the world.  We quite enjoyed the uplifting messages and the patriotism, in addition to honoring the early settlers.

Of course Chris was most fascinated with the old tractors; after all, we courted while driving big John Deeres for Gil Bisjak's farm.

We watched from City Park where the Saturday farmer's market is held.  Still early in the growing season, we were able to purchase some produce from local gardeners and the bakery booth was awesome - breakfast cheese-and-fruit pastry tomorrow!

There are live very busy bees in that case on the table.

Not sure just how it transpired, but I ended up with a big bird on my shoulder again - this one was a Moluccan cockatoo, a very gentle and social bird.  I spotted him because his person was wearing an umbrella on his head, which drew my attention.  The person was nice also, as it turns out.

Vernal's elevation approximates Prescott's, but that does not mean they have equivalent winters, by any stretch of the imagination.  Its position in a bowl surrounded by high mountains allows cold air to drain into the region and stay put, having no exit.

One gentleman we spoke to hearkened back to one winter that, although somewhat atypical, convinced me that I will never be a permanent resident.  That year, he said, the valley fogged in.  For 90 consecutive days, they never saw the sun, and for those same 90 consecutive days, the high temperature never rose above freezing.  I was afraid to ask how cold it got during that time, but someone else told us he's seen 48 below zero fahrenheit here.   None for me, thanks.

The Green, Josie & Butch Cassidy . . .

We have discovered the Green River and are in love.  What a truly beautiful waterway - much larger than we imagined, with moods aplenty for everyone.  Dropping through vertical canyons with superb whitewater satisfies rafters and long lazy stretches that wind through the flat valleys are wonderful for those who are more interested in fishing or floating.

I include this photo to show how dwarfed the vehicles along the river are as it passes the foot of that mammoth cliff.  Just upstream from this spot is where the Green has carved its way inexplicably right through the center of the range, now aptly name Split Mountain.

Rafts disembarking after a four-day trip on the Green River.  Note their size in comparison with the cliff.

John Wesley Powell and his crew lost a boat and equipment not far upstream from that same disembarkation point prior to his exploration of the Colorado through Grand Canyon.  After plying the Green, he wrote, ". . . the scenery was on a grand scale, and never before did I live in such ecstasy for an entire month. . .".

We visited the homestead of a fascinating woman who was associated with the Butch Cassidy bunch.  Married five times, Josie Bassett-Morris, finished off the last decades of her life living independently on a wonderful homestead in a cabin she built herself.

Far outside the tiny town of Jensen, she raised livestock and poultry and grew fruit and produce.  In the face of an impending storm, we hiked up one box canyon which Josie fenced at its mouth to corral her cattle.  The incredibly imposing cliffs walled in the livestock when she wanted.  We hope to return to do more hiking in Josie's neck of the woods.

I did a bit of research about her; I am of the opinion that her life would easily make a fascinating book and movie.  Here is a link to her colorful story: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Josie_Basset.  Or try http://historytogo.utah.gov/utah_chapters/pioneers_and_cowboys/josiebassett.html.

Flute player, lizards . . .

After quite a bit of hiking in the heat and full sun, I looked far up a cliff where a "short but steep" trail would convey us to more rock art . . . hemmed and hawed and carried on for a bit . . . and then agreed to give it a try.  Truthfully, it was not quite as strenuous as I thought it would be, although it was way on up there.  A bit of a trail led along the base of the upper cliff face allowing us to get up close and personal with a long string of petroglyphs.

Unknown to me if these early natives had something like a lizard clan, but they were certainly into laboriously portraying the reptiles in the desert-varnished rock faces.

The señor's presence gives a sense of the size of that one very large lizard.

These figures were unique in that they have reddish pigment added on the torsos.

As if to accentuate the lizard predilection, a large live specimen presented itself.  I had been trying to get a photo of a certain type of lizard that habitates the area; however, every one I encountered turned out to be exceedingly speedy and shy.  Turned out that particular animal was not that species, but my reptilian fascination kicked into high gear anyway.

Instead of disappearing under a rock, the rather large lizard commenced to excavating an ant lion hole and he kept after it for a long spell, during which I was unable to cease taking photographs.  I offer only a few of them here.