July 1, 2019
As thoughts turn homeward, we depart condo-city in Colorado’s high mountains with nary a backward glance. By necessity, Interstate 70 delivers us to lower climes where we veer off onto what was a main biway at one time - Highway 6 and then off onto Utah 128.
A pretty inauspicious beginning to a hoped-for scenic drive: in a very short while, we drove from precipitous snow-laden forests to this . . .
In sync with the sere landscape, a scattering of dilapidated and collapsed buildings at the junction are the remains of a near-ghost settlement called Cisco. The now-ghost town dates from the 1880s that once enjoyed prosperous times, first as a stop for the Denver and Rio Grande Railroad, but that has pretty much ceased to be since construction of the Interstate that bypassed it.
Downriver and scenically uphill, more ghosts . . .
Further on, we are delighted to see that our route takes us right along the mighty Colorado River at high flood stage.
As we putz along on a side road, I spot a bizarre doorway in a cliff face, so of course that gets our attention. After casting around to find a way to get there through the brush and dry grass, we discover that it accesses a square room, perhaps 10’x12’, literally carved out of solid rock. There was not a thing inside except an escape from the summer sun and an old barrel filled with trash, but there's no doubt it was a huge undertaking to make - a mystery.
Nearby we saw the remains of an old suspension bridge with signage that explained about the area's history and the destruction of the bridge.
We learned that the bridge replaced an earlier ferry at the site. It was restored in 2012 by volunteers utilizing donations, but tragically was destroyed in a fire just a few years later, a conflagration that also consumed the remains of the historical settlement of Dewey.
The ferry at Dewey was built in the late 1880s by Samuel King after the Taylor family had established a cattle trail along the river, then called the Grand. Crossing the river became far easier when the bridge was constructed in 1916. It remained in use until it was replaced by the current bridge built in 1986.
We found our way through thick brush to examine where once people lived, but who have left little to mark their passage, nothing now but a few foundations and rubble.
We lunched on the bank of the river while admiring smooth and swirled rock formations around us.
The road is just above river level as it follows the winding course, deepening into water-cut canyons and then this . . .
The moral of this story is to never judge a book by its cover nor a drive/trek by its beginning.
Once again we are awed by nature’s splendor. We detoured onto a dirt road took us right to the base of those magnificent spires that for whatever reason make me want to call them The Pharaohs. Someone has beaten me to the punch, though: at least the largest monolith is called Titan. A hiking trail leads down and around; however, it was a bit too toasty for us to use it. I would like to return during more favorable weather conditions to do more exploration.
Suddenly out in the middle of sage- and brush-dotted bottomland, we saw green fields, horses and buildings under trees: the Sorrel Resort and decided to give it a look-see.
We were welcomed at the door of the lodge, filled in about the place, invited to have a bite at the restaurant, which we declined, having just eaten our sandwiches up the road a ways; nevertheless, I checked out the view from the eatery - wow! - seating inside and out right at river level where the water runs wide and serene. Sadly, we discovered that particular lodging there is nowhere near fitting into our budget.
That alternate route was intended to take us to Monticello to spend a couple of nights; what a great route it turned out to be for getting there!
Selfies . . .
Lotsa people have the technology thing down pat, but not us: this is what happens when we try to take selfies -
Too shady . . .
Too shiny . . .
Bears Ears, Canyonlands, The Needles . . .
We sojourned in Monticello as a waystop on the journey home and as an opportunity to check out Bears Ears National Monument and a section of Canyonlands National Park - the Needles - that we had not see before.
Utah has more than its fair share of mammoth formations sculpted from sandstone; the convolutions are a constant source of amazement as one travels through, while heads swivel this way and that trying to take it all in. Arches are one of the most fascinating configurations, but are not all easily seen. Wilson arch, pictured below, is an exception: its span reaches skyward right next to the highway even before you pass the monument's boundary.
In Bears Ears (it bothers me that there is no apostrophe in there), we came upon a different type of feature: a site that had been inscribed countless times by countless individuals, possibly for millennia. Oh, to travel back in time to see who was there and what the circumstances were when they created their artwork on the stone. Was it ceremonial with many gathered at the same time to participate? Was it a something that was done individually with no one else present? Was it a clan gathering with one person chosen to do the inscription? Surely those who were there could not have dreamed of so many of us coming afterward to wonder in awe.
With my questions unanswered, as usual, we drive on and feel dwarfed by the mammoth mesas and spires rising majestically from the valley floor. . .
. . . and are surprised to come upon the green of cultivated fields and a lovely lake.
Continuing on, we obtained entrance to Canyonlands National Park (love those senior passes!), much of which is easily accessible on a paved road; however, to really experience it requires getting out and walking, which is all well and good unless the temperatures are approaching the 100-degree mark.
We drove further into the monument where a short walk took us to a prehistoric storage site that reminded me of a wasp nest.
There are only a few short walks mentioned in the guide book, and there is no prohibition about wandering off-trail; however, that would not be something to undertake without a very good sense of wilderness direction. Those slick rock areas can be very tricky to maneuver as you climb around on the wind-sculpted terrain.
We were there in the high heat of the day and the lone trek that would take us off the beaten track sounded somewhat daunting at nearly 2.5 miles on rock in the sun. Not to be deterred; however, we assured ourselves that we could turn back at any point, thus opted to set off on our little trek.
But first . . . there came a Brazen Raven (capitalized to emphasize just how brazen that raven really was!). First, he stared me down as I was getting my pack organized; I could nearly hear the thought process about the intensity of the gaze inducing that human to toss out something to eat.
"Okay, that human was too dense to get it, but there's another one - best move on to better pickin's. Even though he's got his head stuck inside the truck, patience will pay off, so I'm not leaving until he coughs up the goods. In fact, I might just get in there and help myself. Sure enough, he's disassembling his sandwich to hand me tidbits because I'm so amusing."
Brazen Raven eventually moved on to greener pastures where someone might come up with something more than tiny crumbs, and we moved on to begin our slick rock trek. There was no trail at all but simply stacked-rock cairns placed strategically to show the route, presumably to the most beautiful views, and there were plenty of those.
In my amazement at the spectacular scenery at every turn, I took photograph after photograph, not a one of which came close to capturing what my eyes were seeing. Very disappointing, because I so want to share the beauty and awe, but such is life.
Not hard to tell from the next picture why the region is called The Needles. That jagged ridgeline is prominent on the skyline from numerous vantage points.
For a good bit of the trek's beginning, we enjoyed some cloud cover, which mitigated the sun's rays, and so we decided to complete the route. By the second half, though, the clouds parted and the sun was pretty scorchy. No matter, we were out there and had to get back. The route took us to many surprisingly precarious perches that dropped off into canyons far below. The prize was scene after scene of incredible vistas.
Our little respite from the sun for lunch . . .
. . . and the view from within.
Not all of the attractions were of the far-away kind.
A tad overheated by the hike's end, but we returned in one piece. The subsequent drive via gravel road took us to another prehistoric site, Cave Spring, that was a huge series of caves and connected overhanging rock shelters with water seeping from the back wall to form a small pool in the floor and with ferns growing all along the damp crack at the back of the cave.
In addition to fabulous prehistoric painted figures and handprints on the cave wall, the place has historic artifacts from cowboy occupancy of a previous century. Unfortunately, bitey flies were out and hungry; we sustained quite a few nips out of our legs whilst we walked and swatted.
One last side jaunt took us to a waterfall on Indian Creek, which we had driven along on our entrance to the monument. A few folks were totally enjoying their cool-off in the cool pools.
The señor and his map had scouted out an alternate route to get us back to our modest lodging in Montecello, and it was a lovely route over the Abajo Mountains that took us up over 8,000 feet elevation. There were many granddaddy aspens in there of a size we've never seen before.
One of my favorite creatures, a horny toad camouflaged himself beneath the plentiful lupine up on a mountain ridgetop.
More wonders along the way as we drove home following a breakfast in Bluff, Utah, a delightful town where we always greatly admire the stately historic homes and fort, and return to relax in our own little backyard gardens.
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