You can run but you can't hide

Feeling pretty discouraged this morning . . . partly rain and partly camera have got me down a bit.  Rain that was forecast to continue at Pagosa convinced us to leave there earlier than planned.  Anticipated jaunts up into the high mountains would involve lots of slimy mud roads, possibly impassible in the Tacoma, followed by lots of slimy mud trails, also possibly impassable, not to mention the danger of lightning - significant up there.

The original plan to visit Chaco Canyon before heading home was also kiboshed because rain was forecast there, also.  Perusing weather maps and forecasts convinced us that Bluff, Utah, a wonderful place under any circumstances would be dry for the duration and a convenient stopover before going home.

Unfortunately, as weather forecasts are wont to be, that one was off, and rain followed us to Bluff.  We got in a day of exploring, and wonderful though it was, overnight rains and thunderstorms threaten our plans to canyon hike.

The death knell came when my camera lens began to malfunction.  The only other I have with me is the long zoom, very little use in these circumstances.  The thought of being in incredible canyon country (or just about anywhere, for that matter) without a camera leaves me feeling lost.  We plan to be in the Bluff area for a couple more days, and the lens seems to function sporadically, so I will continue to try to coax it along, and then there's always the iPhone.  Although it takes good photos, it's not ideal for me because the essential tremor makes it hard to handle.  Oh well, discouraging though it may be, it's not world ending.

Our hasty exit from the damp dank mountains gave us some incredibly colorful vistas.  As we drove through slightly lower elevations, we were treated to hillsides mottled with aspen yellow and oak red and orange in the most perfectly mixed palettes.  It would have been the perfect time to wander back roads, but there was that Wolf Pup following along behind making those wanders impossible.  Oh well, we marveled and exclaimed and continued on, grateful for being given that visual feast.

Return to Sand Island . . .

As the San Juan flows through Utah's canyon country, it is a far cry from its more meager stream at Pagosa.

There is the Sand Island for which this area is named.  Of course water is always a major draw for me, but we were more interested in the nearby prehistoric rock art site.

As we climbed up to the immense panels covered with hundreds of petroglyphs from centuries past, this unusual lemon-hued lizard checked us out before darting back into its hiding place in the brush.

Some of the petroglyphs were created as long ago as 3,000 years.  The señor pointed out how the degree of repatination helps to identify older symbols. 

In the unusual character in the photo below, we can see that the pecked-out sections have darkened patina compared to some of the brighter-hued figures, indicating that it is older.  On these extensive panels, there are images that have repatinated to the point that they are nearly indecipherable.

Is this a representation of lightning or a shorted-out power pole?

What a headdress this one is sporting!  These two are Fremont Culture figures.

 

 

The señor thinks these may be atlatl darts.

A Kokopelli flute player.

The two images below the deer look like spacecrafts to me.

I can't imagine what this geometric design indicates, but it was impressively long - I'm guessing it wound its way up the cliff face for 15 feet at least.

Is this a Fremont culture image of a woman?

This bighorn sheep was huge and interesting, much larger than the many others depicted.  It was in front of and facing the others that were all oriented in one direction.

Stylized figures of Fremont Culture?

When I turned around after admiring the petroglyphs, I saw the wonderful buttes beyond the river's lush growth, and wondered if the many who came there before me were also in awe of that sight.

The search is on . . .

Chris reads . . . and reads . . . and reads.  Some of the things he reads lead to our going off on searches for one thing or another.  There are so many prehistoric sites in that region that you could nearly throw a rock and hit one, but our latest quest was for one in particular, an unnamed obscure cliff dwelling.

With specific but still rather obscure directions in mind, we set off across a massive canyon rim.  Slick rock hiking is fascinating and fun for me.  The convolutions and creases and folds of the rock are beautiful, and I am always amazed at how tenacious vegetation clings to life in such tenuous circumstances.  Wherever there is a tiny pocket that collects a bit of wind-blown soil that is dampened by rain, a seed is drifts down from a breeze or a bird and impossibly takes root.

Runoff is directed to canyon bottoms that often become impassable with thick vegetation.

Because it rained the night before we climbed atop that ridge, there were water pockets everywhere, but one particular pool appeared to be maybe eight feet deep.  It was a bit too cool for a dip; otherwise, I might have tried it out.

Back to those obscure directions: there may or may not have been a prehistoric site below the ridge we were on.  We were assured there was and we were assured that there was an "easy" slope to get down to it, but try as we might, we found nothing that did not appear to be life-threatening to get down there.  It was hard to admit defeat but no matter: we had a lovely trekabout, got a good workout in the process, and no lives were threatened.

Cottonwood . . .

We are at home in the Cottonwood RV park in Bluff, a nice facility with lots of open space and the massive bluffs of Bluff all around us.  Rain has prevented us from enjoying many meals outside, but we dine in the open air whenever possible.  The big drawback here is the dearth of phone and internet service - pretty dang frustrating at time.

 

Those stormy clouds bring rain and sometimes awesome sunsets.  I got a few shots in just before the camera lens ceased functioning . . . that may be world ending!

A southern Colorado adventure

Dad Wuehrmann engaged me in many a conversation about using correct tenses in writing; I confess that I am a bit casual about switching back & forth, but he always respected my reasons, at least when I had them.  It's fun to recall those times when we both enjoyed and compared writing.  So with him in mind, I will write in the present tense for a spell as we traverse Highway 160.  But first, something about getting to Cortez and our night there.  We stopped in Cortez to break up our drive from Prescott to Pagosa, and enjoyed it a lot.

First there was Mi Mexico, a really fine eating establishment just steps from our trailer.  I enjoyed the best fajitas I've ever had, and fussy Chris deemed the chili colorado top-notch, second only to Jalisco's in Silver City, New Mexico, a meal he continues to tediously expound upon.

That expansive meal required a good walk afterward and there was that park just across the road, so away we went.  Expecting a typical city park, we were astounded when the grassy expanse went on and on and on.  Not sure how to gauge its dimensions, we are fairly certain that it covered a minimum of 40 acres!  And right there in the middle of small-town USA!

I have no idea how such an awesome treasure is financed, but certainly the residents of the area enjoy it.  Although we walked a goodly distance, we did not begin to see the whole facility.  There were multiple courts and fields for every sport imaginable - soccer, basketball, swimming, and so on.  All the pickleball courts were teeming with players, from children to senior adults.  A fellow was playing his guitar; ducks were swimming and waddling to beg for handouts from several large ponds and fountains, while the setting sun colored surrounding mountains.  What a gift to the senses it was!

Our short day of travel is taking us through the Mancos River Valley and the little burg of Mancos.  I had to call a halt on a residential street there so we could walk back to photograph the cutest raised-bed garden I have seen.  The entire front yard was given over to literal garden beds: each was encompassed in various styles of vintage metal bedsteads and covered with shade cloth through which the sprinklers were gentling watering the plants.

We've crossed and/or followed the San Juan River, the Mancos, the Florida, the Piedra and the Animas (we enjoyed a float trip on that one in years past).  We have been in this country several times before, but determined that a return is in the cards to more thoroughly explore the area and its extensive prehistoric ruins, mountains and rivers.  When we crossed the San Juan, there were a number of sights I would have loved to photograph, so we will return home via the same route to see if we can pull Wolfie off the road sufficiently to do a bit of that. 

Pagosa . . .

We're here: we pull off the road down into the San Juan Canyon at the familiar Pagosa Riverside RV Park.  We've lodged here a bunch of times and always enjoy the views of deer grazing across the high steep hillside just across the water and strolling along the river to see if the mergansers are swimming along in the mild current.  It's a quiet spot with a nice fishing pond - conveniently close to town but far enough to be country.

 

 

Drought has taken a toll on the water level in the San Juan and all other rivers and lakes here as in most places in the West.

 

Treasure Falls . . .

. . . is a must-see spot for us each time we come to Pagosa.  There was no comparison this time from previous hikes up its impressive narrow canyon: what had been before an overwhelming roaring cascade of water has been reduced to a trickle plummeting far down the cliff.  The fall itself is picturesque as it splashes over the jagged rocks to the small pool far below, but the reduced flow has transformed entire canyon from a lush ecosystem awash with flowers, mushrooms and water-loving birds to a dry forest gorge - still beautiful and affording wonderful distant views, but very different.

 

As always, we chose the primitive trail to arrive at the waterfall, but what a change that was!  The difficult climb was made so much harder because of rock and debris falls that have washed away portions, leaving us to traverse slippy slidey scary sections.

The warning sign needs to be edited to omit the "when wet" part.

I was still smiling when I got there, but continued to hang on to everything that felt stable.  Everyone we met at the top had come up the other side of the gorge where a trail has been maintained for those who have good sense. 

One woman who probably had 40 years on me said she had started up the primitive trail and quickly realized "It was too steep".  That gave me some emotional self-kudos; but one notices that we returned downhill on the better trail.

Near Treasure Falls, the Wolf Creek Overlook offers a stunning view down through the valley.

RE, a dog named Pearl & a life lesson . . .

The dreaded Wolf Creek Pass looms out west of Pagosa just beyond Treasure Falls; ascending and descending the highway over the 10,850-foot summit always turns me into a white-knuckler. 

I make every attempt to zip my lips and to keep my back-seat driving admonitions damped down.  We drove up there because the señor wanted to revisit memories of a solo backpack trip he did from there along the Continental Divide Trail.

At the trailhead, we encountered a fellow and his dog who were studiously perusing a map (actually, the dog was not in the slightest interested in the map), so a conversation was initiated. 

 

 

RE and Pearl were out for a day hike, the same as us.  They have backpacked and hiked about 8,000 miles together, although Pearl's 14 years have caught up to her, so anything more than day treks have been curtailed.  She is deaf as a post, but still useful as a chick magnet; according to RE, she has a knack for wandering off and finding the ladies, from whom he must then retrieve her. 

 

Their special bond was apparent and touching.  I photographed them in front of RE's 2000 Toyota Four Runner - we don't often run into someone with a Four Runner of the same vintage as ours.

I asked permission to include them in the blog and he asked if I would send him the photos, a request that was the result of a life lesson he had learned from a fellow trekker.  It was like this: at a hostel where RE had a room, a Japanese backpacker was rifling through a "give & take" box for hikers.  When he saw RE, a stranger, he asked if he could use the shower in RE's room, and stated that he had learned to ask for what he wanted.  So ask he did and he got his shower.  In the same way, RE got his photos.

RE shared with me that his trail name is ridiculous.  "What is it?" I asked, and he repeated: It's Ridiculous.  Whoops, I never claimed to be the sharpest knife in the drawer.

Eventually, I was done with embarrassing myself and we set off on our walk.  The 11,600-foot elevation makes a difference in breathing when walking uphill, but fortunately, that portion of the trail has little change in gradation, so we were able to wander out a good ways until the path began to drop substantially.  Obviously, the downhill portion didn't bother me, but since what goes down must come up, we returned before we had dropped too much in elevation.

Certainly the Continental Divide Trail offers spectacular distance views; however, much of it in that section is marred by miles of beetle-killed spruce trees.

 

 

 

Whilst we were gazing across the countryside from that high perch, we spied a lake that we had never been to, so we were off to find it after we returned to the truck.  According to the map, its moniker was Big Meadow.  Indeed, it did fill up a big meadow, and had turned to a hue as close to pea soup as I've ever seen outside the kitchen.

On that side of the pass away from the summit, the forest exuded health.  Aspens golding with the season spotted throughout the evergreens in varying shades of autumn.  I was frustrated at my inability to convey in photos what was before my eyes.  At every turn, it was more beautiful than the last, especially as the cloud shadows played across the landscape.

Meeting up . . .

A chance conversation back in Prescott resulted in our being alerted that friends were arriving in Pagosa during out stay.  A phone call later, and we were set to get together with Jim & Vicki to hoof it through the Piedra River Canyon, a place we love and love to share.

The river cuts a long narrow gorge where water sometimes flows beneath gigantic rock overhangs.  At other times, the trail takes us beneath towering crumbling cliffs that block the sky.  I make it a point to never dawdle in those places lest those those rocks decide to crumble at that moment.

I find it very challenging to photograph within that canyon because of the light contrasts; it frustrates me no end that I can't make the pics turn out the way I want.  One day I might take the time to do more than snapshots as I'm trekking through.  

We took the time to scatter some of Darren's ashes as we thought about him in that beautiful place.

This is a mish-mash of pics from down in and up top.

It was fun to see a group of enthusiastic young people practicing their climbing skills, or lack thereof.

 Ah, something other than a selfie, thanks to companions.

The Springs . . .

Really, there's nothing quite like it, although I confess I have not tried out every hot springs ever (what a life goal that would be!), and Iron Mountain Springs at Glenwood runs a close second, but I can't quite get enough of The Springs at Pagosa.

What a shame that new management has upped the price, thus making the cost of the experience more than I care to pay for more than a couple of day soaks!  It does not seem to have deterred too many folks, though: they're still arriving in droves for the experience.

It fascinates me no end how water coming from beneath the Earth's surface is sometimes ice cold and sometimes scalding hot.  At Pagosa, there seems to be an unending stream of the boiling hot variety, which in addition to being used to heat the town, is a major commercial attraction via attractive soaking pools perched above the San Juan River.

Certainly The Springs is a major draw for tourists who clog up the main road through town and support local lodging and dining establishments.  For those who choose not to patronize the overpriced spa experience, there are other places along the river where natural hot springs mingle their water with the San Juan's cold flow.

I love the experience of wandering from from pool to pool in the developed commercial enterprise, experiencing soaks of varying temperatures interspersed with sitting out for relaxing and reading.  Feels pretty darn luxurious - a rare treat!