Wrapping it up

At our supposed dry stopover in Bluff (after abandoning Colorado and New Mexico, the original state destinations of this jaunt), we continued to be dogged by rain.  Thankfully, most of the continuing drizzles were all-nighters that kept our camp wet and our boots clogged with mud, but allowed us some drier daylight to get in a couple of awesome adventures despite it.

In my last post, I mentioned that as the sun set, so did my best camera lens, causing me all kinds of angst and railing against the universe that would remove the joy of sharing photographs of our journeys.  Subsequently, we have arrived home and I have cooled my jets a bit about the injustice of it all.  It is, after all, a very expensive lens, not easily (or at all) replaceable, but we have endured so much worse that a person must decide to accept and go on.  That sounds far too melodramatic, but it accurately portrays my distress, undoubtedly exaggerated as I continue to mourn my son.

The better news is that we fiddled and faddled with the lens so that we were able to get it to function occasionally as long as it wasn't zoomed - at least until it failed utterly and completely but without my realizing that it had.  Such a long sad story here, sorry: the iPhone got us some shots until it said "Enough - charge me!"

Wolf Man . . .

Lest I belabor this point further, I will offer the story of one semi-photographed trek to, yup, another place that Chris read about: the Wolf Man panel.  That was another rock art site, one that was said to have safe access, but that in reality, I balked at.

I will sometimes hesitate at precipitous places and take time to gird my loins and/or evaluate how much of a risk I am willing to take; however, admittedly my inclination to risk my life has lessened with time.  As usual, the señor cajoled but I stood as firmly as I could on my stance that the sheer rock shelf on which I found myself was where I would remain while he proceeded sure-footedly across a stretch that I deemed unsafe. 

Chris thought I would regret not traversing that last section, but I did not at all.  There's something about teetering along a very narrow rubbley shelf with a high cliff on one side and a sheer dropoff on the other side that sets my innards to churning.  No matter how carefully I keep my eyes on my footpath, peripheral vision sees that lack of terra firma mere inches away.

I savored every bit of the hike there and back, though, as I marveled that each step brought a new and fabulous view into sight.

Because I chickened out, I allowed him to take the camera.  I'm glad I did; he snapped some exceedingly unusual images, although we still don't know whence the name of the site.

I cannot fathom the mindset of people who destroy those ancient glyphs left by those who came before.  In this case, someone has plinked away with a gun and pockmarked the site.  In addition to the current damage, I expect that vandalism will hasten the decay of those unusual and unique images.

While the continuing rain dampened my spirits somewhat, a drive out into the hinterlands allowed us to do lots of oohing and aahing as we watched storms march across the landscape.  Sadly, there was more of the oohing and aahing than photographing (see above).  The long lens and the iPhone let us record a bit of what we were blessed to view.

We started into the Valley of the Gods, one of our favorite places, but turned back to get onto pavement when rain followed us in there - not a safe road to be on during a storm unless one wants to remain there for longer than planned.

And speaking of impassable roads, at one juncture, we were met by a convoy of six unusual vehicles that got our attention.  I photographed the smallest of the bunch; the larger ones looked like fancy dancy armored cars.

Of course curiosity demanded that we learn more.  They are called Earth Roamers, touted to be luxury "solar/diesel hybrid four-wheel drive Xpedition Vehicles", actually just crazy over-the-top RVs.  And you could have your very own XV starting at a cool 1.7 million bucks!  That convoy we watched with mouths agape was worth upwards of $11 million.  We will likely stick with our Wolfie. . .

Monarch Cave . . .

Continuing to dodge storms, we headed out some miles on an unmarked rough dirt road that the señor assured me would deliver us to a place from which we could hike to Monarch Cave, and so it did . . . eventually.

That sky was looking pretty ominous, but we set off on our jaunt with only one of us feeling trepidatious (and it wasn't him).  Our route was down into a canyon in the incredible Comb Ridge, a mammoth many-miles-long feature consisting of solid rock tilted to a gentle slope on one side, cut with canyons throughout, and that is abrupt and precipitous on the other.

Our destination was a prehistoric cliff dwelling, one of many in the Southwest, but said to be extraordinary.  There was lots of walking along a winding canyon bottom and quite a bit of up the sidewall when obstructions blocked the way.  It was a beautiful hike, but more hurried than I like because there was that weather thing and we were fairly late in the day by then.

People had told us that the place was amazing, and so it was, in spades! 

The structures are preserved to a great degree and the siting is gorgeous!  It is tucked into a massive alcove protected by a huge overhanging rock shelf.  

 

Just below the primary site is a permanent plunge pool filled with water so inky that we didn't recognize it as water at first.

The place had a magical feeling about it: an unexplainable sense of awe pervaded our time there.  

 

 

The alcove extended around to another section at the same level where there were extensive pictographs.  From where we stood about halfway up the canyon wall, we saw some of the rock art, but sensed there was more shielded from our sight by the curvature of the rock.  That meant that if we wanted to see it, we would need to climb up the rather intimidating slick rock face, a prospect that I found daunting.  With a bit more self-talk and encouragement from my pard, I undertook the scramble, knowing as I did that it would necessitate a butt-scoot to get back down, and it did.

That long ledge had at one time held a series of rooms also.  The well-preserved mortared foundations were ample evidence of that section, as in the photo below.

Additional remnants from that early occupation were clearly visible throughout: a broken metate (grinding stone), potsherds and chipped stone, even a small corncob.

 

 

The back wall was covered with painted images in surprisingly varied hues: black, red, white and a green that we have never encountered before.  Many were handprints and a few were outlined hands.  In some cases, the coloration was present but the image had faded into indecipherability, not that we would have understood the meaning anyway.

 

 

I had a tough time writing about this splendid place, not because I had nothing to say, but because I was anxious to share the photographs I made in there, and they were mostly ruined.  We went in knowing about the camera lens issue; however, by then, it had begun malfunctioning in a way that I didn't realize.  As I was getting what I thought were wonderful shots, they were turning out like the one below, at first, and then finally nearly completely black.  It was disheartening, to say the least, after being in such a magnificent but relatively inaccessible spot.

 

At least we emerged with some photographic evidence and our memories of an incredible experience.  It rained on us for the entire hike/trot out of there and we had red clay amply clumped on our boots to prove it, and a trashed truck afterward.

During rare moments without rain, Chris got out the keyboard to play in the open air and all was well.