Wednesday, August 11
Movin’ & groovin’

An all-around excellent day - from our mundane move to a summer afternoon in the San Juans. Started out a bit slow - I have been very tired during this trip and not really pepping up much, and then it didn’t help that Rowdy was on critter watch and insistent that I join him. By the time I arose from my bed, clomped down to the other end of the trailer, dug out the flashlight and tried to shine it on something besides the neighbor’s sewer hookup without the window reflecting my sleep-deprived face (2 a.m.: what is that red thing? Can it be a bear???), whatever critters were in the neighborhood had definitely hightailed it to better pastures. Oh well, I think Rowdy appreciated my efforts.

We had received word that a space would be open for us at the Rio Blanco RV Park on . . . what else . . . the Blanco River, so prepared to hook up and go. Always, Rowdy knows when we’re preparing to move and goes into mope mode. This morning he moped but at least did not bury himself beneath the comforter and pillows. I told him we weren’t going far so I think that moderated his response. Only fellow neurotic pet owners can understand this perfectly logical belief.

Neighbors Shirley and Walt were also pulling out, heading to Creede. She brought me her contact information and they invited us to camp in their yard or at a campground five minutes from their house in Arkansas right on the White River. She was very nervous about the remainder of their trip, wants only for the two of them to get home safely. I definitely would like to stay in touch with them and to visit. They are sweet and brave people.

Rio Blanco . . .

Our new home so far has come through with consistent internet signals. The tradeoff is zero cell phone reception so I will just wait to pick up phone messages when I’m closer to town. We’re about ten miles south of Pagosa now instead of five miles east. Lovely park with exceptionally friendly mostly long-term summerers, and good owners - a young couple, Erin and Ray, with small children who appear to have been adopted by everyone in the park.

Half a day spent in checking out, hooking up, packing up, driving, checking in, unhooking and unpacking but I’m much happier with my new digs.

I love the sign they have posted:
“Welcome, enjoy yourself.
Enjoy others.
Enjoy the park.
Enjoy the weather or let us know if you can change it.”

Blogging and friends . . .

The very best part and perhaps the only reason for doing the blog is the connections it facilitates with people who are receiving it. I cherish the feedback, remarks, comments and memories that folks share with me. Sometimes, things that we do and write about seem to resonate with others who then relate back their wonderful stories of and memories. To me, this is an incredible blessing. I get to learn things about friends and acquaintances that would never have come up in conversation. I wish I could figure out how to make that deeper connection continue after this blog is over.

Melissa has shared stories about her family that even she just recently learned and that are a fascinating window into the past.

Warren was reminded of some of his experiences in the San Juan Mountains. Rather than paraphrase, I am going to include a portion of his email to me. It conveys a picture so well: “Once, years ago when I was in that part of the world, I sat in a talus slope above timberline and watched for several hours the pika cutting hay, laying it to dry in the sun, carrying dried hay into their burrows, sitting up and giving their little "peep" alarm. Have you seen them? I understand they are very elusive, but when hiking over the talus slope I heard their calls and sat and watched patiently and they came out and resumed their busy lives. Delightful.”

On other trips, I have heard the pikas and seen them scampering around their preferred rocky inclines, but always, they have been virtual blurs of motion, so Warren’s description was, for me, truly delightful. By the way, pikas are related to rabbits and hares.

He also informed me that the Williams annual Old Punchers Reunion Rodeo is a ranch rodeo of the type we enjoyed here in Pagosa. I had no idea that it was anything different from what I am accustomed. Now I will make it a point to attend.

Into the mountains . . .

Despite our move and my short nap, we managed to head off into the mountains. A road near the new park conveyed us to the South San Juan Wilderness area. I find it impossible to make it up a mountain or pretty much anywhere without finding numerous items of interest along the way; this was no exception. We stopped for photos of roadside mushrooms, long-distance views, photos of the most extensive stand of aspens I have ever seen. And so it goes - interest and excitement everywhere. I loved this photo of a sign near a ranch house lower on the mountain.


At one point, we got out the scope and were set up on the dirt road peering across to the canyon wall far across from us when I turned around and saw a deer that had approached on the steep slope above and was intently watching our shenanigans with great interest. The game up here is not near so bold as that down near civilization, but she was mightily curious until we turned our attention on her.

Then we hike into the wilderness area with nary another person within miles and we are transported into the most beautimous world imaginable. I am struck wordless, impossible to convey even a fraction of the grandeur and beauty of this moist, cool awesome woods. Forest floor vegetation is lush, anywhere from knee- to shoulder-high with more varieties that I imagined existed. Lots of berries, too: strawberries, elderberries, gooseberries, currants, raspberries and others we don’t recognize but that are brilliant deep red atop a stem.

The trees are small, medium and humoungous, endless varieties, colors, textures. Meadows here and there are not the open grassy affairs which I am used to, but rather thickly vegetated spaces dotted with smaller trees.

Coming to the far edge of a meadow, I hear a quiet contented clucking sound and freeze. Waiting still, listening to the sound, I think of a mother talking to its babies. We are rewarded, unbelievably, with a look at another blue grouse. She sees us but in spite of our presence, slowly proceeds near to the trail we are following. I snap some pictures, but the tremor renders them fuzzy. We carefully approach her and Chris steadies my hand as I shoot her again. We are looking through the binoculars, taking photos and getting closer until we see that we are starting to agitate her so we stop.

Presently, she surprises us by jumping up onto a low bare pine tree branch where we have an unobstructed look at her. More photos, I hope they are halfway decent. And then, the reason she has chosen this lookout: a baby appears from the brush, then another and finally four altogether take their time crossing from one brushy area to another and mom follows. I was so excited to get to see this.

As we passed that spot and I hoped for more glimpses, I startled her and she startled me. She had chosen another lookout position that I didn’t notice until we both spooked, so that was our last look at the little family.

We had crossed Fish Creek as we hiked farther into the mountain and were roughly following its tumbling path from above. In addition, we encountered seep springs and swampy areas. (note to self: think deer flies when going into Colorado mountains.) The beauty around us was beyond any description I could attempt. It was like walking through a protected fairyland and catching sight of the world beyond when a break in the trees allowed. As is my wont, I snapped entirely too many photos, knowing full well that they could be only poorest facsimile of the real thing, but oh, how I would love to share the sense of the place with those who were not there - truly magical and overwhelming.

We heard dozens of different bird calls and saw them flitting from one brushy sanctuary to another nearby tree but identified only two new trip birds: a yellow-rumped warbler and a house wren. The threatened rain sprinkled on us a few times as the storm occasionally seen through the treetops continued to build, also building some apprehension about being able to drive down the mountain. When we entered this magnificent place, I remarked on its seeming to be prime bear country. For most of our hike, bruin was nowhere apparent; however, a down rotted tree that had been torn to pieces in recent times alerted us to his possible presence. I would love to see a bear, but not particularly in those circumstances.

Monday, August 9
A Sunday drive and more

Sooo, the router is replaced; everything internet-wise that could be replaced has been replaced - all so exciting to log on and start doing research only to be brought up short when the thing quit in midstream. I’m pretty much ready to move to another park, can’t think of a reason to put up with this frustration. Oops, can’t even do research to find another park.

Down the San Juan . . .

Ah well, gave it up and went for a Sunday drive on Monday. I wanted to explore downriver on the San Juan so that was where we pointed our noses. The forest that direction was much less like north (Wolf Creek Pass) and east of us and more resembled the ponderosa forest by home - less variety in tree types, much less understory, but with more of the wonderful grassy meadows that are common in Colorado and northern California. It reminds me of childhood summers spent in northern California around Mount Shasta where icy streams rush down canyons and the meadow grass shares space with wild strawberries and flowers.

I was surprised to see longhorn cattle in some pastures, much less livestock here than I would expect, especially with the lush grazing available.

Southern Utes, steam shovels . . .

Our drive took us into the Southern Ute Reservation, but it was next to impossible to tell what was Indian land and what not. Seems that reservation is randomly checkerboarded with privately-owned property. I have no idea how it came to be so oddly, but a quick guess would be that it was not to the Ute’s advantage. They do have some very nice river frontage, quite a lot of it in fact; postings informed us that we needed a Ute permit to fish in those places.

I had to stop to watch a steam shovel (are they still called steam shovels even though they are no longer powered by steam?) at work right in the river. We never did quite figure out what the operator was trying to accomplish but it was certainly impressive how he controlled the machine. Probably not Mike Mulligan at the controls, but he was very adept, made it look so simple as he scooped out an area, then picked up boulders to drop into the hollowed-out area. His tracks sank to what I thought was an alarming degree, but still he worked away placing rocks and tamping them down. Seemed as if he might have been strengthening the shoreline where a flood had affected it and since that is my best theory, I’ll go with it. It was fun watching him work. Maybe he’s Mike Mulligan’s grandson.

Our route took us into some lower elevations where some pastures were sprinkler irrigated. It was all very sparsely populated with mostly dispersed ranch houses. We stopped at a cemetery of a place called Trujillo that evidently had at one time been a small town, way smaller now, but the cemetery had some interesting photo ops.

B.J., Karen, bears . . .

When we saw a raft and kayaks on the river, we decided to stop downriver and watch them approach us. A good pullout was a road to a small bridge. When we stopped just short of the bridge (I wasn’t sure it was truck-worthy and I confess to some bridgeaphobia), a man who lived nearby approached. We got to talking, of course, and enjoyed a nice hour with him - Bill (B.J.), and his wife, Karen.

Everyone has a story and theirs was as interesting as any. Bill had had a brain tumor 11 years ago, causing one side of his face to be paralyzed. Because of that, he doesn’t allow his picture to be taken, but he graciously let me photograph the two of them with Montezuma spire in the background. That local landmark is directly across the river from their house.

They had just returned from four days in Albuquerque where he was having some heart issues dealt with at the V.A. He was a cryptographer during the Vietnam war. Karen was also reticent to be photographed because she had paint on her shirt from silkscreening she does to help out with her youngest son’s business he has taken up to replace his crashed construction endeavors.

They both were so nice and hospitable to two strangers who dropped into their laps. Bill showed us wildlife photos he has taken in the area - a pastime he has begun to replace occupations he can no longer do. He had some rather astounding stories of encounters with bears and other animals, seems he talks to them, telling the to stop, smile or wait while he takes their picture. And according to Bill, they frequently do exactly as he requests; the photos reflect that, too.

They told us about a bear in the area that had been tearing things up at another place and was shot by that rancher but not killed, so is now considered a dangerous rogue bear. I kinda thought I would not hike right around there right around then. Later at the Springs, a couple from Durango told us that the bear population is on the rise.

All over Colorado are old homestead cabins in various stages of collapse after being abandoned and left to the harsh winters; I can scarcely see ruins of any kind with snapping pictures like crazy. I am always intrigued by curiosity about who lived there, what their life was like and all the things that happened to those people in those places, just as occurs everywhere people settle.

Navajo Lake, birds, Piedras River . . .

Taking a circular route, we did a bit of exploring at the north end of Navajo Lake, most of which lies in New Mexico. The San Juan was really very pretty all along this drive where we mostly followed its meanderings until it disappeared into the lake. We obtained information about fishing regulations there and may try it out this trip.

Heading back was a much shorter drive and traversed a ways along the Piedras River that also empties into Navajo Lake. We were happy to find a place that allows access to the old narrow gauge railroad bed. We had been following that twisting defunct railroad route for much of our drive and had seen some of its bridges. It is the middle abandoned section of two modern scenic lines: the Cumbres-Toltec and the Durango-Silverton.

The part of the road bed we walked was interesting because it was raised from ground level to a height to allow us excellent bird watching in the brush and treetops on both sides. Because it is right by the Piedras and the lake, it was alive with birds and I’m sure would afford great wildlife watching at more appropriate times of the day.

We didn’t have the scope with us and were there in midday but even at that, we got a few new trip birds on our walk, including cedar waxwing, chipping sparrow, Wilson’s warbler, lesser goldfinch and spotted towhee. Others for the day were black phoebe, common merganser, great blue heron, western bluebird and raven. (Note to self: apply mosquito repellent before going back there.)

Brave people, potluck, moving . . .

We got new neighbors last night, people I like very much. Their situation is sad: Walt has early Parkinson’s (four years is maybe not real early but that’s what they’re calling it). Besides being saddened by his disease, Shirley is having a pretty hard time because he does not want to adjust his activities to his physical abilities and will not accept her help, so she is left feeling pretty helpless at his frustration and anger.

They are pulling a travel trailer larger than ours, have not RVed before except in a limited way with a horse trailer with living quarters. His condition and their lack of experience is being very stressful for them both. We have helped them with unhooking and setting up and tips that we learned the hard way. She managed to talk him into spending a second night here because they were very tired after their trip from Arkansas. I’m hoping they can go somewhere and light for a spell. They are getting a break from spending several nights every week at her 98-year-old father’s house in alternating caring for him with her siblings because he refuses to leave his home.

She really needed to talk, so she and I sat and visited for a long time last night. Hope they will join us at the park’s potluck tonight; we’re taking corn pudding. Nancy’s providing hamburgers and hot dogs. Should be nice visiting, especially because our Texas neighbors are leaving tomorrow. He’s singing the blues cuz he wants to stay an additional month to allow things to cool off before they head south.

The wifi is down again so I can’t send my blog nor communicate except by telephone (horrors!) and that not very well. We went today to find a new park, will move in the a.m. to the Blanco River RV Park. They had one space just come open and saved it for us. Hopefully we will have better luck with internet there.

I read today that Alaska’s former senator Ted Stevens was killed in a plane crash. His mother-in-law, Elladean, was a lifelong friend of Dad K’s from their ranching days. I sat next to him at the dinner after her memorial service a couple of years ago. The news made me feel sad for his family.

We’re just back from the potluck barbecue, had a great time - good bunch of people. They asked Chris to play so that always adds to the atmosphere. There’s bunches of “sutheners” here, I guess because it’s too hot to exist where they live. Most of them come every year for all or a large part of the summer.

A bunch of them are still down there partying. One elderly (here we go again with the older than us bit - wonder how long that will last) couple from Alabama were up dancing in the gravel, glad to have live music.

Before our springs fix this afternoon, we stopped by Pagosa Lake to get a look at the swans. Last year, they had two babies; this year they’ve doubled it and they posed nicely for me.

And then: a marquee that is to the point and surely a sign of the times: “Stop crime, no incumbents”.

Saturday, August 7
Cowboys, fairs, hiking, birds, storms, computers

Amazing: a day that lasted for 36 hours! How fun to have so many of those. No way all that happens could have fit into the 10 hours the clock says we were away.

The day began with a cloud that looked for all the world like smoke and ended with a crazed storm that appeared poised to drop a tornado, raced us home and is now pouring rain and rumbling ominously. As we hit the highway and headed home, I looked back and was startled to see a massive low dark cloud behind us. We ran on home, offloaded our equipment and in those few minutes, it was upon us. I stayed out watching it catch up and encircle us and whip up a fearsome wind that convinced me to bring in our awning lest we lose a second one. By then, the rain had begun.

Home at 8 p.m. and finding the wifi down again. Our two Texas neighbor couples said the internet worked fine here until the lightning strike and now is intermittent. Last evening, I was sitting outside working on my blog when the two women wanted to bring me their computers to see if I could get them logged on. I confessed that since they were using . . . ahem . . . Windows when I am a Mac person, I wasn’t sure I could be successful but allowed as how I would try.

I went next door to help out as I could and as I walked up to the woman’s computer sitting on the picnic table, it immediately went online. Pretty impressive if I do say so myself. She wanted me to stand just so in case the signal might disappear if I moved. Nothing like being needed.

It being Saturday morning and all, we opted to head over to the farmer’s market for fresh produce. Erk! Chris tried to turn in where it had been two years ago; after he finished swerving all over the road like a damn tourist, I reminded him that it had moved down by the Dogwood Cafe last year clear at the other end of town. Oops, it is no longer there either. Do they want only the most persistent customers?

Stereotypically, Chris decided that he might “know” where they have hidden it so he’s going to wander around. Again stereotypically, I suggest we might stop to ask someone. To his credit, he did so without a great deal of delay; however, that girl was not a lot of help when she didn’t really know but offered up incorrect information.

Pagosa Springs is laid out mostly along the main highway so finally we located the thing where it was hiding in plain sight right where we had driven past it once. Beats me why they keep moving it, but we did get some nice produce for our efforts and some fun photos.

Country life and cowboying are alive and well . . .

After stowing the goodies back at home, we took off for the Archuleta County Fair and the accompanying ranch rodeo. I thought that was the name they gave to the event; it never occurred to me that it was an entirely different thing than any rodeo I had ever attended or even heard of.

I am soooo glad we went - what a treat it was. Turns out a ranch rodeo consists of cowhands from various ranches competing as teams in events that reflect chores they would be called on to do on the range. These include: horse catching, calf branding, team penning, team doctoring and wild cow milking. Eight ranches competed.

If a person requires glitzy, fast-paced entertainment, this is not the place to be; however, if you enjoy watching men, women and horses working hard together in a truly authentic way, ranch rodeo can’t be beat. As always, when humans attempt to subdue livestock, there are surprises and sometimes injuries.

One of those occurred when a team was riding for the finish line after their completion of the horse catching. One cowboy’s hat blew off his head right into the face of the following horse that immediately reared back on its haunches, going from a full gallop to a screeching standstill in a moment. His rider did an incredible full somersault in midair right over the horse’s head and landed in a heap in the ensuing tangle of cowboys, horses and dust. He lay ominously still for a significant amount of time while the emergency service people worked over him. What a relief when at last he rejected the backboard brought out for him, stood, smiled and walked out of the arena.

It wasn’t hard to imagine the sore muscles the next day when watching the cowhands wrestling and being run over and dragged by steers, calves and wild cows. Seeing this action of teams who daily interact planning their strategies and working together was interesting and fun. Another difference from pro rodeo was the opportunity to get a sense of the various cowboys and teams rather than seeing them in the arena once and then they’re gone.

And then it helped that we were sitting amongst many audience members who knew them personally. Even better, we got to know some of those local folks. One elderly (well, anyway they were older than us) couple was especially friendly, allowing me to butt in on their conversations with friends. They were John and Jean Taylor (an ancestral name twice for me). In 1896, John’s granddad homesteaded the family ranch where they still live. According to John, his great grandfather went to California in the gold rush, returned to Missouri later finding it unchanged from when he left (evidently not a good thing) and hightailed it back to the Sacramento Valley, all before grandpa departed for the Colorado mountains.

After the rodeo, we wandered the county fairgrounds and saw John’s photo on the Western Heritage wall and later saw him and Jean again. That was when he mentioned that he had some hay grasses entered in the fair. After we checked that out and saw that he had won four blue ribbons out of five entries, I wanted to find him to offer congratulations. As we talked, we learned that he taught high school math and science. He is also a photographer and serves on many boards of directors, and Jean, from another pioneer family, is also very active in 4-H, the fair and the schools. In fact, her father founded the Archuleta County fair. What a charming and friendly couple they are.

The fair exhibits were widely varied and interesting; the relatively small number reflected the sparse population here. The quilts were incredible; I wanted to photograph them all to remember the amazing variety but confined my clicking to one that gave the impression of brilliant stained glass.

I watched the fast draw shooting competition for a spell and we were amazed at the accuracy of those competing in the horseshoe tournament - more ringers than not. I found the small number of livestock competitors surprising: no beef or poultry, only a few sheep, goats and pigs. That doesn’t seem to reflect the rural ranching atmosphere here. Horses seem to be a major enterprise; we see beautiful horses pastured all around.

On the mountain . . .

All that town activity drove us to the mountains afterward. A winding gravel road took us up and up to an estimated (by Chris, all I know is that we were way the heck up there) 10,000 feet where we set off for a goodly long hike through thickly vegetated beautiful boreal forest with stunning long-distance views between trees and still we were far below the summit that loomed treeless and rocky above us.

We encountered many seep springs and one creek that was noisily cascading down its steep canyon. The few birds we heard or spotted flitting through the underbrush were secretive enough that we never identified any of them until back in the Toter, we got a life bird - the blue grouse - two of them in fact that obliged us by being on the road plenty long enough for us to get a good gander through the binocs - very exciting!

Oh yes, we did get a red-shafted northern flicker and back at the ranch, we added American goldfinch to the hordes at the feeders. Evidently, the evening grosbeak telegraph has done its job; we have a mob of dads out there feeding their ravenous offspring while the moms leisurely graze around on the ground (note to self: check out possibility of coming back as a female evening grosbeak.)

Best business names: Holy Smokes, selling stoves and fireplaces. The car wash posts a question on their sign: “Got mud?” With almost daily rain, there’s sure to be plenty of that.

Friday, August 6
People, peaches and more . . .

How perfect is this - lounging under the awning of the Totee, our faithful little travel trailer writing away while Rowdy occupies the chair next to me and Chris plays the keyboard after a near perfect day of actual leisure. Birds are massed at our feeders, very bold they are, caring not that we are sharing the yard with them. We have added quite a few birds to our trip list without really doing any birding, including the Lewis’ woodpecker that is too big for the feeder but nonetheless clings precariously upside down desperately trying to snatch a sunflower seed from his ridiculous stance. We’ve also added evening grosbeaks, red-winged blackbirds, Canada geese, common grackle, Steller’s Jay, Black-blled magpie, pine siskin and barn swallow.

We lounged and read this morning after a good breakfast of toast and melon - a new one found at the local outdoor market where it was called an Israeli melon. It’s large with an light orange netted rind and creamy flesh. I’d love to find them at home, may have to grow my own next year.

Midday found us back at the springs - what a delightful place! Besides the sheer wonder of the hot mineral waters, the intricately landscaped terraces and individually designed pools overlooking the San Juan River, there is the fun of meeting people from everywhere. Yesterday, one of our notable meetings was a teenage girl who is originally from Togo in West Africa. She came to the U.S. with her parents at age five, still speaks her native French but has not a trace of accent in her English. A charming young lady, she told me she is a “half-breed” because her father is Togan(?) and her mother white. We saw her today body surfing the river rapids with a new friend.

I had a nice talk today with a woman who lives in Pagosa Springs. From her, I got a new perspective on the resort springs that we habituate. I already knew that it was a relatively new development, but she’s been there only 11 years and remembers joining a tour when the resort consisted of only two redwood tubs. I think it’s a marvel what they’ve done with it.

So we soaked, watched tubers (no, not potatoes), fisherpeople, swimmers and kayakers on the river, sat out and read and soaked some more. Don’t know how it could get any better. We also got information on the county fair that is this weekend - can’t wait to experience that.

Yesterday, we shared what may be the best peach I’ve ever eaten, especially if rarity is a factor in flavor. Just before we left home, we found that we had a peach crop this year after all. Sounds logical that we should know whether our trees had borne fruit or not; however, when you have one (really, only one!) peach and that one is hiding up against the trunk, then it is not quite so obvious an issue. I presume that it was protected from frost by being snugged up to the tree like that. It was not quite ripe when we left, but no way was I leaving home without it and it ripened to a fare-thee-well - yummmm!

Wildlife, northern lights, census . . .

On the way home, we took a wander up a forest road and encountered a number of deer. They seem not the slightest spooky, simply ignoring us when we stop to take a photo. One doe had two large spotted fawns who came gamboling over to her for a spot of nursing. Yesterday while walking by the river, we saw two does just out of the rv park and a wee tyke of a garter snake. The area evidently has a number of bears also. I’m sure that critters are prowling the rv park while we try to sleep. I say “try” because Rowdy seems to sense the wildlife out there and is anxious to let me know about it . . . all night long.

I wondered if we might glimpse the northern lights that are reported to be putting on a great show right now, but so far, we have not. Once years ago, Chino friends called us to say that the lights were visible there and sure enough, we rushed outside and enjoyed the show. I remember seeing them twice in Phoenix when I was a child; I’m sure that must be an extreme rarity.

Absurd, but Chris just got another call asking him to work on the “last” leg of the census. It sounds as if the timing for this exercise will not work for him as it will likely be over before we return home. Can it be true what they say: that conflicting questionnaires have been turned in for one household? The mind fair reels (but then my mind does lots of reeling anyway).

Mountain weather . . .

I thought our mountain weather at home is crazy but here is far odder. Yesterday, the forecast was for a high of 80 degrees but at midday it was down to 56, storming and windy, so I says, says I, it’s obviously not getting up to the forecast temperature - ha! A couple of hours later, it was clear and 80.

My intention for getting away from home is partially to get back to my genealogy research and to my Spanish studies, both of which become eclipsed with homeowner duties and other distractions. Kinda wondering how I thought that Colorado would be any less distracting; we shall see. So far, it has not happened but there’s time aplenty. Of course it would help if I’d stop journaling and blogging, but heck fire, I enjoy that, too.

Escape 2010 style

New Mexico and Colorado

Seems that 2010 travel will be entirely different than the past couple of years. Less time on the road overall and consisting of short jaunts and dashes back home. Perhaps this way the trailer will not shrink as drastically as it tends to do in four-month stretches.

We’re now in day five of the trip and I finally feel able to write something. Up to this point, I have harbored the underlying sense of stress that conveyed an inability to do more than put one foot in front of the other. That is not to say that we have been idle - far from it - but just that we have not been making plans much farther than whatever is the very next move. Somehow, we have stayed in Albuquerque far longer than originally anticipated; inertia seems to have set in with a vengeance. So much simpler to stay than to go, and then the lure of spending time with friends was huge.

So . . . back before setting out: It has been months of tending to necessities such as preparing for the huge auction, cleaning up the property, getting Dad’s mobile sold and removed and the hard work of removing the mobile’s and porch’s anchors, landscaping the back yard and getting the house ready to go on the market plus a whole bunch of other stuff.
Now most of it is complete; the house is listed and there is the relief of having someone to look after the place while we’re away for a bit of R&R - thanks, Denis! Some chores await our return even though we delayed our departure by a day; however, I think the intervening distractions will allow us to tackle them with renewed vigor.

Unable to devote sufficient time to planning this journey, we needed only to get on the road and to know that we were not embarking on another epic trip. We set out with an ultimate destination of Pagosa Springs, Colorado, preceded by stops in New Mexico. That plural stops somehow transformed into one: Albuquerque, a city we have never before visited. Because friends have recently moved there, it seemed to be a good weekend stop, a weekend that has become five days filled with visiting and helping with unpacking. A big bonus for us is that we will return home with a whole passel of moving boxes.

The “helping” actually consisted more of distracting them, too, but I did not see them resisting. On Saturday, we all lacked the ability to make firm plans, but set out anyway, knowing not just where the road would lead us.

Buddy took us first to Pro’s Ranch Market, a Mexican mercado the like of which I have never imagined. Its vastness gave the impression of a series of outdoor stalls, divided into areas such as bakery, bulk cheeses, cow heads (well, there wasn’t really a cow head section but there definitely was a bovine sans body peering out at us from among the tripe and various other items removed from a beef. They even had its tongue posed in an upward curlicue).
We viewed seeming acres of grocery items, prepared food and drinks and geegaws, most of which were things formerly not in our databases. Overwhelming to say the least; shopping there could be a full-time job. We confined our purchases to pastries and grapefruit for breakfast.

A short drive through old town Albuquerque and some intriguing historic agricultural and residential sections was fun and interesting and then we turned our noses toward Jemez (pronounced Hay-mas) Hot Springs, clueless of what that meant. Along the way, we encountered Soda Dam, necessitating a stop. A fascinating place, it is a natural dam produced by mineral springs deposits to a depth of about 40 feet. The river has cut partially through the travertine and now shoots out in a waterfall. The main creek was cool; a spring across the road was warm mineral water. We climbed to the top of the dam to peer into the depths and then climbed up as high as we could from the downriver side to see the caverns formed inside the deposits.

I failed to mention a major occurrence on this trip and that is Chris’ right ear becoming almost completely plugged early on. This resulted in his becoming an echo. The three of us would discuss something we were looking at and then a bit later, Chris would pipe up with something about the exact subject we had already hashed, hashed and rehashed as if we had never spoken. We had to laugh; he seemed so bemused about it all. A major irrigation project later, he seems to have gotten to the point that some conversation is possible.

Valles Caldera . . .

A second stop of our day trip was at the Valles Caldera. The Bs had mentioned that it was along our route but I had no idea what was coming. The Caldera was formed when an eruption about 12 to 15 miles in diameter occurred - mighty earthshattering, I’m sure. Now the area is a depression with peaks within it and is a preserve with limited access by reservation only. It truly is a beautiful sight. As we gazed in awe at the meadows and trees before us, we counted upwards of 50 elk, the exact number unsure because of many lounging behind the trees and others lying down in the tall grass.

In the town of Jemez, we lunched outdoors as hummingbirds buzzed all around us in their battle for supremacy at the feeders.

Hot Springs . . .

After a leisurely lunch (long primarily because the service was so slow), we walked over to where a sign proclaimed historic bath houses, but were fairly disappointed with what we found, which was individual “bath tubs” in claustrophobic private cubicles.

Armed with that information, we walked back up the road to Giggling Springs and were rewarded well. This place had interesting old buildings that had once housed hot springs baths, incorrectly identified as sulfurous, but has since been delightfully developed with a semi-natural outdoor soaking pond overlooking the Jemez River. Our hour-long soak was extended to allow for the time we took cover as lightning flashed nearby. The water was at around 101 degrees, absolutely perfect for relaxing in the floating mesh chairs and chatting. This is a definite must-return when in the area.

Sandia Man, or not . . .

On Sunday, we decided to escape the heat (in the 80s, pretty much like home) and drive up to the crest of the Sandia Mountains, the prominent range looming over Albuquerque. In the foothills, we encountered a quaint tiny old town of Placitas and its charming adobe church - San Antonio, a Catholic mission established in 1840.

I had purchased a recreational map at the RV park and seen that there was a Sandia Man cave on the mountain. The term “man cave” having taken on a new meaning in recent times, I tried to differentiate this by calling it the “Sandia Man” cave. Knowing little to nothing about Sandia Man except that he was an early guy on this continent and what Chris related from his anthropology studies, we determined to look for his hideout.

As we wended our way up Las Huertas Canyon, I spotted a cave in the cliff face, so over we pulled. Three of us were feeling a tad fatigued, so we watched and waited as Chris clambered up to tell us if it was the place. Did we think the Sandias had left a flagstone marker with their name and address? Along the way, he met a couple who were on a similar quest, but who had no better information than we and so we continued on up the road.

And then: a strange wooden structure far up on the canyon wall and a cave mouth. With no room to pull over, we proceeded until we came to a pullout and a trailhead that led us back and up to the cave entrance. Because the opening is in the middle of a sheer rock face, there would be no way to enter it except that a speleological society has constructed a trail and scaffolding leading to a metal spiral staircase that accesses the cavern. Throughout our visit to Sandia Man’s habitation, I am consumed with questions about what it must have been like for these very early people: how they came to this place, what it was like for them; were they happy there, how long did they stay and why did they leave, and on an on. The cavern is about 300 feet deep, but without a flashlight, we were unable to delve much past the entrance although my camera’s flash allowed me to get some shots farther into the depths.

Soooo . . arriving back at civilization, I hasten to do some research about Mr. & Mrs. Sandia and am horrified to find that they are now presumed to be a hoax! Seems that long about in the 1930s, an archaeologist seeking a name for himself excavated the cave and reported finding unique artifacts. Unfortunately, he evidently presented modern-day-altered Folsom Man arrowheads and spear points to make his case. And so the findings stood until a grad student elected to write his thesis about Sandia Man and by the use of more advanced technology determined that the supposed unique Sandia Man was a manufactured being.

One presumes that because of this unfortunate scam, there can now be little or nothing discovered about the real dwellers of that place.

While there, we saw a large sign at the trailhead that carried the strange query: “Who killed Carla?” A foray into Google revealed that this is a real-life unsolved murder that occurred in 1999 near Sandia Cave.

Santa Fe . . .

Somewhere in those five days, we four landed in Santa Fe for a look-see. A wander through the fascinating La Fonda was amazing as we perused the varied personal touches of the art and architecture of Mary Colter. We arrived too late to see the miraculous spiral staircase at Loretto Chapel, but wandered on foot a distance to the Mexican restaurant that cousins John and Connie introduced us to last year - Las Mayas - and enjoyed a late supper there. The seemingly-ever-present rainstorms opened up while we dined, leaving us dashing a long distance through some major deluge and street runoff. As expected, we didn’t melt but did manage to get pretty wet.

In and amongst these excursions, we tried to help Barb and Bud unpack after their move and get furniture moved, bookcases filled, floors cleaned and things organized. By the time they fed us and we fed them, I’m not at all sure just how helpful we were.

Wednesday, August 4

North to Colorado . . .

After a later start than anticipated for no particular reason, we leave the American RV Park in Albuquerque to travel north. Very gradually, we climb in elevation from Albuquerque’s 5,300 feet to the north country’s mountains. Pagosa Springs, our destination, is close to 8,000 feet, leading me to suspect that we will not be kicking the blankets off while there. I’m glad we brought that great little heater that Dad W. suggested we purchase. As we leave the Rio Grande valley and proceed along the Chama River, the vegetation becomes less desert-like transforming into high sage and juniper. After Abiquiu, we are thrilled by beautiful banded ochre, red and gray cliffs freckled with green scrub juniper, all of it reminiscent of Monument Valley.

The Chama River is flowing wide looking for all the world like chocolate milk. I have no idea if that coloration is the result of recent proliferation of precipitation or if it always carries that heavy load of silt. The Rio Grande in Albuquerque and north was very muddy, too, but as we get to the mountain streams, they run clear.

We are on Highway 84, not a bad surface but fairly winding and narrow at times. We see other RVers here as pretty much everywhere we go, although the traffic is very light in general. As we continue, we see more pinion trees and then climb into ponderosa country. We’ve seen beaver ponds on both rivers and lovely marshy areas.

As always, there are places that bear further exploration on a future trip, but this road has not held as much interest as many we’ve traveled. I saw the turnoff to the Ghost Ranch conference center, reminding me of a time a friend attended an Elderhostel program there. And there was a sign signaling a monastery that was far off on a side road; what an isolated spot for it! Abiquiqui Lake appeared to be worth sinking a line and so I shall one day. As we proceed, we find there are numerous lakes, seems that northern New Mexico would be a good fishing destination.

There has not been the amount of agriculture I would have expected through here, mostly small pastures and private gardens. the sweet corn is tasseling, which bodes well for chowing down on plenty of it while in Pagosa. Some areas are thick with sagebrush; it’s obvious that it has been cleared from some natural pastures. I’m wondering if it is here as a result of overgrazing in the past.

The sky has been awesomely beautiful with storm clouds every day. There has been some rainfall most days; twice we were forced to get up in the middle of the night to batten the hatches lest we be rained on in bed.

Chama: Green everywhere - extensive lush grassy mountain meadows sparsely dotted with trees, tinted yellow with flowers and surrounded by forested peaks and rock escarpments backed by the continuing ranges of northern New Mexico and southern Colorado. As we turn off to head westward, we finally are washed by the rain that has been threatening all around us. Makes driving a bit more interesting as we cross the Continental Divide.

Wow! Across the border into Colorado’s San Juans, we are surprised by a rock peak sporting fresh snowfall in early August. I’m guessing it had just been deposited by the storm we are driving under.

Just before 3 p.m., we pull into Elk Meadows River Resort where we have resided before. A small RV park owned and operated by Nancy, it is fairly open on a plateau overlooking the San Juan River. No cable tv and little in the way of other amenities, it has Colorado - what more does a person need.

Oh yes, I would like to have wifi for my internet access (thinking about posting this as a blog); however, the selfsame storm that began to drop rain just as we finished setting up caused lightning to strike the park’s modem last night, thus no wifi until repairs can be made.

Musings . . .

I had so wanted my sister, Christie, to join us here for a few days of her vacation, but was unable to find an economically feasible way for her to get here, short of wiling away four middle-of-the-night hours in the Albuquerque bus depot in the middle of the trip, and that sounded somewhat unsavory, not to mention just about doubling the eight-hour drive.

Carol and Gene earlier asked us to RV to Colorado with them, but we just couldn’t get everything done in time and Chris’ job with the census continued into that time period, disappointing but maybe next time. And speaking of the census: his job has been “done” several times but he keeps getting called back for follow-up. Of course we didn’t leave until is was really done. Pretty surprising then that he got an email when we arrived here asking him to report for additional duty. Obviously, that won’t be happening, but it seems that there might still be work for him even after we return. (Question to self: will he still be working on the 2010 census when 2020 rolls around?)

A rufous’ work is never done . . .

No sooner did we have our bird feeders up than the hummingbirds swarmed. This morning, Thursday, we are having great amusement watching the antics on both the nectar and seed feeders. The notably aggressive rufous hummingbird has planted his tiny flag on our feeder and no one, I repeat no one else is allowed to eat there. In fact, he expanded his territory so that no one else is allowed to land on a small tree about 15 feet away, either. The poor wee feller has no time to eat because there is a veritable army of sneaks out there determined to snatch a quick slurp, so the little general is constantly on the move defending his territory. One wonders exactly why when logic indicates that he could settle down and have a nice breakfast (okay, it’s not an omelet, but obviously a preferred diet) and all the others could join him at the diner and everyone would be happy.

In the meantime at the seed feeder, we have one black-headed grosbeak (I always feel as if they need Noxzema, but what’s in a name) who contentedly sits and chews one seed at a time while Cassin’s finches and pine siskins squabble for a position at the trough.

Perhaps I will sit and watch the birds all day rather than venturing out in the cold . . .

Friends, chairs, mountains, home
November 13, 2009

More Tucson friends - Barb and Bud carved out time for us, too, and as always, we visited, wined and dined at our house and theirs. With Buddy too under the weather to join in a hiking foray, we spent our time relaxing, reading, hot tubbing, and just generally recuperating from the fairly frenetic trip. It seemed just right to take a breather before heading home.

While downtiming, I jaunted over to a furniture store to determine if the perfect living room chairs were there at the perfect price and voila! they were. A great deal not to be passed up, we agreed to pick them up at the warehouse Monday morning as we departed the city. Seemed simple enough; however, the reality was a veritable comedy of errors and changes.

While waiting at the warehouse a substantial period while the pieces were unpacked, treated and reboxed, we perused the attached outlet store where we found the already super prices reduced another $22 apiece. We obtained that additional reduction with pats on our own backs, and I further utilized the wait to find a glider/recliner/ottoman set at $97 that I had to have for the office.

Chris was already sweating out whether the other chairs would fit into our limited space, so was less than enthusiastic. The plan was to remove all the various boxes, fishing tackle, tools and kayaking equipment from the truck camper, stow them in the trailer and put the chairs into the camper.

A good plan, we thought. Turned out that it was a really, really good thing we bought smallish chairs: another eighth inch and we would have been forced to leave them behind. By the time we got those pushed, scraped and finagled into the truck, we had the brainstorm to unbox the office set and stow its parts in the trailer - couldn't leave it in the crate because the packed version was wider than the door.

While waiting for that one to be shuffled over to the loading bay, I thought it might be good to peer inside the first boxes just to be sure we had the correct items. Well, we didn’t; the sales slip indicated the wrong color for one of them, thus the necessity of unloading, waiting more and reloading, and thanking Providence that we checked before we left.

There ya go - nothing to it - and we’re on the road by 1:30. So much for getting home early in the day.

Uneventful drive north, Tucson’s frenetic traffic and noise are no sooner left behind, it seems, than Phoenix’ is upon us. Gratefully missing rush hour in both places, we continue on toward home. The low desert is snap dry, perhaps as sere as I’ve ever seen it. Things look a bit better as we reach nearer to our home elevation, but not a whole lot. We knew the rain that has followed us around the country was not duplicated here at home; now we’re confronted with the evidence.

I don’t think I’ve ever considered how important the mountains are to me, how I place myself in their midst. We pass the Catalinas to the east as we head out of Tucson, later Picacho Peak’s spire shows us the way long before we get to it (I have a painting that Grandma did of it). The familiarity of the various ranges all outlying exactly where they always wait for me - Superstition Mountain, Four Peaks, Camelback. Later, Black Canyon Hill brings us to the top of Sunset Mesa (where Dad last ranched) with the magnificent home range of the Bradshaws shading us to the west, Mingus, Granite Mountain, Granite Dells, San Francisco Peaks and Bill Williams Mountain to the sides with Table Mesa, our Picacho Peak and the Black Hills ahead. We are home.

We enjoyed visiting those we love who live far away, but at the same time missed those we left behind. Son Lewis spent our first evening home with us, and sister Christie came to call on Saturday. She’s a favorite of Rowdy’s, so he settled right in with her.

On the occasion of being home, I am bound to repeat endlessly, “It’s so great to be home.” Chris allows as how he likes being home, too, primarily, he tells me, because it’s easier to plan another trip. I put my fingers in my ears and hum loudly, look at him blankly and yell “What?”.

A journey to be remembered certainly, not necessarily repeated (at least in our incredible shrinking trailer): people met, places experienced, dreams fulfilled, difficulties overcome, nerves tried, relationship honed, memories stored. And without spending any time exclusively birding, we ended up with a trip list of 147, including 18 life birds.

It will seem odd not to be blogging; the process has been troublesome at times, occasionally a burden, but well worth the effort by enabling me to share the journey. What next?

New Mexico in the rear view mirror
November 5, 2009

Woohoo! Departing New Mexico, nice as can be, but it’s not Arizona, my native state that beckons just down the road. For stopping in Las Cruces only two nights/one day, it seemed much longer because of our activities.

Beginning with the last, we enjoyed a wonderful rare visit with my uncle Gene and wife Barbara. They are longtime El Paso residents, so we bopped backwards to that city to meet them for supper and a super conversational evening. Interesting trying to catch up on life and families, but we did our best. At age 81, Gene continues still to do some ballroom dancing and occasional competition, one of his enjoyable ways to stay in shape. I think the last time we saw them was when they and their Chino Valley friends dined at our home enough years ago that none of us recalls the date.

Our parking spot at the KOA in Las Cruces was spectacular, not a description I typically use for RV parks. It is perched 300 feet on top of a hill overlooking the Rio Grande Valley and the city with a million-dollar view across to the impressive Organ Mountains, so named because their series of tall spires reminded the namers of organ pipes. Sadly, I was not in residence in the evening when I could get a photo of that view. Maybe I’ll borrow one for the blog; they’re very impressive.

A frustrating drawback was the wifi service that rejected my mail program, so I spent an inordinate amount of time fiddling-diddling around trying to get that stupid blog post out via webmail. If I’d been watching someone else in that comedic struggle, I would have had to laugh.

First, I copy and paste the blog into webmail, then I try to figure out how to do the link. By the time I search that out, the service has shut down so I have to copy and paste again. Now I can get the post and the link, but I forget how to get the address list over there. A couple of false starts with that and the thing shutting down and starting over . . . and on and on and on. In the end, I didn’t think the post was worth posting anyway and I don’t think the link worked, but what they hey . . . the mountains called so I let ‘er go.

While I fussed and mussed, Chris did a bit of research and was standing by with a plan, so away we went to the mountains. He adjusted our route through town in an attempt to traverse anything historic - commercial or residential - but such was not to be. His reading indicated that Las Cruces is a boom town, going from 2,000ish in the 1920s, now 95,000. No idea where they might have been hiding whatever exists of older sections; it will be a mystery to us until our next visit.

I seem to be having a little rebellious fit, somehow brought on by a radio news bit saying someone or other was out of swine flu vaccine; more was said to be coming but there was no way of knowing when it would arrive. For crying out pete’s sake, how hard is it to tell when something will arrive? One finds out where the package is located and calculates the time for transport. It’s not like it’s randomly rolling across the plains wrapped up in a tumbleweed and its time of arrival is based on when, how hard and which direction the wind blows. If I were a conspiracy theorist, I’d surmise that this type of pronouncement is designed to accustom us to the idea that we have no control over our lives and that all is randomly occurring. We should maybe just stand here picking our noses until someone tells us where to line up. Okay, I got that off my chest, so will move on to the day’s activities.

The Organs, ghost camps . . .































































We climbed up into the Organ Mountains at a BLM site called Dripping Spring. The trail took us from Las Cruces’ 3,900-foot elevation to 6,000 feet, and was spectacular every step of the way. The only wildlife we encountered was a tarantula ambling across our path. As I observed it, I had to wonder how they obtain their food. It’s a cinch that no bug is going to hang around waiting while that thing lumbers over to it - another must-research item.

The natural grandeur of the towering lichen-colored rock peaks above us was enhanced by the interesting historical aspect of the site. Of course any spring in the desert has been host to men and animals, visitors and settlers, for as long as it and they existed, and this one is no exception.

Winding around various ways at the foot of the cliffs, we saw the ruins, some very well preserved, of a 19th century resort complex, a mountain camp and a sanitorium; one of











































the buildings still has wallpaper remnants and tatters of ceiling muslin. Interpretive signs along the way helped us to know what we were seeing. As always, I took a zillion photos, can’t seem to help myself in circumstances of ruins, water or any places of spectacular natural beauty.

At their heyday, the abandoned complexes were fairly grandiose and extensive. The spring feeds into a small reservoir perched in a precipitous canyon. A perfect weather day for hiking and we were lulled into resting by the reedy reservoir and marveling at the distant views thus afforded.

Our trusty binoculars allowed us to add quite a few birds to the trip list: roadrunner, Gambel’s quail (those two make me wonder if the numerous ones at my house have abandoned me for better accommodations or if they’re waiting to amuse me with their antics), cactus wren, loggerhead shrike, canyon towhee, western scrub jay, white crowned sparrow and white winged dove.

Redtails fighting . . .

Walking back down, I remarked that we hadn’t seen a hawk all day when suddenly we heard the cry of one nearby. We were astounded when we located two red tail hawks fighting. One had a meal firmly clutched in its talons and the other was diving and jinking, trying to snatch the animal dangling from the other’s claws. It seemed the attacker was the one making all the racket; the battle went on easily for five minutes before it was conceded. We were thrilled to get to watch the show. I had no idea that a hawk would even attempt such a thing.

Time travel, Mesilla, Rio Grande . . .

We have been given back the three hours that was taken from us as we traveled eastward. I always think it should be returned with interest when it comes back, seems only fair to get a bonus day or two for giving up those hours during the past four months.

I have long been interested in the Las Cruces area, and want to do much more exploration. We had thought we might spend our day there checking out the charming little historic town of Mesilla, but opted for the boonies instead. We did eat at La Posta in Mesilla, housed in a 130-year-old building and interestingly decorated with 20-feet-tall trees, caged tropical birds including a scarlet macaw and large aquarium fish - even a piranha complete with an admonition not to dangle any fingers into the tank.

Extensive agricultural pursuits fill the valley: there are many hundreds of acres of pecan orchards and cotton fields, all kinds of fruit and vegetables, with many vineyards and wineries. One back road we drove was beautifully arched by pecan trees reaching across and over the roadway, giving us a leafy green tunnel to drive through.

It was surprising, though, to see that the Rio Grande has been reduced to not much more than a trickle wandering serpentine through its sandy bottom from one bank to the other.

I’m sure I will be jumping into the swimming pool when we get to Far Horizons today after going from the sweater-cool morning of Las Cruces into the forecast 90 degrees in Tucson. We had hoped to lunch and visit with brother and sis Frank and Pat on our way through Benson but couldn't get connected with them in time.

Tucson . . .

How fun to be greeted by Sam upon our arrival at the park. He is simply one of the nicest guys ever; we got to know him during previous stays and he was one of those who put so much energy into Chris' house concert/wine & cheese party here last year - what a great time that was.

Norma and George came to call after we got set up. Norma and I go way back to nerdom/childhood. We had a hilarious evening here and going out to dinner at Picacho Peak steakhouse. Seems to be typical when we get together with them that we have an all-around great time. Sara still talks about the time we visited here many years ago and the fact that Norma and I cackled and carried on pretty much the whole entire time. There are those special friendships that are unaffected by time and distance.

I would try to explain about how George got us special seating at the restaurant but then couldn’t seem to get all of us rounded up in the same place at the same time, but it was so complicated that we couldn’t even figure it out at the time. Ah well, at long last we settled down to a fine meal with excellent service.

We awoke in a most leisurely manner to a perfectly pleasant morning. The three of us watched a steady stream of birds coming to our feeders: we’re back in hummingbird country; we already got three species - Anna’s, broadtailed and black-chinned, in addition to verdins, Gila woodpeckers and house finches. Chris and I identified them; Rowdy drooled.