Transitions
Nov. 24, 2016

A Thanksgiving morning in Ehrenberg, Arizona, safely ensconced inside the trailer with a bit of blustery breeze brewing outside seems as good a time as any to write a blog post, replacing that one from a couple of months ago in which I briefly mentioned a hiking accident with major consequences.

The intervening time has been literally life-changing.  I have dealt with excruciating pain - lots of it - ameliorated to a great extent by the love and support of friends and family.  A week after the fall, there was a surgery to repair and realign my right ankle that was dislocated and broken and that included inserting various hardware to keep bone parts together while they completed their miraculous growing back together process.

I followed the surgeon's orders to put no weight a'tall on my right leg, a directive that was incredibly difficult to follow.  Clearly, I was less than adept at using crutches: an early fall left me flat on my back after bashing my head on the wall and possibly re-injuring my ankle, resulting in one of three trips to the emergency room in four days.

A kind and thoughtful nurse then set me up with a rental knee scooter, a wheeled conveyance that observers all think looks like fun, but that is actually a cumbersome contraption on which I became fairly proficient at maneuvering enough to accomplish daily chores and to occasionally venture out to a few events.

I was stylishly fitted with a humongous boot that allowed me to remove it for showering, although wearing that bulky appliance 24/7, including in bed, was one of the more uncomfortable things I have endured.  As my friend Patty pointed out, a hard cast may have been less painful, but then I would have been six weeks without a shower - ewww!  What a choice - pain or shower . . .

From the other side . . .

Two months have passed and I find the perspective from the other side to be much improved.  One attempts to keep one's eye on the prize during trying times; however, the task is not an easy one.

Now I am doing physical therapy three times daily (reluctantly but religiously), and have begun walking for some distances.  I will not soon forget the trepidation with which I first put that foot to floor after nearly two months.  What a change that yesterday I was able to walk for a mile - an accomplishment that has a surreal quality to it still.  Admittedly, slopes make me clinch up some, but presumably, I will gain more confidence with time.  That is my fervent hope, at any rate; I can't imagine going through this part of my life with anything less that what Chris calls my "24/7-full-steam-ahead" energy.

I have to admit there are melt-down times when I feel very vulnerable and helpless, although they  are getting fewer and further between.  The señor is awesome with pep talks and encouragement, so together, we are getting through this.

Thanksgiving abroad . . .

Well, not exactly abroad, but we are spending Thanksgiving week in Ehrenberg, Arizona, just across the Colorado River from Blythe, California.  Our park of choice this time is Arizona Oasis, a nice RV resort with plenty wide spaces and an excellent hot tub and swimming pool, and best of all, sitting right on the river.

R&R is the name of the game: we are resting and relaxing, reading and rejuvenating.

See there, I really do know how to relax and even do so now and then.

Of course, given who we are, there had to be some adventure thrown into the mix somewhere; the Cibola National Wildlife Refuge called us for an explore.

Wildlife refuge, walking, birds . . .

Just about an hour or so drive brought us to the refuge, which turned out to be wonderful, a place that could be visited numerous times.  Even the visitor's center was interesting and (wo)manned by a very helpful staffer.

Although some areas are closed to access after Labor Day so as not to disturb the extensive avian population, there is more than ample driving and walking opportunities for viewing and exploring.

One mile-long trail meandered through mostly impenetrable brush and foliage to a viewing blind overlooking a wetlands.  Being unsure of just how long a hike my ankle would endure, we set off, knowing that we might have to retrace our steps if fatigue or pain became too much.  As it turned out, our concerns were for naught.  I walked the mile easily, albeit accompanied by my new walking stick that affords a sense of stability.  I've never utilized such an aid before but appreciated having it there and on other shorter walks I've done, especially where the ground is very uneven.

That was a case of wishing I was able to run, trot or jog.  The mosquito population in there was more than a little pesky, something we had not anticipated this time of year, but then freezing temperatures here are pretty much non-existent, so the pests proliferate prodigiously.  Unfortunately, running was not in the cards, thus we assumed our walking/flailing stance and proceeded to complete the loop trail, a little the worse for wear.

While in the refuge, we identified a fairly large number of birds even though the winter migration is not yet in full swing.

It was exciting to see flocks of magnificent sand hill cranes and to hear their vocalization that sounds to me like purring as they talk among themselves and always as they fly overhead.

They were joined in the grain fields by many mule deer and were nearly as tall as their four-legged companions.

The refuge encompasses more than 18,000 acres of what was the lower Colorado's flood plain, still a haven for wintering migratory waterfowl and other wildlife with its extensive field crops, marshes, river meanders, dry washes and channelized waterways.  The surrounding land is primarily sandy and rocky desert.  All around are jagged mountain ranges with forbiddingly steep spires and peaks.

Birds we identified in the various sections of the Ciblola refuge included mallard, northern shoveler, northern pintail, American widgeon, red-tailed hawk, ruddy duck, green-winged teal, yellow-rumped warbler, kestrel, mountain bluebird, Say's phoebe, northern harrier, Canada goose, pied-billed grebe, western grebe, phainopepla, osprey, black phoebe, roadrunner, loggerhead shrike, great blue heron, belted kingfisher, killdeer, spotted sandpiper, great egret, northern mockingbird, double crested cormorant, American coot and ruby-crowned kinglet.  We were also excited to find a pair of common gallinules, a very pretty bird, and two white pelicans.

Some of those we've spotted elsewhere in the area include mourning dove, vermilion flycatcher, great-tailed grackle, black-chinned hummingbird, house finch, Costa's hummingbird, collared dove, Anna's hummingbird and starling.  In extremely impressive numbers, one harvested and disked field was filled with yellow-headed blackbirds, red-winged blackbirds and Brewer's blackbirds.

There are two white pelicans tucked up against the reeds on the far side.

The Cibola Wildlife Refuge waterways are just beginning to fill up with migratory waterfowl.

Burrows . . .

I was curious about the refuge map that showed burrowing owl homes - it seemed to be akin to mapping oriole or finch nests.  It was when I saw that the birds' abodes had been constructed for them, not by them that I understood; they burrow where they are invited to burrow.  So . . . we saw burrowing owl burrows, but missed the burrowing owls.

And burros . . .

This is the burro that wanted to come in from the "cold"; he was alone in the desert looking toward a very happy appearing herd of at least 50 within the the refuge boundaries.

Strikingly marked kestrels were in abundance throughout the region.

We spotted only one lone great egret.

Those who came before . . .

Historically, that country was peopled by those of the Yuma tribes, specifically the Mohave and the Quechan, and the river's course was far different than it is today.  Now calmed by dams, the Colorado's flow is managed; the water comes from the bottom of the lake, cold and clear, where it previously ran warmer and muddy with red sediment.

Its banks would have been lined with cottonwoods and willows and the flood plain was miles across; now, however, side channels are choked with invasive tamarisk and sand beaches that are washed away by static flows have to be artificially restored by periodic "floods" created by releases from the dam.

Anglos also came to this bleak desert, often to search for and extract valuable minerals.  Others who settled along the river were involved in ferrying and shipping pursuits.

This tumble-down cabin was built in 1910 by Carl Bishop from then-plentiful cottonwood logs.  It is a dog-trot structure, like my Kelley great grandparents and many others had in Texas and throughout the South.  This type of building is divided in the middle by a covered breezeway, separating the living and kitchen areas.

Immediately away from the river's life-giving waters, the sparsely vegetated landscape takes on a starkly beautiful appearance.

Ghost town environs . . .

The legendary seven cities of Cibola were believed to be constructed of gold and filled with great wealth.  At the opposite end of the abundance spectrum, we find the burg of Cibola, Arizona.  Characterized as a ghost town, Cibola is home to fewer than 200 people - a hardy bunch, in my opinion, or possibly true anti-social curmudgeons.

Clearly, someone in the bunch has an artistic bent, as evidenced by a whimsical directional sign.

Angels . . .

Yup, they are real, and we encountered two of them - among those few residents of Cibola.  When one of our adventures went awry, there they were.

"Let's take the old road between Ehrenberg and Ciblola", suggested my partner in crime.  Never one to pass up a back road, I readily agreed.  A few miles out there in the desert, one of the many sand washes we crossed became our undoing - stuck!

At the exact moment the truck shuddered to a sinking halt, right along with my sinking sensation, up ahead appeared a Jeep, manned by angels.  Recognizing our predicament, they drove right up and around us, grabbed a length of chain, hooked up and dragged us right out of there.

Their appearance was not what one typically conjures when one is imagining angels - the driver was bald-headed; his companion was of a darker-skinned hue, but we were immensely grateful for their willing and able assistance.  Yes, I am walking; however, walking those sandy miles back to Cibola did not appeal in the slightest.

Crop lands . . .

Agriculture is king in this country unless, of course, you count play - as in ATVs, dune buggies, water sports, fishing and the like.  The town of Ehrenberg is truly a ghost with nothing of historical significance remaining besides the graveyard.  On the California shore, Blythe is a boarded-up remnant of its former self, obviously economically depressed. 

Beyond the urban boundaries, though, many miles of crop land stretch across land that previously supported only the barest of plant life, now lushly irrigated with Colorado River water.  Besides alfalfa hay, there are huge acreages devoted to cultivating cotton, which is being harvested while we are here.

From my growing-up days in the Valley of the Sun - now the urban sprawl of Phoenix - I was accustomed to cotton and its incumbent crop dusters, gins and the huge "bread loaf" bales that came out of them, but here, I saw something new.  They are now baling cotton in gigantic round bundles shrink-wrapped with plastic, so large that only three or four fill a semi trailer.

These cotton bales are about six feet in height.

My pard kindly scouted a spot on the river bank for a fishing foray and assisted me in gimping out there to try my luck from the comfort of a camp chair.  We caught nothing in our short time so ensconced, but you know what they say: "A bad day of fishing is better than a good day at anything else".

As good as new!  The señor replaced the mangled metal to the tune of $161 instead of the $794 estimate from the shop!

Day trippin' - literally!
Sept. 16, 2016

The saga of how an innocent excursion to pick blackberries for breakfast pancakes leads to a meeting with a sheriff's deputy named Mike, Groom Creek firefighters Ernesto & Bob, and Brett & Robert: Lifeline Ambulance medics, fine gentlemen all.

A bit of birding at Wolf Creek, enjoying fall flowers, a stab (ha, ha!) at harvesting blackberries, and then a jaunt downstream: that was our lovely September morning, right up until the moment I slid on an innocent-enough-appearing slope and quickly realized that ankles tend to break when a foot assumes a 90-degree position sideways from the leg.

It most assuredly could have been worse (well, not so much for the ankle); we could have been out of cell range, we could have been off and gone into the back country far from vehicle access, I could have been lying in an ant hill while my pard summoned help, I could have broken my camera when I fell, I could have hit my head . . . anyway, none of that occurred and I was efficiently transported to the hospital where I was expeditiously dealt with.  An orthopedic doctor will inform us next week of our next step (ha, ha - chalk it up to pain meds), presuming there is one.


The good . . .
 

The bad . . .

Who knew there could be such hilarity in an ambulance???

The ugly . . .

A severely mistreated ankle.  I have apologized to it and we have made our peace.

Big game!
August 31, 2016

Wildlife, birds, vegetation, rocks, water, scenery - all fascinating, intriguing, captivating, but none of it compares to what happened on our last hike of the trip.  The trek was on the Coal Creek trail, a little utilized destination that leads into the South San Juan Wilderness.  It was not the most attractive hike we've done: a very narrow steep trail through thick underbrush, heavily treed, mucky, eroded and unmaintained.

Although the trail accesses the wilderness area, it may not be very popular because there are no lakes along its way, and the dearth of humanity may explain the large amount of bear sign we noted.  We made it a point to chatter away as we walked through fairly extensive brushy areas.

Not too far after we crossed Coal Creek, Chris was in the lead on the single-file track when he stopped suddenly and said, "I see a bear!"  Although we've seen bears in "the wild", we'd never encountered one while out hiking on a lonely trail.

Somehow, my thought has always been that if I sighted a bear, I could gain safety by putting some trees between me and bruin.  Well, never mind that absurd idea: "our" bear was no more interested in interacting with us than we were with him, thus he took off lickety-split on a trajectory across in front of us so that we got to watch him run.  That cinnamon-hued beast could have covered the 100 feet between us before I could have so much as thought about unrooting my feet.

We were crazy excited to have seen him and crazy grateful it transpired the way it did.  So . . . that is the last time I go hiking in the boonies without bear spray . . . in my hand . . . at the ready.  I don't believe in pushing my luck.

Grizzlies . . .

With bears being in the forefront of my thoughts, I did a bit of research and discovered that there are some who think the South San Juan Wilderness region may still harbor some of the grizzly variety.  The last verified of that species in Colorado was killed in 1979 when it attacked a hunting guide who managed to kill it with a hand-held arrow in the course of a frightful struggle!

I found this information about the area we hiked online: "Many call the South San Juan Wilderness Colorado's wildest corner. True, the landscape here, one of broken volcanic peaks and cliffs, poses a formidable barrier to travel, but the overriding reason for this reputation resides in the probable presence of one critter - the 'griz'.  Of all the places in Colorado likely to still harbor North America's most fearsome creature, the rugged and remote southern San Juan Mountains seem best suited. A great bear was killed here in 1979, the last known Colorado grizzly. But rumor, extrapolation and scientific evidence all join hands to suggest strongly that more grizzlies, if they still live anywhere in Colorado, inhabit the recesses of this rugged Wilderness, which many claim as the wildest left in the state."

"Because of the impenetrable forests and rugged terrain, state wildlife biologists rate the south San Juans the best suited habitat in Colorado for wilderness dependent species, such as grizzlies and wolverines, that thrive only in unmodified natural habitats rarely visited by humans. Both of the species were long thought to be extinct in Colorado, but circumstantial evidence points to their possible continued existence here. In 1979, some 25 years after the last grizzly sighting in Colorado, a bow hunter killed a startled sow in the south San Juans. Soon after, the Colorado Division of Wildlife launched a search for additional grizzlies in the area. Their snares and searches came up empty, but citizens unconvinced by the lack of evidence launched their own search in 1990. Several summers' efforts by volunteers of Round River Conservation Studies and Save Our San Juans uncovered hair samples, scat, and several reliable bear sightings, enough to convince knowledgeable bear authorities that grizzlies probably still roam this mountainous region."

This link goes to that man's amazing account of his harrowing experience with the grizzly: http://denver.cbslocal.com/2012/05/23/man-recounts-a-fight-for-life-with-colorados-last-grizzly/.  It is an interesting read, although poorly transcribed.

Lower Piedra . . .

Last summer, we hiked along the Piedra River near its upper terminus, and planned to later enter its canyon further downstream, an effort that I called a halt to this time because the road was becoming far more narrow and precipitous than I cared for.  Impending storms also worked against the plan, as lightning began to strike thereabouts.

The canyon-wall drive did offer some striking views, though.  At one point, we spotted two large flocks of wild turkeys in the only place along there that wasn't nearly straight up and down.  We would have halted for a hike there except for the blasted (sorry!) lightning.

Between terror (mine) at this road's precipitous drop-offs and an impending lightning-filled rainstorm, we called off that drive.

The Piedra River

We were clueless what this large shallow turquoise pool was about.

Treasure Falls . . .

We had not been to Treasure Falls for several years, so decided a revisit was in order, and we were very happy we returned.  We chose a so-called primitive trail for our climb up to the waterfall's base and found it to be steep but easily doable and prettier than the more used path.

Not at all surprisingly, I couldn't stop taking photographs of the water, the foliage and the views.

West Fork . . .

As it turns out, there remain several regions in the Pagosa area that we have not yet explored.  We enjoyed one short hike west of Windy Pass and Treasure Falls, which led us to a driving jaunt crossing the West Fork of the San Juan River.

We had to laugh when we caught a break in the wall of trees and saw Treasure Falls from an entirely different perspective.  When viewed from the start of the hike up to the cascade, it appears that it drops from way up at the top of the sheer cliff; its seeming massiveness dwindles into insignificance when viewed from across the valley.

There it is: that massive waterfall seen against the backdrop of the infinitely more massive mountains.

Soaking . . .

We love the Pagosa area for hiking and exploring; however, The Springs is the primary attraction.  No matter what else is happening, we like to get over there daily for a soak in various temperature pools - a relaxing and rejuvenating experience.

This extensive deposit has been created by the hot mineralized spring water.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch, we enjoyed getting to know Bob & Catherine, both as our RV neighbors and visiting while soaking.  They, along with canines Ruby & Dexter, were camping in a Tab trailer with tent extension, one of many such ingenious set-ups we've seen on various teardrop trailers.  The couple enjoys their outings, but say they are ready to upsize a bit.

For the first time, we saw tubers on the San Juan up by the RV park.  I have no idea where they may have put in nor how many times they must have dragged bottom with the flow so low.

Always the goats by Pagosa Riverside RV Park, but this batch was very un-goat-like when they continued grazing instead of rushing to the fence for ear scratching.

Aztec, Acoma . . .

All things, of the desired type or the glad-to-be-rid-of-it kind, eventually cease, and so it was with our summer sojourn.  The plan was to depart Colorado, drive to Holbrook where we would spend one night while packing and cleaning the trailer and arrive home in a fairly leisurely way.

That all went somewhat according to plan except for one strategical error.  We'd been to the Aztec Ruins National Monument once before - a very long time ago - and somehow, since we would be going right by it, our logic seemed irrefutable that we should revisit the site.

Aztec is located near Farmington, New Mexico, right along out route, and was easily accessible with the trailer.  The villages were occupied, so we are told, between 1100 and 1300 a.d.  I am amazed at the advanced planning that went into their construction, including being astronomically aligned for reasons that are lost in antiquity.

In places, the three-story high structures retain original roofs and ceilings; I marvel to be able to walk through room after room, connected by doorways so low they require me to stoop fully over to get through.

The site consists of more than 400 rooms and several ceremonial kivas, and is known for its great kiva, the largest in the Southwest.

Stabilization work is being conducted to forestall further crumbling of the ancient walls.  We were fortunate to be able to speak with some of the workmen engaged in the process.  They were very friendly and forthcoming about their endeavors, explaining in detail how and what they were doing.

Of course I had questions, and they patiently answered them all, showing me the logs and photographs that chronicled every step of the process.

The best part was when they enthusiastically invited us to their home village of Acoma, another Native American pueblo that has continued to be inhabited.  They explained that the following day, September 2, is set aside for Acoma's largest festival of the year.  Our plans precluded accepting their invitation; however, we have determined to attend next year.

Because that was a fairly long driving day and we were missing our daily hike, we followed up our tour of Aztec with a walk on a portion of the Old Spanish Trail that lies near the ruins and crosses the Animas River there.  In 1829, a trade caravan of 60 men led by Antonio Armijo passed by there as they traveled from New Mexico to California and camped beside the Animas, near a place where we crossed it on a footbridge.

Our "short" stop that expanded to exploring the ruins and an accompanying museum and walking the trail, combined with heavy traffic through Farmington and Gallup and a plethora of delaying highway construction caused us to be working until 9:30 that night to get all packed and cleaned.  Ah well, it got done and we once again enjoyed the pancake breakfast offered at the Holbrook KOA, so we were off and gone early and arrived home mid-day, a satisfying end to a frenetic explore of Utah and Colorado.

Arizona calls . . .

Not content to cease our wanderings, I have set a goal to hike in every wilderness area in Arizona.  First up, two days after getting home, was Juniper Mesa Wilderness, one we have skirted around in previous hikes, but not really gone into.

Traversing Williamson Valley Road, we encountered a bull snake that artfully arranged itself on the roadway where it would surely be run over, so we turned around and convinced it to relocate, not without some difficulty, I might add.  Perhaps it was still too cool to be enthusiastic about moving, but we finally got it off the road where it quite rudely and loudly hissed at us.

More stops along the way at water tanks to peruse the bird situation:  at one, a lone swimmer stumped us for a while until we identified it as a molting juvenile Wilson's phalarope.  When we checked at the end of our day, it was still putzing around the small pond, content to continually pick at bits of something on the water's surface.

We had the place all to ourselves for our six-mile hike on Oaks & Willows Trail in Juniper Mesa Wilderness.  Truthfully, it was very rough and rocky footing for pretty much the entire distance; this was the single view we obtained for our trouble.