Free . . .
. . . to be me: that’s how I’m feeling now that I have tested out my post-surgical/post-bunion feet on a little jaunt in Utah.
“Don’t go to Monument Valley without me” was the plea I kept hearing from my niece Shannon. Although we’ve been through that area numerous times, we had never gone into the Navajo Tribal Park, and when better than foot-testing time.
After walking out of the surgical center three months ago, the improvement has been gradual, but significant, yet I teetered on the brink of trepidation, lest I not be up to sustained hiking. Despite that, Shannon flew in from Oregon, and we three set off northward.
We stretched our legs at Elephant Feet . .
. . . acclimating ourselves to those sandy climes with a walk-about . . .
. . . before arriving for our aptly named Monument Valley scenic drive - 15 miles of sandy/rocky, rutted, rough road.
Stops, stops and more stops . . . we were awed by the massive formations, the seemingly teetering rock spires as we swiveled round and round not to miss anything.
Wind whipped up as the clouds scudded by, adding to the beauty as shadows raced across the landscape. There is little wonder that the bizarre landscape is so often photographed, although those images do not begin to convey the sense of awe when standing at the base of a monolith, with neck craned backward, looking upward at the massive rock face soaring overhead.
Hiking to House on Fire . . .
. . . a minor prehistoric cliff dwelling, was a nice walk in a jumbled, fairly wide canyon bottom for our next morning's outing.
The site’s moniker comes not because it was burned, but is due to its appearance. Striations on the rock surface above seem to radiate outward in a flame-like way, made even more prominent when the sun’s low afternoon rays reach it.
Bridges . . .
Up top, we enjoyed a bit of lunch near an abandoned corral before moving on to Natural Bridges National Monument, a place we’ve enjoyed immensely and wanted to share with Shannon.
After descending the canyon, I found myself incredulous that I had taken my young children in there in years past. The possibilities of slick-rock slide-offs are numerous and terrifying. Once the bottom was reached, we remember with fondness a walk we took on that long-ago trek. A gentle stream of water was running, so we took off our boots, secreted them behind some bushes and had a most serene time hiking barefoot in and out of the sandy-bottomed water course.
Sans youngsters in later years, we two trekked the canyon bottom through all three bridges: Sipapu, Kachina & Owachomo, climbing out down canyon and returning along the rim. My recollection of that journey conjures a great deal of fatigue before regaining our vehicle.
Nothing near either of those experiences this time, we marveled at the beauty of the sculpted-rock canyon without overly exerting ourselves (though that steep ladder climb is something else!).
From the rim, the Horse Collar dwelling site, with its unexplained circular structures, is visible far below. It's accessible to those hiking within the canyon's depths.
Bears Ears . . .
. . . is the odd name given to a national monument in southeastern Utah, taken from prominent geological features that basically have no resemblance whatsoever to bears ears. See for yourself:
That aside, much of our activity was within the bounds of that designation, requiring a day pass purchased at various wilderness kiosks. That process elicited the same comment from the señor whenever he made the purchase. He didn’t mind paying the modest fee; however, he could not refrain from remarking each & every time about the ineptness of the powers-that-be who in their ineffable wisdom provided a slot through which one is required to insert an envelope with cash that is too large for the opening, leaving each person to find a way to scrunch/fold/jam or otherwise deposit said large envelope into said small slot.
Although we have recreated extensively in Bears Ears, we had never been to the so-called actual bears ears, nor did we even know there was access to bruin’s head. Once we knew there was a way, we had to try it out.
A winding dirt road (pretty much the only kind thereabout) was the route that delivered us to the top of the beast’s head with an “ear” to each side of us, and distant views all around.
This is his left ear . . . or maybe his right ear, depending on which way he's facing. . .
. . . perhaps this is his right ear, or at least the other one.
Anyway, it was cold and windy up there, so we climbed only a little bit, took a look around, and called it good.
Cold Spring . . .
. . . is a wonderful cliff dwelling site, one of many on Comb Ridge, an incredible geologic monocline that stretches for nearly 80 miles, and named for its serrated ridge line that resembles a chicken's comb. I am completed enchanted by the area; we have explored quite a few of the prehistoric sites tucked far up in the ridge's caves and shelters. The Cold Spring site is my favorite, and we wanted to share it with Shannon, so away we went (right after hearing the señor's mini-tirade about too-small slots for too-large envelopes).
There is no signage at all along Comb Ridge: the various sites are found by reading about each trailhead's mileage from the highway, and then crossing one's fingers that one is in the right place. This sometimes involves consulting with other hikers and perusing multiple maps that occasionally provide conflicting information.
Although we had been to the Cold Spring site before, the unmarked trailhead had completely changed due to extreme erosion, and we nearly set off for another site before discovering our error.
Gaining the ridge itself involves a good bit of steep crossings of multiple deep washes that drain the region, and scrambles up side slots.
A huge rock alcove shelters the ruin, necessitating a careful climb upward through the loose rocky rubble to gain access.
Yes, I've been there before, and yes, I've photographed it before, but I am so enamored of the place that I simply had to do it again.
Within the dwelling site itself is a substantial spring and a large depressed area that holds a pool of water (much diminished since our previous visit) and greenery along the damp back wall.
Pictographs adorn the walls, and even corn cobs left from the ancient habitation remain throughout the partially fallen walls.
This is a migration symbol, so says the señor.
We lodged first in Blanding . . .
. . . and then in Mexican Hat right on the San Juan River . . .
. . . where the lodge teeters dangerously near to collapsing into the water, while it appears that the cliff above is in the process of collapsing onto the motel. Happily, neither of those things occurred during our tenure, but I won't be courting disaster there again.
As if to soften the image of the vintage inn catapulting into the water under a million tons or so of fallen massive mountain rocks, a most glorious cactus was blooming away in the building's window.
Bluff Fort . . .
The tiny town of Bluff lies along the road between our two lodgings, and we were happy to visit Bluff Fort while we were there. The museum and outdoor displays are excellent and interesting as they meticulously detail the settling of the area by Mormon pioneers, the Hole-in-the-rock expedition.
In 1880, that so-named wagon train, consisting of 250 people, built road from Escalante to the current site of Bluff, about 200 miles, through some of the most rocky and inhospitable countryside one could imagine. The most notable section of that trail was a 1,300-foot drop at a 45-degree angle to the Colorado River, a feat that defies the imagination, and for which it was named
While Shannon was watching videos about the historical feats, the señor & I found not one, but two antique keyboard instruments for which permission was granted to play. I videoed a bit of each.
An anomaly in the Valley of the Gods . . .
Yet another serpentine dusty road, the track that winds through the Valley of the Gods reveals majestic landscapes at every juncture, but one particular turn brought an unusual sight. Not sure what to make of the large orange industrial-appearing RV, we turned to our trusty smart phones to look up the name painted onto its side: "50 Mundos".
We passed that vehicle stopped at a turnout, flagged him down later, and inquired if he was Sergio, the one we had seen in our online search. Not only was he Sergio, he was happy to converse as best he could in English, and to flash his pearly whites for a photo.
Pieced together from that conversation and what I could discern from his website, Sergio has been living in that RV for three years; his home country is Brazil, and he began this wandering sojourn as a way to "re-create" himself at age 50. Because I neither speak nor read Portuguese, Brazil's native language, I may be forgiven if I have misconstrued something along the line. Sergio seems to have multiple commercial sponsors, and promotes himself via Instagram and Youtube as he savors his travels.
We encountered him on his first traverse of Utah.
Leaving him behind, we explored with a few jaunts on foot, which gave us the opportunity to get up close and personal with that amazing countryside.
One oddity caught our attention enough to require an explore, but our efforts at an explanation came to naught. Pretty sure it is a water well, but why there? At any rate, a hose was attached and was snaking down the hillside nearby. A bit of a disagreement ensued, with the señor claiming it was supplying a trough below, and me opining that he was imagining things.
An answer was required, so we climbed down, and I was correct, for a change. The hose ended down below for no purpose that we could discern. And also for no reason that I could discern, my pard decided that he would try speaking into the hose end to Shannon who remained uptop. Needless to say, it did not operate as a communication device.
Despite the stark aridity of that region, subsurface moisture nourishes cottonwoods and other plant life in the wash bottoms.
Throughout our time, we were treated to wonderfully beautiful, sometimes ethereal cloud formations.
Muley Point . . .
High above the meanderings and convolutions of. the San Juan goosenecks, Muley Point offers up incredible vast vistas of landscape carved by the forces of nature. The dropoffs are a bit stomach-churning, and the access is via yet another crazed dirt road (no surprise there), but it's a breathtaking view . . .
That's John's Canyon Road winding along down there - terrifying!
In the category of "you had to be there", I offer here Shannon's failed video of the landscape, lest anyone think we didn't enjoy ourselves.
Along the way, one of us thought it would be a good idea to get out and commune with cows; the cows thought otherwise, and she returned to the truck unscathed.
Goosenecks of the San Juan . . .
. . . the vantage point from which normal people peruse it at the Utah State Park.
A pioneer route . . .
Very much aware of the brutal difficulties of pioneering in southeastern Utah, we opted to follow a section of road built by the Hole-in-the Rock train when we discovered that a long stretch of road remains traversable (I lose the term loosely here) still.
Snow Flat Road, shown on the map, was our route.
It seems unbelievable that those 19th century folks could have conceived of making that journey, scouting the route, and building the road. We alternated between driving in sandy bottoms and climbing along slickrock ledges - what a journey!
Monument Valley back country . . .
There are vast areas of Monument Valley that are open only to tribal members unless with a Navajo guide. Our research led us to Navajo Spirit Tours, for which we are very grateful. Sean, our guide, was gifted in his breadth of knowledge, which he dispensed freely and with a cute quirky humor.
It seems impossible to convey just what the ride to our Mystery Valley tour was like, either in words or via video; however, I can't resist this bit of video taken while jouncing without any control whatsoever as Sean skidded our open-air transport along obscure winding sand-filled trails with an air of ease born of familiarity. If we had tried it on our own, we would have become hopelessly mired in sand up to the axles.
Keep your seat belt fastened for this bit:
It was astounding how much information was forthcoming at each stop, where we saw the ruins of ancient dwellings, learned about various methods of construction and the way of life for those who came before.
Sean utilized the sandy palette at our feet to illustrate the interconnections with the various southwestern prehistoric peoples. . .
. . . and then identified the handsome reptile I spotted - a leopard lizard, one I've never seen before
We visited two beautiful natural arches . . .
. . . and saw a sheepherder's stone abode tucked almost invisibly into a niche of one.
Wrapping it up . . .
. . . we polished off our grand journey by stopping at the historic Goulding's Lodge restaurant for as fine a luncheon salad as I've ever enjoyed. . .
. . . and remembering the incredible sights of that corner of the Southwest.
