The day I . . .

. . . locked the keys in the truck began serenely enough at our Holbrook, Arizona, motel with a nice breakfast and coffee.  One night away to visit our son, Lewis, in nearby Joseph City: the three of us were off to McHood Reservoir, a lovely little lake that winds through a canyon of solid rock.

 

Fishing gear at the ready, we were encouraged by the large trout feeding on the surface.  Our shadeless posts on stone perches quickly became uncomfortable; I decided I would change my clothing for better coverage, and it was all downhill from there.

I exchanged my wardrobe at the truck, dropped my discarded tank top onto the keys that were lying on the seat and, even with a hesitation about maybe leaving the truck unlocked because we were nearby, flicked the fateful switch, blithely unaware of my mistake until the señor requested his keys.  

Fool-proof way to put a damper on activities, but there was better news: we were not at the end of a 15-mile unnamed dirt track in the middle of nowhere.  A phone call later, and we were rescued by a fine gentleman from the not-very-far-away town, who encouraged me immensely with his cheery repeats: “No problem!”  Easy for him to say, we were replenishing his wallet by my momentary brain-dead maneuver.

 

Historical irrigating . . .

. . . brought early pioneers to that seemingly barren wind-swept country when they diverted water from the Little Colorado River to grow crops needed to feed themselves and their livestock.  That enterprise was indeed daunting in 1876 - incredible that they rebuilt numerous times when the structure washed away in floods.

 

With wills many of us can scarcely imagine, they constructed one diversion dam after another each time storms washed one out.  After a good bit of research assisted by Chris, Lewis tracked down the dam's site and was anxious to share it with us.

We saw where the dam diverted river water to a large ditch engineered to deliver irrigation as needed near their settlement. . .

 . . . and shortly after our visit, a storm brought the river to life, a scene that Lewis captured well to show how water is diverted into the ditch while the main stream flows by.

Here he’s checking out a mechanism that opens the gate to allow water into the ditch. . .

. . . and here they are . . . not really sure what they are doing.

 Trailblazers . . .

In the larger scheme of things, much of Arizona, and the Southwest in general, remained unexplored long after most of the continent.  Eventually explorers and pioneers in northern Arizona managed to find their way through harsh countryside, seeking viable passages and places to put down roots.

A plaque and bas relief I spotted in Winslow commemorated some of those route-finding & road-building ventures beginning in 1853. . .

. . . while other sites recall the region's history, in this case, the 1876 establishment of Joseph City, originally called Allen's Camp for Capt. William C. Allen, who led the small band of Mormon pioneers.  It is the only remaining town of four originally settled by LDS members in that area; the others were Obed, Brigham City & Sunset.

Serendipities . . .

As we were dining at a local Mexican eatery in Holbrook, Lewis mentioned that across the street was a mural that tourists visited for photos.

We stopped by to see what the attraction was: the historic Route 66 was mapped on the building’s side, and photos were the name of the game.

 

It was there we saw a young couple with their youngster, and I offered to shoot a photo of the three of them.  Realizing from their accents that they were foreign, I inquired about their origin: they were from Poland.  We chatted a bit and went on our way.

Later, we were relaxing poolside at our motel where a young boy was splashing happily with his mask and snorkel.  What a shock when we stood up to leave, walked around a corner and saw the same couple who were staying at “our” motel.

That serendipity loudly called for a follow-up; we sat and happily got acquainted with Marek, Karolina and their sweet son, whose name translates to Blaize (I think), the Polish version is lost to me.

How fun to meet that lovely family and to be able to stay in touch.  They told us all about this trip (their second time in the U.S.) and their plans for touring the Southwest.  They had already been to several Arizona sites, and Karolina was in love with our great state; she extolled at length about Arizona’s beauty and variety, clearly very astute.

Out ’n about . . .

Lewis appears to take after us with his love of gardening, as do both of his siblings.  His peppers and tomatoes are thriving alongside his cute yard/patio.

It’s not unusual to see dust devils in the Southwest desert, but these may have been the granddaddies of them all.

Water, in so many forms, and fire

The vapor caves . . .

Ah, the Yampah Vapor Caves!  It is one of those things that pretty much has to be experienced to be understood.

I mean, how many people jump at the chance to spend 90 minutes sweating like they’ve never sweated before in a dimly-lit cave with an air temperature of about 112 degrees enveloped by the natural geothermal vapors from 125 degree mineral water that is trickling, dripping, running through the grotto where you’re lounging on a marble bench?

My second time at the vapor caves - if I lived nearby, I would utilize it weekly.  I emerged feeling as if I had sweated out every toxin that ever considered being in my body, and my skin was silky smooth - a really rejuvenating experience!

Back to Iron Mountain . . .

. . . and its delightful small mineral water pools of varying temperatures, where we enjoyed conversations with several folks.  

One couple, especially, was delightful to talk with - fascinating to hear of people’s lives and families.  They were from Dallas/Fort Worth, in Colorado to attend a country music festival in which their grandson is playing fiddle and lead guitar.  It was fun to hear their adventures when their son has invited them to events that he works as a photo journalist, the most notable being a rattlesnake festival.

Still more water . . .

. . .  in yet another form:  Diane joined us for a boondock culminating at Rifle Falls State Park.  With no idea what to expect, we thoroughly enjoyed our drive up into the mountains through lush farm and ranch land, and were bowled over after our short hike to the falls!

Wow!  What an overwhelming sight as three cascades roared over the cliff, water running in a delightful clear stream through the profuse creekside vegetation.  Delightful refreshing spray cooled us as we neared the falls, with voices lost in the roar of the water’s force.

An absurd number of photos and videos later . . .

 

 

 

. . . we opted to climb the trail to the top of the cliff for a view, as the signage invited.  My mind went to distant views from the heights, but the reality was the sight of the water roaring over the edge of the cliff - very heady indeed, especially when we walked onto platforms jutting out over the abyss.

Our exertions required an ice cream treat, or so we unanimously decided, an indulgence we located back in the small town of Rifle.

Thus ended a lovely reunion and adventure, made a bit harrowing by witnessing three wildfires starting in three days, the last that brought smoke and devastation not far from our lodging, relieving us of any reluctance to depart.

Minerals, mountains & megillahs

What a renewal of spirit this trip is being!  The time spent with our friend Diane is encouraging me to evaluate how I spend this later part of my life.  I can’t say that anything earthshaking is occurring, but the relationship with daring women who live their lives boldly on their own terms is rejuvenating.  Over my lifetime, I have had the privilege to associate with many women who have stepped far beyond a life of routine, with accomplishments that deserve to be written.

Society may see each of them as just another elderly woman, but within their hearts lie memories of daring lives, and I am grateful to know them - many over the years who have lived typical lives and been dealt hard blows in their day-to-day existence, still continuing on their way, and others who have chosen a different path stepping out to create, sometimes re-create themselves in ways that many can’t imagine.

Why not, their hearts tell them, and they listen.  Make no mistake: they are all around us, and it behooves us to heed their stories.

Megillah . . .

. . . Here we go - end of first day, I loaded my photos onto the computer and was dismayed to find that my camera has grit in it, with each tiny bit of dust expanded into dots, blurry lines and glips, ruining the photos.  First off, I naively thought I could avoid that happening by not changing camera lenses thus opening it up to dust pollution; however, it has become painfully obvious that the often dusty conditions that seem to be our favorite environment allow particles to invade the camera.

The photos were ruined for any other use, but I did manage to clean them up enough to utilize in the blog, a tedious and unsatisfying task - very discouraged as I anticipated the same for the remainder of the trip, and the loss of a batch of Colorado pictures.

 
Then . . . a brainstorm from the señor!  The same thing had occurred on a previous long trip; that time, he had found a computer program that cleared out the glips & blips.  Yay!  Revisiting that, we expected the second day pics to be cleared up after a run-through of the miraculous, though time-consuming program.  Alas, our hopes were dashed when it was unsuccessful.  To say I was discouraged would be an understatement of the nth degree.

What went wrong?  After much gnashing of teeth, he thought he had the answer; however, by that time, we were busy going to one of the most beautiful places on Earth, and we could not test the theory until the following morning.

As I was writing, the señor was working the program, and the third day photos were saved - great relief!  I figuratively held my breath until it was done.

Minerals . . .

So now for the minerals, mineral water, that is.  How I love a good hot springs soak, and for this journey, Iron Mountain provided just that.  The facility has expanded since last we enjoyed it, in the process retaining its serene sense of rejuvenation and relaxation.

The site overlooking the Colorado River is lovely despite the highways and railroads on the opposite shore.  The varied landscaping and peaceful music enhance the sense of well-being.  And best of all, they’re running a half-price special, which means we will return in a couple of days.

Mountains . . .

. . . That single word does not begin to convey what the remainder of the day held for us.  Had we only known what was to come, we would have allotted the entire day for it.  Indeed, a month-long sojourn on the heights we attained would better serve what we found far up in the Flat Tops.

Our driver (yes, we acquiesced to whatever he had cooked up for the afternoon) informed us we were headed for something called Deep Lake.  Sure, why not - it’s the Rocky Mountains, how could you go wrong, after all.

As we departed from the depths of the river canyon and began our ascent, we discovered just what could possibly be an issue.  The dirt road began climbing and then it began climbing more and climbing more as it clung precariously to the steep mountainside, a narrow ledge carved out of the nearly vertical cliffs, winding and switching back on itself over and over.

When the rough road caused the truck to scitter, that unprotected edge with nothing for a thousand feet below looked alarmingly close.  It went on and on for long enough that I finally asked the question: “How much farther is it?”.  When he said we were about a third of the way there, it took a good deal of restraint to refrain from violence.  I mean we couldn’t even abort the upward climb; there was literally no place to pull over or turn around because of the narrow washboard road.  When we encountered a lone vehicle coming the other direction, he pulled up with two wheels perched on the vertical cliff in order for us to pass.

And all the while, I was thinking that eventually, we had to come back down that way.  

The drive may have been harrowing, but the reward was beyond incredible!  As we topped out, our relief was palpable.  We disembarked and were nearly knocked over by wind blowing easily 40+ mph.  No matter, we were happy to be on terra horizontal instead of terra vertical, and the views were just stupendous!

Deep Creek was 2,300 feet below us at the bottom of an incredible craggy canyon.  I shot a video of the site with great trepidation; I was seriously afraid the wind would snatch the phone right out of my hands.

No photo could begin to convey the sense of that abyss, but of course, I made the attempt.

Three wind-blown individuals:

Astounding to look out from that high vantage at mountain range after mountain range . . .

. . . but most delightful of all was a gorgeous marmot sunning himself on the rocks at cliff’s edge, mostly unconcerned with our presence.

We had seen large snowbanks along the way and on surrounding mountains; my pard decided that he needed to make his way to one below us, and found the endeavor to be a bit more than anticipated.

We were at approximately 10,000 feet from sea level, with distances very deceiving given the gargantuan scale of our surroundings.  He did, indeed, make his way down there - the slope was far steeper and longer than he had thought, especially when he had to climb back up - but he came, he tasted, and he conquered, kind of.  Thoughtlessly though, he didn't leave the truck keys with us, so if he had slipped, Diane & I would have been there for the duration.

Look closely: he's down there risking his life for a taste of that particular snow.

Along the way, we had distracted ourselves with questions about a historic silver-mining town that had, incredibly, perched somewhere up on those Flat Tops, abandoned since 1890.  We remain incredulous at the knowledge that so-named Carbonate had once been the seat of Garfield County!  The remote location and absurd access caused the town to be short-lived; how anyone managed to build that road with hand-work and horse-drawn equipment is a mystery to me, and a testament to will power.

Once we knew about the ghost town, we were on a quest to find its location.  Spoiler alert:  we didn’t find it, and in the interest of not driving down that road in the dark, we eventually abandoned the quest, but not before being gape-mouthed at the incredible beauty of the locale.

Our drives and hikes up there brought us to one incredible view after another, with lakes and streams and lush growth everywhere.  The wind continued unabated, so photos of the plethora of wonderful wildflowers were difficult to impossible, but of course, it didn’t stop me from trying.

The views speak for themselves.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A view of a different kind . . .

Yet another delightful occurrence in our day was the surprise when we drove around a bend and encountered a fairly large herd of sheep being tended by a horseman and his three dogs.  We have often seen lone shepherds with their herds in the mountains for summer pasture.  

We enjoyed watching as the shepherd tightened up his herd . . .

. . . and rode away for a noon-day break.  The three dogs accompanied him, as did a second horse, which I assumed to be the foal of his mount.  I thought perhaps he would stop for a visit with us, but he acknowledged me with a wave as I photographed and was on his way.

A better day in better company could not be imagined.