Shake-down cruise

As we are finding our way back to Arizona, we are satisfied that our shake-down cruise for the Pup is a success.  Now we are painfully aware of how small the teensy tiny interior of a 16-foot trailer is.  No doubt it’s a do-able proposition with some mind-set adjustments and a more minimalist lifestyle.

The trailer’s use will benefit from the addition of shelving and bins to assist in everything (lots less of everything than was in the 32-footer) having its place and remaining there, thereby insuring that I can travel in a chaos-free environment.  We’ll see how that translates into practice when Sara joins us in Oregon and we become three in there . . .

Escalante & Harriet . . . 

Quite a few years have flown by since we have visited our friend Harriet in her Escalante digs, so this was the perfect opportunity to say “Hey!”  While there we dined out for superb barbecue ribs and next evening were entertained at her home.  Since our last stop there, Harriet has transformed her gallery on her home property into an inviting experience.  What a pleasure to peruse her artwork and eclectic offerings of everything from Zapotec coasters to rocks and fossils, from antiques to locally made crafts, and so much more!  

A stop at Serenidad Gallery is a must in Escalante; be sure to tell her we sent you.

The self-proclaimed star of the show at Serenidad was Harriet's Maine coon cat, Nicki.

Looking around . . .

One day only for checking out that region: absurd - the vastness and variety of those amazing landscapes could only be glimpsed adequately if explored over several lifetimes, and our stay of two nights obviously would not fit the bill.  One stop was a must, though; we enjoyed Harriet’s one-woman summer-long watercolor exhibit at the Anasazi State Park museum - a delight of artfully preserving native dwellings and ceramics. 

When the señor had been checking out an old USGS map, a favored pastime, he noticed a cliff dwelling that he had a yen to investigate.  It is not marked on the new maps: vulnerable ruins are deleted from modern maps to prevent vandalism, or perhaps I should say "reduce" instead.  Of late, I have been horrified to see so much graffiti on natural and prehistoric sites, seemingly an increasing and disturbing trend.

It was not a long hike to where we expected to find the ruin, but did entail quite a bit of scrambling through brush and managing our way through a jumbled eroded dry creek bed.  In the end, it would have been the easiest thing to have gone past the ruin, or what there is left of it if you didn't know where and what.

The prehistoric site appears to have been relatively extensive, but it is now smashed to smithereens beneath gigantic slabs of sandstone that have fallen from the roof of its once-protective alcove.  One partial wall is visible on the left, and another smaller section stands still with several roof support limbs exposed.  Other than those remnants, it is obliterated.  If we had not been searching for it, we would likely have never noticed its existence as we struggled to find a way through the canyon.

 

Speaking of canyons, Harriet had told us about a picturesque very short slot, scarcely deserving of the canyon designation, and we were happy she had.  It’s another of those sights that does not jump out at the psserby.

A short walk takes you clear to the back of the cleft pretty quickly, while views of the sky are mostly obscured by the high undulations of rock smoothed by Nature’s hand and reaching in turns across overhead.  Going in . . . and coming out were equally stunning views.

 

 

 

 

The slot was in Long Canyon, which, as you might suspect, is long . . . winding, steep and deep and oh so breathtakingly beautiful.  We marveled at each twist and turn as one stunning scene after another came into view.

 

More wandering around for our "sampler", we also enjoyed time at Calf Creek, which was running clear . . .

. . . and at the Escalante River, which was muddy with storm runoff and still higher than normal.

 

 

A short off-trail scramble got us up high enough to see across miles upon miles of multi-colored rock carved into fantasmagorical shapes enough to stagger the mind with the immensity of it all.  The up-close was fun for climbing and scrabbling over and around while the distant scenes took on the aspect of a wildly imaginative fantasy.

 

    

 Oh, to have the tenacity of this tree . . .

 

Waterholes . . .

 

We broke up our day-long drive home with a lunch stop at Cameron Trading Post on the Navajo Reservation where we were again reminded of the covid-19 pandemic.  The folks there were 2020 strict, requiring double-thickness masks and social distancing.  As always, we were impressed with the beautifully displayed Navajo artwork.

After we had dropped down past the mammoth Echo Cliffs and passed the Vermillion Cliffs, we went by the entrance to Waterholes Canyon.  With it came flooding memories of 2002, when Darren & I had driven to Lee’s Ferry together to participate in his grandfather’s memorial.  Coming home, we stopped to explore that slot canyon, and had a wonderfully good time, managing to get a lone photo of ourselves by convincing the camera to cling precariously to a nearly vertical smooth rock wall.

Grizzly or not

 

We did go after that alleged grizzly that was reported near Helper although I have a suspicion that what that feller spotted was a black bear instead.  In and around our bear hunt, we managed to fit in a few other excursions also.  It was made more difficult because some of our precious one day here was used up by our RV dealer not dealing . . . with things like the electric water heater not working.  We shall see where that leads us; the better news is that we discovered Helper has a lovely river walk.  We quite enjoyed a stroll along the tree-lined Price. . .

 

 

 . . . enhanced by Helper street art . . .

 

 

. . . with always the landmark Balance Rock high up the cliff on the skyline.

 We returned to and passed our earlier jaunt out to Soldier Summit, where gasoline was going for a whopping $4.19 per gallon!
 

Along that route through these wild and rugged mountains, humanity in various forms has been passing, or at least attempting to pass for a very long time.  The first non-natives to traverse it may have been Franciscan priests Escalante and Dominguez in 1776.  They called it Grassy Pass, a moniker that was exchanged at the beginning of the American Civil War for the current Soldier Summit.  Its latest designation was applied when six or seven military men plus one boy were frozen to death there during a blizzard as they were making their way to join the Confederate Army after being released from the Union forces.

Certainly many others have found their way to that place that allows access over the mountain.  We learned from a plaque at the site about the Denver & Rio Grande Western Railroad attempting to establish their operations at that higher spot instead of lower at Helper.  

Providing "housing" for their employees was a fiasco when they set up wood-framed tent structures wrapped with tar paper.  Advancing from that primitive shelter to little better "half salt box" or "squat box" houses proved inadequate also.  Those small dwellings were said to be 850 square feet divided into smaller rooms.

They provided the 2500 residents little defense again the six to 16 feet of snow that accumulated for up half the year.  Folks were required to dig snow tunnels to access other buildings, even outhouses.  A decade later, in 1929, the railroad moved the whole kit & kaboodle back to Helper, where it was easier to maintain operations.

The town at Soldier Summit is now little more than a few residents and a gas station.

This building appears to have been the local calaboose; it consists of two very dank and drab cells and a front jailer's room.

Along the way . . .

I had never heard the term "culinary water", but then I don't get out much.  Now I know it's a thing.

Decades of use and severe weather take their toll on old roads and bridges as well as buildings.

We drove out along a "scenic byway" (aren't they all scenic around here?) to the Scofield Reservoir and a summer community of the same name.  We were surprised at the extensive size of the lake and the huge number of white pelicans floating and circling.  There were plenty of other waterfowl, but identification was difficult among the whitecaps whipping the water's surface.  I would have liked to do some birding and photography; unfortunately, it seemed that we had stepped through a doorway into winter.  The wind was whipping; as rain turned to hail, we headed back downhill, but not before we perused a memorial to the miners who died in the Scofield Disaster - 200 of them!

We also stopped at the Castle Gate cemetery where there are graves of 171 men killed in the Castle Gate Mine disaster.  It is humbling and tragic to learn of these and so many others who have perished in mine explosions and cave-ins time after time.

Gordon Creek Falls . . .

Now about that bear: we decided to go on out to see if we could find him.  What a superb idea, I thought . . . right up until we were out there in the boonies and seeing bear tracks . . . right on the trail we were hiking.

Bear spray or not, it took a bit of self-convincing that the trek was a good idea after all.  Convincing complete: we continued on our hike which was along an ATV track in beautiful country, following a small stream below us in the canyon bottom.  Driving an all terrain vehicle along there would have been a very dusty proposition but would have been no problem on those steep grades.  On foot, though, we did a whole lotta huffing and puffing as we climbed steeply and steadily in places.

Alas (or hooray), no bear in sight, and believe me, I had my antenna finely honed.  Our efforts were rewarded when we came upon the sight of Gordon Creek Falls, a water cascade dropping and sluicing down an immense wall of rock strata.  

Closer and closer we got and then we were climbing down to the stream's course as it meandered across the water-smoothed rock before its drop.  It was delightful to immerse ourselves in the beauty of the water's sounds, the spray, the colors and beauty from the height of dropoff!  It was delightful to spend time and to enjoy the blessings of the gift, and of course water is irresistible to me, so into it, we went. 

If our Darren had been with us (and we felt that he was), he would have clamored all over up and down those rocks and in that water and savored the excitement of the place.  It seemed to be the right time to release the first of his ashes, and so we sent him out there with love to fly free.

Finally sated and cooled with our water experience, we began our return to the truck just in time to reach shelter before the threatening thunderstorms commenced with lightning.

A wolf pup

Actually, I should say a Wolf Pup, of the proper noun variety, not to be confused with bear cub or various other offspring of the wild variety.  We are on our way to Helper, Utah, to pick up our brand-spanking-new travel trailer.  After months of vacillating about whether to purchase an RV, or which one if we did, or should we stick with something we could pull with our perfectly nice but not particularly studley Toyota Tacoma instead of upgrading to a more manly pickup, we settled on buying a small bumper pull trailer.  We (actually the señor) decided that a Cherokee Wolf Pup was the one for us.

That lengthy process involved much online research and trips to various recreational vehicle dealers, all of whom bemoaned their lack of inventory and their inability to obtain anything to sell, or even to know when or if the situation might improve.  It seems that anything that might have fit our criteria of size (small), weight (light) and price (low) was sold long before it was even manufactured.

Thus, here we are, committed to buying a trailer we have never seen the inside of other than a virtual tour, but it does fit our specifications, and even with that commitment, the proverbial fly inserted itself into the proverbial ointment.  This time it was a direct covid hit when a ship carrying parts for our already-ordered trailer was quarantined; delivery time was deferred again and again with no end in sight and summer travel plans were in jeopardy.

It was at that frustrating point that Providence provided.  An upgraded model of the Wolf Pup had actually been assembled and delivered to the dealer in Utah, but the purchaser had grown tired of delays and cancelled their order.  Did we want it, they wanted to know.  Heck yes, we replied; we’ll take it.  

We have sorted through the bins of trailer equipment trying to determine what should be retained to use in an RV half the size of our previous one, organized the lot and stashed it into the back of the truck.  Tomorrow we will see our new portable dwelling and begin furnishing it.

Smoke . . .

Day before departure brought a damaging hail storm, crazy winds and some much needed rain, although in the typical way of humanity, we would have preferred more moisture and less drama.

Our latest smoke haze is said to be emanating from Oregon.  We wondered if the storm would have settled it; however, it is still affecting our skies today, and much more severe in northern Arizona.  On into Utah and very heavy smoke, which by and large obscured the grandeur of the landscape.  I wondered about the impression it would leave with folks who were traveling through for their first, perhaps only time.  What a different experience it would be for them!  

Our driving day from Prescott to Price involved nine hours on the road, so stops along the way were mostly nil and none.  Wilson's arch was right by the highway, so we used it as an excuse to stretch our legs and get our feet into some of that lovely Utah dirt.

 Trailer, River, Railroad, Coal . . .

So much easier said than done, we eventually became the owners of a Wolf Pup trailer, all 16 feet of it.  While inexpensive in the 2021 scheme of things, it still cost more than my first house (that's my curmudgeon persona speaking).

The upside of waiting around and waiting around and waiting around for the purchase to come to a conclusion is that we had a chance to do some exploring.  We were sent off to Soldier Summit, an impressive pass in the Wasatch Mountains not far from Helper. It is the fifth highest pass on a main U.S. transcontinental railroad.  Because of the extreme climb, freight trains required the addition of "helper" engines to make the grade, hence the name of the town at the base of the pass.

I quickly became enamored of the Price River that runs down the mountain and through Helper.  Both the highway and the double railroad line follow its very circuitous route through the rocky terrain.  It is said to be good trout fishing, something I would love to determine for myself in the not too distant future.

Our RV space for the next two nights is right on the Price River. . .

. . . and surrounded by mountains majestic literally on all sides.

I am giving short shrift to the quaint historic town of Helper, sad to say, of necessity.  Our short stay here was much taken with negotiations and multiple signatures at the RV dealer; I totally want to spend time in the mountains for our one full free day, especially after seeing video of a grizzly sighting by an RV dealer staff member yesterday.  Imma looking for him! and whatever else we may find upcanyon.

We are in coal country here - Carbon County, to be exact - strata of coal seams are evident in some escarpments. 

Big John holds a prominent spot in downtown Helper in honor of those who work so hard to bring that carbon to the surface.  There are also many memorials for the horrendous coal mining disasters that have occurred locally. 

Finally . . . someone who makes my feet look small.