Desert Daze - A Southwest Adventure (XV)

Part Fifteen: Beyond the Back of the Beyond

I am cruising north on Route 261 toward the Henry Mountains, the last discovered mountain range in the lower 48 (even more remote than it is now and it's still remote...), floating like a mirage on the horizon. This is real backcountry; I encounter nary another vehicle for many miles.

The Grand Gulch primitive area lies on both sides of me, rugged canyon lands accessible only by pack animal or on foot. The Anasazi ("Ancient Ones") flourished in Grand Gulch between 700 and 2,000 years ago. What makes this area truly unique is the multitude of unexplored and sometimes uncatalogued cultural sites hidden away in the canyons waiting to be discovered by the intrepid explorer. Many are in excellent condition, you can find dwellings, pottery, tools, and art work (do not disturb!) Historians theorize that the Anasazi abandoned the area for the surrounding mountains due to a prolonged drought, but, for whatever the reason, they vanished suddenly after making it their home for over 1,000 years.

To discover one of these sites would be exciting, make one feel like a real explorer. I am sure that I would really be able to connect to the spirit of the place too, at least so much more than I can at some roped off ‘historical landmark’ surrounded by a flock of gawking tourists and hovering park rangers. I make it a priority to get back here equipped with the proper wheels (four wheel drive de rigueur, many of the trails lie off rough roads that I don’t dare pursue with Hotel Truck) sometime in the near future.

Route 261 ends at Route 95, left heads toward the northern end of Lake Powell and right eventually takes you to Arches and Canyonlands National Parks. I choose the more remote route (surprised?); I turn left.

Lake Powell was created in 1963 by the damming (damning?) of Glen Canyon. Edward Abbey in his writings called it Lake Foul. He was convinced that eventually it would become one huge miasmatic, oil-slicked cesspool filled with debris, garbage, human waste and even a few cow carcasses washed down out of the neighboring canyons. He floated Glen Canyon twice before it was dammed and reported scenic, cultural, and wilderness qualities comparing to America's finest national parks. Glen Canyon has (had) over 80 delightful side canyons of colorful Navajo Sandstone containing clear streams, abundant wildlife, arches, natural bridges, and thousands of Native American archeological sites. Abbey was angry that all this was submerged to satisfy America’s twin addictions to power and relentless ‘growth’ (Abbey on unchecked sprawl and industrialization: "Growth for the sake of growth is the ideology of the cancer cell.")

Toward Lake Foul we go, let’s see what the hand of man has created. I hear it’s actually quite beautiful in spite of its ruinous history with its blue waters lapping up against red rock bluffs. The road to get there is beautiful in itself; I am surrounded on one side by a deep, mysterious river canyon that compels me to slam on the brakes, throw on my hiking boots and plunge down into it and on the other side by massive, impressive walls of fluted red rock. This is grand country, no doubt about it.

I glance down uncomfortably at the gas gauge edging down inexorably towards ‘E’, my last fill was way back in Page, Arizona (in hindsight, I shoulda got gas in Monument Valley or Mexican Hat but I am loath to backtrack now) and I am truly in the back-of-the-beyond; I haven’t seen a house or structure, much less a gas station for many miles. The map shows hope in the form of a tiny dot called Fry Canyon just ahead. Alas, it turns out to be all but abandoned. A former uranium boomtown, now all that remains is the Fry Canyon resort and even that is closed for the winter and it’s the only town shown on this route until Hanksville, about 100 miles away.

Sucking on fumes, I come to the intersection with Route 276, which angles off to southwest towards Lake Powell. It dead ends at the lake (in the summer there is ferry service to the other side where the road continues) but my map shows another tiny town called Ticaboo (love that name!) along the way, but will there be gas or will it be another ghost town and/or closed down for the winter? Well, there’s always the Bullfrog Marina all the way at the end of the road if I can get that far; I point my wheels towards Ticaboo and hope.

Next: To Tiny Ticaboo Town