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

Desert Daze - A Southwest Adventure (XIV)

Part Fourteen: Muley Magic – The Best Sunset and Sunrise Views Money Can’t Buy

(First time reading this story? Scroll down to start with Part One)

As I watch the setting sun cast long shadows across the Valley of the Gods below, I wonder, what is this fascination with naming places after death, god, hell and the devil? Valley of the Gods. Devil’s Playground. Hell’s Backbone. Devil’s Postpile. Hell Hollow. Death Hollow. God’s Castle Spires. Death Valley. Kill Devil Hills. Devil’s Tower. Sleeping God Canyon. Hell’s Canyon. Hell’s Kitchen. Devil’s Run. I could go on…

But who cares anyway why? The view from here is simply incredible no matter what you call the landscape features. The sun sets the rims of the San Juan River Canyon, curling off into the distance like a giant, black snake across the plain, on fire, highlighting the contrast between the deep, dusky canyon and the plateau above. In this light, the canyon floor, dimly seen, somehow doesn’t seem all that far away; I feel like I could almost float gently down into it like a feather; again, the canyon beckons me. What glorious mysteries are hiding down in its depths? Basking in this golden sunset light, drinking in the awesome panorama spread out before me, I feel as if I am dreaming the best possible dream but am somehow still awake. Life is but a dream?

Once again, I have another spectacular place all to myself. How lucky am I? The New York Times called Southern Utah ‘America’s Outback’ and, while it’s certainly no Australia, it’s about as remote as you can get in the lower 48 - that’s one of the reasons I love it so. I have thought numerous times about moving here permanently, I could hike a different trail every day for the rest of my life and probably never run out. However, when seriously considered, the annoying problem of how to make a living here in ‘America’s Outback’ always rears its ugly head.

Wandering about Muley Point in the evening glow, I look for interesting photographic opportunities. I find a puddle that, if I lay down next to it on the ground, captures the reflection of a bush with the sunset glow behind it.

Neat. Again, I reflect on how simple life is during an adventure like this. My biggest concerns are typically: What should I shoot (photograph)? Where should I head next? Do I have enough food for the next few days? Water? Wine? Gas? I must figure out how to sneak away on adventures like this more often…

Rant: The sunset sky is crisscrossed (and therefore ruined from a nature photographer’s point of view) by dozens on contrails. At this time of night I notice that the majority of these planes are traveling west to east, I surmise it’s mostly end-of-day business travelers returning home from Los Angeles and Las Vegas. Here I am in the remotest of remote spots and I can’t escape ‘syphilization’ as Edward Abbey liked to call it. You may say I am a hypocrite because I flew out here, but I fly at most once or twice a year, while business travelers think nothing of hopping on a plane often, sometimes once or twice a week. With modern technology at their service, why can’t they video or phone conference more often instead of flying and putting unnecessary CO2 into our already besieged atmosphere? (Not to mention ruining the sky for my pictures, of course.) OK, rant over.

Waking up after yet another frigid night in Hotel Truck, I bundle up and go outside into the chill air to watch the golden sunrise slowly creep across the vast plain and canyon spread out before me. Watching this spectacle, I am a very happy, if not more than just a bit chilly, camper this morning.

Next: Beyond the Back of the Beyond – From Muley to Powell

Desert Daze - A Southwest Adventure (XIII)

Part Thirteen: From Mexican Hat to Muley Point

(Scroll down to start from the beginning)

Leaving the monoliths of Monument Valley behind, I drive across a flat plain towards the tiny town of Mexican Hat. The town gets its name from a large, flat rock balanced precariously on a smaller base below; it’s really quite a spectacle. The San Juan River runs through here carving inexorably deeper and deeper into the earth exposing an amazement of colored layers; the cliffs here look a lot like one of those glass enclosed layered ‘sand art’ pictures come to life in grand scale.
I take the dirt road that leads up to and then beyond ‘Hat Rock’; it ends at the banks of the San Juan. This would be a beautiful place to camp but I decide that I want to be at Muley Point for sunset so I turn around and drive back to the main highway. From here, I can see Cedar Mesa looming in the distance like a giant wall; Muley Point is at the top of that wall. To get up there you must take a steep gravel road that ascends 1,100 feet in three miles over a series of switchbacks. Well before the beginning of that ascent, there are signs posted dissuading large vehicles from continuing on; some of the switchbacks involve extremely tight turns.

So it’s ironic when, as I begin the ascent, I see a huge tanker truck coming down towards me, brakes squealing and engine roaring - the driver has obviously ignored all the warning signs. I pull over to let him by; he waves thanks. At one particularly tight bend, he performs a three point turn to make it; he seems to know what to expect, he must have driven this route before.

When I reach the top, I pull over to get out and look back. The view is immense, to the south I see the buttes of Monument Valley and the Valley of the Gods (including the fancifully named Setting Hen, Rooster and Lady in the Bathtub Buttes) sticking up like so many fins and turrets from the desert floor. To the west, I can see some of the goosenecks of the San Juan and to the east the vast desert plain stretches out seemingly forever.

After marveling over this view for a few minutes, I climb back into the truck and continue on until I reach the turnoff for Muley Point Road. It’s a rough gravelly road and, like before when I traveled the deeply rutted road to Coyote Buttes, I must focus my full attention on my driving to avoid bottoming out. It’s a jostley five mile ride, but all that is immediately forgotten when the view of the goosenecks of San Juan River canyon suddenly appears at the end.

I’m now standing at the edge of a precipitous cliff looking down thousands of feet into the depths of the canyon. The river here turns back on itself repeatedly creating the goosenecks; at one point, it travels five river miles but only makes one mile of forward progress. The river that did all this sculpting is mostly hidden behind rock walls; only in a few places does it reveal itself. This incredible view has me hypnotized, I can’t look away and, for some reason, I get the feeling that the canyon is trying to suck me in - I move back a few steps from the edge.

Next: Muley Magic – The Best Sunset and Sunrise Views Money Can’t Buy

Desert Daze - A Southwest Adventure (XII)

Part Twelve: From Page to Sage
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My kingdom for a warm, comfy bed. I deserve it. And I could also really use a shower too, so I rent a room in Page, Arizona, a strange little bustling city on the banks of Lake Powell. It’s a noisy place – people yelling and conversing loudly, kids screaming, horns honking and it would seem that very few cars and trucks here are equipped with mufflers. Or is it me? Am I just super sensitive after spending the last six days in desert silence? No matter, I’m out like a light the second I hit the pillow; normally a light sleeper, no horn nor voice nor loud vehicle can keep me up tonight.

On the other side of eight hours of sleep, I wake up totally refreshed. I decide to take it easy today, no hurry, no worry. I organize my stuff, eat a leisurely breakfast, study the maps to choose my next destination, do some laundry, shower then finally hit the road around eleven. I have my sights set on Monument Valley and the sagebrush country of Utah.

Monument Valley is located in southeast Utah just north of the Arizona border. It’s an impressive place - huge sandstone buttes dot the valley, the largest of which towers 1,000 feet over the valley floor. These buttes are not just big, they are also vividly colored with red being the dominant color. As in Coyote Buttes and throughout the Southwest, various oxides impart the color in the rock; the reds in particular is imparted by iron oxide.

Three distinct layers make up these monoliths: the base is made up of Organ Rock Shale, this is soft shale; the middle section is DeChelly Sandstone, hard shale; and the top is Moenkopi shale topped by Shinarump siltstone. These rocks have what are called ‘joints’ - vertical, very smooth and even, and they determine how a rock erodes and give these particular formations their unique look.

A fascinating place but I don’t stay long; I need to find a place to camp tonight before dark. Northward ho!

Next: From Mexican Hat to Muley Point

Desert Daze - A Southwest Adventure (XI)

Part XI: Coyote Buttes North - More Fascinating Features
(Scroll down to start with Part One)

The Wave is perched up high on a long relatively flat bench of rock; I wander the surrounding area and find some other neat stuff. I’m always looking for reflections; these frozen puddles provided nice butte (that’s butte, not butt!) reflections.

To the north, I discover an incredible swirl of texture and color, too bad the light isn’t quite right! Ah, a reason to come back! (Yeah, as if I needed one…) Now a good distance away from The Wave, I pick my way carefully down a slope off the bench into a canyon and supernatural world of blue shadows, red sand, slick rock and big buttes.

Following the path of the occasional flash floods that must roar through here, I encounter a steep drop-off. At first glance it appears unscalable without ropes. Just when I’m thinking that I’m going to have to turn back and re-trace my route, I spy a way down via some protruding ledges. That obstacle overcome, the canyon spits me out below The Wave.

That’s where it hits me, how utterly exhausted I am and I still have to hike back. At this point I’m also experiencing sensory overload, so much stimulation in one day. It’s definitely time to leave.

My legs, complaining the whole way, manage to drag my tired torso back to the entrance and the scene of the couple of unnecessarily added hiking miles early this morning. Those extra miles are looming large now as I trudge up the wash, staring at my feet, willing them to keep moving. After what seems like forever, but in reality is only about a half mile, I look up and, hooray! - there it is - Hotel Truck. Its four wheels and shining shell of steel never looked so good! Oh magic ride, take this crumbling carcass some where it can sleep, in a heap, long and deep – won’t need to count sheep to fall asleep!

Next: From Page to Sage…

Desert Daze - A Southwest Adventure (X)

Part Ten: On to The Wave…

(Scroll down to start with Part One)

Despite my pooped pins, this parched person makes good time; that gives me about an hour before anyone else shows up. This is my second time visiting The Wave, but it amazes me all over again - I’ve never seen anything quite like it, it’s truly a wonder of the world. (Yep, that's me standing in The Wave, below.)

The Wave consists of Jurassic Navajo Sandstone and is named for its resemblance to a cresting ocean wave. Its coloration is a wide range of red, orange, yellow, white, and purple hues largely controlled by iron oxide mineralogies that document diagenetic (the conversion of sediment into rock) fluid flow and chemical reaction fronts.

There were at least four distinct coloration events: an initial reddening by iron oxides; a bleaching event that pulled some of the oxides back out of the rock; a second introduction of iron oxides, this time tending towards black to purple and then a final overprinting of yellow banding.

The Wave follows a large natural fracture in a cliff that has been enlarged by water. The smooth bowl is a wind-scoured channel whose dimensions are just right for it to act as a sort of venturi, effectively increasing wind speed within it, further sculpting and enhancing textural differences and highlighting the colors.

Even knowing how The Wave was formed and seeing pictures beforehand cannot prepare you at all for the awesome-ness of it. It’s, well… just incredible. Unbelievable. Surreal. All these things and more. No words seem good enough to describe it.

Finally, another one of the fortunate twenty shows up; that’s my cue to go off and explore other intriguing parts of CB that I passed up previously in favor of spending alone time with the one and only ‘The Wave’.

Next: More Fascinating Features of Coyote Buttes North

Desert Daze - A Southwest Adventure (IX)

Part Nine: Exploring Planet Coyote North & The Wave

I am up and out of Hotel Truck well before dawn, excited about the prospects of the coming day. As it turns out, it’s a good thing I awoke early; navigating a dark, damp wash by headlamp beam, I miss the turnoff to Coyote Buttes at first, adding about two miles to my hike. I wouldn’t have stood a chance to make it in there for sunrise, as was my plan, without the extra early start.

Actually, it wouldn’t have been a bad thing if I had just kept going down this wash instead of turning around; I would have ended up in Buckskin Gulch. According to what I’ve read, Buckskin is the longest and deepest slot canyon in the entire Southwest, the canyon by which all other slot canyons are judged. I do want to explore it sometime for sure, but just not today.

Backtracking, I find the turnoff, easily missed by a single, narrow beam probing the dark, but now obvious in first light. After an uneventful mile or so of hiking, I climb up over a ridge and, Voila!, the otherworldly landscape of CB is revealed to me just as the sun’s corona peaks up over the horizon.

Perfect timing. In my estimation, there is nary a better place in the entire universe to be than here, now; from where I’m standing, fantastical formations are spread out before me as far as the eye can see. As if on cue, namesake coyotes again provide the soundtrack for a magic moment; I am privileged to hear their peculiar yelps, yips and yodels more often during this trip than all my other previous western adventures combined.

Now I again begin pushing one boot clad foot in front of the other over the rocky terrain. My feet feel heavy, as if they are encased in cement; I suddenly realize just how tired my legs are. This is the sixth straight day I'll be hiking at least eight miles – strenuous miles of ups and downs and clambers over rocks, ridges and ravines, all at relatively high elevations. Of course it’s my own fault that my feet are fading, not only do I choose challenging routes, but my unstoppable drive to explore often takes me off trail, adding miles to my original plan every time. The up side: I'll be in great shape by the end of this trip!

I also haven’t been drinking enough water. The high, dry desert, even in winter, sucks the moisture right out of your body; you don’t even realize you’re perspiring because your sweat is immediately wicked off your skin. Many people who move to arid places from wetter climes eventually form kidney stones due to constant dehydration; I once read that people are seven times more likely to develop kidney stones in the Southwest than in other parts of the country.

Intriguing formations abound along the route to The Wave, all calling out desperately to have me explore them, but I am one-focused. Actually, I am being selfish; I want The Wave all to myself for at least a little while and if I go straight there, I should be able to have some time alone before any of the other nineteen hikers show up. (Only twenty permits are issued to explore CB each day. By imposing this strictly-enforced limit, it is hoped that wear and tear will be kept to a minimum, sandstone is very fragile.)

Next: On to 'The Wave'

Desert Daze - A Southwest Adventure (VIII)

Part Eight: Exploring Planet Coyote – South

(Scroll down to start with Part One)

Absotively posilutely (same word!) fantabulous. Oh no!, I’ve sunk to using funny but frivolous portmanteau words that really don’t tell you anything. I’m running out of superlatives to describe these places; even my good friend thesaurus isn’t much help anymore. Did you know that it was the author Lewis Carroll (real name: Charles Lutwidge Dodgson. How’s that for a mouthful? Try saying that ten times fast…) who first used the word portmanteau in this sense? (It also means ‘a large, double compartmented suitcase’). In his book Through the Looking-Glass, Humpty Dumpty explains to Alice the coinage of the unusual words in Jabberwocky: ’Slithy’ means ‘lithe and slimy’... You see it's like a portmanteau—there are two meanings packed up into one word. ‘Mimsy’ is ‘flimsy and miserable’ (there's another portmanteau ... for you)". The word itself is a portmanteau derived from porter (to carry) and manteau (mantle).


Anyway, as I said - fantabulous. I round a bend in the trail and suddenly, there they are – dozens of large twisted and tortured red rock ‘teepees’ looming before me. Hard to believe that these curious creations, in fact, the whole of the Colorado Plateau - an area larger than the Sahara Desert, once lay far away, near the equator and at a much lower elevation. The Colorado Plateau, which of course, wasn’t yet a plateau at that time, just a large desert, lay in a belt of strong trade winds, which blew quartz sand into dunes. Gradually, the dunes were buried and, under pressure, solidified into sandstone. Later, the whole area was thrust up, twisted and shoved north by plate tectonics, the interaction of ginormous (love that portmanteau!) plates deep beneath the earth’s surface. The uplifted area then weathered down, exposing the formerly buried sandstone we see now. Why the incredible colors you ask? I’ll get to that question in the next post…

South Coyote Buttes, when compared to North is relatively unexplored. For example, twenty people have permits to explore North today (and most every day) while I’m the only soul in South; I have the place to myself (yes!) Why the difference in interest? North has a truly standout formation called ‘The Wave’, (images to come) which is quickly becoming world famous. I read recently that ‘The Wave’ was featured in a German movie and that, as a result, many Germans venture hoping to visit it in person. While South may not have ‘The Wave’, it has its own collection of awetastic (hmmm, don’t like that one, sounds too much like autistic) formations and the solitude will be an added bonus; it’ll feel like true wilderness.

Wandering around in an awe-struck state with no plan in mind, I stumble upon a huge amphitheatre of twisted rock hidden away between some buttes where you’d never expect to find it; I suspect others miss it entirely. That would be a shame, its walls have some of the best striation patterns I’ve seen anywhere.

At this point, I could continue to attempt to describe what I see here in words, but I think I’d rather just let my pictures tell the rest of the story. Suffice to say that this is a most fanciful place, very ‘Alice-in-Wonderland’ (Lewis Carroll again!) in its otherworldliness.

After a wonderful day of hiking, climbing and clambering, I trudge back to my vehicle (at least it’s downhill this time!), then repair to my campsite. Despite the knowledge that I will be soon enduring yet another cold night in Hotel Truck, I am in good spirits; the thought that tomorrow I will be one of the privileged twenty who get to explore North Coyote Buttes keeps me warm. It’ll be a short night anyway, I’ll be getting up very early to be the first one in so I can spend some alone time with ‘The Wave’.

Next – Exploring Planet Coyote – North and ‘The Wave’

Desert Daze - A Southwest Adventure (VII)

Part Seven: Like Being On Another Planet

I pay the price for camping in winter in the high desert in an uninsulated van yet again. By 3am, my feet are frozen stiff and I try in vain to pull the blankets closer. It’s no use; I must get up and move. I take a moonlit hike, a brisk amble to get my blood flowing down the road that got me here.

This need to move turns out to be a good thing; it’s a beautiful night. I glide through the crystalline air warming up quickly, soon forgetting I was ever cold. Sparkling stars and a sliver of a moon provide all the light I need. I reach an apex in the road and stop to look around. It’s dead still and completely silent without my footfalls, I can hear my own heart beat. Above me, the Milky Way is painted in a great swath across the sky. Glittering stars reach all the way down to the horizon in every direction. Out of corner of my eye, a shooting star streaks across the black canvas. Suddenly, I am swept up into it all, into the vastness, floating amongst the stars, tethered to nothing. This is what they must mean when they say you feel you are ‘one with the universe.’ I am it and it is me. Pure magic.

The spell is broken when some coyotes set up howl in the distance, bringing me back to earth. I now notice the first faint glow of morning on the horizon; it’s time to return and prepare for the day ahead. I have permits to explore the adjacent wilderness areas known as Coyote Buttes South and North today and tomorrow. I explored the North area once in the past – it’s the closest I have ever come (and probably ever will) to being on another planet. The rocks are all twisted and layered into unbelievable shapes and patterns and the colors… well, suffice to say that they’re likewise almost unbelievable– deep reds, lovely pinks, soft yellows, vibrant oranges, pastel creams and all shades in between, like nothing else I’ve seen on this earth. I know I probably overuse the word, but I can think of no better to describe Coyote Buttes: surreal. Sublimely surreal.

Today’s permit is for the South area; this will be my first time there, it’ll be all new. I always get extremely excited, like a child about to open a present on his birthday, whenever I am going somewhere new - I can hardly stand the anticipation. Actually, the child and his present is a great analogy: this life spent exploring Mother Nature’s bountiful treasure chest is a wonderful gift to me from all those who support my work; I feel great gratitude for this.

The BLM ladies informed me yesterday that the trail to the buttes is 2.5 miles long, all uphill and extremely sandy. I park at the trailhead and begin the slog. They are right, especially about the sand. Another two steps forward, one step back type of a hike which makes for a long 2.5 miles, especially at this elevation. Very tiring, but as I round a bend about halfway there, a few of the fantastical rufous buttes pop into view in the distance, providing me with all the motivation I need to keep plodding ahead.

Next – Exploring Planet Coyote - South

Desert Daze – A Southwest Adventure (VI)

Part Six: Troughs, Tables and Technology

It’s getting dark and I must find somewhere to park Hotel Truck to sleep. I spy on the map the remote Stateline Campground just off the road I will hike from the next two days. The enthusiastic women in the BLM office told me that this road (called House Rock Valley Road) is passable by two wheel drive vehicles but, setting out on it, I immediately have my doubts. It’s extremely rutted, some so deep they’re more like troughs, forcing me to drive at a snail’s pace staying high on the dried-out top ridges to avoid scraping the undercarriage. Cringing as I creep forward, I expect at any moment to hear the dreaded screech of metal on rock. I bottom out the van several times and each time I look back fearing the worst – a trail of oil stretching out behind me. It never happens; we survive the drive, Hotel Truck and me, but it’s a loooooong 8 ½ miles.

As I drive into the campground, a little sign informs me I have left Arizona and entered Utah, hence the name, Stateline. It has picnic tables – hooray! My kingdom for a picnic table! I think about just how much that means to me right now - a place to eat, sit, open up a suitcase, and to type in these words. How interesting it is that in today’s gadget-intensive society that something so simple as a place to park my butt could mean so much, miles away from civilization as I am. And that's just the way I like it on these trips, primitive, where the simple is significant; it really helps me connect.

I have the place to myself, as usual; it’s just too darn cold at night for most people to consider camping. I pour myself a glass of fine red wine and wander the campground, basking in the faint glow of last light, admiring the red-rock hills surrounding me while enjoying John Huling’s heavenly ‘Spiritlands’ album on my iPod - this beautiful music has become the soundtrack for this trip.

OK, I admit it - there are two modern gadgets I can’t live without on these adventures any more. The first is the just mentioned iPod – what a great invention. So much music, so portable; for personal listening, it just can’t be beat. The other gadget I always bring along is the similarly named iPaq. By today’s standards, the iPaq is ancient technology (I acquired it in 2002), but it serves my needs wonderfully – it’s a ‘Pocket PC’ that I use to input and store my notes. It and the foldable keyboard I purchased along with it are so small that I can store them in my backpack ready to be whipped out at any time I need to capture some fleeting thought that I surely would forget otherwise. You may ask why I don’t just take a small notebook in which to jot down my notes - if you saw my handwriting you’d understand why. Even I can’t decipher it any more; I’m so used to typing on a keyboard that writing makes me impatient and my handwriting suffers. Badly. Besides, with the iPaq I can easily then transfer my notes to my laptop or home computer to work with them – sure beats typing everything in from hand-written notes!

Next – Like Being On Another Planet

Desert Daze - A southwest Adventure (V)

Part Five: Hoodoo Redux Two - Dali's Dream

(Scroll down to start with Part One)

It's like coming home, I’ve dreamed about getting back here ever since I stumbled upon it years ago. So surreal, it’s like being inside a Salvatore Dali painting – the impossible hoodoos, melting rocks, smooth patina and intense colors all contribute to the unreality of the place. I call it ‘Dali’s Dream’ – surely, he would have been proud to sculpt something like this. But Mother Nature’s not through yet, it’s still a work-in-progress - I tread lightly.

Hidden high up in a hanging canyon, you’d never know it was here. I’ve seen nary another footprint on either visit - I wonder if anyone else knows about it? If not, that’s even better - what nature lover doesn’t fantasize of finding their very own ‘secret garden’?

I stumbled upon Dali’s Dream while trying to find a way up a cliff to get closer to some toadstool hoodoos I’d seen sitting high atop a wall near here. Driven by my desire to commune with the magic mushrooms, I paid no attention to how I wound up in Dali’s Dream and soon found darkness closing in around me with no escape plan. Nearly froze to death in paradise.

What a fitting end that would’ve been – like I always say, if I die while adventuring, I died doing what I love. They say that in the final stages of hypothermia, the victim no longer feels any pain; in fact, it’s reported that one often experiences intense feelings of well-being, contentedness and bliss, sometimes paradoxically shedding their clothes just before they lay down to begin their next big adventure.

Obviously, I did find a way down but I’ve longed to come back ever since. I’ve wanted to see if this fantastical place would give me the same extraordinary feelings of being inside a dream it did the first time – and the answer is an emphatic ‘yes.’

Alas, when you have found Shangri-la, you never want to leave. But I must, I have permits to explore two more unreal places the next two days and it’s getting late. Déjà vu. Except this time I know my way out…

Next – Troughs, Tables and Technology

Desert Daze – A Southwest Adventure (IV)

Part Four:

'Hoodoo

Redux'

(Scroll down to start with Part One)

As Dr. Suess might have said: 'Whew! Hoodoo beaucoup! It's true, more than two, more than just a few! Who knew? Did you?’

Who knew there were so many hoodoos? They are found all over the Southwest, indeed, throughout the world – if you know where to look. Hoodoos are erosional towers left in place when a hard cap rock (generally a boulder or cobble) protects a column of more erodable sediment beneath. Thus, while the material surrounding the hoodoo is washed away by direct rainfall and surface erosion, the hoodoo stands, sometimes just an isolated one or two, sometimes whole ‘fields’ of them. They come in a great many varieties – tall, short, skinny, fat, rough, smooth, white, red, gray (and all shades in between), etc. – every hoodoo is unique and every location is unique, all it takes for the possibility of hoodoos is a harder layer of rock above a softer layer.

My first priority upon arriving in Kanab, Utah on this most pleasant morning is to visit the local BLM (Bureau of Land Management) office. It is from these knowledgeable men and women who staff the offices that I often get good information about unique places to hike and shoot. These rangers know their area well and are happy to share their knowledge – I guess I’d be happy too, with a job like theirs.

This time I’ve come specifically for permits to hike into Coyote Buttes where the semi-famous ‘Wave’ formation is located (more on Coyote Buttes and The Wave later.) I get my permits to explore the Buttes tomorrow and the day after leaving me with the rest of today to poke around elsewhere – I go hoodoo hunting.

I visit two locations. The first area is called ‘The Toadstools’; it is a hike featured in the BLM’s Grand Staircase-Escalante visitor information pamphlet and has an actual trail. It’s all new to me; this is my first visit. The hoodoos vary from white with red capstones to all red. There are three main sets, each different. The first bunch I encounter are red with a little striping, sitting high atop a base of furrowed bright white sandstone. The change from white to red is abrupt, there isn't any transition zone; I wonder why that is (anybody?)

A short distance away, another group sits beneath an imposing white cliff, mostly red again with slightly darker capstones. For some reason, this group brings to mind the ‘Flintstones’, that old cartoon TV show from the sixties. There’s something cartoonish and slightly absurd about hoodoos, as if someone with a goofy, but fun-loving sense of humor created them. They always make me smile.

The third set is hidden away and, if you’re not the curious type like me, you could easily miss them - I suspect many do. As opposed to the other two all-red sets, these have white columns.

Speaking of my curiosity, a few years ago it led me to stumble upon a truly surreal place that I am quite sure not many know about. This magical place is the second hoodoo location I visit today…

Next – Hoodoo Redux Two - Dali's Dream

Desert Daze – A Southwest Adventure (III)

Part Three: 'The Valley of Fire'

My feet feel like two blocks of ice. I have forgotten just how cold it gets here in the high desert at night during the winter. Guess I’m going to need to procure another blanket or two and some wool socks. My ice-cube feet have awakened me at 4am, but that’s OK because the timing is right, I want to be in the Valley of Fire for sunrise and it’s a bit of a drive from here.

I careen through the early morning darkness on remote roads until I sense the presence of monoliths around me - I have arrived. Funny how, even though I can’t yet see a thing, I can just feel that this place is going to be magical. Looks like I'm not the only one excited about being here to watch the golden orb rise, I see a huddle of vehicles gathered in a parking lot, tailpipes issuing forth a steady stream of steam to keep the passengers warm. Later, I see that these people are here to film a Ford commercial – I run into them (well, not literally) all over the park using the fantastical formations for backdrops.

I spend two days exhilarating days exploring this place. Filled with huge, alien, mostly red, rock formations, it looks more like Mars than earth. The valley was formed from great shifting sand dunes approximately 150 million years ago. Complex uplifting and faulting, followed by extensive erosion, have created the present bizarre landscape. The hiking is splendid, and if one explores the park beyond the obvious - off the roads - he or she will find some amazing hidden rock formations. Among them (my names), ‘The Roman Villa’ (complete with steps!),


‘The Pottery’, three colorful, giant ceramic pots perched on a cliff (featured as one of my March Images of the Month on my website) and, ‘The Balls’ an area where all the smaller rocks ranging from the size of peas to tennis balls are perfectly round - it's really quite bizarre.


On my second crisp and clear morning here, I set out on the ‘White Domes’ trail. This hike has it all – amazing rock formations (this is where I find ‘The Pottery’), a deep slot canyon, an arch you can climb through

and the remnants of an old movie set. Some of the rock formations tower hundreds of feet above you, it’s almost intimidating at times just to think that if a hunk of this rock were to let loose, well, I wouldn’t be telling this story.

After two splendid days exploring all the gifts the Valley of Fire has to offer and three nights now spent in Hotel Truck, I’m feeling it’s time to move on. Moreover, I’m beginning to feel a bit ripe, time to find a motel. As I am driving out of the park on the main road, I pass by one of the campgrounds and spy a building off to the side– nah, it can’t be. It is! Showers! Ahhhh, a warm shower never felt so good ( I say that every single time after a few days without one). Now feeling refreshed and reinvigorated, I point the truck eastward, my sights set on Utah.

Next: Part Three: Hoodoo Redux

March Images of the Month and more...

March Images of the Month: The Southwest Rocks!

Also, now available, fresh from the darkroom - ten new images! Please check 'em out.

Thanks for your interest in my work!

Desert Daze – A Southwest Adventure (II)

Part Two: 'Escape from Vegas'

The plane shudders to a halt; I’m happy to be on the ground. It’s extremely windy out making for a rough and stressful landing. I really don’t mind flying at all; it’s these landings that give me pause.

So let the adventures begin! I get my rental vehicle – a van this time instead of my usual SUV. I have chosen a van because it should be much more comfortable to sleep in and I plan to sleep in it often because I will be visiting some seriously remote areas. I also want to be able to immerse myself in these places without worrying about where I will be spending the night – I plan to drain each sunset and be out hiking with the sunrise each day. I just hope I don’t regret not getting four wheel drive – it’s real winter out here at higher elevations and some of the roads I will be traveling are not much more than two dirt tracks.

I flee Vegas via the road less traveled, naturally, taking the north route through the Lake Mead National Recreation Area instead of the interstate. Excellent choice, the scenery’s immediately magnificent and there are so few other vehicles, it feels remote just a few miles away from the city.

After driving for about a half hour, I realize that it’s already late afternoon and that the sun will be setting soon. Time to start looking for a place to throw down anchor. Just as that thought goes through my head, I coincidently spy a little wooden sign pointing down a dirt road towards the water that says “Stewart’s Point.” Sounds good to me, let’s find out why this fellow Stewart has a point named after him The road is rough and just a few hundred yards in I see a sign stating ‘Four wheel drive recommended.’ “Uh oh” I say to myself and I wonder if I will already be regretting my choice of vehicle. But the road turns out to be passable if one pays strict attention to avoiding the ruts and rocks. It leads me to a beautiful vantage point overlooking thevast blue lake and the arid, rugged mountains on the other side. Perfect.

I park in a level spot and go wandering. I find a bundle of firewood close to my campsite that some kind soul has left behind. Excellent. My game plan now: soak up the beautiful views until dark and then have me a little campfire – what a great way to spend the first evening.

As the craggy brown mountains across the lake dissolve into soft pastels and blue shadows in the twilight, a pack of coyotes sets up howl in the distance. How I love that sound, it speaks to me of wilderness. As the darkness sets in in earnest, the thinnest possible crescent moon (if it were any thinner it wouldn’t be there) and a brilliant star (must be a planet) pop up from below the horizon. Now the Big Dipper, tilted so far back that anything in it would spill and with the handle almost touching the water, reveals itself reflecting in the lake along with a million other (give or take a few) twinkling stars.

Stars don’t actually twinkle, the effect is caused by the light being bent and twisted as it passes through the earth’s atmosphere. Here in the dry, clear desert air, they put on quite a light show, better, I dare say, than anything you could find in Vegas.

Now that ol’ sol has retired for the night, the desert cools off rapidly. I put on long johns and a sweatshirt and then start my fire. I stay outside admiring the lavish sky above until I run out of wood. By now, it’s become seriously chilly and with the fire down to a few small coals, it’s time to retire to ‘Hotel Truck’ for my first night in the desert. As I lay my head on the pillow, shimmering stars are still floating through my head; I fall asleep content.

Look for Part Two soon...

Desert Daze – A Southwest Adventure (I)

Part One: Introduction

I just spent 16 days freezing in the desert. Freezing in the desert, you say? But, the desert’s a warm place, an escape from the cold north this time of year, you protest. Nevertheless, it’s true, with one brief exception that I’ll get into later, I spent most of my time bundled up in the high desert, where temperatures struggled to reach highs in the 40’s and often hovered between zero and ten above at night - and me, camping in an uninsulated van.

Why on earth would I do that? Because I’m a little crazy? No doubt. But, that aside, I do it for one reason: to truly connect with the wilderness. Oh sure, there’s wilderness in the Southwest at all times of the year, but it just feels so much wilder when there’s no one around, no one on the roads, no one on the trails and no tourists demanding ‘services’, in the tiny, out-of-the-way towns that swell to several times their permanent populations during the summer. Nothing smashes the perception of wild more than finding oneself stuck behind a string of behemoth RVs, those ridiculous homes on wheels (let’s go bag us some nature, dear!), crawling up some remote, winding mountain road.

For similar reasons, I mostly avoid the National Parks (Edward Abbey: “The National Park-ing lots.”) on these adventures. The Disney-esque, automobile-oriented, theme park atmosphere fostered at most of these parks, as beautiful as they are, prevents me from truly connecting – and those connections are the very essence of my work. We human beings have a tendency to love the best places to death, chasing away the very spirit that originally attracted us until we wonder ‘What happened?’

As Edward Abbey said in Desert Solitaire: "Wilderness is not a luxury but a necessity of the human spirit, and as vital to our lives as water and good bread. A civilization which destroys what little remains of the wild, the spare, the original, is cutting itself off from its origins and betraying the principle of civilization itself." I couldn’t agree more. Therefore, I go and freeze my ass off. And couldn’t be happier. I let my legs and intuition carry me to new places, perspectives and impressions. It is my hope that the words and images that follow can convey even a small part of the magic I felt so often during those sixteen wonderful daze...

Soon – ‘Desert Daze – A Southwest Adventure’ - Part Two

Glad To Be Alive

It’s the night before I am scheduled to fly back to Western New York. I am sitting in a motel room in Las Vegas, Nevada after a wonderful sixteen days exploring the desert Southwest, organizing and packing my bags, feeling depressed; I always feel a little depressed at the end of a great adventure and it's no different this time. I decide to check the weather forecast for WNY; the National Weather Service is predicting high winds and snow as a nasty front moves through. Oh great.

I wake up early the next morning, return my rental vehicle, check my baggage and go to the gate. I check the monitor for my flight and it says simply ‘On Time’, but I see that the corresponding flight from Buffalo to Las Vegas has been delayed. This makes me a little uneasy.

We board and take off with no problems. After we’ve been in the air for about an hour, the pilot informs us that we have a tailwind and we should be landing in Buffalo about 30 minutes ahead of schedule. So far so good. As we approach Buffalo I see snow falling from the clouds in great shifting curtains. We descend into the clouds and the ride gets bumpy. Nothing but a wall of white now outside my window; this is uncomfortable for me because I am such a visual person. I marvel at how pilots are able to land planes precisely on a runway without being able to see; to me that seems akin to barreling down a road at night in heavy fog without headlights. I know that very sophisticated equipment aids in the navigation but if I were a pilot it would still drive me crazy not being able to see.

Now we’re rocking and rolling as winds buffet the plane. I’ve been in this type of situation before; once, as we were about to land in Denver, the plane was struck by lightning and simultaneously shoved down by wind sheer; the pilot had to quickly ascend to avoid us being smashed into the ground. He didn't attempt to land at the Denver airport again; instead we flew to Colorado Springs some 70 miles away.

Finally, we descend out of the clouds and I can see the ground below- it makes me feel better knowing that the pilot can too. But we are still being pushed around by the winds and I see the runway looks icy. We touch down pitching from side to side - one tire, two, then all three, we are on the runway but still unstable . If one of the wings hits the ground… I don’t even want to think about it. Very quickly we decelerate from hundreds of miles per hour to a crawl – we have landed safely. Everyone cheers and applauds the pilot.

I get home a few hours later and turn on the TV. The news people are in the midst of informing us that a plane has just crashed near Buffalo Airport– they don’t know the details yet. Immediately I think how easily that could have been me – my plane landed in similar conditions. Suddenly I am no longer depressed - I am feeling lucky just to be alive!

By now, most everyone has heard about the horrible crash of Continental flight 3407 just a few miles from Buffalo Airport. My heart goes out to all those who lost a loved one in this awful tragedy.

Southwest Shooting Trip

I am currently on a four state photography trip to the Southwest. For those who are interested, I will posting brief updates throughout the trip.

Update: I have deleted the brief updates and am now recounting the whole story with images: see 'Desert Daze - A Southwest Adventure' above.

The Last Night (and next morning) in Killarney - Part X

(scroll down to start with Part One)

After a day of inconsequential rambling (still immensely enjoyable, my bumper sticker would say “A day of inconsequential rambling in Killarney is better than a day spent doing almost anything else anywhere else” or something like that), I return to the campsite for The Last night in Killarney. I’m celebrating five wonderful days spent here with a blazing campfire, a bottle of wine and crackers, cheese and pepperoni.

There is a saying when sitting around a campfire that ‘smoke follows beauty’ – I don’t know where this saying came from but, if it’s true, I must be friggin' gorgeous tonight. No matter where I move, the smoke follows! But nothing other than the fact that I must leave tomorrow can bother me, smoke or no smoke, I love it here so (gee, can you tell?)

Parting is such sweet sorrow – but, while the fire dies out and I finish the wine, I’m already plotting my next trip here – next fall, a little earlier to catch more fall leaves. I hit the sack. I wake up to a clear day and decide not to head out until early afternoon for two reasons: (1) I don’t want to leave and (2) I do want to avoid the crazy daytime traffic of Toronto on the way back.

I decide to visit the Killarney graveyard for the first time ever. I had driven past Cemetery Road many times but had never checked it out. I like cemeteries, especially old ones, so I decide to explore it. Given that people have been living in the town of Killarney for many years, I am surprised to find that most of the graves are newer. I suspect there is an older graveyard somewhere else that has run out of room, maybe next to one of the churches in town. However, what really catches my eye is the birth date on a headstone at the foot of a fresh grave –it’s the same as mine. Whoa! That puts me in mind to express gratitude for my life - he’s already gone. I doubly resolve to get back here next fall.

After my cemetery visit, I go for my third hike of the week to the Georgian Bay shoreline– it’s just so incredibly beautiful here, the sexy pink granite, sculpted by weather and waves, the myriad small islands dotting the bay with their charmingly crooked trees
and the horizon that doesn’t end – blue bay as far as I can see.


As I am gazing out into the bay I suddenly sense a presence - a deer has come to visit. She seem as struck by the scenery as me, she just stands and looks out. Then she turns and fixes her big, beautiful eyes on me; I see no trace of fear. We both enjoy the view for a while then head back from where we came – her to the woods, me to my vehicle.

I finally decide to start the loooooong drive back, it’s always seems to take much longer than the drive here. The worst part is the section through the bustling city of Toronto – it will be a rude awakening after five and a half quiet days spent communing with nature. I stop at a few shops along the main highway, not wanting to leave the area. But eventually I can delay no more.

Soon all the signs that civilization is not far start to appear – the highway widens from two lanes to four, then to six. A McDonalds appears on the horizon, then a shopping mall and finally endless houses and development. I wish to get through Toronto as quickly as possible but I am not in luck – the traffic ahead of me turns into a sea of red brake lights and soon we come to a dead stop. We crawl along for about an hour covering barely a mile. We finally reach an exit where everyone is being shuttled off the highway, a sign says some about “emergency repairs.” In all three lanes? Must be one heck of an emergency.

I eventually make it through Toronto and then home, it just take three hours longer than usual. But nothing, not even gigantic traffic jams can take anything away from this wonderful Killarney visit - these memories are untouchable and the best part is, I can recall them any time I choose.

Killarney Part IX: Ravens and Wolves and Bears - Oh My!

The timber wolves are howling tonight! What a wonderful sound – to me, the wolf howl embodies wild-ness itself. That's why I'm sitting here in the frigid woods tonight –to be at one with the night sounds of the wild. I have given up on this type of endeavor at most campgrounds – all you hear is other campers – but here in Killarney the place goes pin-drop quiet at dusk – there is real respect for nature and for fellow campers who come here to experience the quiet sounds of nature - so rare in this day and age.

It’s so quiet I can hear my own heart beating. You don’t often find this kind of tranquility in today’s society, where noise is accepted, expected and sometimes even desired – people can get uneasy when it’s ‘too’ quiet. Here, I can clearly hear every beautiful sound – a faint rustling of the leaves, the far off trickling of Chikanishing Creek and something, probably a raccoon, slinking through the woods. A group of ravens nesting nearby for the night starts up a conversation uttering a whole mélange of strange croaks, squawks and squeaks. I wonder what they’re saying - probably just ‘good night’ to each other.

So now I’ve mentioned wolves and ravens – so what about the bears, you ask? Well, I admit, I added bears to the title because it was catchy; I will see none of them during this particular visit to Killarney. But I have, however, seen or experienced direct evidence of them many times here in the past. I'll never forget the time I went hiking for the day and inadvertently left a cooler outside. It contained only beer and ice, but the bears didn’t know that. They know that coolers often contain food and therefore all unattended coolers must be investigated. I returned to beer and ice spilled out all over the ground and a cooler lid lying in the dirt with a deep puncture mark in it – the bear had evidently pried off the lid with its teeth.

Then there was the time I literally smelled bear breath. I was tent camping on this occasion and after a long day of hiking and a hearty meal, I retired groggily to my tent for some well deserved shuteye. I was pleasantly dozing when I awoke to shuffling sounds just outside. And intense sniffing. That’s when I smelled him – or rather, his wild breath. He was alternately sniffing and snorting, his nose evidently reporting to him that there was a human inside and he wasn't sure what to do. Fortunatelty, he must have decided that I wouldn’t make a good snack or that I was probably too much trouble because humans refuse to willingly become food and will fight back. In any event, he soon shuffled off snorting and huffing back into the woods from whence he came, but sleep didn’t come easily for the rest of that night.

Back in the here and now, I gaze up at a sky positively glowing with stars, as only can be seen in this magnitude in places like this where there is no artificial lighting for many miles around. Finally, as much as I am enjoying the night’s charms, I tire of shivering and my teeth chattering, so I go inside. While falling asleep, I plan to shoot the morning sunrise from a vantage point high up on a bluff near my favorite campsite.

I wake up about an hour before dawn. I go outside to pee and check out the current conditions and I see that all the stars have been blotted from the sky as if someone had closed the observatory roof – it has clouded over. There will be no magic light this morning so I go back to bed. When I wake up a couple of hours later the sky is an uninspiring gray, but at least it’s not raining. I hang around the site organizing my stuff (getting ready for the inevitable return to society), eat a leisurely breakfast and then slowly sip a couple of cups of tea - a very relaxing morning when compared to the pre-dawn starts of the last few days.

Finally, in the late morning I amble over to the La Cloche Silhouette trail, which starts only a few hundred feet from my campsite. I have no set agenda today; I will just wander wherever my wanderlust takes me. Almost immediately, it takes me off the trail - the wild north shore of George Lake is calling me. I bushwhack to the edge of a steep cliff and search for a way down. I find one and scale it down to the edge of the water. The view from here is spectacular - precipitous white cliffs plunging into the brilliant deep blue water as far as the eye can see.

The area surrounding the place where I am standing itself too is beautiful; soft white pines drape overhead and picturesque boulders decorate the shoreline with stretches of pink sand beach in between. If it were (much) warmer I would strip down to my birthday suit and plunge into the inviting water, but it’s decidedly not a possiblilty today. So instead, I sit down on a big chunk of quartzite and revel in this little piece of heaven, gazing dreamily out at the lake and the small islands dotting the horizon.

The gentle sound of lapping water and soft breezes singing in the treetops provides the soundtrack for my reverie. I think about how comfortable I am in Killarney, how it all feels so natural, it’s like I am at home here.

NEXT - Part X - The Last Night in Killarney