Nature – Page 11 – Streaming thru America

Cavfefe

July 11, 2017September 22, 2017Posted in Airstream, hiking, National Parks, Nature, Photography, travelTagged Black Hills, Custer State Park, Mammoth Site of Hot Springs, South Dakota, Wind Cave4 Comments

What better way to escape the summer heatwave than to explore a cave. But Leah and I were literally at a subterranean crossroad of epic proportions. South Dakota’s Black Hills boasts two of the most highly respected holes in the ground anywhere in the world, and we only had time to explore one of them. Would it be Jewel Cave National Monument or Wind Cave National Park? Which cave deserved our business?

The driving distance didn’t matter since only 30 miles separated both locations. But there were other factors to consider when evaluating which cave is the better cave. When it comes to status, Wind Cave wins hands down, since it’s a National Park, and everyone knows that a National Park can’t be Trumped. On the other hand, Jewel Cave is only a National Monument, and monuments can be Zinked at any time.

We had to consider how Jewel Cave’s grand viewing rooms are endowed with a stunning collection of traditional stalactites and stalagmites, while Wind Cave holds 95% of the world’s rare boxwork formations.

As for whether size matters, Jewel Cave ranks third worldwide–four places ahead of Wind Cave at number seven in the world. However, Wind Cave has the most complicated and concentrated matrix of any cave system in the world, with new veins still being tapped.

And then there’s temperature. Jewel’s thermostat is set at 47°F, whereas Wind turns up the dial to 53°F, registering “six degrees of separation”.

And both caves offer an extremely popular assortment of tours that always sell out early on a first come first serve basis. Such a dilemma!

What’s an amateur spelunker to do?

Social media was consulted in deciding the matter, but there was no clear winner. While Jewel seemed to win the popular vote, Wind was preferred by the experts for its unique characteristics and wall structure. Yet, neither side could come together to form a coalition of consensus or compromise. And whose to say if there was voter tampering, or how many were fake views?

If travel maven and cave cognoscenti couldn’t figure it out, then how were Leah and I going to manage. We gave consideration to caves previously visited since starting out on our trip: Mammoth Cave in KY, Kickapoo Cave in TX, and Carlsbad Cavern in NM. But in the end, we settled it by tossing a buffalo head nickel. We figured, either way, we couldn’t go wrong, as long as we got there early!

And the winner was tails…

We were on our way to Wind Cave, and time was of the essence, but try explaining that to the road hogs (bison) blocking the road.

As expected, the Visitor Center parking lot was filled to capacity. I dropped Leah at the entrance crosswalk where she made a beeline for the ticket counter–beating out a Medicare couple, an escort pushing a wheelchair, and a busload of boy scouts.

And it paid off. We scooped up the 11:20 am Natural Entrance Tour (shown in red),

which officially started at a marked clearing, featuring a hole in the ground the size of a ranger hat. Ranger Lisa demonstrated the barometric possibilities with a yellow ribbon: if pressure rose inside the cave, the ribbon would blow outward from the hole; but if cave pressure was low, the ribbon would be sucked inward–making this a cave that “breathes”.

Ranger Lisa punched her secret code into the keypad, and the steel door buzzed open, like a scene from “Get Smart”. We followed a dimly lit channel of steep stairs that snaked through a claustrophobic passage of popcorn-coated walls,

until we reached the Post Office. I can only surmise that its name comes from the butterfly of boxes stretched across the ceiling…

with the names of past generations of visitors posted inside the boxes

We followed Ranger Lisa down another set of meandering stairs along a poured concrete walkway that took Civilian Conservation Corpsmen eight years to complete, hauling inner tubes filled with sixty pounds of wet cement around their necks. We reassembled as a group at Devil’s Lookout to examine a ceiling dominated by intricate boxwork and delicate needle-like growths of calcite called frostwork.

That’s when Lisa cut power to the lights and the cave went dark. We were instructed in advance to turn off all phones and shutter all cameras. Children with glow shoes were warned to stand still or risk an extra minute of darkness away from mom or dad.

The darkness brought giggles and Halloween howls from some of the kids, but for many it was a minute to imagine what it was like to be led by Alvin McDonald on a candlelight tour during the 1890’s, when it only cost a $1.00 to crawl through the dirt.

The tour concluded in the assembly room with a brief discussion about the geologic timeline–when the cave was born between 40 to 50 million years ago as determined by sedimentary layers of rock pressurized in the cave walls.

Finally, the fastest elevator in all of South Dakota whisked us to the surface, and the tour was history.

Dear Trip Adviser, I believe that going to Wind Cave National Park was a good call, ’cause there was lots of really neat stuff on the walls and ceiling, and especially ’cause I got to pinch Leah’s ass when the lights went out.

Battle Lands

July 8, 2017July 8, 2017Posted in hiking, History, money, National Parks, Nature, Photography, travelTagged Badlands, South Dakota, Wall Drug, wildlife40 Comments

It was 103 degrees outside and we were melting. “Where are the trees? There aren’t any trees here,” moaned Leah. There were no shadows to hide from the relentless sun. Even the clouds had forsaken us. Fortunately, they had drifted into the distance, providing the coveted contrast that landscape photography almost always requires.

With the mercury steadily rising over the Black Hills of South Dakota the past few days, and the forecast not cutting us any slack from the heat, we bit the bullet we dodged in Belle Fourche, and decided to leave early the next day for Badlands National Park.

Except it was almost noon by the time we got underway. We really did try to get leave on time, but life got in the way, and in a small way it was a small blessing. We mapped a route to our destination with a way-point to Walmart, since we needed an assortment of groceries and dry goods, and I needed a new camera chip, having filled the last chip with nearly 4000 shots–half of them from StreamingThruAmerica locations.

“Make sure when you format this chip, that it’s compatible with your camera,” the associate advised. “Otherwise, you have three days to return it.”

“When are you planning on doing that?” Leah asked.

“As soon as we get back to the truck,” I answered, “I’ll insert it into the memory card slot, and I’ll know right away if it’s working.”

That’s when I discovered that I left the camera battery charging in the Airstream.

So we rode back to Rapid City to retrieve the battery and stow the groceries. “But if I hadn’t bought the chip in the first place,” I rationalized, “then we would have driven all the way to Badlands, and realized that the camera was useless. No battery, no camera; no camera, no photos; no photos, no blog.”

“Right! Meanwhile, it’s cooking outside! And we’re going to get there, and not be able to do anything. Why don’t you put that in your blog?” Leah announced with a healthy dose of sarcasm. The heat had definitely taken a toll on human relations. From that moment, neither one of us felt like making the trip, but we also couldn’t imagine missing a National Park, so we d(r)ove into the fire, hoping to adapt to our inhospitable surroundings, much like Badland’s earliest pioneers.

We drove across a 45-mile stretch of I-90 East, counting 60 Wall Drug billboards and road signs along the way.

“We should go there,” Leah informed.

“It looks like another South of the Border,” I hedged.

“But it looks like fun,” she tempted.

“We’ll see,” I relented.

We arrived at Badlands National Park during the hottest part of the day. Even the bugs were in hiding. Crossing into the park at the Pinnacle Entrance, we took an early side-road to Sage Creek Basin Overlook in the hopes of spotting wildlife along the prairie. But the animals had better ideas other than baking in the blistering sun.

Instead, we admired the scarred lunar landscape of Pinnacles Overlook,

and claws of vulcan mounds crawling across the Hay Butte Overlook. It resembled a box of burnt streudel.

We backtracked through Roberts Prairie Dog Town–mindful not to pet a varmint potentially infected with bubonic plaque–and continued along Badlands Loop Road to Ancient Hunters Overlook, trying to imagine early tribes scouting the lowlands for buffalo,

much the way I was location-scouting for worthy photographs of black Pierre Shale.

We continued our air-conditioned trek to Yellow Mounds Overlook, where the surrealism was so profound, we had to leave the comfort of the cab to explore by foot…

leaving us to wonder how 35 million-year-old fossilized soil could weather into something so beautiful, yet other-worldly.

Burns Basin Overlook, while stunning in its desolate vastness, was beginning to look like every other overlook. I feared we were becoming “geo-jaded”.

But that feeling quickly faded after we sighted a bighorn sheep lounging on a breezy slope, surveying the best way to Wall Drug.

I stealthily walked around the cliff edge as far as I could to score the best possible angle without falling into the abyss.

It was a standoff–both of us locked into position. She remained frozen as a statue, but I held my crouch under the blazing sun until my subject finally cooperated.

Leah was waiting in the truck with the air conditioner running. “I can’t take much more of this,” she vented. “It’s just too hot out there, and I can’t even bother to get excited about any of this. You’re out there taking pictures while I’m stuck in the truck, and it’s not fun for me.”

“Tell you what,” I negotiated, “We’re at the point of no return, so we have to finish the park drive. But I’ll make it quick, and I’ll buy you an ice cream at Wall Drug on the way home.”

Fortunately, the road opened up to grasslands on both sides, and a 45 MPH speed limit. We made good time until we arrived at Panorama Point, and the light was perfect.

“Go ahead,” she conceded, “we’re already here.” I tight-roped across a knife-edge ridge as far as I dared…

to capture the enormity of the jagged peaks.

Just around the bend, I discovered the Big Foot Pass Overlook, on the right side of us,

followed by the White River Pass Overlook on the left side of us.

It was overwhelming.

We ended our tour at the Ben Reifel Visitors Center, where Leah enjoyed the film presentation, while I strode across the prairie grass for a closer look at The Wall.

I kept my promise to Leah, driving to Wall just as the weather was quickly changing.

The silos at the end of town re-created an ironic juxtaposition to the Badlands scenery.

Rain clouds gathered against gray skies, and the temperature dropped enough to cool rising tempers. But after a diet of Badlands drama under theatrical settings, I found it nearly impossible to buy into the Wall Drug über-kitsch experience.

Occupying 76,000 sq. ft. of retail space in downtown Wall, it’s a fascinating rags-to-riches story from the Great Depression, and it stands as a titanic testament to American consumerism.

But it’s really a shit show, with “wall-to-wall” tourists.

Still…the donuts were fresh, and the 5⊄ coffee was hot,

…and most importantly, it brought a smile to Leah’s face.

Oddities—North Unit

July 2, 2017November 6, 2017Posted in hiking, National Parks, Nature, Photography, travelTagged Badlands, Little Missouri River, North Dakota, North Unit, Theodore Roosevelt National Park5 Comments

Sixty-eight miles north of Medora lies the North Unit of Theodore Roosevelt National Park. Leah and I had agreed that we would visit the North Unit on our second day. Although not nearly as inconvenient as reaching the North rim of the Grand Canyon–getting to the north from the south was an easy drive.

We wondered whether the North Unit of the park could possibly compete with the equine event experienced earlier within the South Unit. Many say the North Unit is more beautiful than its southern counterpart, but that’s too subjective for my tastes. And ranger consensus says there are more animals in these parts, but that’s arguable. And typically, the North Unit sees fewer visitors because its more remote, but today nothing seemed normal. In fact, the day was filled with oddity and irregularity.

First of all, it’s odd that the two units of the park are disconnected. There’s plenty of fertile land between Medora and Watford City, ND. An infinite carpet of crops and pasture land is periodically punctuated by scattered herds of grazing cattle. But it’s what’s below the surface that really matters.

The Bakken Formation sits between the two park units, and is considered one of the most important sources of oil in the country, having already exceeded 1M barrels a day, and primarily responsible for the 2nd lowest seasonally adjusted unemployment rate across America at 2.5%. Oddly enough, oil derricks are actively pumping at the edge of the park, reaching two miles down and then across two to three miles to tap and sweep through the shale layer that holds the oil.

Active-Wells-in-ND-optimized — Green area represents TRNP and National Grasslands

It’s also odd that five miles from the South Unit along I-94 East, the park service operates the Painted Canyon Visitor Center, which also doubles as an interstate rest stop with grazing bison. Weary truckers and families can stretch their legs along a log fence with protected views that will keep them from returning to their rigs.

The saturated red hue atop the butte comes from bentonite clay having caught fire from a remote lightning strike. It burned for years, fueled by the coal vein within, eventually turning the clay to brick.

Another oddity: the two park units are in two different time zones! After driving north for half an hour, we lost an hour moving from Mountain time to Central time. Thanks to the transcontinental railroad, the southwest corner of North Dakota is caught in Mountain time, while the rest of the state operates one hour later. Nowhere is this more apparent (and confusing) than inside the park, and it’s weird.

Once at the North Unit, we came upon twin trailers taking the place of the regular visitor center. Ranger Jeff explained that “Badlands soil unpredictably shifted from drainage, and caused the foundation to slip and crack.” Consequently, the building was condemned and demolished in 2015, only to be replaced by a double-wide until new construction has been completed. Not exactly inspiring parkitecture.

Unlike the South Unit’s scenic drive, which loops around for 36 miles, the North Unit road terminates after 14 miles with fewer turnouts. The first half of the road traces the Buckhorn Trail and intersects with Battleship Butte…

…where round concretions (compact aggregates of minerals leached from Little Missouri groundwater) called “cannonballs” have eroded out of the mountainside and accumulated at the base of the cliffs. I think they’re oddballs and wildly out of place, but nature put them there to be admired.

However, the oddest part of the journey was driving 1800 miles from home, only to run into our ex-neighbors at the River Bend Overlook.

Marjorie and Bruce, who lived just a few doors down the street from us in New Jersey had come to visit her sister Patricia and husband, who live in northeast Montana most of the year, but winter in Delray Beach, FL, around the corner from my dad’s residence–making this the smallest of small-world stories.

Upon completing the scenic drive to Oxbow Overlook…

we saw no animals–only traces of what gets left behind. A demonstration herd of Longhorn steer was nowhere to be found; a band of bighorn sheep went missing; there were no elk; and not a single bison was sighted.

From Oxbow, we hiked along a very narrow trail to Sperati Point, avoiding bison poop every step of the way, yet thinking that a photo of bison on a cliff against a blue sky would make a perfect National Geographic cover. But when we arrived, it was only the distant hills before us…

And that would have to be enough, as we contemplated what’s been normal about our trip up until now.

Horsing Around—South Unit

June 30, 2017September 25, 2017Posted in hiking, National Parks, Nature, Photography, travelTagged covfefe, Medora, North Dakota, Theodore Roosevelt National Park, wildlifeLeave a comment

Theodore Roosevelt National Park is a tribute to the man who became a conservationist out of his love for the North Dakota badlands. In fact, he credits his North Dakota experience as early preparation for his ascension to the Presidency. It’s easy to understand Roosevelt’s attraction to the hardscrabble prairie,

the steep rolling mounds of shrubs and cottonwoods,

the wrinkled cliffs with ribbons of paint,

and the densely populated wildlife that freely roam the roads…

and plains.

While not a park that is overwhelming in beauty, it is a park that speaks to the power of preservation, as herds of bison, elk, bighorn sheep and feral horses have been reintroduced to the landscape, and continue to flourish.

There is a solitude and serenity that surrounds the rugged territory that originally attracted Roosevelt to the area. Fortunately, the sparse crowd allows the same chance for an immersive covfefe with the wilderness, where the quiet wind carries an energy that seems to rejuvenate the senses and soothe the soul.

On Steady Ground, Part 3

June 26, 2017June 29, 2017Posted in Airstream, National Parks, Nature, Photography, travelTagged driving, Idaho, Jackson Hole, Yellowstone NPLeave a comment

Leah and I were breaking up with Yellowstone Park. In the beginning, the park had welcomed us and offered us sanctuary. At times, it made us dizzy with excitement. Despite all the wonderful things the park had brought into our lives (the scenery, the animals, and the natural oddities), there was little doubt that the park was making it hard for us to breathe… most noticably by the basin springs belching sulfurous gas.

From the beginning, it was everything we could ever hope for–the park revealing its majestic views of the mountaintops; the regularity of the geysers; the explosive colors of the basin-bacteria; the rare excitement that only a new relationship can bring. And we were intoxicated by all of it.

It was easy to overlook or forgive some of the park’s flaws during our honeymoon phase: the thinning forests ravaged by fire, the intensity of the water from late winter thaw, and the wildlife fickleness. But none of it matters when you’re blinded by the lushness of the meadows, the clarity of the water, and the immensity of the spectacle.

But somewhere along the line, our relationship with Yellowstone soured. While we knew it was unreasonable to expect monogamy from Yellowstone–knowing that 2.2 million acres should be enough to go around for everyone– we couldn’t help feeling neglected, thanks to all the other visitors who were vying for the same attention.

I feared we were growing apart from Yellowstone. Could it be we were no longer compatible? Were our expectations too high and unreasonable? It’s true there were things we wanted from Yellowstone that the park was unable to deliver. In addition to less traffic and fewer people on the trails, we wanted shorter lines at the entrance gate, and quicker service and lower prices at the restaurants. Was that too much to ask for?

Bottom line, we were no longer getting along. The relationship was too one-sided. Leah and I were putting so much time and energy into the park, and not getting enough back in return. The memory of driving three hours, only to travel thirty miles left us disappointed, and frustrated. The imagined traffic violation from Ranger Painter felt like a “double-cross”.

We felt rejected by the park.

But I was still willing to give the park another chance. I thought that things inside the park could be different if it wasn’t a weekend–when the park wouldn’t be as stressed out. Leah, on the other hand, wasn’t as forgiving. “I’m done!” she announced. “I’m not going back.” She was determined to make a clean break of it.

“But it’s not entirely the park’s fault,” I argued, already suffering from an acute case of separation anxiety. However, in my heart I knew I was covering for a park that had let me down.

Maybe Leah was right. Maybe we should cut our losses, and stop beating ourselves up. We needed to put this abusive relationship behind us.

We agreed that we needed to put some space between us and Yellowstone to give us some perspective. A respite from Yellowstone would help to clear our minds and cleanse our hearts of our frayed feeling towards the park. I was tired of feeling angry at Yellowstone, and I wanted the magic to return.

As with any break-up, it’s always best to confide in a friend to gain clarity. Fortunately, a friend living only 100 miles away from West Yellowstone allowed us to overnight at his two-bedroom condo in Driggs, ID. While it was good catching up with George, it was also gratifying standing under a full-sized shower with constant pressure.

We discussed our soured relationship with Yellowstone over dinner with George, Kate (his daughter), and Kate’s husband Kevin, a full-time fishing guide during fishing seasons. It was an awesome reunion, sitting outside in a restaurant garden setting during the summer solstice.

“Crowded park conditions are to be expected this time of year, considering the park’s popularity,” announced Kevin. “It’s the best water for fishing right now, and it’s where I take my clients. It’s simply the best place to go.”

“I wish we had the luxury to return during a different time of year, but this is the only time we’re passing through,” announced Leah.

“I think that sums it up,” I added. “It’s really now or never. Sometimes you have to give a little to get a little,” I opined, sounding too much like Dr. Phil’s proxy.

The following day, we headed over the Teton Pass into Jackson Hole for bagels. We casually walked through town, bracing ourselves for the long ride through Teton National Park and into Yellowstone.

But we had to stop at Ox Bow for one last glimpse of the austere grandeur of the Tetons.

By 1:00 pm, we crossed over to Yellowstone’s South Entrance. where an idle gate ranger awaited our arrival. Leah and I exchanged an optimistic glance, unwilling to jinx ourselves by stating the obvious. After a quick bite at Grant Village, we continued around West Thumb, where the road hugs Lake Yellowstone, showcasing its bedazzling blue splendor.

We justified a stop at Mud Volcano to stretch our legs…

…before finishing with a rim trail hike to Lower Falls, and bearing witness to the power of water cascading over a sheer cliff,

then crashing against the brush-stroked walls of Yellowstone’s Grand Canyon.

Yellowstone was the first National Park signed into law by U.S. Grant in 1872…

and you never forget your first love.

On Shaky Ground, Part 2

June 24, 2017November 17, 2017Posted in Airstream, hiking, National Parks, Nature, Photography, travelTagged driving, earthquake swarm, traffic, Yellowstone NPLeave a comment

(picture credit: UUSS)

Leah and I passed through the construction zone with time to spare, thus avoiding the road closure, and reducing our stress level. It was 7:00 pm, we were tired, and I needed a break from driving since 10:00 am. If we could make it through the next 28 miles without incident, we’d be out of the park and on our way to dinner. We continued toward Madison junction at a normal pace, until once again, traffic stalled to a stand-still.

Cars were pulling over left and right, creating a logjam. The Gibbon River to my left and the foothills of Mt. Holmes to my right offered scant shoulder room to negotiate a roadside pull-over, yet I managed to maneuver the truck clear of the solid white line to investigate for myself. Just then, a Park Ranger pulled his patrol car behind me with lights flashing.

“Finally,” exclaimed Leah, “there’s someone here to control this traffic mess!”

I dashed across the road to discover a family of elk dining on long grass on the other side of the river, while the ranger seemed powerless to control the many onlookers. Instead, he joined all us at the water’s edge to admire the scene.

I turned to ask Ranger Painter a question. “Is there any concern to the public about the earthquake swarm that’s been recorded since the weekend?”

Since June 12, the northwestern edge of the park (our location) had experienced over 464 events, with the largest quake registering 4.4 magnitude on June 15.

Scientists reported,

“This is the highest number of earthquakes at Yellowstone within a single week in the past five years, but is fewer than weekly counts during similar earthquakes swarms in 2002, 2004, 2008 and 2010.”

The last major eruption of the Yellowstone supervolcano was a magnitude-7.5 event in 1959 at Hebgen Lake–the same vicinity experiencing the latest seismic activity–resulting in a landslide that killed twenty-eight people.

Painter responded, “Is that your red F-150 parked over there?”

“It is,” I answered, “but it’s not for sale,” I added.

“There’s been a report about unsafe driving–that you’ve been passing on a double yellow. Is that true?” asked Ranger Painter.

Incredulous, I asked, “Are you sure you have the right truck? There must be a hundred or more red trucks in the park.”

“But your’s is the only one from New Jersey,” he asserted. “Another ranger witnessed you unlawfully passing, and put in a general call to pull you over. That means I’m supposed to give you a ticket from him for the offense. So, I’m gonna need to see your license, registration and insurance card, please.”

“Are you kidding me? This is extortion! There’s no way I did what he said. And if it’s true, then why didn’t your buddy pull me over?” I insisted.

“Look, I understand your frustration, and I don’t think this is the best way of doing things either.” Painter shrugged, “Personally, I hate doing someone’s dirty work, but I’m just the messenger. This is gonna take a little time, so you’re welcome to continue taking pictures if you want.”

After twenty minutes, the elk returned to the forest, and the crowds diminished. Painter returned to the truck, with my citation. “First of all,” he started, “I want to thank you for not being a jerk.”

“Not my nature,” I declared.

“Good,” Painter responded, “because I didn’t cite you for careless driving like the other ranger advised, which would have been a $200 offense. Instead, I wrote you up for unsafe passing, which only carries a $60 fine… and a $30 processing fee.

“What? A $30 processing fee on top of the ticket. You guys give new meaning to highway robbery,” I alleged.

“What can I say? Everything’s going up,” Painter posited. “Just sign at the bottom,” he instructed, offering the violation notice. “I’m also giving you this flyer, ’cause if you think this is unfair, then call the number and maybe you’ll get the ticket dismissed if you fight it.

“You bet I will,” I pronounced.

“Drive safely,” Painter forewarned, “and you’re in no danger of being caught in an earthquake.”

We finished the ride home to our Airstream in West Yellowstone without words or further incident after completing the Upper Loop in 10 exhausting hours.

The next day, we planned to follow the Lower Loop around, but we were grounded the moment we passed through the West Entrance. Our intention was to leave for the park on the earlier side of 9:00 am, but arranging future reservations in Canada’s national parks had proved more elusive and time-consuming. Consequently, traffic into the park was such a snarl by 10:30 am that cyclists with loaded side bags were making better time. After three hours, we managed to travel thirty ebb-and-flow miles. We were so far behind the tie-up that we could never figure why things were moving so slowly, although we surmised that it was animal-related.

We ate our lunch at Fountain Paint Pot, and walked the boardwalk through a desolate field of fumaroles, geysers, and hot springs, glad to finally stretch our legs. I chose to photograph the landscape as “abstract in nature”, sometimes compressing depth with a longer focal length…

…or extending time by shooting at high speeds…

…before moving onto Black Sand Basin to capture and accentuate true color through a polarizing filter.

Leah and I agreed that it made little sense to continue the loop. It was already 4:30 pm. We called it quits before reaching Old Faithful, knowing full well that we would be driving into the eye of traffic turmoil, and realizing that the ride back to West Yellowstone could be unpredictable.

We originally planned to explore the park in five days, by pacing ourselves through the highlights, but allowing for a deeper connection by hiking some of the 1000 miles of available trails. But the Yellowstone crowds squashed our enthusiasm, and wore us out. Leah vowed that we would not return to the park in the foreseeable future, even through two more days were scheduled.

Part 3 reveals how we spent the remainder of our time.

Rocky Road National Park

June 17, 2017September 25, 2017Posted in hiking, National Parks, Nature, Photography, travelTagged Bear Lake, Cascade Falls, Colorado, Cub Lake, driving, Rocky Mountain National Park10 Comments

With so much attention being paid to the over-crowded conditions at National Parks this year, Leah and I were optimistic that Rocky Mountain National Park (RMNP) would allow us some breathing room—despite a doomsday article recently published by Denver Post that boasted a 21% increase in visitor attendance at RMNP over the same month last year (Denver Post). According to the NPS, more than 1 million people will make RMNP their vacation destination in the next six weeks and that does not bode well for the visitor who comes to enjoy the park.

Apparently, when Trump announced a federal hiring freeze one week after taking office, the park was unable to move forward with seasonal hires, leaving the Park Service unprepared to staff its most popular and profitable parks. Additionally, there was no budget allowance for background checks and bonding of future employees, which has translated into longer lines at Park Service admissions, and fewer transactions at Park Service Conservancy Nature Stores. Penny-wise, pound-foolish economics!

We arrived in line at 1pm on Monday. After half-an-hour, we crossed the threshold into RMNP. Signs were posted along the way announcing full occupancy at all campgrounds. I felt fortunate snagging a camp-site for three nights at Glacier Basin—a no-services facility—through the NPS reservations web-site over six months ago.

I produced my Senior Pass credentials to the ranger at the gatehouse, and received an obligatory park map, but not a newspaper, because the official newspaper of RMNP had run out before noon. The newspapers are a vital resource to the park’s success, given the hands-on information that visitors rely on when planning their stay, notwithstanding: safety protocols, hiking trails, shuttle bus schedules, ranger-led programs, road and trail conditions, and visitor center(s) hours of operation.

After unhitching the trailer, Leah and I elected to tour the north side of the park, following the Trail Ridge Road to the Alpine Visitor Center,

and past the highest point of any NPS road (12183 ft.).

Several look-outs along the way provided ample opportunities to be blown about by sustained winds of 50 mph, admire wide-open views of nearby mountain ranges in the blistering cold, and escape from the occasional driver who negotiates a hairpin turn while pointing a camera outside his window.

With such a high number of drivers who suffer from altitude stupidity, it’s a wonder there aren’t more accidents like the one we came across that closed the road for an hour until a tow-truck arrived to cart away the collision. It’s also a special breed of driver who comes to the park and thinks it okay to stop in the middle of the road to observe a crowd watching something off the side of the road.

Sadly, it’s probably the same driver who lollygags at 18 mph, when all the vehicles trailing behind are aching to achieve the 35 mph speed limit. It’s as if people have come to the park to practice their driving, turning the roads into a fright of passage.

While it was difficult to completely avoid the road toads, Leah and I managed to steer clear of much the traffic tie-ups by exploring more remote regions of the park during our three-day visit. One 7-mile hike on the edge of Grand Lake took us to the top of Cascade Falls,

where so much run-off from late snow had produced a torrent of moving water.

Drainage from the Ptargiman Mountain was becoming an issue, so a crew was dispatched to redirect the spill over from the falls.

The next day, a 5-mile hike off the Moraine Park spur led us to Cub Lake in the shadow of Steep Mountain.

Considered an easy hike by the trail guide, Leah was unconvinced by the steep rocky incline to the gorge—narrow and muddy, and shared by horses—which led to lots of side-stepping.

Not to be deterred, Leah would lobby for a label that was more suitable. After following the half-mile loop around Bear Lake, one of the park’s most popular subalpine locales–distinguished by its late thaw,

and smooth-as-glass lake surface–

Leah stopped to ask a ranger’s opinion of the Cub Lake Trail. To Leah’s delight, the ranger agreed that the hike should be upgraded from easy to moderate, but only because of its duration.

The thin air and jaw-dropping views of mountain peaks, canyons, snowfields, lakes, meadows, falls and forests left us breathless. But we came for the animals as well. We waited patiently for nearly an hour at Sheep Lake with the hope that the park’s bighorn sheep and their lambs might descend from the mountain to graze and lick mud in the meadow below. The timing was right—no coyotes were spotted at the pond—but the sheep had other ideas, and stayed where they were.

But there was no shortage of chipmunks, squirrels and marmots.

RMNP is a delicate ecosystem that has been managed since 1915. With so many visitors eager to pilgrimage to the park, the importance of preservation and land stewardship along with proper funding will drive the next one hundred years, provided Sunday drivers stay off the roads.

Pikes Peak Pot

June 11, 2017March 4, 2019Posted in Food, money, Nature, Photography, travelTagged Cog Railway, Colorado, Maggie's Farm, Manitou Springs, Marijuana, Pikes Peak2 Comments

PART 1

We arrive at the Garden of the Gods Visitor Center on the edge of Colorado Springs, not quite knowing what to expect other than what we’ve read. Yes, it’s crowded, and it’s hotter than usual–that’s also to be expected. But the park is free and open to the public, which probably helps explain why it’s so crowded.

Garden of the Gods is a 2 million-year-old geologic wonder of sandstone fins, fans and finials balancing in the presence of Pikes Peak, as if performing for an audience of one mountain’s pleasure. It is an impressive act, and beloved by the Colorado Springs stakeholders. But…having just arrived from Utah’s National Parks, and having seen miles upon miles of looming red rocks, it all seemed a bit underwhelming to me. We took a short trail to view the Siamese Twins with a keyhole view of Pikes Peak, but other than that, the hills left us flat.

The twisting road through the many park features and attractions carried us out to Manitou Springs, the gateway to Pikes Peak, and a pop culture village filled with hipsters, curiosity seekers, and wannabees.

Our drive to the top of town took us through droves of tourists filtering through the galleries, boutiques and juice bars. Leah and I found it hard to resist ice cream at Patsy’s, a local landmark on the edge of Amusement Arcade row.

We followed the rotary around, and u-turned out of town to tend to an errand, but we would return to catch the 5:20 pm cog railway to the top of Pikes Peak.

PART 2

The parking lot was overflowing, as was the overflow lot, but I managed to shoehorn the F-150 into a compact car space as per the instructions of the gun-toting parking attendant. It’s as if I was required to undergo a motor vehicle coordination exam to determine my customer-worthiness. If I can park a big truck in a small space in a crowded lot, then I get to buy weed.

We were warmly welcomed at the service counter by effusive Eddie. “How’s it goin’ today? Are you guys first timers?,” he asked, taking our IDs.

“We’re visiting from New Jersey,” answered Leah.

“Welcome to Maggie’s Farm,” he gushed. “We’re here to take good care of you.”

“Is it always crowded like this?,” I wanted to know.

“It’s the weekend, and it’s summer, and the tourists are coming,” he responded. “This won’t take long,” referring to our driver’s licenses. “I just need to record these, and you’ll be on your way.” While typing, “By the way, we only accept cash. There’s an ATM by the wall if you need it. Okay?”

When he was finished, he handed back our IDs with a paper stub–the same kind of numbered ticket you’d pull at the deli counter in the supermarket. “Hold onto your number, and move to the next room past the door. Then take a seat, and wait for your number to be called,” Eddie advised. “And have a high time.” were his parting words.

We were number 57. We sat on a foam bench waiting our turn with six other people sitting on both sides of us, all of them different. I noticed three generations of women from the same family, a millennial on his phone, a middle-aged man who had to be a tourist since he was wearing a Tilley hat, and a tattooed Vet who seemed to still be fighting in the war.

A perky forty-something with a fire-red pixie haircut, pushed open the “employees only” door to announce, “Our budtenders are very busy, and the checkout line is backed up, so please be patient.” Then she disappeared, back behind the door. All we could do was stare at the wall four feet in front of us. There was a closed door marked “ROOM 1” and a closed door marked “ROOM 2” separated by a LED-TV monitor broadcasting the marijuana menu–breaking it down by strain, THC content, and price per weight. One could choose between flowers, concentrates, edibles, or patches. At the bottom of the screen was a tax disclaimer, breaking down the percentages taken by city (9.03%, and 6%), and state (10%). I couldn’t believe I was surrendering 25% of my purchase power to the government.

A tap on the glass by a bearded face peeking over the wall above “ROOM 1” beckoned us into the inner sanctum. “Me?” I mimed. He nodded and we stood ready to accept his religion.

The other side of the wall revealed an emporium of earthly delights displayed the way a candy shop would showcase their variety of fudges. “Buddy” asked for our IDs and scanned them with a UV pen. Looking up, he grinned and proclaimed, “Congratulations! They’re real.” Handing back our IDs, “So what would you like to do–smoke, eat, or vape?”

Leah and I glanced at each other, but I decided that smoke was the way to go.

Buddy popped open several containers of THC-laden buds of different shades of harvest green, and aromas ranging from musky to fruity to diesel fuel. Dropping our noses into the jars for a full-blown whiff gave us enough of a heady bouquet to prepare us for an anticipated revelation.

“These buds are huge and seedless,” I exclaimed, reaching in and extracting a jaw-breaker sized nugget of Triple Diesel Sativa hybrid.

“Uh, that’s a no-no,” Buddy cautioned. “No touching. Here, use these,” he suggested, handing me mini tongs to more closely inspect the wares.

“You’re looking at about 2 grams there,” Buddy advised.

“Looks good to me. I’ll take it,” I asserted.

“Sorry, you can’t buy this,” Buddy interjected. “These samples are just for display, but I’m entering your order now…[a few key strokes by Buddy at the computer], and it’s ready at check-out where those customers are standing. Thank’s folks, and have a high time.”

We joined the lengthy line where customers from both rooms converged against the far wall. Buddy was already engaged with the next customer ushered inside the room. “So what would you like to do–smoke, eat, or vape?,” I heard him ask.

The line reduced quickly. Finally, one of three cashiers motioned for us to approach the counter. “Got your number?” Money Man asked.

I fumbled around inside my pockets, but came up empty. “I must’ve left it on the other counter,” I apologized. “But it’s ’57’ if that helps.”

Money Man called out “57” to the pharmacist behind the wall, and soon returned with a plastic vial, offering it for inspection. Uncapped, it smelled as pungent as before. The transaction was finalized. I handed him cash, and he inserted a “Consumer’s Guide to Responsible Recreational Marijuana Use” in my paper sack before stapling it shut.

“Remember to wait until you’ve left the lot before lighting up, and have a high time,” he exclaimed.

The ride back to town had thinned, as most of the visitors had withered and wilted under the heat. But Leah and I were prepared with sweatshirts for our cog-way assault on Pikes Peak, the second most visited mountain in the world behind Mt. Fuji.

PART 3

The rail cars were packed except for two seats directly facing us, giving us flexibility to change our inclined perspective between looking up the mountain or looking down.

The pull to the top was slow and steady at a 25% grade. The rail car cut through a trail of boulders and evergreens, climbing up the mountainside, eventually reaching Inspiration Point…

a sight so inspiring, that Katharine Lee Beats was compelled to pen “America the Beautiful” after seeing it for the first time.

Once we cleared the tree-line, the vistas opened on all sides, providing views of distant peaks,

and the valley beneath us.

It also exposed us to an uncommon drop in temperature, with shades of winter resting on the rocks,

and gusting gales blowing across the barrenness,

causing marmots to wonder what happened to Spring.

At 14,115 feet, Pikes Peak ranks as Colorado’s 30th among 53 fourteeners, but it remains more famous than all the other fourteeners put together, thanks to breath-taking panoramas on the summit,

and a cog railway that’s been bringing millions of visitors to the mountaintop since 1891.

Although the views are enough to distance you from the rest of the world, the cold is enough to bring you closer together.

Dedicated to Leah, who thinks I never post enough pictures of her. I hope this makes up for it. Love you.

BTW, this marks my 50th post and my first fourteener.

Drop-Dead Gorge(ous)

June 8, 2017June 9, 2017Posted in daily prompt, hiking, National Parks, Nature, Photography, travelTagged Black Canyon of the Gunnison, crisp, Photography3 Comments

After spending eleven days exploring “The Mighty 5”, I believe I’ve inhaled enough red dust to qualify for the first NASA Mars mission. Utah’s red dust had infiltrated everything, leaving a veiled matte finish on every surface: inside the Airstream, inside the truck, inside our undies, and inside our lungs. Leah and I were more than ready to move on to Colorado’s cool, crisp mountain air. Or so we thought…

We also thought we were leaving the heat behind, but unseasonable high temperatures followed us across state lines, where records have been set. All we’ve heard thus far, is “It’s not supposed to be this hot until July and August.” And at the other extreme, ski resorts in Utah and Colorado have experienced a late spring ski surge, with the Rockies holding onto three feet of snow that fell three weeks ago, resulting in officials closing the east side of Rocky Mountain National Park, and posting avalanche warnings throughout the high country. If only the climatologists responsible for this hoax would go back to being less fake, then the rest of us would know how to prepare for normal weather.

Nevertheless, our first stop in Colorado has been encouraging, thus far. During our stay, the temperature at Black Canyon of the Gunnison National Park reached eight degrees over average for this time of year, which translated into a comfortable 90°F for us, down from customary triple-digit readings we endured while in Utah. It meant we could sleep with open windows at night, although it left us vulnerable to drifting cigarette smoke, and prone to a crying baby, a chatty family, a barking dog, and an occasional late-night motorcycle arrival.

Our visit to Black Canyon of the Gunnison National Park afforded us two different perspectives: from atop the rim…

and the water’s edge.

The scenic road above follows a serpentine road with several stunning overlooks that highlight dramatic changes in the cliff face,

as the roar of the Gunnison River echoes against the sheer walls of gneiss and schist.

The river’s pivotal role in carving out 2 million years of metamorphic rock has resulted in canyon walls that plunge 2700 vertigo-inducing feet at Warner Point into wild water that has been rated between Class V and unnavigable.

The view at Dragon Point showcases brilliant stripes of pink and white quartz extruded into the rock face, personifying two dragons who have symbolically fused color into a somber Precambrian edifice.

The view from the bottom up accentuates the towering spires laced with lush and vivid flora.and focuses on an untamed water system that’s required three dams to slow the erosion of the canyon floor.

According to Park Service statistics, left unchecked, the Gunnison River at flood stage would charge through the gorge at 12,000 cubic feet per second with 2.75 million-horse power force. Dams now provide hydroelectric energy, and have created local recreation facilities for water sports, including Blue Mesa Reservoir, Colorado’s largest body of water.

Black Canyon can be seen in one day, but a drive to the Curecanti National Recreation Area, 50 miles away, can easily turn into a two-day love affair with solitude and wilderness.

Holes and Dicks

June 7, 2017October 5, 2017Posted in hiking, National Parks, Nature, Photography, travelTagged Arches, Canyonland, grafitti, law enforcement5 Comments

I already know what you’re thinking, so let’s address the white elephant in the blog room. Yes, the title is definitely suggestive and maybe controversial, and some would presume the blog post content is bound to be risque or even perverse. Some of you may also think that by titling a blog post with a gratuitous sexual innuendo, I am pandering to readers, trying to lure them to my blog site, feeding their “let’s-just-see-what-he’s-up-to” curiosity.

And I’m okay with that. But what if I told you that the blog caption is really about Arches and Canyonlands National Parks? Because everywhere you look across the landscape, it’s either a yoni or a phallus of varying shapes and sizes–sometimes alone, and sometime together. Need proof? Arches first…

then Canyonlands…

I can think of two factors that put both parks in perspective.

First of all, both parks are almost next door to each other, separated by US-191 and thirty minutes apart. Imagine two National Parks being that close to each other without touching–making it possible to visit both parks in one day, but highly unlikely that anyone would have the stamina. It’s such a tease. It’s as if there’s a tantric energy between the parks.

Secondly, let’s take a look at the actual names given to each of the park’s attractions. Canyonlands is considered a backcountry mecca for campsites–some of which are called: White Crack, Potato Bottom, Candlestick, and Gooseberry (a cult aphrodisiac). Similarly, Arches has provocative names for its formations. For example, there’s The Organ, Garden of Eden, Fiery Furnace, and Double O Arch, just to name a few.

It’s not my imagination that almost everywhere around the parks, the sexual iconography is omnipresent. And then labeling the sites with sexual references is equally disturbing. So calling this post “Holes and Dicks”–while seemingly derivative of two national parks–is highly accurate, given the evidence.

However, beyond the Hieronymus Bosch backdrop, a landscape exists that can only qualify as other-worldly.

From Canyonlands…

and from Arches…

However, returning to “Holes and Dicks”, another interpretation exists which is equally as worthy of consideration, and perhaps more significant.

While photographing the Turret Arch,

I noticed unusual activity at the vortex and eye of the edifice.

A small group had willfully climbed the structure despite explicit warnings, but my eye was on the “dick” in the red shirt, who had climbed inside the “hole”.

He seemed to be focused on the wall of the hole, but it wasn’t entirely clear to me until I zoomed in as far as my lens would allow…

and realized that this shmuck was defacing the arch. I was livid that this putz would disrespect a 350 million-year-old shrine by carving his name into the sandstone. I felt like I was caught in the middle of a “What Would You Do?” moment. I scanned where I stood to see if anybody else had noticed, but John Quinones was nowhere in sight, and I had the only window to this dick’s desecration.

I showed Leah the photos after returning to the F-150. “Are you fucking kidding me?” she exclaimed. “You need to show these to the park ranger!”

She left the truck, and wrangled the ranger assigned to traffic control to the driver side of the truck to view the incriminating evidence. Despite the glaring sun, he saw enough of what he needed to see to dispatch a call to park law enforcement on his radio He pleaded for us to stay, while apologizing that our vacation might be inconvenienced by waiting for the officer in charge.

Ten minutes later, Officer Busbee arrived, reviewed the photographs, and determined that they were essential to prosecuting the individual. I volunteered to email the files when able, and we were on our way back to the Airstream.

Downloading took longer than expected given such a weak signal (see Indebted to the Internet), but eventually the email was sent:

Dear Officer Busbee,

I hope these pictures are of service to you.

I’m a firm believer of protecting the legacy of National Parks for future generations,

and take offense when others spoil or jeopardize their preservation.

I trust you will keep me in the loop regarding the status and disposition.

Sincerely,

Neal Lubetsky

All I could do was await a response, which arrived the following day:

Hello, Mr Lubetsky,

Thank you for the photographs.

Unfortunately, we were unable to make contact with the violators.

I appreciate your concern for the Parks. They are indeed very special places that are preserved for all to enjoy, now and in the future.

Thank you again.

Kindest regards-

Michelle

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

While it was disappointing that the vandal got away, I felt vindicated in my effort to stop him from diminishing the importance of what the Park Service represents.

I trust my story justifies the title, but still, you’d have to admit that the scenery is provocative, and it is a worthy backdoor strategy to introducing other readers to my blog.

A Park By Any Other Name*

June 5, 2017January 14, 2018Posted in hiking, National Parks, Nature, Photography, travelTagged Capital Reef, driving, environment, Paris Climate Accord, rain, Trump4 Comments

If you could mix Sedona’s red rocks,

with Painted Desert’s colors,

capitol reef — Not Petrified Forest–Capitol Reef

rock faces — Not Petrified Forest–Capitol Reef

and Zion’s canyon walls,

scenic hwy canyon wall1 — Not Zion–Capitol Reef

and Canyonland’s monoliths,

while also adding Arches’ arches…

Hickman Bridge1 — Not Arches–Capitol Reef

hickman bridge2 — Not Arches–Capitol Reef

in a geologic blender, then stir in one cup of Fremont River water,

top with orchard fruit,sprinkle in some petroglyphs,

and season with Mormon history,you would have a delicious National Park named Capitol Reef that few would ever taste. And that would be the greatest crime, because this is a four-course park that satisfies all the senses, and requires at least four days to consume all it has to offer.

And yet Capitol Reef stands out as a National Park that’s most in need of a publicist or a brand manager. For a park that has so much to offer, it defies logic that little more than 1 million visited last year. Maybe it’s the name. It’s connotation to Washington–as unpopular as politics are today–might have an impact. Or perhaps the mention of “Reef” confuses visitors who may mistakenly associate a park bordering on Utah’s shoreline. Either way, it’s time to re-imagine a name that befits this jewel.

A big regret when planning our itinerary through Utah was naively categorizing this park as “order-to-go” fare, when it clearly requires a more leisurely approach to appreciate all its hearty features and delicate nuances.

Our two days at Capitol Reef were full and varied. We hiked; we drove; we participated in ranger-led discussions; and we off-roaded. We also got caught in a flash flood just minutes after taking the scenic drive–with all the wash basins turning red from torrential run-off, stranding dozens of cars in the canyon until the rain ran its course.But we would not be detained. The truck’s high clearance and V-8 muscle was more than enough to plow through two feet of fast water, cutting a red swath through the wash, and a sending a bloody spray across my windshield and windows. The benefit of beating the waterfall gave us the road ahead to ourselves, as all the other cars were left behind in our wake.

Conveniently, the rain passed the moment we approached the Capitol Gorge Road,and coincidentally coincided with a Sirius-XM radio broadcast of Trump announcing the American withdrawal from the Paris Climate Accord. It’s hard to relay the irony of negotiating the winding narrow passage between the canyon walls while listening to Trump rationalize his decision under the guise of job losses in front of a partisan Rose Garden rally. With every fractured sentence and every tired hyperbole, the crowd would erupt with enthusiastic applause, acknowledged by Trump’s demure, “Thank you, thank you.”

It seemed sacrilegious, listening to Trump’s politicized and pacified diatribe while zigzagging through the gorge and admiring nature’s wonders. Although the satellite signal would occasionally drift with the drive–interrupting the incongruity of his half-hour address–I was certain that Trump would never be discussing the benefits of tackling climate change, or consider the potential of adding green jobs that promote renewable energy.

The end of the Capitol Gorge Road fed into the Capitol Gorge Trail. Leaving the F-150 behind, we followed the gorge on foot,

tracing many generations of footsteps before us.These people left us a great treasure (discounting the grafitti–more on that later) to inspire us, but also assigned us a great responsibility to preserve and protect it so that future generations may also be inspired. Our legacy as moral and ethical humans relies on it. And our future as a planet depends on it.

And that’s when it dawned on me. Take Trumps’ tired mantra, and re-purpose it!

I hereby propose that Capitol Reef now be called “Tremendous National Park”!

What do you think?

* All photos posted are from Capitol Reef National Park. Any similarity to other National Parks is purely intentional.

Hoodoo You Trust?

June 3, 2017August 18, 2017Posted in daily prompt, hiking, National Parks, Nature, Photography, travelTagged Bryce Canyon imaginary4 Comments

What a difference a day makes. Leaving Zion behind for Bryce Canyon gave us cooler temperatures, cooler tempers, and cooler views–now that we left the maddening crowd behind and were no longer limited by what we could see (Keeping an Eye on Zion).

After driving two hours through riveting scenery along 89 North, we arrived at a KOA in Cannonville bordering on the edge of nowhere, approximately 20 minutes past the National Park. We dropped the trailer and headed back to the park to get our nature fix. We followed the 18 miles of park road to its conclusion, and walked the Bristlecone Loop Trail, a thousand year-old alpine forest where the remains of a 1600-year-old bristlecone stands watch at the edge of Yovimpa Point,…offering panoramic views of the Colorado Plateau going as far back as the Grand Canyon’s North Rim. Clear days at Bryce can offer the longest views anywhere on the planet–beyond 100 miles away, thanks to the amazing clean air quality.

But it was the Rainbow Point lookout around the other side of the ridge that put smiles on our faces and brought the color back to our slack-jawed cheeks, giving us an early preview for the next day’s hike.

It was our first look at Bryce Canyon’s hoodoos–the world’s largest collection of stone chessmen formed by ice and water erosion–and they were magical.

Working our way back, we stopped at one of many scenic overlooks hugging the road side. Looking over a log rail, seemingly within arm’s reach was a formation called the Natural Bridge, an 85 foot span that is really a natural arch. So why it’s called one thing when it’s really another makes it just a bit confusing. Is it a bridge that’s an arch, or an arch that’s a bridge? Ask a ranger and you’ll get two different answers. Okay?

After pull-overs at Sunset Point and Sunrise Point, we were certain that the next day’s hike should take us deeper into the Amphitheater for a more intimate and detailed experience.

Passing through Tropic, Utah on the way to KOA, we detoured for groceries and a visit to TruValue Hardware to possibly resolve a nagging situation since we left New Jersey: how to adapt a quick connect hose between our Weber Q 2200 LP grill and the Airstream’s LP service port. While it may appear mundane to the average urbanite, the ability to bypass the LP tank, and connect directly to the trailer makes it a no-brainer and a classic time-saver for RV set-ups.

Thus far, at every newly arrived location, I’m constantly reminded of the additional time required to set up the grill, when I know my time could be better served by drinking a cold beer or replying to reader comments from a blog post.

Whether the weathered attendant behind the check-out counter could help me remained to be seen. I clearly demonstrated to him how the hose to the Airstream port and the fitting coming out from the grill needed a compression union to make the desired connection, and what I got instead was a lecture.

He led me to a wall of grill accessories and told me that what I was looking for was impossible to find, and I was better off buying his $65 kit to connect my grill directly to my tank.

“But I already have that,” I objected. “That’s how I do it now. I’m looking to circumvent the tanks and draw LP directly from the trailer through the quick connection. This part of the hose (I wagged it closer for him to see) feeds directly into the trailer,” I implored.

“So I got fittings around the next aisle over,” admitted Mr. Malcontent, “but I’m not gonna show ’em to ya, and I’m not gonna sell ’em to ya neither.”

“Why not,” I wondered.

“Well, I’m gonna tell ya,” he started, “and you’re probably not gonna like the answer, but those damn Democrats, especially Obama made it impossible for you to do what ya wanna do.”

He paused, waiting for a reaction–maybe to take my political temperature, but I let out a little more rope. “I don’t follow you,” I reasoned.

“Well, Obama spent eight years in office loading down OSHA with more and more rules and regulations, that you practically need a doctor’s note just to take a shit,” he claimed. “Maybe, you come back when there’s not so many rules.”

Leah arrived in the middle of our transaction holding groceries, and heard part of the exchange. “Let’s go! We gotta get back to refrigerate the milk.”

I left the hardware store in disbelief; it was like a Twilight Zone moment. “How does he stay in business?”

“He doesn’t need your money. Remember, this is Trump country,” she asserted.

All of yesterday was forgotten, when the next day we dropped into the Amphitheater from Sunset Point,through the Navajo Loop Trail following the steep switchbacks…

to Wall Street, where enormous Douglas firs have balanced in the rift for over 750 years, like sacred totems,and views of Thor’s Hammer are something to “marvel”.

Beyond Twin Bridges (another iconic hoodoo formation),

another series of switchbacks dropped us to the Amphitheater floor. Rather than continue the loop, we opted to cross into Queens Garden, for cake and a spot of iced tea.

Along the way, we met the Queen’s subjects…

standing along side the Queen’s castle…

as Queen Victoria looked on high.

It was a “monumental” hike out of the canyon that left us tired, but enthused by the energy surrounding us. Perhaps it was hoodoo voodoo?

But one thing that we both agreed on… we were ravenous after spending time in this imaginary Fairyland world.

But dining out in Cannonville, UT can be a bigger challenge than hiking the Bryce Canyon rim trail. With only two food vendors in a town with a population of 168, we chose i.d.k. BBQ, a food truck with limited acclaim from social media. I don’t know how they got their name, but it was the only game in town, so we thought we’d take a chance.

Originally, Leah was skeptical. “BBQ in Utah?” she doubted. “From a food truck, in the middle of nowhere?… Really!!? Remember, there’s only one toilet in the trailer.”

“Why not?” I countered. “How bad can it be? In a town this size, there must be someone who could cook.

But first we had to find this truck. After cleaning up from a day drenched in fairy dust, we were ready for a night on the town. Boarding the F-150, we literally turned the corner into “town”, and rode four blocks on Kodachrome Drive until we knew it was time to turn around. How could we have missed it?

We turned around to cover our tracks, looking hither and yon for any semblance of a food truck, until we came back to the same turn that carried us into town. Nothing… except the Sinclair station that reminded us that filling up was a good idea before we hit the road tomorrow.

“So what are we gonna do about dinner?” Leah asked.

I shrugged. Standing at the pump, I scanned the horizon, and spotted a flapping BBQ sign just pass the Sinclair stanchion. That’s when I spotted the truck tucked behind the corner motel.

Shades of Eat and Get Gas.

We rounded the corner of the truck, only to meet proprietors Emily and Kevin Clark and their four-year-old daughter cleaning up for the day.

“Sorry, we’re outta food,” he lamented.

Maybe it was our fallen faces, or maybe a little hoodoo voodoo, but Emily was soon offering us Kayla’s dinner in a closed container.

“It’s a pulled pork potato,” she proposed.

“What’s that?” Leah wanted to know.

“You’ll like it,” was all she had to say.

“I feel bad about taking your daughter’s dinner,” I responded. “What’s she going to say?”

“Don’t you worry ’bout her,” countered Emily. “She’s been wantin’ pizza anyway.”

After exchanging $20 for a monster baked potato drizzled with cheddar cheese and smothered with a pound of pulled pork, with a side of cole slaw and two warm cups of peach cobbler topped with whipped cream, we drove back to the Airstream for one of the most delightful and serendipitous take-out meals since we pulled out of Jersey.

Trust me.

Keeping an Eye on Zion

May 31, 2017November 3, 2017Posted in hiking, National Parks, Nature, Photography, travelTagged Watchman trail, Zion National ParkLeave a comment

The crowds that crammed into Zion National Park over Memorial Day weekend left us frantic and bereft. As our first stop in Utah, we came to Zion to enjoy the trails and distinctive scenery of mountains and water. We planned to hike the Narrows through the Virgin River, and experience the Kolob Arch (the world’s second largest natural free-standing arch), but we never accounted for (and neither did the Park Service) the tens of thousands who would mob the park this particular weekend while we were here.

Staying over in Springdale, just outside the park, gave us easy access to the southern park entrance, only half a mile away. And the convenience of having a free shuttle bus stop outside the RV campground with transfers to trail heads available inside the park, meant we could leave the F-150 behind. Or so we thought…

The one day we had to explore, Sunday, we walked to the bus stop only to find it spilling over with more than fifty people waiting in a discordant line. According to a bus dispatching authority (a busy body) who had been waiting for over half an hour, “Buses come by every fifteen minutes, but will pass by without stopping if they are full, and so far, two buses filled with standing passengers has already passed.”

When a third bus passed without stopping, Leah and I started for the park gate on foot.

When we beat the shuttle bus to the park entrance due to traffic back-ups at the gate houses, we realized that things were not going according to plan. After checking in with a park ranger at the visitor center, we were directed to the park shuttle buses that would transport us to stop 9. Searching for the end of the line, brought us as far back as the park entrance, where the wait for boarding a shuttle bus would be over two-and-a-half hours!

When asked about the situation, a ranger confessed, “I won’t lie. This park is not equipped to handle these many people. It’s like trying to scoop five pounds of poop into a four pound bag. We’ve never seen it like this before, and I’m embarrassed to say, there’s not too much we can do about it.” Yet the park’s popularity has been steadily evolving, making it surprisingly, the fifth most visited National Park with over 4 million guests last year, just beating out Yellowstone.

The thought of waiting for a bus in direct sun during peak day seemed like a deal breaker. Our planned activities inside the park were scheduled to carry us late into the day, but with bus service being backed up, and the potential of sharing the trail with hundreds if not thousands of hikers, we wondered if the day could still be salvaged.

Another look at the park newspaper revealed a moderate four-mile hike from the visitor center along the Watchman trail with sweeping views of Springdale, and iconic Zion landmarks such as Beehives, Towers of the Virgin, West Temple and the Altar of Sacrifice, ending with a view point of the Watchman, a rocky spire rising to an elevation of 6545 feet. We shrugged and accepted out fate. While not our first choice (and ranked #19 of 49 attractions in the park by Trip Advisor), it would have to satisfy our urge to be a part of the Zion experience.

What most hiking critics reported as a quiet and thinly-populated trail was being exploited today as an overflow option for many other folks with “won’t-wait-in-line-itis”, including several families with small children, small groups of rowdy teens, and an assortment of unprepared novices wearing flip-flops, trudging up occasional steep and narrow switchbacks, and wishing they brought more than a small bottle of water.

Overall, the hike to the top of the ridge line paid off in dramatic and sweeping views from north to south.

The next day we drove the Zion Canyon Parkway north through a skinny one-mile tunnel cut through Zion rock in the 1930’s, and closed to two-way traffic to accommodate wide rigs like ours. The switchbacks were hairpin and narrow, but Leah has grown confident in my driving over the past month, and allowed the radio to play with the sun-roof open, while she enjoyed taking iPhone pics of the canyon vista.

Finally, a scenic turn-out featuring Checkerboard Mesa opened along the roadside, allowing me to pull up to a yellow coach (no joke) filled with scores of yammering Chinese dressed in down jackets, white gloves, and colorful umbrellas.

While most cameras focused on the mesa, I was fascinated by the checker-boarding.

We’re on our way to Bryce Canyon National Park, where hopefully, the crowds are thinner and the air is fresher.

Hiking Hat Trick—2nd Goal

May 6, 2017June 9, 2017Posted in hiking, Nature, Photography, travelTagged Big Bend Ranch State Park, slot canyonLeave a comment

The ride to Closed Canyon Trail, the only slot canyon in Big Bend Ranch State Park, took us past the park picnic area, revered for its iconic teepee overhangs.

The road continued another 7.5 miles up and down multiple grade changes, curling in and around exposed mountain walls, and mimicking the serpentine lines of the Rio Grande, making it a driver’s delight and a passenger’s revelation. It’s little wonder that El Camino del Rio has consistently ranked as a “ten-best” scenic drive in America.

The signage throughout the State Park suffers because of its immensity (300,000 acres) and limited resources, so having Mike as lead proved advantageous, since it would have been so easy to overshoot the trail head in favor of the surrounding vistas and roadside scenery.

The approximate geologic age of the calderas (a collapsed volcano) which formed the Colorado Mesa is 28 million years. The slot canyon evolved from millions of years of water erosion, steadily carving into the Colorado Mesa until it split in half, resulting in a canyon trail that runs 1.5 miles until it drops into the Rio Grande.

“Be careful where you walk,” advised Mike.

High cane grass lined the approach to the trail making us wary of Western diamondback rattlesnakes. We mindfully walked a short distance down a small hill into an arroyo to access the mouth of the canyon. The sandy floor was littered with boulders.“Anything we should watch for?” I asked.

Mike thought a minute before responding, “It’s doubtful we’ll see a mountain lion, although they hang out in this area, but maybe we’ll get to see some javelina.”

“I doubt we’ll see anything at all,” Leah sighed. “Animals, for some reason, seem to avoid us.”

“Here, gator gator gator!” I jested.

Leah to Mike, “It’s an old joke.” (see Where Have all the Gators Gone? (Long Time Passing…)

But then—as if on cue—our conversation was no doubt overheard by a greater earless lizard, who darted across the canyon bottom and froze, waiting for its close-up.

While the wildlife sighting reanimated us, Leah wasn’t sufficiently satisfied.

Thinking it was an omen, Leah roared, “Here, lion lion lion, here lion,” her voice echoing inside the chamber walls.

Uncertain of Mike’s politics, I lobbed him an ICE-breaker. “Any chance,” I subtly inquired, “we’ll have a Mexican sighting?”

“Unlikely,” he started out. “The canyon ends with a vertical drop to the river that requires climbing gear. But during monsoon season, this place flash floods, and all that water shoots out over that ledge into the river.”

“So technically, you could ride through here in a kayak?” I asked.

“It might be cool to do if you’re into danger,” he answered. “In fact, it would be tricky, but I would be into it!”

Mike was still avoiding the premise of my question, so this time I was more blunt. “But do you think building a wall out here would do any good?”

“Are you kidding?” Mike answered. “Obviously, they would have to build it on the Texas side, but that would keep everybody who comes here from enjoying the water. And besides, why would anyone want to spoil this amazing landscape?”

No argument from me. We worked our way further into the slot, scrambling over, around, and down water-polished rock, sometimes stopping to avoid the many tinajas–potholes of jaundiced water of undetermined depths scattered across the canyon bottom.

After an hour on the trail we reached an impasse. At this point, the canyon walls were narrow enough to touch with both arms extended, but the tinaja before us was too deep to ford, and too wide to bypass. All we could do was turnaround and hike out.

We savored the moment that brought us our second goal, and relished the notion that there was still more to see and do before the day was done.

Where Have all the Gators Gone? (Long Time Passing…)

April 12, 2017April 21, 2018Posted in hiking, landscape, Nature, Photography, travelTagged alligators, Camping, RV9 Comments

Traveling the Gulf coastline across Alabama, Mississippi, and Louisiana during the past week has brought us closer to Creole and Cajun cuisine, crawfish, casinos and country music, but alas, no crocodilia. Having driven nearly five hundred miles of state and county highways, and cruising endless back roads and bayou causeways, we have yet to see an alligator, which begs the question: Where have all the gators gone?

Not that we haven’t come close to spotting one. Mind you, there have been several vicarious sightings so far. For instance, yesterday we were driving/walking through Jungle Gardens, a 170-acre habitat on Avery Island with exotic palms, sculpted lagoons,

scores of majestic oaks with gnarled and expansive limbs draped in Spanish moss,

a 10th century Buddha housed in a glass-walled pagoda,

a bird sanctuary that hosts thousands of snowy egrets,

and purportedly a family of alligators that have bred on the property since Ned McIlhenny introduced them almost 100 years ago. By the time Leah and I reached Bird City on the tour, we were lucky to meet a woman who had already come across six alligators in two separate locations. It warmed our hearts to be basking in her reptilian aura.

Then there was the time we stayed at Davis Bayou National Seashore in Ocean Spring, MS. We walked a half-mile-long nature trail that meanders around a leg of swamp fed by the Mississippi Bayou. Posted at the trail head is an easy-to-read sign that prohibits all alligator snacks.

Surely, there must be gators here. Why else would they post a sign, we wondered. Yet we saw no alligators. However, another hiker told us that she was told by a park ranger who had heard from another ranger that a resident gator was spotted earlier in the day crossing the road in front of our campground–the very same road where we towed our Airstream, so that should count, right?

The next day, we pedaled to the boat launch where the same warning signs were posted, and Leah claimed to have seen a stick in the water that when hit by the sun at a certain angle during a specific time of the day closely resembled an alligator’s head.

We wondered if there was an art or a science to attracting alligators, so we created an alligator call just in case they were listening. It went something like, “Heeere, gator gator gator; heeere, gator!” Once, our calling was overheard by an older couple who gave us a strange look, but that’s because they probably didn’t understand English. Regardless, the gators never came; either they weren’t listening, or they were avoiding us.

We joked about going to an alligator petting zoo. It wouldn’t be too far out of our way, since we could easily see it from the road. But then we realized that it would be a waste of our time, surmising that it would be hard to decide who has fewer teeth–the alligator or the proprietor.

I know that alligators exist because I’ve seen them on TV and in zoos. And I can still recall that little boy who tragically lost his life near a Disneyworld lagoon while his father looked on in horror.

Yet the anecdotal evidence is overwhelming and doesn’t lie: there seems to be a serious shortage of alligators interested in meeting us–making it painfully obvious to any amateur herpetologist–that gators are playing hard-to-get… or maybe they’re just shopping around for a better agent.

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