danleeth – Page 14

Wildhorse Canyon

Not to be confused with Little Wildhorse, which we hiked last spring, just plain old Wildhorse is a broad canyon with only a small section of narrows. It’s easy walking with no chockstones to climb nor descend and nary a drop of water to wade. It was a perfect follow up to Ding and Dang. This will be Type I fun.

A dozen of us started down the canyon from the trailhead, which also served as a campground for friendly ATV and dirt bikers. It was easy going with a dash of fall color to admire.

We passed the first…

…and second of the two arches/bridges and stopped for photographs.

A bit farther down the canyon, one of our eagle-eyed fellow hikers spotted some Fremont Indian pictographs high on the cliffs.

After passing through a shallow set of narrows, we stopped for lunch beneath a cottonwood tree, then retraced our steps, four miles back to our vehicles.

On the way back to Green River, Paul, our driver first stopped so we could check out the Temple Mountain Wash pictographs…

…and then took us on a short a detour off the interstate to see the Black Dragon pictographs.

Out for a Drive

Our Colorado Mountain Club friends departed on Sunday, but we had booked a pair of additional nights at Green River State Park, so we got to stay and enjoy two extra days of beautiful Utah weather without a fixed agenda.

Our first day was spent just enjoying the town. We drove out to where Dianne’s ancestors once owned a ranch at the base of Gunnison Butte.

Back in town, we learned about the Green River Lunch Site where Athena missiles like this were fired toward New Mexico.

At camp, we watched this little guy excavating a tunnel beneath the campground lawn.

On Monday, we topped up the truck’s tank and went for a drive out on backcountry roads, on which we had originally planned to take the Subaru.

Normally I’d be willing to disclose our route, but we encountered fewer than a half-dozen other vehicles out in this vast, empty landscape. We want to keep it that way.

Of course, those of you familiar with the area may recognize this cabin, which we drove near the start of our adventure.

The first part of our journey took us across some open, grassy lands, home to herds of wild horses.

The scenery changed a few miles later.

We passed several previously owned vehicles, this one perforated with more bullet holes than Bonnie & Clyde’s ’34 Ford.

This is not a road. Notice the windsock? This is actually an airfield runway near an old uranium mine site.

It’s still in use today, we’ve been told. Instead of the TSA, I suspect flights into here are more likely to be greeted by the DEA.

Backtracking, we came to a fork in the road and took it. We soon encountered a golden touch of autumn color…

…with a lofty, natural arch for a backdrop.

We passed the rusty remains of an old uranium mine…

…and plenty of towering natural splendor to admire and photograph.

With Dianne unable to hike, our backcountry drive proved to be a swell way to spend our last full day in the San Rafael Swell.

Fins and Things

Our new Subaru Outback (SOB) will go a lot of places, but there are some trails where it pays to have friends like Bob and Becky who own a Jeep. One such pathway is the Fins and Things Trail in the Sand Flats Recreation Area east of Moab.

At the start of the trail, Bob took the precaution of airing down his tires to increase traction.

While he’s doing that, I looked at the road and thought that the SOB would have no troubleFins and Things, at least on the starting terrain…

…but on this trail, things have a way of quickly going from good to interesting.

Notice the skid marks on this drop.

Best of all, it wasn’t all bushes out here. The ladies actually had some nice facilities to use out in the wild (I still preferred the bushes).

After the obligatory group photo…

…we headed into Moab for burgers and brews (yes, Utah now offers real beer in restaurants).

To Cortez and Back

On Monday, we set off on a little two-day drive down some old familiar territory in search of a little fall color. (Leaf changing seems to be delayed this year.)

On the way, we took a short detour into the old mining town of Ophir. I had hoped to stop for a Lemonade, but it seems the kids’ upscale shop was apparently closed for the season.

Our route took us down the San Juan Skyway to Lizard Head Pass (named for a spire that doesn’t look like the head of any lizard I’ve ever seen).

From there, we took detoured down part of the Galloping Goose Trail.

The graded roadway follows the route of the Rio Grande Southern Railroad, once the tracks of the Gal loping Geese . Along the way, we passed an abandoned trestle…

…and an historic water tank from the bygone railroad days.

We camped for the night in the Super 8 in Cortez. Tuesday morning, we headed for home on a route through Colorado’s canyon country. Our first stop was a return visit to the Lowery Pueblo ruins in Canyons of the Ancients National Monument, a site I’ve enjoyed several times before.

From there, we drove through the self-proclaimed Pinto Bean Capital of the World and soon turned onto a highway that would follow the Dolores River northward.

Along the way, we stopped to look down on the remains of the famous hanging flume…

…a wooden water trough clinging to the cliffs, 150+ feet above the canyon floor.

We continued on toward Gateway, motoring through a wide canyon with ruddy cliffs towering skyward on both sides of the highway. (Yes, friends, this is a pretty part of Colorado.)

Entering the Grand Valley, we made a detour to Dos Hombres (our favorite Mexican restaurant) in Clifton for burritos (excellent) and margaritas (not excellent). Then on toward home.

Onion Creek/Thompson Canyon

Once again, it’s Photo Friday, time to post a few shots from this week’s “explore the neighborhood” photo excursion.

On Tuesday, we took our new vehicle (which my wife has now named the SOB for Subaru OutBack) on a trip to explore the Onion Creek and Thompson Canyon roads located across the border in Utah.

We started out on Onion Creek Road, which was so nicely graded that even Jeep drivers from Iowa had no trouble negotiating the route.

The scenery was scenic…

…and 27 shallow stream crossings added a dash of fun to the first part of the journey.

A fork in the road comes about 9½ miles from its start, and following Yogi Berra’s wise advice, we took it.

As the roadway switchbacked up the cliffs, its surface soon began to get more interesting, which allowed us to test out our SOB on rockier terrain.

Our SOB performed like a pro.

After a dozen miles of this form of fun, we reached the well graded Beaver Mesa Road.

A left turn would have taken us to some old uranium mines, but with clouds building, shadows lengthening and our lack of a Geiger counter, we decided to turn back to Colorado and head for home.

If the amount of dirt on the car is indicative of the amount of fun we had, this was another fine day spent exploring the neighborhood.

Sego Canyon

It’s Photo Friday, time to post a few shots from this week’s “explore the neighborhood” photo excursion.

On this trip, we took Obie (our new Subaru Outback Wilderness) on a trip to explore the remains of Sego, a coal mine ghost town located across the border in Utah.

In addition to the remains of a few structures, the cliffs around the site also display a plethora of Indian rock art.

While impressive, the artworks have been excessively marred by bullet holes and graffiti.

I will normally refrain from disclosing the location of backcountry rock art and ruins, but these are so well known and locally promoted, there’s no point in hiding the location.

As always, the sign of a good trip is a dirty car at journey’s end.

On our January trip to Zion in 2022, we passed a collection of railcars parked along the Sevier River not far from Richfield, Utah.

Called Caboose Village, it’s part of the Big Rock Candy Mountain Resort complex that also includes motel rooms, a restaurant, convenience store, cabins and a gas station. It looked intriguing, so this year, we and longtime friends from Gridlock City booked a pair of cabooses for a three-night getaway.

We loaded bikes onto the back of Obie and headed off to Utah, with a lunch stop at Ray’s Tavern in Green River.

After burgers and a beer, we continued on to Caboose Village. Our unit, the Northern Pacific, featured walls finished in rustic, beetle-kill pine. There was a bathroom with shower, satellite TV, a microwave for popping popcorn and a small refrigerator for chilling the beer.

Outside was a massive deck overlooking the Sevier River with picnic tables, grills and firepits in the lawn below.

Occasionally we’d catch rafters slowly floating downstream.

A paved, rails-to-trails bike path from Caboose Village leads downstream along the river and into Richfield. Our plan was to bike one day and hike the second. The rain gods (and hurricane Hillary) had other plans for us, however.

Instead of pedaling in a downpour, we drove south to Marysvale for breakfast, then backtracked up to Fremont Indian State Park where during a dry spell, we walked their paved nature trail past walls of Fremont rock art.

That night we dined on delicious $30 filet mignon steaks at the Big Rock Candy Restaurant, which we downed with an excellent, $45 bottle of 19 Crimes Australian wine.

The next morning dawned clear. We unloaded our bikes and pedaled ten miles into the small farm town of Joseph where we devoured cooked-to-order breakfast sandwiches and burritos at a gas station-convenience store.

The rain returned on our departure day, so we were once again treated to stormy skies and wet pavement as we motored the interstate back to Colorado.

Shopping

I’m a guy and proud of it. I don’t wear pink, don’t eat quiche and don’t watch figure skating on TV. For me, it’s black T-shirts, fried eggs and Broncos football. I wear my “man card” stapled to my forehead.

When guys like me travel, we don’t go shopping.

Okay, there are exceptions. Bookstores and photo galleries lure me in faster than a poodle to table droppings. But I don’t consider that shopping. I’m a professional writer/photographer. That’s research.

I do, however, have one wallet-emptying weakness. It began years ago on a trip to photograph Canadian polar bears. At a gift shop, I saw a stuffed example that I thought would make a welcome present for my wife. Out came the credit card and home came the critter.

That first boughten bruin was soon joined by a California black bear, an Alaskan grizzly and a Chinese panda. Then came kangaroos, kiwis, koalas, raccoons, ravens, wolves, bison, foxes, otters, owls, penguins, prairie dogs, mountain goats, moose and more.

Being a guy, not all of my critters qualify as cute. I’ve got a Tasmanian devil, desert javelina, jackrabbit, skunk, shark, lobster, gator, tarantula and bearded Grateful Dead Jerry Garcia doll.

My wife’s favorites are my stuffed rattlesnakes. She still shrieks with delight every time she encounters one coiled in her dainties drawer.

I’m now matrimonially barred from gift shops when I travel. Still, new critters continue to appear.

Yes, it’s a good thing I wear my man card stapled to my forehead.

Road Trips

Road trippers fall on a scale between two extremes.

At one end are travelers for whom the trip is more important than the destination. They drive uncrowded byways, taking time to explore the communities and attractions along the way. They snap pictures at scenic overlooks. They read the entire text at historical markers. They seek caffeine from independent coffee shops, and they dine at hole-in-the-wall eateries with regional fare served by waitresses older than their mothers.

By midafternoon they’re ready to stop and relax poolside, choosing comfortable lodging properties where duvets drape beds and towels hang over-sized and fluffy.

My style lies at the opposite extreme.

I’m destination oriented. When I go on a road trip, my goal is the endpoint on the TripTik map. The only stops I make are of the in-and-out variety – fill the tank and drain the bladder. Food comes from gas station mini-marts. Sure, I enjoy the scenery, but I do so with tires spinning at the legal speed limit.

On longer journeys requiring overnight stops, I simply look for the cheapest chain motel offering a AAA discount. I don’t care if its rooms resemble those at the Bates Motel, as long as I can shower without any Hitchcock-worthy “Psycho” dramas.

Come dawn, it’s time to fill the tank and hit the nearest Starbucks for breakfast and a bold. Then it’s onto the highway where I’ll wave to all you folks snapping shots from scenic overlooks and reading every last word at those historical markers.

Camping

I’m sorry. Driving or dragging an apartment on wheels into a pull-through parking site, tapping into water, sewer and power lines and then thinking you’re having a wilderness experience because you’ve got Animal Planet on the satellite TV is not camping. That’s bunkering.

For me, camping means getting far away from cement slabs and campground hosts. It’s hitting the wilderness à la Daniel Boone, Davy Crocket and Kit Carson, albeit with a better brand of toilet paper.

When I camp, I cram food, clothing and shelter into my backpack and traipse into the wild. When fatigue sets in, I look for a place to pitch my tent. A peak-view site between forest and meadow is five-diamond perfection.

Oh sure, backpack camping has devilish drawbacks. Bedding is a mummy bag, the bathroom is a tree and bathing water comes straight from a heart-haltingly frigid stream.

And then there are the bugs. Mosquitoes, ticks, gnats, midges and biting flies arrive like the Luftwaffe over London. The few that don’t feast on flesh plop onto dinner.

More perilous beasts such as scorpions, snakes, tarantulas, skunks, ringtails, coyotes, bears and troops of wild Boy Scouts have been campsite neighbors. For me, delight trumps danger.

From camp, I watch as the setting sun ignites clouds and paints peaks with blushing hues. Birds, frogs and crickets chirp soothing serenades while squirrels scale nearby trees. Across the meadow, a doe browses with her fawn.

I’ll take scenes like this any day over Animal Planet on satellite TV.

[While we now own an apartment on wheels, we prefer camping in Forest Service and State Park campgrounds.  We don't have a TV in our trailer.]