danleeth – Page 6

Dead Horse Ranch

From Bluff, we headed across the Navajo Nation to the Verde Valley of Arizona, stopping along the way for more Navajo tacos at the Cameron Trading Post.

Our destination for the next four nights is Dead Horse Ranch State Park. It offers some nice campsites for RVs, which we enjoyed on a previous trip with our old A-frame trailer.

This time, we were tent camping, so we chose the Blackhawk “rustic” loop. And rustic it was.

The campsite loop has only two water spigots, both of which are inaccessibly located behind other campers’ sites. To fill our seven-gallon jug, we have to find an empty RV site with a water hookup in another loop and fill up there. And the only restrooms for all of us tent campers are down in a neighboring RV loop, several hundred yards away. Bio-breaks require advance planning.

The sites have canopies over the tent platforms, but no shade over the picnic tables and no windbreaks. We set up our tent in a gusting breeze, which allowed me a chance to use numerous expletives.

For two days, we hiked around the park, and one night drove into town for dinner at a winery famous for their wines named after a mythical vampire creature that sucks blood out of livestock.

Taking a break from treading trails, one day Dianne and I drove up to Crown King – an old mining camp high in the Bradshaw Mountains. Decades ago, a neighbor friend of my Dad’s had a cabin up there, and during hunting season, they would load up guns, beer and whiskey and head up there to hunt deer. No animal was ever harmed.

I occasionally got to up with them. Every night, we’d head for the Crown King Saloon for burgers. While the adults enjoyed even more adult beverages, I wandered around the place, carefully studying the saloon’s artwork.

Among other things hanging on the wall of the saloon back then was a life-size, self-painted portrait of an attractive lady, naked from the waist up. I was maybe a dozen years old back then, so naturally this caught my interest.

Now, 60+ years later, the painting no longer hangs inside the saloon, but they do still serve a pretty good burger.

White Tank Mountains

From Dead Horse Ranch, we headed down to the White Tank Mountain Regional Park west of Phoenix. For me, it provided a return visit to a place I visited frequently as a kid years ago.

We booked a site in the park’s Willow Campground, which is primarily designed for tent campers.

The park offers a large number of hiking trails. The first one we tried was the Waterfall Trail, which lead to a pool below a dry pouroff.

A food truck offering Chicago dogs awaited us back at the trailhead. Of course, we had to try one of those Second City treats.

Based on the photo, our friends who are actually from Chicago say this dog lacks a few of the necessary accoutrements to make it a genuine Chicago dog, but it’s not a bad imitation considering we bought this in the middle of the Sonoran Desert.

We hiked more of the park’s trails, some leading up into the mountains capped by antennas and microwave stations…

…and others out onto the flats where windmill-fed ponds attract birdlife.

We had a little excitement in camp when this little buzz worm was seen crossing the road, heading towards our friends’ camp.

A ranger was called…

And soon the little guy was sitting in a bucket, ready to be transported to another location where he could slither away unharmed. We rarely ever see a snake in the wild, so this was a real treat!

By this point, we had spent a week camping in our tent and we had laundry to do and groceries to buy. While our friends continued to bunk in their tent, we upgraded our sleeping arrangements with a night’s stay at the Quality Inn in my old hometown of Youngtown.

Yes, after 10+ years of camping in a trailer, we’ve grown soft.

Organ Pipe

With clean clothes, fresh ice and cooler filled with food, we took off for Organ Pipe Cactus National Monument, which sits along the Trump Wall in southern Arizona.

We had a lovely tents-only campsite with a sandy pad for the tent and a cover over the picnic table.

Days were pleasantly warm and the ocotillo were beginning to blossom.

We hiked to the remains of the old Victoria Mine…

…and on through the desert…

…to the Lost Cabin Mine.

From our campsite, we viewed incredible sunsets…

…and saw Border Patrol agents at work.

On our last day at Organ Pipe, we headed into the old copper mining town of Ajo to stock up on food and ice.

Tomorrow will be the beginning of our adventure down El Camino del Diablo – the Road of the Devil.

Day One

The entire reason for this trip to Southern Arizona was to drive this old route through the desert.

The road is labeled as a rugged, high-clearance, four-wheel-drive route. Our original plan was to tackle it in our Subaru Outback Wilderness…

…but there was no way we could fit all of our gear in the Subie…

…we took the truck.

The 130-mile roadway begins back in Ajo on a road that skirts the tailings of the town’s copper mine.

The first stop was Bates Well where Henry Gray, last of four generations of ranchers, lived until his death in 1976.

We soon reach the boundary of the Cabeza Prieta National Wildlife Refuge. A permit is needed to travel beyond here. Nearby sits a Border Patrol Station.

We signed in and continued on our way down the Camino, which was nicely graded out here to facilitate Border Patrol activities.

Several primitive campgrounds lie along the route through the wildlife refuge…

They aren’t much, but they do offer picnic tables…

…and flat ground to roll out the sleeping bags.

The difference between eastern and western campers is that easterners like our friends prefer to sleep in a tent at night…

…while we prefer to bunk outdoors where we can watch sunsets from our sleeping bags…

…and gaze up at the Milky Way after dark.

Our first night’s campsite lies near Papago Well. The blue flag flying above the tank informs anyone out in this parched desert that water is available here.

It may not be of Evian quality, but it can save the lives of folks, whether they are here legally or not.

Day Two

After devouring a delicious breakfast prepared by the cooking crew…

We headed back to the Camino.

Today, we passed Camp Grip, another Border Patrol Station. As I look at the facility, I wonder how badly does a Border Patrol officer have to screw up to get stationed out here.

We soon come to the grave of prospector Dave O’Neill who died around 1916. He was buried here by two friends. Two weeks later, when the friends ran out of tobacco, they remembered that O’Neill still had his tobacco with him when they laid him to rest. Of course, they returned, dug up the grave and retrieved O’Neill’s stash.

The custom is to place a token on the grave to honor the deceased. I brought along some Colorado pins for that purpose.

We continued onward, passing paloverde trees in bloom…

…gazing south at the Trump Wall climbing over mountains…

…and keeping an eye out for traffic cops enforcing the speed limit.

Portions of the Camino route traverse wash bottoms and stretches of deep sand. In these areas, the Border Patrol will drag tires down the road to smooth the sand.

Anyone out here illegally crossing the road will leave footprints in the sand. (These, however, are ours.)

Driving through some of these areas required engaging four-wheel-drive and motoring through nonstop. Stop and you’re stuck!

El Camino soon merged with another road, which was prominently labeled “Do Not Enter, Not a Public Road.” It was a construction road for building Trump’s border wall. We legally continued forward on the merged roads.

We soon reached Tule Well, complete with a windmill-filled water tank…

…an abandoned building…

…and a Boy Scout memorial atop a nearby hill.

While there was camping available here, we chose to head seven miles up to a campsite on Christmas Pass.

The road started out nicely…

…and then got a bit more interesting as we neared the pass.

The campsite was lovely and came complete with picnic tables…

…and ocotillo in bloom.

While there was plenty of mistletoe hanging off a paloverde tree, there was no Santa on Christmas Pass.

Day Three

We followed our friend’s 4Runner down from Christmas Pass to the Camino and turned toward Yuma, trail’s end.

Heading up the Camino, we passed roadside memorials…

… and saguaro cacti propped up with 2x4s.

We soon entered the Barry M. Goldwater bombing range…

…and tried not to get too nervous about the plane circling overhead.

Along the roadway stood pretend tanks…

…more pretend tanks…

…pretend rocket launchers…

…and signs warning us not to pick up any “unexploded ordnance.”

Our goal here was to get to the tenajas in the Tenajas Atlas mountains. These plunge pool tanks hold water for both the local wildlife and the those pioneers who followed El Camino del Diablo out west.

A short walk up a less-than-friendly trail and wash bottom lead to the first tank.

From here, we continued into Yuma and checked into the Super 8 Motel we had pre-booked. We’d have showers, a comfy bed, a flush toilet and waffles for breakfast.

Tomorrow, weather permitting, we will head off to the Kofa National Wildlife Refuge, which lies northeast of Yuma and south of Quartzite.

Heading Home

Weather permitting, we were next planning to head out for a short week of camping in the Kofa Wildlife Refuge. Unfortunately, the weather gods did not cooperate. We had been dealing with strong winds for this entire trip and it didn’t let up . Rather than bail, we decided to endure one more night in a motel room (real bed, TV, in-room coffee and flush toilet 15 feet away) and hope tomorrow would offer a break from the breeze.

We awoke to find the wind is refusing to abate. After careful consultation with our alter egos, we did the unthinkable and whimped out. Instead of the hills, we set off for home, gazing at the Kofa Mountains as we blew past on our way north. We’ll make another attempt to camp here, we promised ourselves, sometime in the fall.

We had a motel reservation in Prescott. As we headed in that direction, we were greeted with snowfall.

Come morning, cars in the motel parking lot were blanketed with an inch or so of the white stuff.

We drove through more snowfall on our way through the mountains as we headed in the direction of home.

Our final night on the road would be spent at La Posada Hotel in Winslow.

The hotel was designed by Mary Colter for the Santa Fe Railway, and while a bit pricey, it’s become a favorite of ours.

The rooms are beautiful…

…with classic Southwest touches.

For us train buffs, tracks run by the back of the hotel, which also serves as the local Amtrak depot. We didn’t see the Amtrak train (it was probably late), but we did catch several freight trains rumbling by.

Inside the hotel, the “somewhat unusual”interesting” paintings by contemporary artist and La Posada owner Tina Mion grace galleries…

…and there’s a museum with train displays and artifacts…

…plus world’s largest (26 feet by 36 feet) Navajo rug.

The Turquoise Room, the hotel’s restaurant, offers delicious cocktails, which of course we sampled…

…plus dinner, which for me featured a gourmet steak (yes, there’s a filet mignon hidden in there).

At night in the hotel lobby, classical guitarist Khent Anantakai plays tunes and tells tales about his life . We now own both of his albums.

Come morning, we stuffed luggage into the truck and headed to the Turquoise Room for breakfast where I enjoyed coffee and a bowl of Chorizo Breakfast Hash. Very tasty.

Then it was off across the Navajo Reservation…

and on to home.

Morning Glory Arch

Our first hike of the year in January was a six-mile romp up Grandstaff Canyon (formerly Negro Bill Canyon) to Morning Glory natural bridge (formerly Morning Glory arch).

The canyon lies north of Moab. I first hiked up her 50 years ago with my step-dog and her owner, but I don’t think we made it to the bridge. My notes said the area was “beautiful!” It still is.

The trail up the canyon does a dozen stream crossings, which weren’t too bad with the water running low in the winter. Most crossings had well positioned rocks in place for hopping across.

It was, however, a bit nippy out.

Other than being a bit cold, it was a beautiful day for a hike. The air was clean (no California fire smoke) and the sky an unblemished shade of blue.

The bridge (arch) stands at the end of the canyon. With a span of 243 feet, it stands as the sixth longest natural arch span in the United States.

Another Swell Trip

Our weekend trip with the Colorado Mountain Club to Green River, Utah, got off to a somewhat shaky start.

Our original plan was to spend four nights in Green River before heading down to Arizona to drive our Subaru Outback Wilderness down El Camino del Diablo, the Devil’s Highway. This is a high clearance, 4×4 road along the Mexican border between Ajo and Yuma.

The road is now used extensively by the Border Patrol and looks to be in pretty good shape. Just in case we ran into trouble, we would be traveling with friends who own a Toyota 4Runner with real, low-range four-wheel-drive.

Unfortunately, our buddy was experiencing serious hip issues (getting old sucks) and couldn’t make the October departure.

We rescheduled the Arizona portion of the trip for next March but continued with the Green River part of the trip. I figured we’d have a chance to test the Subie getting to some of the trailheads along the San Rafael Swell.

That plan came to an impactful end when the Subaru was rear-ended by a 16-year-old in a Dodge Ram pickup truck a few hours before we were scheduled to depart.

Instead of driving the Subaru on the backroads,

we’d be taking the truck.

Our Arizona trip was to be all tent camping, but tent camping in Green River State Park can be a wet experience when they turn on the sprinklers.

Rather than pitch our tent, we opted to book four nights in the Labyrinth Cabin. It offers queen-size bunks, a refrigerator and microwave. The restrooms/showers stand a short walk away.

On Friday, we joined the group for the eight-mile, Little Wildhorse and Bell Canyons loop.

We first hiked these canyons by ourselves last April.

Back then, we found it to be a relatively easy hike through an inspiring pair of slot canyons.

Conditions in these canyons can change with every new flash flood, and this year, the canyon threw a few obstacles at us we didn’t remember from before.

It didn’t always look pretty, but Dianne did splendidly with her new, after-market knee.

Our group made it through just fine. We celebrated our successful trip that evening with burgers and brews at Ray’s Tavern.

On Sunday, Dianne decided to follow the doctor’s orders to not overdo it and remained in camp. I joined a group hiking Straight Wash to the Eardley Pools. The road to the trailhead was a typical, high clearance, 4×4 backcountry trail. I kept evaluating whether the Subaru would have had issues on this road.

Unlike yesterday’s slot canyons, Straight Wash offers more open terrain bounded by sandstone cliffs.

The hike was around five miles out and back over river rock, around brush and through sand.

Our turnaround point was a huge, cliff-enclosed plunge pool at the base of a redrock pouroff.

On the way back, we passed a group of high school students from Sandy, Utah. They arrived in a school bus, which we saw parked at the trailhead.

If that big yellow thing could make it in, our Subaru would have had no problem.

Opportunity Strikes

For those who don’t visit establishments that make and sell bottles of fermented grape juice, let me explain that many (if not most) wineries have wine clubs. Membership generally requires one to purchase a set number of bottles annually at a discount price.

Occasionally, wine club membership comes with spectacular fringe benefits. A California winery to which Dianne’s brother belonged, for example, once hosted a Moody Blues concert with wine club participants having an opportunity to dine with members of the band. Dianne was exceedingly envious.

Now that we live in Colorado wine country, my lovely wife joined the wine club at Bookcliff Vineyards, which is located 26 miles away in Palisade.

Bookcliff will probably never have the members of the Moody Blues over for dinner, but under the heading of “fringe benefits” this year the winery sponsored a cruise up the Douro River in Portugal, which was exclusively for club members like us.

Unlike Viking river cruises, which have up to 190 passengers onboard, the Bookcliff cruise would be on a smaller vessel once used as part of Queen Liz’s Diamond Jubilee celebration.

The Spirit of Chartwell carries only 30 passengers in surroundings fit enough for British royalty, and the trip cost was reasonable (less than Viking).

While it would mean postponing our sorta-planned trip to Australia, we decided the kangaroos could wait and immediately signed up to go.

We’d had long talked about taking a river cruise and this seemed to be a good opportunity finally to do it.

Now, Portugal is not my favorite European country. The last time I’d been there was in 1984 as part of our three-month, Eurail tour of Europe. Dianne and I were on a tight budget and stayed in a flophouse on the less opulent side of Lisbon.

Back then, we arrived in town on a Saturday, walked around the city on Sunday, took a day trip to the seaside beaches at Estoril on Monday and departed on Tuesday, hurrying off to Madrid.

In addition to the one-week cruise, this year’s Portugal trip would include three additional weeks of independent train travel around the country. Instead of fleabag lodgings, we would stay in three- and four-star hotels, safely located in the nicer sections of town.

With the trusted assistance of Google, I mapped out an itinerary that gave us multiple days for exploring Portugal’s two largest cities plus we’d enjoy a trio two-night stopovers in three smaller cities close to the coast.

This would be like one of those many trips I made when actively working as a travel journalist, only this time I would only be taking photos for stock sale and a slide show, not doing interviews and recording notes for a story.