I am determined to do 2 posts tonight. I have a growing list of things I want to mention, some of them getting so grizzled they're not relevant any longer. I admire the bloggers (interesting that that word is considered misspelled by the blog site) I read who discuss current events and impressions of the world today. Unfortunately, my world is only a few acres, with occasional short forays into other places that don't get NPR. But that's another of the posts I've been meaning to get to. In the meantime, just a few more words about the way back from Moab before it becomes a distant memory.
Felix lasted right through til midnight--I left Arches at 11 pm, with single-minded focus on securing a popsicle for myself. I figured I'd stop at the first convenience store I saw, but I continued down Main Street to City Market, where they had cherries on sale for $1.38/lb. There's very little I like better than fresh cherries, and City Market is affiliated with King Soopers, whose value card I've kept in my wallet since college, just because it has a pretty picture of mountains on it. So instead of $9 for cherries, I paid just over $2. Better than a popsicle. I left a trail of pits back to my campground.
I stayed up to watch the moon set. It's so captivating when it's not being outshone. Maybe I can relate. Whatever the reason, I didn't want our evening to end, so I sat at the picnic table drinking up the stars and the glint off the cars and listening to the river until the moon called it a night. As previously mentioned, I also kind of got up to watch the sun rise, since its presence heralded the end of comfort inside my tent, but doing without sleep is easier when you're on your own time.
I hiked into Negro Bill Canyon, a trail I would never have known about if it weren't for BLM camping. For the first hour or two at least, it was pleasantly shaded, and the vegetation along the creek at the bottom was food for my soul. On the way back, I wanted nothing more than to walk IN the creek, but it wouldn't have been good for my boots. The penny finally dropped on the most important lesson of hiking in the west (after "always bring raingear, no matter how ridiculous an idea it may seem"): DON'T step over tree limbs in the trail. 'Round home, trees falling on the trail are as common as dead squirrels in the road. You shrug, and go over, under, or around them any way you can. Out here, there are no trees to fall on the trail. If a branch is there, it was put there by a person, and it's telling you not to walk that way. I had a VERY hard time following this principle in Negro Bill Canyon, but it was ultimately true every time.
Just about the time I started wondering why I was doing this, I finally arrived at Morning Glory Arch. (it's really a natural bridge, but only strict purists care about changing the name) I've lately often suspected I've seen all the rocks I need to see, but so far, I've always been wrong. This one provided the most welcome cooling cave, and the tiniest waterfall I've ever seen. I sat down to enjoy a Clif Bar and the solitude. Then another recurring theme: Ah silence! Oh no, people coming. Let's chat and get it over with. Hey, I like these folks. As I've often expressed, I believe that if I do the things I like to do, I'll meet people who like to do those things. So it hasn't brought me the love of my life, but I've sure had a lot of enjoyable conversations. This time it was a family from Westchester with 3 girls. The girls--the oldest of whom was about 11-- all had hiking boots and camelbacks, and were clearly excited about what they were doing. They had named all the lizards on the trail, done some rock scrambling, and talked enthusiastically about adventures past and future. The family was on a 2-week circuit of Utah's National Parks. There, with God's grace, go I.
Had meant to take a walk around Moab, but my energy was flagging by this point, although I did manage to find a shop with reasonably priced homemade ice cream. Mission accomplished.
Returned by the "back" way. Nowhere you'd ever think of going, but a lot prettier than a lot of places you would. Much of the Western Slope is a tourist wasteland, despite the fetching red mesas that stretch on and on and on. One of my favorite driving activities is to pick a point on the far horizon and measure how far it is to get there. This was utterly hopeless where I was driving. Green scrubby mesa on the left, red stripey mesa on the right, and, way way in the distance, snowy peaks dead ahead. The towns I drove through had a vitality, and little else.
One of my inbound destinations was Telluride. It's precious, but strikingly located. All I did there was take a nap.
And with that, my peaceful palapa has been invaded by 12 adolescent boys. This part of the evening is over.
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