I have just completed a 2,700 mile round trip through Utah, Montana and Wyoming. Almost all was new territory, sights unseen, landscapes foreign. Each location provided a different character of geologic creation, history of exploration and discovery, and places for living, mostly rural with great distances between humanity.
Utah was the greatest surprise and most varied and distinct. My hiking group started not too far from the Colorado entry into Lake Powell. Encampment at a state park named Goblin Valley, indicative of the strange, ghostly sandstone formations, like Casper (the friendly one). From here the group explored Horseshoe Canyon, to see at least four displays on the canyon walls of ancient nomadic peoples, perhaps as much as 3,000 years ago. Rather strange human depictions, easily mistaken for alien images, as well as various animal drawings. These were not only amazing for the artistic creativity of the drawings, but more so for the mystery of meaning, and why the mummy shaped figures were drawn so, why some had designs within and without, others were more simple. Plus, the fact that the images have survived for so long.
Next were explorations of slot canyons, where the natural forces of erosion have carved narrow canyons deeply into the rock, some so narrow that passage was possible only from a sideways approach or at times, even climbing above and beyond was necessary. The carving into these walls created fantastic lines, curved around and down or up, often disappearing down under the sandy bottoms left from the worn down dust of the walls beside, or washed down by sudden torrents from up canyon. One fellow hiker told how he was once here, and was surprised to find in one canyon a man practicing his sand wedge shots (golf) in the natural sand traps readily available. What a great idea, except the thought of one errant hit sending a golf ball ricocheting against the walls lessened the enthusiasm somewhat. These slot canyons are incredible for their geometric beauty, as well as color.
After four days in the area I left toward Montana. On the basis of advice given I set out a lonely dirt road to intercept another road I was guaranteed would be one of the most beautiful I would ever see. For 34 miles I crept along, encountering absolutely nobody else. Washboard road mostly, on an apparent desert mesa, there were countless places where high water, having nowhere to run, crossed my path. The road had no direction it seemed, wandering in no specific direction. These water routes also seemed to come from any and all directions, as if there were no high ground which would cause downhill runoff, running left to right, right to left, up, down, like dripping hot chocolate on a bowl of vanilla, dripping all over. There was no absence of anxiety, seeing no one, and crossing a few times low muddy water crossings, with no assurance I would not get stuck. But, one hour and a half later, I escaped, to find the promised path.
And what a reward I received. I approached one entrance to the Capital Reef National Park and drove toward the town of Escalante. The colors easily captured my amateur artist eye, and more so, my heart it did thump madly. Gorgeous reds, of various values, showcased the rocks rising up into the sky. Wonderful ragged, jagged shapes, butting heads, or separating not with anger, but with independent urge to find another path. Shadows of crevices and cracks provided perfect opposition to the sun reflected on the outward walls. At one of the many stops for photos, my Ipod plugged to the ears, I could not but begin to dance lively on the red sand, excited by both the beat and the beauty. Easily could have been around a fire, with fellow warriors in preparation for the coming kills, or in celebration of the coming spring as the sun and moon interlocked (or struggled) in embrace. Then, in the distance, another car approached, so I retreated, withdrew, and acted normal again. However, at two distinct times on this journey, this being one, I came oh so near to an epiphany, an understanding of my time, place, purpose. Did not quite succeed, but I knew I was close, very similar to knowing you are almost at the point of being able to balance on that bicycle, of mastering the guitar riff, knowing how that algebraic equation works.
Then my road switch backed upward, providing elevated views, as well as a distant background beyond. Once above, there was no change in magnificence, only now the added pleasure of creek or river below to provide even more contrast, with the vegetation. I imagined how in only a few more days, the cottonwood would soon be showing grand yellows and orange to blend with the dominant reds. What photos that would produce!
From there I put distance behind in a mostly straight line to the town of Missoula, Montana. Once in Montana it was an easy observation to note the difference between the terrain of western Colorado and that of Montana. Neither could be considered flat, but the sculpted heights of the two are like comparing a bear chain sawed from pine, versus the hand smoothed clay work of a nude reclining. That is, where the Colorado Rockies of which I see are angular, sharp, defined edge, those of Montana are smooth, rounded, more easily touched. Not sure if there is an age difference between the two, or what geologic history accounts for the difference.
Missoula, a college town, was enjoyable. Much effort has been made to be attractive to its citizens and visitors. Long paved bike and hike paths were in several locations, allowing for all types of enthusiasts. Neither small nor large, the town has almost all one could want. It certainly was attractive to me, both the sights, and new friends, a feeling very comfortable.
From there it was toward home. Across Montana, north of Yellowstone through central Wyoming, before heading south. But, before exiting Montana I visited the Little Bighorn Battlefield (Custer’s last stand). It was both educational and interesting to see the setting and read explanation of the related events. Seems it was two days in progress and not just a moment in time. There were several skirmishes over approximately a five mile distance, involving more than just Custer and his company. Far more were killed than just the few on that hill top. Markers have been erected over the area to indicate where soldiers died. Interesting to view over the distance these markers that numbered over 200. Now there is an effort to also indicate where the Lakota, Cheyenne and Arapaho warriors fell. To stand on that space and view the surroundings and imagine the action was actually exciting. From there I made it back, very glad to have made one more trip before winter comes.
Once again I have put something in the bank. The memories have been quite an investment, with wonderful returns. Perhaps it has not happened according to the plans of a child counting days to when I grow up. Most would state that hasn’t yet come to me, for me. But, I still search for the place, the idea, the persons, the ideals. And, I did come very close.
Keep your heart above your head and your eyes wide open
So this world can’t find a way to leave you cold
And know you’re not the only ship out on the ocean
Save your strength for things that you can change
Forgive the ones you can’t
You got to let it go.
Looking back now on my life I can’t say I regret it
And all the places that I ended up, not the way ma would have had it
But you only get one chance in life to leave your mark upon it
When the pony he comes ridin’ by you better sit your sweet a... on it.
Keep your heart above your head and your eyes wide open
So this world can’t find a way to leave you cold
And know you’re not the only ship out on the ocean
Save your strength for things that you can change
Forgive the ones you can’t
You got to let it go
(Z Brown )
Photos to be added soon
Utah was the greatest surprise and most varied and distinct. My hiking group started not too far from the Colorado entry into Lake Powell. Encampment at a state park named Goblin Valley, indicative of the strange, ghostly sandstone formations, like Casper (the friendly one). From here the group explored Horseshoe Canyon, to see at least four displays on the canyon walls of ancient nomadic peoples, perhaps as much as 3,000 years ago. Rather strange human depictions, easily mistaken for alien images, as well as various animal drawings. These were not only amazing for the artistic creativity of the drawings, but more so for the mystery of meaning, and why the mummy shaped figures were drawn so, why some had designs within and without, others were more simple. Plus, the fact that the images have survived for so long.
Next were explorations of slot canyons, where the natural forces of erosion have carved narrow canyons deeply into the rock, some so narrow that passage was possible only from a sideways approach or at times, even climbing above and beyond was necessary. The carving into these walls created fantastic lines, curved around and down or up, often disappearing down under the sandy bottoms left from the worn down dust of the walls beside, or washed down by sudden torrents from up canyon. One fellow hiker told how he was once here, and was surprised to find in one canyon a man practicing his sand wedge shots (golf) in the natural sand traps readily available. What a great idea, except the thought of one errant hit sending a golf ball ricocheting against the walls lessened the enthusiasm somewhat. These slot canyons are incredible for their geometric beauty, as well as color.
After four days in the area I left toward Montana. On the basis of advice given I set out a lonely dirt road to intercept another road I was guaranteed would be one of the most beautiful I would ever see. For 34 miles I crept along, encountering absolutely nobody else. Washboard road mostly, on an apparent desert mesa, there were countless places where high water, having nowhere to run, crossed my path. The road had no direction it seemed, wandering in no specific direction. These water routes also seemed to come from any and all directions, as if there were no high ground which would cause downhill runoff, running left to right, right to left, up, down, like dripping hot chocolate on a bowl of vanilla, dripping all over. There was no absence of anxiety, seeing no one, and crossing a few times low muddy water crossings, with no assurance I would not get stuck. But, one hour and a half later, I escaped, to find the promised path.
And what a reward I received. I approached one entrance to the Capital Reef National Park and drove toward the town of Escalante. The colors easily captured my amateur artist eye, and more so, my heart it did thump madly. Gorgeous reds, of various values, showcased the rocks rising up into the sky. Wonderful ragged, jagged shapes, butting heads, or separating not with anger, but with independent urge to find another path. Shadows of crevices and cracks provided perfect opposition to the sun reflected on the outward walls. At one of the many stops for photos, my Ipod plugged to the ears, I could not but begin to dance lively on the red sand, excited by both the beat and the beauty. Easily could have been around a fire, with fellow warriors in preparation for the coming kills, or in celebration of the coming spring as the sun and moon interlocked (or struggled) in embrace. Then, in the distance, another car approached, so I retreated, withdrew, and acted normal again. However, at two distinct times on this journey, this being one, I came oh so near to an epiphany, an understanding of my time, place, purpose. Did not quite succeed, but I knew I was close, very similar to knowing you are almost at the point of being able to balance on that bicycle, of mastering the guitar riff, knowing how that algebraic equation works.
Then my road switch backed upward, providing elevated views, as well as a distant background beyond. Once above, there was no change in magnificence, only now the added pleasure of creek or river below to provide even more contrast, with the vegetation. I imagined how in only a few more days, the cottonwood would soon be showing grand yellows and orange to blend with the dominant reds. What photos that would produce!
From there I put distance behind in a mostly straight line to the town of Missoula, Montana. Once in Montana it was an easy observation to note the difference between the terrain of western Colorado and that of Montana. Neither could be considered flat, but the sculpted heights of the two are like comparing a bear chain sawed from pine, versus the hand smoothed clay work of a nude reclining. That is, where the Colorado Rockies of which I see are angular, sharp, defined edge, those of Montana are smooth, rounded, more easily touched. Not sure if there is an age difference between the two, or what geologic history accounts for the difference.
Missoula, a college town, was enjoyable. Much effort has been made to be attractive to its citizens and visitors. Long paved bike and hike paths were in several locations, allowing for all types of enthusiasts. Neither small nor large, the town has almost all one could want. It certainly was attractive to me, both the sights, and new friends, a feeling very comfortable.
From there it was toward home. Across Montana, north of Yellowstone through central Wyoming, before heading south. But, before exiting Montana I visited the Little Bighorn Battlefield (Custer’s last stand). It was both educational and interesting to see the setting and read explanation of the related events. Seems it was two days in progress and not just a moment in time. There were several skirmishes over approximately a five mile distance, involving more than just Custer and his company. Far more were killed than just the few on that hill top. Markers have been erected over the area to indicate where soldiers died. Interesting to view over the distance these markers that numbered over 200. Now there is an effort to also indicate where the Lakota, Cheyenne and Arapaho warriors fell. To stand on that space and view the surroundings and imagine the action was actually exciting. From there I made it back, very glad to have made one more trip before winter comes.
Once again I have put something in the bank. The memories have been quite an investment, with wonderful returns. Perhaps it has not happened according to the plans of a child counting days to when I grow up. Most would state that hasn’t yet come to me, for me. But, I still search for the place, the idea, the persons, the ideals. And, I did come very close.
Keep your heart above your head and your eyes wide open
So this world can’t find a way to leave you cold
And know you’re not the only ship out on the ocean
Save your strength for things that you can change
Forgive the ones you can’t
You got to let it go.
Looking back now on my life I can’t say I regret it
And all the places that I ended up, not the way ma would have had it
But you only get one chance in life to leave your mark upon it
When the pony he comes ridin’ by you better sit your sweet a... on it.
Keep your heart above your head and your eyes wide open
So this world can’t find a way to leave you cold
And know you’re not the only ship out on the ocean
Save your strength for things that you can change
Forgive the ones you can’t
You got to let it go
(Z Brown )
Photos to be added soon
