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Published by klump04, 2018-10-07 10:11:08

JUST AROUNG THE BEND EIPIODE V TX, NM, AZ, CA, MEXICO

JUST AROUND THE BEND

Episode V



























Our guide, Bonnie, led us step by step. She’d
recommended pictures, lean against the walls for
certain views, pointed sideways, upwards, and
along the floor to see different characteristics of
the formations. She’d lie on the sand helping us
focus skyward. And all along she took photos
using each of our cameras.
It inspired all of us. I took photos, on my back,
leaning against the walls, along the floor where
the water had under cut the walls. Down the
path way. At just plain swirls, and light sifting
through the dust.












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A simple corner had a special meaning for her. It
represented the sands of time. Each time it
rains sands drift down from shelves, sometimes
for weeks afterward.
These sands are so fine it’s difficult to describe.
Possibly lighter than powered sugar. When
combined with the power of water it changes
everything.




















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We’ve seen it across the Southwest, in every
desert and along every great river. This was
exceptional, water from a thunder storm would
rush down the wash, curve into the funnel made
by the high walls. From 50 feet to 6. We know
when water condenses and runs through pipes, it
picks up speed. It does the same here when it’s
squeezed into the slot. When water collects
sediment it doesn’t double in volume, but grows
geometrically. So one gallon of water would hold
one pound of sediment. Two gallons of water
will hold not 2 pounds, but 4 pounds. That’s the
power of compression.

Several years ago there was a strong rain storm
that swept through the slot canyon raising the
level of the floor 5 feet. A month later another
storm flew through and carried away 6 feet of
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this super fine sand. We were standing on the
floor that’s a foot deeper than before. Amazing!
On our way back we encountered five other tour
groups. We had been the only ones in the slot,
but now it was filled with folks, all taking pictures
and leaning against the walls. It probably would
have been really crowed by noon. We were so
lucky. We all clambered into the back of the
pick-up and started off.

I resumed my discouraged manner, but a mile
down the wash Bonnie stopped the truck. She
got out and recovered my sketch book. A couple
of pages torn from it were also recovered. I felt
much better. She later stopped again to recover a
pair of sun glasses.


Horseshoe Bend


It’s not uncommon for the southwestern rivers to
meander around the desert. The Colorado does.
Here outside of Page is one of the several places
where it hasn’t been able to tear down the
barriers, and flows around the land creating a
horseshoe. To get to the precipitous overlooking
the river we had to climb and walk for a couple
of miles through the Arizona sand. It’s a
magnificent view, well worth the hike.




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As I’ve said before being close to the edge makes
me anxious. A fellow took my camera and
stepped to the edge for this picture while I took
the others. Now that was friendly.


























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Several times we’ve walked the sands. Often
we’ve hiked for miles in deep sands, and we’d do
a lot to skirt around it because it’s so difficult to
make progress.



























In the heat the deeper the sand the greater the
effort and energy. So over the weeks and
months, even before the White Sands in New
Mexico we had walked and observed hikers along
the trails.

Hikers continue in a similar pattern as if they
were on a hard surface. Often these people can
be seen taking long strides, a foot or more,
leaving deep foot prints behind.

The deeper the track the more work they’re
doing. The longer the stride the deeper you go
into the sand and the tireder you get. If you take

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a medium stride you last longer, and with small
steps it seems like your gliding across the soft
sand. Our guide in Sedona told us to take smaller
steps. He helped us then and should help us
every time we’re in the desert sand.
Because the climb to Horeshoe Bend was up and
then down we thought we’d try a little different
stride. On the way up even the smallest steps are
difficult. On the way down we sunk into the
sand with each step. The cushioning effect of
sinking was easy and helpful on our knees. So as
we headed down we took longer strides.

Small strides across the soft sand. That’s what
we’ll do if we can remember. The sand and our
energy level should remind us. But, just in any
case AVOID sand if at all possible.
Page was a lot of fun. Beside the bad Chinese,
we couldn’t ask for a better time. Our RV camp
was okay, EWS, plus the attendant helped us
connect our TV and Internet. The tours turned
out to be swell, and the River’s HorseShoe hike
was grand.

From Page we had a choice of going east to
Monument Valley, or west, to the North Rim.
We chose west to the North Rim.
From high above Page and the Colorado we
could see our road headed south down the
mountain side. At the bottom of the mountain
another road takes off parallel, back north toward


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the Colorado River and the Vermillion cliffs.
That was our road. Before we crossed The River
we drove 10 miles North then another 10 miles
back South along the base of the mountain. It’s a
pretty drive up into the mountains and forest to
the North Rim.


North Rim
The campground sign said FULL, as we pulled
up to the entrance. Expensive gas or not people
are still traveling. We’ve reservations so that’s
not a problem. Inside we headed for the
campground near the end of the peninsula.




























The North Rim is above 8,000 feet and over
look’s the South Rim by 2,000. This height has


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an effect on us as each time we bend over we
lose our breath. The Ranger says we’ll adjust to
it, in about two weeks, but we’ll be gone before
then. That was good to know. A runner from
Arkansas’s Ozarks had no problem at 5,000 feet,
but here he also loses his breath. Many people
get altitude sickness and suffer from headaches.
We drove to our site, a pull off along the road
which we had last time, Site # 43, dropped off
our trailer, and drove down to the Lodge.


























On our way through the lobby we stopped to
weigh ourselves for a mule ride. If you weighed
less than 200 pounds you could sign up. I
stepped up and was quickly eliminated. Maybe,
Arlene had put some pressure on the back of the
scale. She probably figured I’d be bucked off
when the mule came to a resting post.


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There were several friendly folks near the canyon
view. One young man from Florida State
University pointed toward a green spot deep in
the canyon. He had taken the boat through the
canyon a couple of years before, and said. ‘We
just pulled over to a sandy beach and threw out
our sleeping bags.’ Wow!
A tall teenager asked Arlene if he could share the
sofa. He had just arrived with his uncle and four
other family members. Despite all
recommendation they left the South Rim that
morning and hiked all the way down to the river,
had lunch at the Phantom Ranch, and hiked all
the way up the North side. Their grandmother
and grandfather drove around the rim to meet
them here at the lodge. Wow! It was easy to see


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that the North Rim encouraged a different kind
of visitor than the South Rim. They were more
active, rugged, and adventurous.
We had come down to the lodge to see the sun
set. We were rewarded with a sky display of
orange, red and purple, and their brilliant
reflection on the canyon cliffs.


























Back at camp we had a hearty dinner and
prepared for a cool night. We slept well, by
morning it was 40 degrees.

Today we’ll hike to the Final Point through the
Ponderosas, forest with wide open views.










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There were lots of grass and pine needles, but, no
wildlife, and no other hikers. The hills are
slightly rolling allowing us see 60 -100 yards
ahead and the trail unlike all Florida roads curled
around as it climbed up and down the hills. After
several miles we came to the rim of the canyon.
From there we followed along the path with
canyon views. Both of us were tired so before
reaching the point we turned back. Rules say go
only 1/3 the distance before returning. We had a
couple of Cliff bars for lunch and our bottled
water. That helped on the way back giving us
some quick energy. Off in the distance we heard
some thunder, above and through the singing
pines as there was lots of wind. The storm hit
about an hour after we reached the car. We’ve


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been told not to hike in the pine forests when
there’s lightning.
We like these forests and think it’s great that we
can see so far through and among them.

It’s estimated they grow 500-600 per acre.
That’s not very dense. But we always think about
the Settlers and how they could drive their
wagons across forests, over the mountains, and
plains. Their wagons being about 10 feet long
and 5 feet wide might have made it through this
forest. But, we understand these pine forests
were even more spare back then. They estimate
10 times fewer trees, between 50-60 per acre.
Rangers believe the Settlers could have driven
anywhere.
Yesterday was fine a day. It got much colder
after the storm and at night we climbed into bed
with our clothes and hats on. Our hats obviously
kept us warm. Arlene pulled her hat down over
her eyes. She likes it dark. I had on a baseball
hat and each time I turned it needed to be
readjusted. This night it got down to 30 degrees.

We’ve decided to hike down to the Lodge today.
It’s about 3 miles if we tramp through the woods
to the western edge of our canyon and down
along it. It’s called the Transept Trail. Tall
Ponderosas on one side and Oaks on the other.
Just beyond them was the crevice, a side canyon
with steep white cliffs topped with pine trees.
Below them the familiar red slope and straight

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down red cliffs formed another slope. That
pattern seems to follow everywhere. The trick
when going down or up is to find a rock slide.
On the far side we saw many such slides.





















































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If we could imagine how to climb down into the
canyon we’d start along the pine trees, but the
next step looked treacherous as it’s straight
down. How close could we get to the rim to see
a land slide? That’s not in our game plan.

We were down to the Lodge in 2 hours. Not
being a geologist, we have never paid much
attention to the hill sides. The canyons are cut
with layers of color, white, redish pink, brown
and sometimes black.
Did you ever wonder what the life of Earth
looked like? Of course. I thought it was once
round, then it became a blue ball. Maybe, but if
you would like to see it with your feet on the
ground. Come here to the Grand Canyon. It’s
our Earth in one grand image one vista, one
awesome glimpse and one experience.

At the lodge thereis a large diagram of Grand
Canyon’s geological formations. The formations
are defined by their dates in our earths history.
At the Top heading down the canyon are:

270 m The Kaibab Formation

273 m The Toro warp Formation
275 m The Coconino Sand Stone

280 m The Hermit Formation
A short 10 million years had a lot of changes in it.
We can recall camping in many of these different

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formations, some named as forests as the
weather eroded them leaving them open to our
atmosphere.
























































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315-285 m Supai Group

340 m Red Wall Lime Stone

385 m Temple Butte Formation
505 m Navajo Limestone

515 m Bright Angel Shale
525 m Tapeats Sandstone

740-1,250 m Grand Canyon Super Group
1,680-1,840 m Basement Rocks

Among the lower, older layers we easily recognize
the Navajo, and Bright Angel. The latter because
it’s the major trail down into the Canyon from
the South Rim.

We will see the Base Rock in Utah on our
Colorado River run. The oldest rock is called
Pre-Cambrian, it’s slick and black.
On our way back we walked along the road,
about 2 miles. It had gotten colder during the
day and as the evening approached there were
some flurries. Large wet flakes. We hadn’t
expected it, not until tomorrow, but just think a
couple of days ago we were sweltering in 100
degree heat. Obviously that’s what a couple of
thousand feet in elevation can do.








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We made it back to camp, and prepared for the
cold night. Soup and crackers to eat, sleeping
bags out of the van. We’ve changed them from
silky nylon because we kept slipping in them.
Our new ones are lined with flannel for warmth,
and we added a couple of microfiber blankets.
We had a pretty good idea how prepared we were
for the cold. Not so well. A quick evaluation of
our survival kits showed that our Tornado Kit
was useless. We didn’t have any electricity to run
the disc heater, our Generator that we lugged
across the country wouldn’t start at first, and
when it did it didn’t supply much umph. Our
fridge stayed on with propane, but we could
always turn on the propane stove. That was
encouraged by as many people as those who
thought it was okay to hike down the southern
side and up the north in one day. Zero.
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Never-the-less. We were toasty.
Tent’ers on the other hand had thier problems.
Their nylon walls don’t protect them much, so
unless they had below zero mummy sleeping bags
they were in trouble. Few did, as it is June, it’s
summer, and it’s usually really hot.

They are pretty creative however, and many
moved into the out houses, made of cement.
They resist the cold better than nylon, and with
more people crowed inside they raised the heat
level. In addition they ran the electric hand
warmers adding a little more heat. Everyone
made it through the night.
We warmed up under the blankest quickly, and
opened the blinds to watch the snow fall. The
pines covered with snow, and campground filled.
Before we fell asleep it looked like 2 or 3 inches.



























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This was a grand surprise.
This has been a full week for us. Starting with
the high altitude trouble breathing, the extreme
weather, adult ranger programs, hikes, troubles
with the trailer, and helping some other campers.

The latter is a short story of it’s own. A couple in
their new Class C locked themselves out, and
only had on T shirts. We offered our best coats
to them as they waited for the Ranger to pick
their lock.
There was the Roadtrec from Tennessee that had
so many problems they could and should make a
list of them. We tried, but finally gave up. Just
about everything except the motor was screwed
up.

We had our own problems with our fridge, and
after charging and re-connecting the battery the
wrong way; it blew out a couple of our fuses.
While I worked on it Arlene bought a block of
ice and put it in the fridge. I finally got the
battery working. Our fridge was okay after that.

We also talked to Alyx today. She and Jim had
just arrived in Page, Arizona. They were on a
whirl wind visit to different spots around Arizona
and had just left Zion. They drove right past us
to get to Page and didn’t know it. That would
have been neat to see them. Arlene likes the way
they travel, motel to motel. But, I’m not so sure;



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she would probably miss the open air and
freedom of camping.


























Our last hike was down to the Lodge and around
























the trails near it. There were several overlooks.
Each fabulous, but scary to get to as they lead out
onto some very narrow precipist.
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It’s almost impossible to get to Hoover Dam
from the North Rim, without going to several
other campgrounds. We won’t try; rather we did
go on to Hoover Dam and then Buckskin State
Park.
















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Buckskin State Park


We’ve dropped down to the Arizona, California
border along the Colorado River. It flows south
through Boulder Dam, Parker Dam to Lake
Havasu and Buckskin Mountain State Park. It
lies on the shore of the Colorado River below the
Parker Dam.
In addition to creating reservoirs and providing a
continuous and stable use of water for crops and
cities, these dams create electrical power for the
entire southwest. It’s awesome.

The dams also collect all the sand and debris
that’s washed down the river from the canyons
and run off from the desert rains.
Here at Buckskin the river is full and controlled.
It curves around the point of the campground.
We’re about 100 yards from its shore. It’s not
drinking water, but surprisingly clear and green.
We could see the bottom at 10 to 12 feet.

When we were in Yuma along the Colorado I
wasn’t able to go swimming. Not because there
wasn’t enough water, it was hip high at its
deepest. Now it’s a different story.
First I waded up to my knees. It’s cold, as the
dam is only 4 miles above us, and usually the
water is emptied from the bottom of the dam,
the very coldest. Another dam is about 20 miles
below. I dipped down, paddled around a bit,

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held my glasses with one hand and curled my
toes around my flip flops to keep from losing
them.
I’ve lost my share of glasses while swimming in
mountain creeks, rivers and bays. I lost one pair
while water skiing on the Severan River near
Annapolis, Maryland. I was 15 years old and my
father reminded me often about how smart that
happened to be.

The current ran strong and although I tried
swimming into it I was no match for it. Within
minutes I was frozen, and had enough. As I
climbed out the hot air, 100 plus, dried me in a
flash. Looking around the stark brownish tans of
the desert hillsides with the contrasting blue
green river was a beautiful sight.
The heat and wind reminded me of being in
Greece so many years ago. There I had the last
room in the hotel. It was on the roof where the
hotel’s linen was hung to dry every night. I’d
wake each morning with the maids collecting the
laundry. Everything was dried in hours, just like
here in Arizona .














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We were told that the Californios would arrive on
the weekend with every imaginable toy. They are
young, have big new rigs, personal water vehicles,
bikes, loud stereos, several children, rugs for the
front of their chariots, big motors for their fast
boats, cross country motorcycles, SUV’s or Jeeps
with special transmissions, and huge tires with
water tanks strapped on their sides.
Including everything they are known to be party
animals, friendly, and getting as much out of life
as possible.

We understood the camp would be lit up with
their party, and were sorry we’d miss them. But
tomorrow we’re headed into California to the
Salton Sea and Anza-Borrego desert.







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5 CALIFORNIA: #1

LAND OF OPPORTUNITY?


Imperial Valley

Salton Sea
Anza-Borrego

The Green Bucket
Desert Survival

Palm Canyon

Driving in the Desert
The Butterfield Stage




















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Imperial Valley



We’ve seen small hills and mountains since
southern Texas. Often these are the remains of
volcanic action. Sometimes they are a single out
cropping, or a small line of hills less than 20 miles
long.
Here in California mountains create the roughest,
driest, starkest, unrelenting landscape in America.
There are literally so many mountain ranges and
hills, it would be useless to name them.
Along the southern end of the state is a collection
of mountains called the Transverse Ranges. They
cut across the state from West to East, as
opposed to North and South.

It is here, across from Arizona and the Colorado
River where we encountered the worst bad lands
of all. The mysterious Salton Sea, the Imperial
Valley’s lush irrigated desert, the Sand Dunes,
and the Anza-Borrego Desert.

The geology of this region of the Sonoran Desert
has caused us to look at the land from the south.
From Mexico, and east, from California’s
mountain barriers. That’s a change for us as we
usually view geography from our maps, which are
top to bottom, north to south, or from the
United States toward Mexico. But, in this case
it’s twisted upside down.

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This area generally falls between the Chocolate
and Vallecito Mountains. Where millions of
years ago there was a huge lake called ‘Coachella’;
possibly part of the Gulf of California. Therefore
it made sense for us to look at it from The Baja
north. It dried up, evaporated, yet it’s deposits
helped to create the vast, arid, yet fertile Imperial
Valley. All it needed to blossom was a ton of
water. What a story that turned out to be.
We crossed into California at Blythe, after filling
everything with gas, at exit 1, the Flying J in
Arizona. There after California gas would always
be $.75 to $1.50 more. The border is marked by
the Colorado River. Once across we headed
South on Route 78.

This is a continuation of a favorite drive that
began in Flagstaff. The Arizona portion was in
the mountains. This portion is along the
Colorado, with the stark uncultivated desert on
one side, and the blossoming rich fields on the
other.

The narrow 2 lane highway curved around
irrigated fields. We would drive several miles and
then come to an abrupt 90 degree turn.

After a few turns we recognized when they were
coming along, and slowed down. There was
usually a small fenced ranch house nearby, and
several ditches gushing water. The gushing water
often ran under the road and off in several
directions encompassing the fields.

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We seldom were in the middle of fields. In fact
between us and the River, maybe ½ mile was a
desolate, uncultivated land, with a thin line of
trees at the bank of the river.
Once miles out of Blythe we came to a remote
area. Here was the beginning of a fun drive. The
narrow road rose and fell over the hills, into dry
washes and out over the top. The curves were
gradual and we kept our speed around 60-70
mph. Moving right along in our Class C rig. It
was like a roller coaster. Into one ravine pushing
our bodies into their seats, with a little clamoring
from the cupboards. Up, out into the air and we
would leave the seats all together. The cushions
in the back of the rig would slide toward the
floor, and a few doors would open. Up and
down we went like on a bucking bronco.
We came by and passed the Imperial Valley Sand
Dunes, stopping long enough to watch several
dune buggies tearing across the sand leaping into
the air as they crested a dune. From time to time
the road was covered with sand so we slowed up
as we felt like being on roller bearings; slippery.

Above us a Delta Wing Fighter hot dogged
across the sky. Spinning one way and then the
other, before disappearing over a range of hills.

Maybe this land is more surreal than
opportunistic.




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We stopped in El Centro, the center of the
Imperial Valley’s agriculture, for the night. This
is a busy city. Filled with irrigation field workers
and their families. Lots of old pick-ups covered
with dust, and stores selling groceries, work
cloths and gasoline. Our camp site was packed
tight, with bushes on every side of us making it
difficult to see our nearby neighbors. We were
lucky to get a spot.
We headed north out of El Centro continuing
this bizarre trip around the delta to the Salton
Sea.


Salton Sea


It’s possible that California had gotten ahead of
the Public Works programs that saved our nation
during the New Deal of the 1930’s. They had
created a California Development Corporation,
CDC, too among other things work out a plan to
bring water to the Imperial Valley.

Around 1905 they built a series of canals and
ditches from the Colorado River into the valley.
All of which might have been okay except the
river broke its boundaries and flooded; really
flooded the old lake bed creating a new lake. The
Salton Sea.
Since then the Salton Sea has had a wild and
crazy history of boom and bust. Lately it’s been

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mostly bust. The more natural problems arose
from a combination of agriculture, fertilizer,
generally salty remains of arid land, and a lake
that had no outlet.
The latter means that during the hot summers of
100 - 115 degree days the water was never
replenished. Evaporation took its toll while
oxygen was depleted, and the little additional
water came from runoff, filled with more
fertilizer and salts.

Characteristic of these kinds of problems were
massive fish losses, in the millions, uncontrollable
algae blossoms covering the entire surface, and
for the migratory fly way, disaster for thousands
of birds. At one point tens of thousands of
pelicans died. It took over 3 days to cremate
them.

Political solutions have abounded, through the
years with very little success.

During the boom years of the late 40’s and 50’s
several communities were built. More people
came to the Salton Sea than visited Yosemite.
Guy Lambardo the orchestra leader, also a
hydroplane racer set several speed records there
during those days.
In the 70’s several storms seemed to reek further
havoc on the lake and things have only gotten
worse since. The once popular and busy sea side
resort developments had become ghost towns.


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In this photo from the lake’s museum you can
see an empty desert, and harbor, once filled with























vacation homes, fishermen and water sports.
We arrived on one of those usual desert days
with blue skies, no clouds and 95 to 105 degrees .
It was mostly what we had observed crossing the
deserts from Texas. Except the air was not clear.
We couldn’t see the mountains on the horizon.
Our guess was smog from Los Angeles. Really,
our eyes burnt. We should have read a little
more about the lakes history.

We registered for 3 nights and had our choice of
sites. The campground was a large parking lot
with electric posts at each site. It was empty.
There were a few Mesquite, and Ironwood trees
and the usual Creosote bushes with fluffy pussy
willow balls.



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It’s said that these bushes, which we’ve seen all
over the deserts are the oldest living plants
known to man. Older than even the giant
Redwoods.
The Cahuilla Indians used them for their huts
along with palms. We were told that they had
quite a life style and varied diet. They would eat
snakes, lizards, insects, rodents and fish, and for
vegetables they ate plants including mesquite,
screw beans, yucca, grass seeds, cactus, pickle
weed and wild onions. As we’re not particularly
fond of those foods we suppose they also
smoked them. But we don’t know.

After the CDC had given up the responsibility
for the area it was taken over by the Southern
Pacific Railroad. They had several times during
the years moved their rails further from the shore
because they were under water. In an attempt to
correct the problems they are said to have closed
down all rail traffic into Los Angeles for 2 weeks
as they filled every freight car with gravel to
dump along the shore.

It might have worked as every couple of hours a
freight train came rumbling past us. Four engine
diesels passed every two hours. These must be
the largest engines driven by man. They
throbbed so strongly they changed our bio
rhythms. The freight cars, with two containers
per car rumbled by for over a mile. If they were
filled we’d feel the earth shake. We wondered

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was it really the train or the San Andrus Fault
that lay below us.?
We had been told that the winds were strong and
we could expect them to blow over 30 knots
every night. They were right. Every evening they
would howl, hot and blustery until around 3 am.

Arlene was up most of the night with all the new
sounds. The window blinds clanging, the
windshield cover’s magnets thumping, and the
swaying truck, even without the periodic passing
trains.
Now after the long night she was tired and a little
Coo Coo.

‘How can the little birds keep from being
blown away?’ ‘ Look at that one clinging to the
branch for dear life.’
‘Woo! Woo! Here comes another train.’

‘We should be able to tell the Engineers by
the sound of their blast’.

‘There’s the ranger; right on time 8:00. No
he’s a little late this morning it’s 8:04.’
‘Where do you think your brother wears
his fishing license? ‘Of course it’s on the back of
his hat.’

She’s now dishing out the vitamins and asks me.
‘Did you mix the baby aspirin together?
Ut! Oh! I wasn’t sure how to answer. The baby
aspirin is red for cherry and orange for orange

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flavor, otherwise they are the same. What
difference did it make if I had? I didn’t answer.
She rolled on:

‘How fast do you think the wind blew last
night?’ ‘About 50 miles an hour’.

‘It’s a wonder we didn’t wake up on our
side. Blown over by the wind’
She laughs.

‘It’s time to go to the bathroom.’ ‘I can’t
wear my straw hat. Woosh it would be blown
away…..AND ME TOO.’
We took our time getting started this morning.
Our hike was between the shore line and the
railroad. We came across several Ironwood trees.
They like the run off of water from the roads and
train rails and have these small pink flowers.
Ironwoods like so many of the desert trees, even
through they are hard woods, only grow 20 feet
high and are wirey. Richard wanted to make a
walking stick out of one of the branches, but he
would never find a branch straight enough.

We came across several dead fish. It was ugly,
with their eyes pecked out. The smell was awful.
Still despite everything people fished here.










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It’s easy to guess the rating we’ve given Salton
Sea State Park because of the history. But,
beyond the history it gets a zero, 0, because of
our personal experience.
The Sultan Sea State Park is the pits. The camp
is beside the highway, a railroad, and sits in a
large parking lot. Our site was near the fish
cleaning area. It is mostly inhabited by fishermen
on the weekends, who on the whole are scum.
They leave the facilities in filth, toilets filled,
unclean and dirty, as well as the showers. The
shore line is covered with dead fish and the shore
area covered with agricultural fertilizer. It stinks
of foul water, green algae fish kill and foul
fertilizer. It’s only reprieve is the high winds that




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help keep the stench away and wicks the sweat
away.
We’re glad to leave, but must say this experience,
of poor management of our environment; it’s
water, land and people, will be applied to our
evaluation and understanding of every area and
park we visit.

The CDC and California were brought in early,
to this experiment, and the disaster created by the
aggressive land developers, and ‘farmers’. They
both have, and are spreading their ill will all over
the country with no regard for the land or more
importantly our water sources.
We’ve seen it, and lived it in Florida, where
housing communities of 3,000 or more homes
are built without concern for water. Their
solution is to bring water down from northern
Florida and northern states. It’s typical of
developments all across the southwest, Texas’
San Antonio is horrible, New Mexico and
Arizona.

California got a head start on large scale abusive
development in the early 1900’s with limited
environmental supervision, and have been at it
for over a century. The next step, which has
already begun will be for industry, agriculture,
and developers to drain the aquifers.




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Anza-Borrego






























The Green Bucket

The temperature must have been around 105
degrees as we drove into the Anza-Borrego State
Park. We headed straight for the campground
picking out a good site. We didn’t stop at the
Visitors Center, didn’t go into Borrego Springs.
We wanted a campsite, and we chose one at the
end of a long line. It overlooked the Palm
Canyon with steep brownish red mountains on
each side.
Usually, when a site is picked out you mark it
with a sign or park in it until you’ve registered.


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We marked our site by putting a green bucket on
the site’s post, and then went to register. We
needed supplies so after registering we went into
town and before returning stopped at the Visitors
Center.
When we returned our bucket was gone. We
pulled in Richard jumped out and ran down to
the entrance. No one had seen the bucket, not
the Rangers, the hostess at the gate, the trash
collectors, no one. Our neighbors on each side
were still there. They hadn’t seen anything either.

We suspect that stealing things in a campground
is recognized as such a taboo that no one paid
any attention to these rummies. Maybe, but we
have never in a combined camping lifetime which
spans over 100 years ever lost anything.
We were outraged. This is what we recall. It was
probably lifted by a family in an old white Ford
pickup, and an old Class C, RV, with orange and
bronze stripes. There were several bicycles on
the back. They were looking for a site at the same
time we were. He didn’t know how to drive the
RV, or was just plain sloppy, as he backed into a
site near us, crushing several bushes.

We’ve seen a lot of poverty on the road in
villages, towns and cities, and across our country.
It is really difficult not to brand these poor
people as thieves’. Yet in fact this fellow was no
where around. I’d searched the campground and
the thief with his broken down rig was gone. We

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were pissed, and Richard wanted to catch them
and let the air out of their tires. He thought it
would be an appropriate response to stealing our
bucket.
The Green Bucket is gone. Stolen by some sap
that $3 must mean something, or maybe his life
has a different view and value than ours.

For us the bucket had a long history. It was
originally purchased to take to Alaska. To wash
dishes, and carry water. It did that for over 8,000
miles across the southern states up along the
Rockies, into and through the Yukon and Alaska.
But, it didn’t become an integral part of our
history until late one night after midnight. We
were parked in a railroad station in Skagway, with
heavy rain. It was so dark we couldn’t see
anything, including the city that surrounded us.

Arlene couldn’t hold out any longer and that
night she christened the green bucket; forever to
have another role in our lives and travels.
Through Connecticut, and New England, and the
following year to New Foundland and Labrador.
It crossed the great deserts in Texas, New
Mexico, and Arizona doing a yeoman’s job.

Now it’s gone, and may the thief find a hole in it.
That creepy bastard.





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Desert Survival


There’s so much more to this place than a
desperate response to our bucket in 100 degree
heat. There were a few palm trees around the
campground but not much more than bushes
beyond it. Palm Canyon interested us as we were
camped right by the entrance, but couldn’t see
any palms nor any creeks or water anywhere.
But, before going hiking we needed to review
what we’d learned at the Visitor Center the day
before. The lecture we fortunately walked into
was about survival in the desert. We carried a
backpack with us when ever hiking. One we’d
packed before leaving home.

It was filled with important survival gear, first
aide kit, snake bite kit, pepper spray, flash light,
nylon line, duck tape, and a Swiss Army knife.
We also carried water, a camera, and sometimes
binoculars. It’s a heavy lift, but worth the
precaution.
We were ready to hear about the important stuff
to carry with us, and got out our pencils being
sure we’d have to add things.

In the Desert be sure to:
1. Always carry lots of water. Check.

Historically Europeans sailing from
Mexico to California had a hard time sailing
north into a constant wind. They chose to travel
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across the land, along the San Andreas Fault, yet
never carried enough water. Nothing has
changed throughout the centuries. Today, many
emigrants lose their lives in the desert without
water.
2. Always wear a hat, and good shoes. Check.

Please don’t be impressed by our city folks
that arrive here for a hike and weekend in the
desert. Too often they will not wear any
protection on their heads or bodies, and flip flops
on their feet. Hiking boots, and a sun or cowboy
hat are your best protection.
3. Always wear sun protection Check.

We are constantly changing our SPF sun
block, from 30 to 50 and now 70. It goes on
each morning and several times during the day.
In addition we have solar clothing that protects
us from the sun and lets air circulate.
4. Don’t drive off the roads Check.

We would never do that. But….Visitors
are known to run out of gas, get hung up on
rocks or boulders.

5. Carry phones, and solar blankets Check.
It’s so easy to get lost in the desert. Be
careful you might need provisions and gear to
spend the night.






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6. Beware of varmints, particularly Brown
Recluse spiders. They are everywhere.
Check.
7. Always know where first aide and help can be
found. If bit by a spider, call and head for the
nearest hospital immediately. They are deadly.
Check.

Surprise announcement!
DO NOT USE a SNAKE BITE KIT.

But we’re not sure what to do other than get
help.

8. Carry scotch tape or duck tape and some tools
like pliers. Check.

Cactus thorns or spires often are bent like fishing
hooks. Once they grab you they don’t want to let
loose. Tape or even pliers may be the only way
to remove them. A multi tool is a must.

With the lecture concluded and our list ‘Checked’
we were ready to head up into the canyon to find
the Palms. Oh, there was one other suggestion.
9. It’s a good thing to get out of the sun early in
the day. Check.

Palm Canyon
We were up early and ready to go by 5:30 am.
The sun was just peaking over the eastern
horizon. Palm Canyon’s trail begins about a ½
mile from our camp site. The walking was flat
half way on the road and ½ on the desert sand.

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It’s something like a beach, except the sand is
harder and you don’t get that sinking feeling. At
the trail head there was a small sign warning that
these were the last facilities; so take a break. We
did, and they were flush toilets with running
water.
But, a little different than any we’d ever
encountered; there was no roof. We guess if it
never rains you really don’t need such things.

Or as the Peggy Lee’s song goes ‘The roof she is
leaking and the rain is pouring in. If someone
doesn’t fix it we’ll be soaking to our skin. But if
we wait a day or two the rain may go away, and
we won’t need a roof on such a sunny day.
Manana, Manana, Manana is soon enough for
me.’
We wore wide brimmed hats, SPF sun
protection, sun protection clothing and hiking
boots.

A short time later the desert had totally
surrounded us. We hadn’t climbed up very high,
but had walked up and around boulders, down
through dry washes and across the sand filled
with growing plants. Within that short distance,
½ mile we realized that the flat desert, wasn’t
very flat.
Up the canyon we walked trying to keep our eyes
on the trail. It wasn’t all that easy as it never
went straight for more than 50 feet or so before


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twisting around some rocks or cactus. It wasn’t
helpful to look ahead, even though the steep
canyon walls gave us a pretty good idea of our
direction. But to follow the path became a study
of one foot after the other without anticipation.























It was rugged. At one point we stopped to drink
and rest. It was quiet, only the birds were busy,
but that was all.

A jet flew over-head breaking the silence. They




















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are everywhere and we suspect take pride in
crossing our national parks and uninhabited
lands.

























As we began our trek again we crossed some
rough areas and around a couple of larger
boulders. Just below us were all these green
grasses and flowering plants. There was no water
in sight, but we could hear a trickle.

It is so easy to miss something by a couple of
feet. We could miss the water, the flowers or
even a wild sheep, or horse could pass by us and
we’d never have known it.

Around another corner and we could see the
palms, and a small stream as clear as glass,
flowing easily over a few boulders.




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We stayed for a while, as the sun climbed into the
sky, it was nearly 8:00 am and we needed to heed
the Rangers warning.
























It’s easy to believe that these mountains were
once a sea bed, and had been pushed up by the
sinking and rising of our tectonic plates. They
are all rocks and sand, unlike granite. They
support very little vegetation. There is nothing
solid, it’s like the top of a crumble pie crust. The
top of the hills are sharp and edged, and the sides
are steep, with the larger rocks and boulders

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mostly at the bottom. The floor of the canyon
was filled with these boulders that had been
shaken from the mountain sides. We suspect
from earth quakes, as neither rain, nor wind
could move them.
Hikers were now coming up the canyon, and true
to our Ranger they were often poorly dressed or
unprepared to be in the desert. We saw adult
hikers with flip-flops, Tee shirts, bald headed
with no hats, and no sign of water bottles.
Children in bathing suits, and probably the most
disturbing, babies being carried on back packs
without any protection; arms and legs exposed,
and no hats.

We made several turns in the canyon before we
couldn’t see the palms. By 9:00 am we were back
in the RV, and within half an hour the air
conditioner had lowered the temperature to 85
degrees. Outside it was headed for 110. We may
learn to live like snakes; in during the day and out
at night. We may even start dinners later, move
them from 5 to 7.



Driving the Desert
We drove south to Aqua Cliente, a natural spring,
walked around it and then headed back. We
needed to take a few side roads to see what’s
hidden behind the Mesquite and Creosote
bushes.


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Side roads are a little less traveled and a lot easier
to get lost on . We don’t plan to get lost and
surely don’t want our van to break down. But,
here we go, and near Occitilla Wells we stopped
at a desolate campground. We saw no sign of a


























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