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Published by klump04, 2018-10-10 13:27:20

Just Around The Bend Episode VI UTAH The National Park

JUST AROUND THE BEND

Episode VI
CHAPTER 4


GRAND STAIRCASE-ESCALANTE



Escalante
Calf creek

Around And About Escalante

The Town
Hole in the Rock

Escalante State Park
Anasazi State Park

Burr Trail
Escalante River

Capital Reef National Park

Green River State Park

















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Not far from Bryce and Kodachrome, about 30 miles, is the
town of Escalante. So we didn’t have a long drive along Route
12. In fact we have been in and around this new National
Monument called the Grand Staircase-Escalante ever since
arriving in Bryce. Looking out beyond the hoodoos to the
horizon, is all ‘Staircase’. Kodachrome State Park was also
part of it. President Bill Clinton signed it into existence.
Another, large chunk of Utah going for a good cause.

The Grand Escalante Stair Case is very large, almost 2 million
acres and is divided into three areas. Our favorite is the
Canyon lands around the town of Escalante.

During our cruise on Lake Powell we skirted the Southeastern
side on the Colorado River from Page, Arizona. It may be the
largest nationalized area in the U.S. and is managed by the
Bureau of Land Management, BLM.
We stopped at the BLM office in Escalante and asked about
the Escalante State Park. It was closed for renovation, but
there were a couple of other campgrounds nearby. We
listened to their descriptions, and chose one. A place called
Calf Creek , on the Eastern side of the town.











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It’s true that the further away from civilization the smaller the
campground. In some cases rural camps are a pull off on a
dusty road. Sometimes they have as many as 25 sites. We’ve
stayed in a few, and after adjusting to the wilderness and
remoteness have found them okay. However, we seldom
become comfortable as we often find ourselves alone. And
carry no real protection or special security with us, which
leaves us feeling vulnerable.

We’ve never had an issue, but stories abound. Cousin Patty,
had an interesting experience when hunting with her husband
and sons in Colorado. They left her alone in the camp trailer
to go off into the mountains after Elk. During the early
morning she was wakened by the trailer rocking. A bear had
come to visit her. She’s a tough lady, showed great patience
waiting for the bear to leave. She didn’t shoot the bear, but
today never goes hunting with them.

Route 12 had dipped into this canyon crossing the Escalante
River and began heading up the side when we came to the Calf
Creek Camp turn off. All 12 of it’s sites were just off the road
into the canyon. All sites were along the creek, some











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at the same level and 3 above it. We chose site #12, away
from everyone. There was just us and the host.
Although it was in the sun, it’s amenities were several. It was
flat, we had our own clean pit toilet, and there was no
objection to running our generator. Besides that we were 30
feet above the creek, and if need be we could climb another 40
feet to safety from a flash flood.

We took 2 nights. It rated a 1 ½ from us, but we loved it.




































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By this time in our camping career we had realized that lots of
campers liked our choices. We knew that if we left a camp site
we might return with it taken; ie. The Green Bucket in Borego
Springs, or our camp site at Joshua Tree National Park.

To maneuver around these unpleasantries we got a sign which
we left on the campsite when not there. It said ‘CAMPSITE
OCCUPIED’. We’d leave it on our site’s post, and it always
worked. Later, of course when we pulled a dingy or our trailer,
we’d leave our RV or Trailer when out on an excursion.
The ice cold creek water ran over flat rocks along the canyon
floor for about 3 miles. Both sides of the canyon were pretty
steep and at the end it rose 800 – 1,000 feet boxing us in. Box
canyons are often used as a natural corrals for cattle. We’ve
seen them in Zion, near Amarillo in Palo Duro Canyon, and
elsewhere.

















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Our hike along the floor was worth it. We started late 9:30
am, on a 95-100 degree day, but were rewarded with steep
cliffs and shade trees.

Our enthusiasm picked up when we heard the falls. Before we
had been walking through a winding trail of soft sand. There
were signs of lizards slithering through, Bob Cat paws, deer
hooves, and skat, but no animals. Where could they be hiding
in this closed canyon?
At the end of the trail the water tumbled 250 feet over the
rocks into a large sandy basin. As the cool air settled over the
shallows we splashed in, and waded up to our knees. Even
with numb feet we headed for deeper water against the rocks.
It was wonderful, showering over us, refreshing and freezing.

How could the water be so cold, when it’s in the sun? We’ll
never know. Our nylon pants, and protective shirt were drying
before we reached the shore. We’re not use to single digit
humidity, but here it was in full blossom. In minutes we were
mostly dry.

On our way back we played and climbed the sides of the
canyon. We could get use to the solitude and beauty here.
Maybe we should sign up for a couple more days









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.





































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We returned to camp by 2:30 in the blazing sun, flushed from
the heat. We turned on the generator and ran the air
conditioner while we rested.
Not too many years ago we caught the Gold Fever, in the
Yukon. Our panning experience was limited to flakes so small
that you needed a microscope to detect them. The assayer
laughed at us when we asked about open claims. Every inch
of creek, river, hill and mountain had been staked out. It
wasn’t easy but over time our urge subsided. We thought.







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Oh happy days. The only other camper at Calf Creek, the host,
was a certified gold bug. He wasn’t able to tell us where we
could make a rich claim, but he did help us with information,
about equipment and info about GPPA.

That’s the Gold Prospectors Association of America. By
subscribing to them, we’d get regular tips on where, when and
how to mine. He thought we’d also need some equipment, a
pick, shovel, contour maps, and dredging material. That’s
miner’s moss, and a pan to scoop up the gold.
He mentioned how convenient a place like Calf Creek was to
stay while panning, as the BLM paid for his camp site, and a
small stipend. But, the surprise was when he said we should
have health insurance. Of course; health insurance to cover
our recovery expenses from broken bones and stitches while
exploring and panning for gold.
Maybe on second thought we’ll keep our enthusiasm in check,
and set it on the back burner.

Our last view of Calf Creek was on our way toward Boulder
along the narrow road Rt. 12 that was lately, in the last 30 years
paved. If you look closely the trail to the falls follows along
the green trees, and the creek at the bottom of the canyon.









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ESCALANTE TOWNSHIP


On our second day, we drove into Escalante. It’s a small town
with a general store, grocery, and allegedly a 4 star restaurant.
We stopped for a few supplies at the grocery, found a collector
that had several Louis L’amour paperbacks that my brother
Joe didn’t have, bought them, read them and mailed them to
him.

However, our budget couldn’t afford the 4 star chef. We kept
going as it was going to be a busy day for us. We figured we
might be able to get into the State Park, if not camping. Just
for a hike.
We also wanted to investigate a sign we’d passed for the ‘Hole
in the Rock’. Our map showed a road, about 55 -65 miles
through the desert, and Stair-Case down to where we had seen
the Rainbow Bridge, near where the Escalante River entered
the Colorado.

















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HOLE IN THE ROCK


Mormon pioneers had taken months to make it down to the
Colorado. We were lucky. In our RV we could cover the


































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HOLE IN THE ROCK
distance, and back in one day. The road was rough, rocks and
dust, and wash board, from the dry weather, limited traffic,
and never being plowed. We rattled along watching devil dogs
spiraling upwards in the wind, and being passed by speeding
pick-ups. We had no clue where the pick-ups were headed, as
you might be able to see from this photo. There was nothing
anywhere in sight.

















We do have a couple of postulates, unproven by us, as to
driving wash board roads. We could drive slowly across them
making it less stressful on the rig and us. We could drive at a
regular speed, thereby tearing everything in the RV apart. Or
driving at a high speed, hopefully gliding across the top of the
mounds flattening the ride.





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This last one is pretty exciting. At high speeds on these gravel,
sandy roads you lose control, and float. It’s like being on ice,
you sort of slide along, in some direction.

We have tried all of these techniques. This time, before our rig
fell apart from the shaking and we lost our cool we turned
around after 10 miles, and slowly drove back. The ‘Hole in the
Rock’ would have to wait until we drove our ATV 4x4 there.



























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Back on the road it wasn’t far to the Escalante State Park.
Yes, it was closed, but for $4.00 we could park and climb
around the trails. All trails led upward into the hills. We came
to the park because of the Petrified Wood. On the hill sides
there was lots of it. Arlene stands beside one large log. This
was a different environment than the Petrified Forest National
Park in Arizona, desert yes, but it rained enough to support
trees and bushes, and the small town.








































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Interestingly, though closed, we met up with a young family
from Europe that was camping there while on their way across
America.

Many foreign travelers are the most adventurous and
fascinating. This family, mother, father, boy 6, and girl 4 ½
had flown into Seattle, bought an old RV and expected to sell
it in Boston, before flying home. They were very friendly,
spoke with a lovely French accent. Among their stories was
traveling in Africa, BC, before children, on elephants through
the Kruger National Park. We enjoyed talking to them and
hoped they would have a pleasant summer.
























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ANASAZI STATE PARK


North of Calf Creek route 12 climbs high onto a ridge that
crosses to the small town of Boulder, Utah. It has a Post
Office, an Indian dig site, and two roads. Route 12, in and
out, and the Burr Trail. The latter really isn’t a road anymore,
but during the 1940’s was used by uranium miners on their
way to find tragic riches.

Utah has preserved the Indian site, and tried to rebuild it. It’s
a State Park, without facilities; the Anasazi, ancient people
museum. It’s not very impressive, but Utah is doing well to
preserve it. The buildings were made of flat sandstone rocks
laid on each other with a crude clay mortar. Many were
underground built with slender limbs from forests within 15
miles. They were not like so many of the cliff dwellers around
the Southwest.




















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The Burr Trail, route 1668, leads off the crest of Boulder into
the desert to the edge of Capital Reef, a deep cliff in the desert.
We ventured into the desert wilderness on this partially paved
road.























Down from the crest we passed a couple of ranches, past Deer
Creek, and a small seven site campground. There were some
rusty cans, a strand of barbed wire, but no fence. No fire pits
and no other sign of campers.














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Beyond the camp we descended into a gulch where 3 canyons
met. We took the longest and came out upon this burgundy
and blue velvet hillside. It was beautiful, like mohair, it
collected light. We stopped and walked across it. It crunched
under our feet. Unlike the sandy footpaths we were use to,
this earth was made up of thousands of little granules thereby
collecting the sun, and holding the light.











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We drove within 2 miles of Capital Reef. If we went further
we’d have needed our ATV to take the last miles down the
steep rugged paths left by the miners into the park. After
lunch we returned to Boulder, across the ridge to our camp.
We had driven 50 some miles down and around the Escalante-
Staircase following the Burr Trail Road.































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At the bottom of our little canyon, Calf Creek merged into the
larger creek called the Escalante River. The Escalante then
flows south for 70 miles through the Grand Staircase to the
Colorado. The southern trip would have been pretty neat,
with our kayaks. But that was BK, Before Kayaks. We were
on our feet, or more specifically our Merrells.

The trail head was just above the two rivers where a sign
greeted us announcing the trail and that we surely would get
wet. Two 4” logs lay across the shallow river so we figured
we’d take a chance at keeping dry for a while.

We have become pretty good about preparing for our hikes.
We often take a walking stick with us even though I prefer to
walk without anything in my hands. We pack some safety
things, snacks, lunch, pencils, and notebook. And always take
our useless cell phone. It’s used for emergences, and where
ever we go, in any emergency it won’t work. Because despite
AT&T, or Verizon’s ads they don’t cover us. All these things
go in our backpack.

The Escalante River Canyon was much wider than Calf Creek .
It had a deep sandy base with dense bushes, cedar and
cottonwood trees. On each side were tall red sandstone walls
occasionally separating for smaller canyon passages.
Somewhere ahead of us we could hear a cow bellowing. We
would be alert to that, even though we hadn’t seen any wild
life on our trip to the falls. We were in Open Range country.






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Which meant fencing yourself and anything you didn’t want
trampled in while letting the cattle run free. It also meant
beware of these semi-domesticated animals.

We hadn’t gone far before meeting a bird watcher who had
seen a Peregrine Falcon. He was a biologist from of all places
Englewood New Jersey. We talked a bit then went on our
way. Thanks to our chat we would keep our eye out for the
birds. It wasn’t long before we saw a raven perched on a
ledge.

We came to the next ford and waded right in. It felt good, and
cool. The bottom was all sand. The slow current came just
above our ankles, wetting our shoes and socks. It was easy to
walk across.

We moved along as the underbrush became thicker, and the
trail narrower. On every side were sage brush and bushes 4-6
feet tall. Prickly Pear cactus was everywhere so we watched
our step. It was all dry as it hadn’t rained for some time, and
the temperature was nearing 100 for another day.
The river meandered back and forth from one side of the
canyon to the other. The fords were enjoyable; each time we
lingered a little longer, and kicked around more water. Once
on the far side our boots collected enough sand that we had to
knock it off with our sticks.

We stopped for lunch in a shaded spot with a couple of rocks
to sit on. There were a few cow pads around but we hadn’t
heard anything since leaving. That was 2 or 3 miles back.




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A little further and we saw a large red arch up another canyon.
An alternate path took us closer. There were some cow cakes
on the shore, and large hoof prints on both sides of the river.
We supposed the cattle, had headed up that canyon into the
shade. That was enough for us we weren’t going any further
toward the arch. Retracing our tracks to the main trail we kept
going.
A couple more fords and it became clear to us that this was
great fun. The river was moving in a consistent manner, with
a generally sandy flat bottom, no falls, and very gentle rapids.






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At one ford it was possible to see the river coming down past
a large cliff. We stayed in the river and hiked up to the cliff.
The river was whittling it’s way into the cliff, creating a cool
pool as it circled.

This was a lot of fun and we splashed and played at the pool
side for half an hour, before deciding it was time to head back.









































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We started down the river as we had come, except as we
reached the trail we didn’t take it. It had really gotten hot and
why should we lumber through the deep sand when we could
stay in the river?

































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It was slower, but so much cooler. Besides we were so pleased
with our new hiking plan that we didn’t care. After a while the
tip of Arlene’s shoe started flapping. She was losing her sole.




















Soon the whole front of her Merrell was loose. It was time to
examine our backpack for something to mend the shoe. It
was easy, we had a little duct tape that I wound around her
foot. Back into the water for awhile before our last half mile;
across the blistering hot sand.

The duct tape didn’t hold so well in the water, and once in the
sand the shoe split open again. This time we took the green
shoelace off of Arlene’s safety whistle. We tied it around the




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boot. She could walk a hundred yards before the caked sand
became too much and we had to clean her shoe and kick off
the sand before retying it. If the sand wasn’t so hot she could
have gone bare foot, but heavens it was close to smoldering.
Arlene hobbled the rest of the way back to camp. Along the
way we decided to add a few additional things to our
backpack. We had a Swiss Army knife, but no rope to cut.
We also would add some electrical, and waterproof tape.

What a time, and what a ball Calf Creek has been for us.
Tomorrow we’d leave for Capital Reef.

Our Grand Esclante-Staircase experience wouldn’t be
complete without a view from Dixie Forest 9,000 feet above it.
































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Leaving Calf Creek was difficult yet we were gone by 8:30 up
and over the Hog Back into Boulder. Recounting the good
time we had there and down into the canyons below.

Outside of Boulder the road began to climb. We’d been told
about the pines, but we weren’t ready. Nor were we able to
realize that this road had been paved for the first time in 1985.
Fifteen years ago. Imagine that. Up we went and the earth
turned green. Cattle grazed in the pastures and ranches lined
both sides of the road. A mule deer crossed in front of us.
We passed a ‘road closed’ sign signaling the winter weather
they have. Up we went into an Aspen forest at 7,500 – 8,000
feet. The pastures were filled with summer grass and
flowering Black Eyed Susan’s.
Up even further to 9,000 and finally leveling off at 9,400 feet
before we headed back down through the Dixie National
Forest, into a couple of small towns, Grover, Torrey, to our
destination Capital Reef.

The campground in Capital Reef is called Fruita. A no frills
camp without electric or showers. Mostly a stop over between
Bryce and the Arches/Canyonlands National Parks. Fruita












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comes from the Mormans pioneering the area, growing apples
and peaches. Behind us across the wooden fence from our
camp is the orchard. That’s where most of the mule deer are,
all day, never disturbed by us. We’ve been over there a couple
of times, to find, pick and eat green pears, and apples. It also
has a nice trail along the Fremont River which is the source of
all the water, and the lush vegetation.










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South of us lies the narrow canyon for which the park is
named. It’s a simple drive, 15 to 30 miles down a twisting
narrow road. The walls of the canyon are stacked diagonally
like many books bent over slightly to one side.

Unlike Calf Creek we’re not adjusting to the heat, so for this
trip we’ll mostly do house cleaning preparing to go on to
Green River and Arches.

It’s always easy to tell when we’ve had too much, when we’re
tired or the heat has lasted too long. That’s when we become
snappish, irritable and much less tolerant of each other.





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Being angry usually doesn’t get either of us very far,
particularly when you think about how stubborn Arlene can
be, and often it exhausts both of us. Doing housekeeping is a
good remedy, as each of us has different jobs thereby giving us
separation.

The RV is just small enough so if everything doesn’t have a
place it gets messy. We follow that rule. Find a place for it or
forget it. Being that I’m a pretty good packer, we seldom say
no to anything that catches our eye. Meaning that we
occasionally have to tidy up the RV.

We sleep on a narrow couch, and each morning we slip off the
couch, fold the blankets, sheets, and our egg crate, storing
them overhead, in what has become a catch all area.

We once thought about sleeping overhead, but a couple of
trips without a ladder, a couple with a ladder, and we realized
that our middle of the night john trips would end in tragedy,
with broken bones or worse. It’s our storage area now and
forever. Besides our bedding we keep our golf clubs, a
folding table for outside cooking, two backpacks, hiking sticks
in some order of finish, many hats, and a box of maps. Arlene
does most of the cooking. She has a way with coffee. Her’s
being a bit stronger than anyone else’s. So she’ll whip on the
generator, or heat the water on the propane stove.
She also has certain instincts. She’s a bit fastidious. All our
food is cooked, and the drinking water is filtered and
chlorinated again, by us.





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For a long while we bought only processed, ultra sound and
violet lighted drinking water. But for the past several weeks
we’ve been in the back country, and not finding any good
processed water. In fact we’ve not found any water that’s up
to snuff. Calf Creek didn’t have running water at all. The
faucets here are all pad locked.

I’d bought a few steaks that we kept frozen. But with the
problem with the refrigerator it’s a good idea to grill one. She
doesn’t want it put on the fire pit, so I’d suggested briquettes
for heat and flavor, aluminum foil over the grill to keep it
sanitary. I don’t get it, what part of 400 degrees is unsanitary?
Never the less it’s really too hot today to argue with her. I’ll
just punch so many holes in the aluminum that the steak will
think it’s on top of the grill.
I’m not always the devious one. We have had a problem with
the fridge, it cuts out from time to time. To monitor it is
simple, just check the lights and punch them back on when
off. I have become obsessed with it. Checking the lights all
day long. At night every time I turn over I open my eyes in
semi-consciousness to see if they are lit. I’ve been after her
to help out and do a little checking herself. She has promised
too, but I know better. Today she’ll check, and mention it,
tomorrow she won’t mention it, and the day after tomorrow
she won’t check at all.

I rest my case…That’s why we need a little separation. We got
a lot done cleaned up the RV, made lists for things that needed





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to be done in Moab, and prepared to leave for Green River the
next day.

Another time, August 2012, at Capital Reef we got out and
hiked.
































That time, there had been bad weather, rain that caused many
of the trails and most of the roads to be closed. Among these
roads was the rough Burr Trail we’d taken from Boulder. It
occurred to us that just beyond the road barriers were the great
dirt roads that lead into the canyons and up the walls to
plateaus. Miners had used them for years. They had very little





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traffic, and now being closed they wouldn’t have any. What a
great hiking trail they would make.

With little trepidation we climbed over the blockades, and
hurried out of sight around the first turn. We were in a world
of our own. Each side of the canyon 200 feet straight up.
Fused light softened the floor, and huge boulders had fallen
into the road way. We hiked around and over the debris for a
couple of miles, in some places streams of water were still
pouring from the cliffs and crevices.







































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Beyond one bend was an open area with a few small trees and
brush. There we saw a couple of Big Horn Sheep. They were
languishing in the shade of the trees. We’ve seen them
elsewhere and been really impressed by their size, swiftness
and utter brutality. But we’ve always had something safe
between us. A car or a pair of binoculars. Honest; our flight
and survival genes kicked in really fast. There was nowhere to
run, to escape from these wild animals.






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As we backed off, keeping our eyes on them, thinking what we
should do if they were a bear. We’d make ourselves big. If a
cat we’d make ourselves bigger. But, nothing prepared us for
Big Horn Sheep. We just kept back peddling until we were out
of sight. Then moved quickly around a couple more turns. It
didn’t take us nearly as long to get back to the main road and
our trailer, safe and sound.

The best news was that we learned that closed and rough roads
made good hiking trails and paths for us. Especially as we get
older and need a little easier grade, but still enjoy the grand
views and semi-isolation.

Since our last visit 10 years ago we’ve changed from our RV to
a Casita trailer. It hasn’t a generator and unless you have
electricity there’s no air conditioning. We now open every
window to attract the smallest breeze. Hide under every tree,
plan and track the sun, and don’t stop at just flat sites. We
head for the site furthest from all the other campers and
closest to the orchard. This is where the small Oak, Ash and
Popular trees shade our camper. Where the apples hang like
jewels and the deer are so brazen they make sure you know its
their place not yours. This is it, the deer, the fruit, and the
flies. We hope for an afternoon rain shower, better yet a
thunder burst to cool everything off.

We raised the awning to funnel the air flow. Keep the screens
on every window closed tight, and the screen door hooked.
Unpack the fly swatters, and place them at every strategic spot.
The bed, TV stand, stove, microwave, dining table, and hang



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them from the shower head and closet handle. Our motto is
to take no prisoners, smack every insect, kill all flies.

I have to take a moment to digress. Years ago I lived in a war
time, WWII, apartment with my family. There was no air
conditioning and by 9:00 each morning my mother had every
door and window closed, except for the one on the top floor.
It had a window fan in it and she always turned it on. It drew
cool air from the basement, throughout. My mother and
father were about 15 years apart, he 52 or so and she near 40
while I was just coming into my wild state around 5 or 6. My
memory comes to me because I didn’t recognize any use for
doors. And surly windows were used for a great escape. From
early spring into late fall I never closed a door, in either
direction, in or out. Parents so often live with their obnoxious
children. Mothers forever reminding those brats not to do it.
My poor parents must have been exasperated.
But my poor grandmother Williams had it even worst. Every
summer she must have lived in shear terror of what I would be
like when my parents were on vacation and she had to handle
me. She was a tough lady, but, unfortunately no match. She
must have stayed up weeks before we arrived worrying about
what I’d be like that summer.

We are no longer 5 or 6, nor 52, and 40. We’re beyond life’s
expectancy and rue the day that heat rises above 78, or chills
below 68. We are, and stand by our age to our own testimony.
Here’s to 70+. May it last in every way forever.





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Smack those critters down!

By evening we had several glasses of Shiraz, and strong forget
it, Gin and Tonics. For desert we had a local undercooked
apple pie.

It had been really hot over 100 so all windows were open, even
the back one, beside Arlene’s bed. She slept the best she
could in the heat with all our little battery fans blowing on us.
I finally turned them off around 4, and the quiet smothered us.
Oh! Its so quiet. Can you get use to it? As I lay in bed around
6 am I could hear a chipmunk climb out of its hole, crack an
acorn, and another slurping morning breakfast on a juicy fallen
apple.

You could probably hear a snake slithering across the grass.
Every noise is audible. Outside the big window I listened to
two campers preparing breakfast. The clatter was ear
splitting…as we have begun to wise up to the natural sounds.
The morning cool has become more significant. We took
more time to enjoy it and ourselves.

I could hear everything our neighbors did, every movement
every step. They lit their stove with a couple of automatic
clicks, then lowering the propane flame. They cracked eggs
plopping them into the skillet. It on the stove, and then









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sliding around the grill as they swished the eggs. Pouring
coffee and settling down to a quiet conversation over
breakfast.

Above this was a gentle breeze blowing through the orchard,
and the thud of an apple falling from a tree onto the ground.































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There’s more to Capital Reef than the scenic road south of
Fruita where we saw the sheep. East of the campground on
Route 24 are a couple of roads. One leads to Cathedral Valley,
another called Notom Road, leads down from the Reef toward
the Burr Trail.

Route 24 is a beautiful road down the Fremont River Canyon.
It’s redish and tan walls, are steep like a gorge, the river twists
and turns for miles before opening on to a flat desert, with
strange dark gray mounds.


























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We drove through a couple of towns with interesting names.
Luna Mesa must have had a population of 20, three buildings a
barn and two pick-up trucks. Outside of ‘Luna’ it’s as flat as a
pancake.

Hanksville, another was a fork in the road, with a gas station.
Probably the last stop for boaters headed the 50 miles south to
Lake Powell. That road would have been a poor alternative to
the ‘Hole In The Rock’ road, as it was paved.

We stopped after Hanksville, along the San Rafael Reef. Often
these ‘Reef’ rises, or faults are long and ragged. Unlike a mesa,
they were probably once under water, as all the desert was.


































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Here in the middle of nowhere we pulled over and I got out
and headed across the sands.

There was a thin crust over the surface. I didn’t feel like I’d
fall through into a hole, but just pressed down leaving my
unmistakable size 9 Merrell tracks behind.

We got down to business after that stop and met Interstate
70, and were soon overlooking the green irrigated patch of
town, and driving down main street of Green River.

th
It was early June, the 7 , of the new century, and the Green
was running a little slower than peak, at about seven mph. Still
high, but not overflowing. It comes out of Wyoming, crosses
northern Colorado down through the town and eventually
becoming a main tributary to the Colorado.

We got gas, but there was no reason for us to stop. The State
Park didn’t have electricity, we’d never swim in the muddy fast
flowing river, and we didn’t need any groceries.

Yet here we were in what turned out to be a cute little
campground, with plenty of shade, and a rollicking group of
campers.













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The campers were a group of high school seniors, 15 boys and
girls who’s senior trip was a week at camp. They were loud,
and fun loving. Swimming in the river, covered in mud, rolling
and wrestling on the shore until covered, and then screaming,
yelling and singing in the showers until washed off. Their
campfires never seemed to be doused.

Arlene and I seldom have a chance to talk with young people,
but in a camp setting it’s pretty easy. One young lady, was
headed for the University of Utah in the fall. She had visited





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Israel, Mexico and England. If this is our next generation it
should be grand.

We went to the John Wesley Powell Museum, and Canyon
Rafting ‘Hall of Fame’. Like so many small private museums
across the country it was pretty nice. Good stories about this
one arm man who finally made it down the Colorado, and
wrote about it.

This whole area, The Grand Staircase, Canyonlands, all of
southern Utah was the last of the lower 48 States to be
surveyed and mapped. We knew the Burr Trail was opened in
the 1930’s and 40’s by Uranium miners, Boulder was the last
Post Office to be serviced by a mule train, and Utah Route 24
and 12 roads were hard surfaced only in the 1960’s.

Arlene is sitting outside the Museum. Behind her is the Green
River. It dosen’t look like there’s much of a bank between
them. We wondered what it was like when the spring flow
comes.
Maybe they would jump into John Westly Powell’s whaler like
boat.














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While the high schoolers never quieted down we found
ourselves awake after 10:00 most nights. It was always cooler
outside the RV than inside. I suppose we should have tracked
the temperature each day since we left Tallahassee, Florida,
today it was 102. It’s been really hot all the way, with no rain.

We visited late one night with another camper who had been
all over the globe. Their African trip seemed interesting and
doable.

We had a tee time of 8:30 at the parks little golf course. My
back was sprung on the first tee. The course was in good
shape, manicured greens, and irrigated fairways. Despite my
poor start, both Arlene and I had a good round. Not counting



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