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These areas were small and we were able to get
really close to them. In the case of Sedona we
actually walked around them.
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It was when we arrived at Canyon De Chilly in
Arizona, on the Navajo Reservation that we got a
real feeling about the grandeur of these
structures.
Canyon De Chilly:
Most of the Navajo Reservation in northeastern
Arizona is desolate and arid. It’s hard to imagine
how these people have survived after the way
they have been treated by our Federal
Government. In fact it has really been grim.
Outside of the National Park we were accosted
by a couple of young Indians asking for a hand
out. Alongside of them was a sign pleading with
any tourist not to show any charity or give any
hand outs to individuals.
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Canyon De Chilly, pronounced ‘Shay’ is marked
by two large hills, each with a tower on them.
They were resurrected by the Spanish, in the
1500’s. It’s a good thing because we might have
never found the canyon if those Spanish sentinels
were not there.
Inside, the canyon floor was a fine white sand so
deep that only a horse or hiker could cross it.
Only Navajo’s were allowed to drive into the
canyon. The deep sand sank the tires of jeeps,
and 4X4’s. We watched a farm tractor try to pull
a pick-up out, without any luck.
We fortunately, took a tour as it was the only way
we could see the cliff dwellings. Get a load of
our tour bus. It’s a repainted, refurbished army 6-
by truck. It could go anywhere.
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There was no problem crossing the sand in it.
Once we had gotten deep into the canyon there
were a few trees and horse corrals. The cliffs on
both sides were steep, shear sandstone without
any trees or brush growing on them. On the
northern, sunny side, were these stone and clay
structures. They were at the foot of the cliff, and
crumbling.
They looked a little like the Sedona ruins, except
there were many more buildings, and different
shapes. Some were taller, like a tower, many
were rectangular and there were a few round
ones.
All of them were on the ground, protected by the
overhanging cliff.
Above them was a vestibule. What looked like a
large slash in the side. It might have been 60-80
feet above the ground, and 150 feet from the top.
We could see the most famous of all their
dwellings, The White House.
It looks like they modified their shelters to
accommodate the canyon. It would be difficult
to get into the canyon with all the sand. So there
might not have been the need to build above the
ground.
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However, this was the only place they could
build, and it looks full.
It was a good day we had in Canyon De Chilly.
The sand was the most surprising to us. But, we
had seen our first Cliff Dwelling and they were
impressive. It would have been neat to climb
around in them.
On a different note the U.S. Army was chasing
marauding Indians during the middle and late
1800’s trying to protect the many settlers while
moving West. Kit Carson led his cavalry into
the canyon and chased the Indians up into a high
tower. They would have been safe except they
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didn’t have any water and eventually had to
surrender.
We left Canyon De Chilly and headed toward
Shiprock, Arizona and into Colorado to visit the
mother load. The Cliff Dwellings at Mesa Verde.
Before we move on to Mesa Verde and the
national park we must say it’s unfortunate we
haven’t visited Chaco Culture, National Historical
Park. It’s in New Mexico, a large long lasting
Indian preserve. We understand it’s difficult to
get to; along unpaved roads.
Mesa Verde National Park:
It had been a long day and I suppose we were
tired so to drive up onto the Mesa surprised us.
For some reason we weren’t expecting it, or how
steep it was.
It’s a large mesa, and several miles to the
dwellings. We had reservations at the Park’s
campground. The sites were not very nice, but
separated from each other in the woods. Other
than that there was nothing special about them.
Often the National Parks have substandard
campgrounds, even when they are run by
contractors. Our rating was a 2.
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In the morning we were greeted by this young
deer. It would have breakfast every morning.
Mesa Verde is a large series of Mesa’s mostly
forested with Pine, Oak, and Cedar Trees. There
are lots of ravines and canyons that separate this
mesa. So it is possible to cross from one area to
another while still high above the Colorado River
floor. In some areas we would pass across
narrow spits of land to another large Mesa.
Like in the Canyonlands where we crossed into
Dead Horse Point. A narrow natural passage.
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On the southern side of the Mesa were the
inhabited cliffs. They face to the southwest, and
must have provided a lot of warmth for these
stone villages.
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Arlene is walking along a trail that overlooks the
rugged countryside and cliffs.
It’s estimated that as many as 4,000 people,
Anaszia, lived on the Mesa. Only 600 of them
lived in the cliff dwellings. It was special.
Once we came upon the cliffs that held these
shelters we were amazed. We also saw some
differences between them and other Cliff
Dwellings.
The differences may show how flexible these
people were using their environment.
The biggest discovery in Mesa Verde was the
agriculture and use of the land. Archaeologists
believe that they cultivated the top of the Mesa,
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not the bottom of the canyons. We were shown
hand and foot holes carved into the stone leading
to the top. There doesn’t seem to be any trace of
the canyon floor below the dwellings being used.
Comparing that to Canyon De Chilly, you can see
there was no way they climbed that shear and
steep cliff. In fact they built shelters on the
ground under the overhang.
The natural slices and cuts in the cliffs were used.
Here you can see two different sets of building,
each in a different overhang of the cliff.
Many different structural shapes were built. They
not only left narrow passage ways between them,
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but built to the back of each mountain as well as
to the top of each.
We could see many different shapes. Not all
were square or rectangular. The circular ones
may have been used for spiritual activities or
water reservoirs. Walls separated areas, towers
may have been like apartments. Open areas were
for meetings and social events.
Sturdy cedar ladders were used to get from one
apartment to another. The ones we climbed
were 4” verticals with 2” rungs, substantial.
Arlene scampered up these ladders, waiting only
for the slow pokes.
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Often entrances were not through door ways, but
through holes in the roof. Here I go down into a
small chamber 6 by 8 feet, a common size.
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Families of 4 may have slept and lived in the
single room.
Like at Canyon De Chilly many of these building
are given names. There was the ‘White House’
which was easy to tell because it was a different
color than the tan sandstone.
Here in Mesa Verde there are many outstanding
structures. There’s the Balcony House, the Cliff
Palace, and the Spruce Tree House. Each was
easily identified, but we wondered about the
Spruce Tree. Had it lived the 500 years
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before we visited? Some trees do and we’ve seen
them. There was also the Long House and the
Step House.
Actually, we were so overwhelmed at this
incredible place and our ability to go all over. To
walk in the footsteps of the ‘Ancient Ones’. The
Rangers were wonderful.
In the apartments tree limbs were used for
ceilings and roofs. It’s believed that the surface
of the Mesa could have been denuded of them,
for their use.
Cultivation of crops was on top of the Mesa. It
was probably corn and beans. The latter should
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have replenished the soil with nitrogen, keeping it
fertile. This method of farming unlike our
southern planting and growth of cotton which
leached our fields from Virginia to Texas,
making it necessary to move westward to find
new fertile soil.
Here is one of the several Rangers that helped us
understand all the research that’s been done on
these cliff dwellings.
In the background, you can see the cedar posts
that were used to separate the levels and rooms
in this apartment.
Water was not only kept in basins, but there were
several springs inside the cliffs. They were
obviously, used and helped to fill the reservoirs.
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Food was stored in separate rooms around each
village.
We returned each day, climbing down the metal
stairs from the other side of the canyon to the
villages.
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Our last view of the Cliff Dwellings was from the
other side of the canyon, through the Oaks.
We have such an appreciation for these people
and their work. We wonder how they
disappeared, and why we haven’t been able to
discover the reason why .
We are left with the question, and an answer for
our understanding of their culture and our
civilizations. Our answers are:
Yes, we are different. Yes, we should do as much
as we can to research and understand their
culture. Yes, their civilization means a lot to us
and is something special. Yes, their legacy is
remarkable and important to all civilizations.
And, how does it reflect upon us.
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Prairie Lands:
While crossing the country, we’ve noticed
that state lines often make natural
boundaries. The States may be divided by
a river like the Potomac between Virginia
and Maryland, or Washington D.C. or a
chain of mountains like California and
Nevada. Sometimes it’s a drastic change
in the environment.
But, between the states on the Great
Plains there is usually very little or no
difference. This is probably because the
way the lines were drawn between the
states. In the East they were usually land
grants from European nobles. Later they
were mostly defined around and about the
Civil War. One border line for a free-soil
state and another for a slave state.
Colorado was poorly defined by these
political requirements and lingered into
the 1870’s before westward expansion
took a different direction. The migration
was driven by the discovery of Silver in
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Colorado and Gold in California. It
became a state in 1876.
Crossing into Colorado from Kansas is a
little different. The grasses and agriculture
of Kansas are left behind and in it’s place
is sage and a wild arid desert.
There isn’t the same agricultural industry.
We wonder if the ‘Tallgrasse’s of the
Prairie, those historic 6 to 8 foot high
grasses which were supposed to have
grown all over the Great Plains actually
grew here or supported the thousands of
buffalo we’ve read about. For sure they
couldn’t support them today.
We’ve taken U.S. 50 into Colorado many
times. It’s not long before we see the
snow capped Rockies. What a spectacular
view. For our ancestors it would be as
much as a week to reach them. For us it
only took 3 hours.
We’re headed for the Great Sand Dunes
National Park so at La Junta we stopped at
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Sam’s Club for gas and then headed
toward Walsenburg
In our first trip, to Alaska, we camped at
Lathrop State Park. Back then we had
covered every opening to our Mercury
Van with screening. Every window, the
moon roof, and even the radiator. Now
with the RV we weren’t thinking about the
mosquito’s or the desolate Al-Can
highway. Besides all our windows had
screens.
Well, to our surprise we encountered
thousands of grasshoppers. Our
windshield wipers couldn’t keep the smear
away. We stopped twice to clean the
windows.
In Walsenburg we realized that we would
have to power wash our radiator, to clean
it off and allow it to breath. We bought
window screening at a hardware store and
put it inside the grill.
After cleaning up we left to drive up the
mountain at the 9,400 foot La Veta Pass.
Most of the traffic crossing the mountains
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must have been really happy about the
truck lane as we topped the pass at about
30 miles per hour leaving lots of room for
them to fly past at 65 or so.
Sangre De Cristo Mountain Range:
We had climbed into a great valley, The
San Luis Valley It was surrounded by
mountains. To the far West were the San
Juan’s where the Rio Grande River flows.
On the East side, are the Sangre De Cristo
mountain range. In between was the
largest fertile high desert area in Colorado.
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This area like much of the Southwest was
named by the Spanish in search of mineral
riches, gold and silver. They had been
colonized in Santa Fe, New Mexico for
years and often sent out explorations into
the northern mountains. The Valley was
named in 1709, while the Sangre De
Cristo Mountains weren’t named until
later in the century, 1765.
The Spaniards were also in search of a
land path to California where they had
several missions. They had only accessed
them by sea. Crossing the desert was a
challenge. They were never successful.
Beside the terrible heat in the deserts they
had problems with the Ute Indians.
Our favorite story about the name of the
Sangre De Cristo Mountains comes from
the death of a Spanish Missionary. On his
death bed he looked up through blood
filled eyes at the snow capped mountains.
They were as red as his eyes. He claimed
the mountains were the ‘Blood
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of Christ’. Cool, huh. That’s a pretty
good promotion pitch. And it’s kept it’s
name ever since.
Others, who had not suffered from the
Ute warriors had a different spin on the
reddish mountain tops. Simply, the sun
setting through our atmosphere on the
white peaks, created a red glow.
Great Sand Dunes National Park and
Preserve:
The Sand Dunes are the highest dunes in
America. They maybe as high as 750 feet,
but are continually changing because of
the winds shifting across the valley.
Our sand piles around the country are not
all made up of silicon. The White Sands
of New Mexico are gypsum.
Geologist have a story about how these
sands were formed and continue growing.
We’re all familiar with how water flows
over rocks grinding them down to smaller
and smaller; boulders, then to stones to
sand.
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That’s what they think happened over
thousands of years.
The winds blew down off the soft
volcanic San Juan Mountains across the
valley. However, the valley wasn’t always
dry. They think it was a huge lake. Today
the valley is 130 miles long and 75 or so
wide. That’s a big lake.
As the lake dried up the sands created by
the water and wind action piled up against
the Sangre De Cristo mountains on the
eastern side.
Here’s what was created.
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We’ve mentioned often that National Park
campgrounds are not so nice. We’re
fortunate to have them, and by the looks
of today’s skimpy budgets and the
increasing number of visitors they have
seen their best days.
The Sand Dunes campground was some
distance from the dunes. You can see
them in front of the mountains in the
distance. We rated the camp as a weak 1.
If National Park camps aren’t in beautiful
natural settings then what do they have to
offer. This place was terrible.
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Medano Pass Primitive Road:
We persevered and signed up for a tour.
Our tour took us beside the dunes along
the Medano Pass Primitive Road.
Wow! Was this guy a good driver. The
sand turned out to be much finer than
beach sand. It had been ground to a
power. A car or truck could sink in it in a
couple of hours.
Along the dry areas we slid from side to
side like we were skiing. The ruts from
the sand were a couple of feet deep.
When we crossed the creek we would
drop down a foot or more into the water
before climbing out the other side.
It’s hard to imagine this road. Ruts and
ditches were deep, beside it mounds of
sand 12 to 15 feet high. Some turns were
90 degrees, and banked at 45 degrees.
Several turns were snaked together.
Mike, the driver, took us at top speed
across all of it. At least 15 miles hour. He
missed the cedar posts alongside the road
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by inches, first on one side then the other.
The posts let you know where the road
was, as the shifting sands would otherwise
obliterate it. Some dips were so deep we
couldn’t see out of them.
We crossed the Medano Creek three times
before turning around. Some had names,
‘The Pit’ was the most hair raising. A 4
foot drop into the creek bed, 30 feet
across, and then up a 45 degree bank, 5
feet, to a 90 degree turn. We scraped our
sides on the Pinion Pines as we left.
People would park all along the roadside.
It was pretty close to the higher sand
dunes, and they would drive down, park
and picnic. Like at the beach they often
had more things, umbrellas, ice chests
beach toys, for a day than we did for
several months. At ‘The Pit’ one group
cheered us on as we dove down and up
the other side.
Mike said he had pulled many 4X4’s,
SUV’s and pickup trucks out of the sand.
Our tour gave us an appreciation of the
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sand dunes as we prepared to hike over
them.
Medano Creek:
We were up early and headed out toward
the dunes and the Medano Creek. The
dunes collect lots of water. It’s easy to dig
down a foot, even at the top of a dune to
find wet sand.
The Medano Creek flows for part of the
year, in the spring and summer alongside
the highest dunes. After that it dries up,
and disappears under the dunes. In fact
the entire valley has an aquifer under it.
The remains of the old lake?
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We walked along the creek. It’s not very
deep, 2 feet at most, but has it’s own
enthusiasm for direction. Maybe as wide
as 70 feet in places. In others it separates
with several braids of thin streams across
the sand.
There was this strange occurrence along
the surface, called ‘Surge Flow’. Curiously,
the current would flow weakly along one
path, then it would build creating little
ripples, 3 or 4 inches high until they
became a wave. The wave would pass and
the current would return again to being
flat.
We watched these ‘Surge Flows’ for a
while. It was explained to us that the
stream pushed up the fine sand into small
mounds or dams. The water would be
trapped by those dams until it was
stronger and broke through them. Thus
creating the rise and fall of the waves.
We waded across the creek, carefully,
stepping sideways to keep our balance.
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Our feet sank deep into the water, raising
it up as high as our knees. Mike had told
us that SUV’s have been lost in the creek
sand in no time at all. It’s like quick sand.
Sand Dunes Hiking:
We have expressed how small these sand
dunes were, especially when compared
with others. The White Sands of New
Mexico, the San Diego Sands, and even
the ‘First Flight’ sands in Kitty Hawk,
North Carolina. But, ever since Alyx had
describe her visit to the orange sands in
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Dubai, we had been eager to come, and
climb these mounds.
As an aside we must say that in Florida
too many senior citizens worry and talk
about their health. Arlene and I try not to
do much of that. Our health and, our
health insurance is pretty good. So we can
concentrate on other things. In this case
it’s walking over sand.
At the White Sands we wished we had
small snow shoes. Because the larger the
foot print the less we’d sink into the sand.
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At the horseshoe curve of the Colorado
near Page we thought that smaller steps
made it easier. Even better we walked on
the side of the sandy path where there
were clumps of grass.
Here, the sand is so fine that nothing
helps. One step upward and two
backward. Going down one step and you
end up sliding two. It would be nice to
have a cafeteria tray to ride on and slide
down the slope.
Off we went in the early morning. It’s the
best time as the dunes can get pretty hot
during the day. We drove down The
Medano Creek Road across a ford,
scraped our bottom but made it to a
parking area called ‘Point of no return’.
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Parked, we waded across the creek and
started up the dune. This sand is so fine
and steep that we struggled with every
step. There were a few folks in front of
us. They also were having a tough time
climbing. The single line we made going
up the dune made us think of the Chil-
Coot Trail in the Yukon headed for the
gold fields.
We climbed, rested and climbed some
more. At the apex we could only see
more dunes, even higher. We crossed a
small valley and started climbing again.
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As we climbed we’d look over the dunes
to pick and choose our direction. We kept
trying to take the easiest path to the top.
Three peaks later, with sore, tired legs we
reached the top of the highest dune.
When on top we found the crest or ridge
was okay and easier to walk across. The
view was grand. Across the dunes the
sands sparkled, beneath the clear blue
skies. It was so quiet and serene.
From the top of the dunes the slopes all
looked very steep. So not being able to
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determine which would be the easiest we
decided a roundabout, diagonal path
would be best. Even then we encountered
slopes that dropped over 45 degrees. We
could easily touch the sands without
bending over.
After every step we slid several. It’s so
much easier going down. What we didn’t
see were any cafeteria trays. That could be
our age, but we didn’t see any snow
boards either. They would have been
great for the downhill trip.
At the bottom we ended up somewhere
different than the creek. It was a mile or
more through the sand back. Driving
toward camp we scraped our bottom again
crossing the ford.
This was a good day. Although sore and
tired to the bone, we really enjoyed
climbing and sliding around in the sand.
Zapata Falls:
South of the National Park and our
campground, the Bureau of Land
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Management has preserved the Zapata
Falls. Named after the Mexican
revolutionary. It’s high on the Sangre De
Cristo hills. We drove near the creek that
led to the falls and hiked from there.
The path way followed the creek for a
while and then stopped. I left Arlene
behind at that point and began the upward
climb through the water.
The water was icy cold and the rocks
slippery. I crossed back and forth
searching for the easiest path. Eventually,
slipping and falling into the water. My
nylon pants were soaked, but my camera
survived. I decided the best path was
through the water.
It was early in the season, with plenty of
snow and ice high on the mountain. At
the top of this arduous climb the creek
went into a snowy cave.
Inside the cave it got pretty dark I could
mostly only hear the roaring as the water
flowed past me. I crept forward in the
water, using the icy cave walls for balance.
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It was bitter cold, but I kept going. Maybe
50 yards in the falls appeared above me
pouring through a hole in the ceiling. I
stood balancing against the ice and
snapped a few pictures. Then turned and
while leaving shot off a couple more.
Returning like so many hikes is much
easier. I even made it over those rapids
that caused me to slip on the way up.
Once back with Arlene I climbed out of
the creek, frozen drying off in the sun.
While warming up we noticed that few
visitors climbed beyond where we were
and those that did stopped at the falls
where I’d slipped.
I warmed up quickly in the sun. My
clothes helped. They were light, nylon,
pants and shirt and dried quickly. We
walked back to the car and headed down
the mountain back to camp.
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Camera Calamity:
Back at camp we started cleaning up and
getting ready to leave tomorrow. We’re
heading north toward Gunnison.
While Arlene was making dinner I thought
I’d down load our photos. It had been
several days. All of our Sand Dune
pictures and the great hike up the Zapata
Creek into the cave were all there.
I inserted the camera chip into our PC,
and pressed Picasa’s import. Nothing
happened.
Oh! Horror! There was nothing there.
No pictures of the climb into the Sand
Dunes.
No pictures of the Mountains.
No pictures crossing the Prairie.
No Pictures! No Pictures! No Pictures!
Every camera we’ve every used has
crapped out on us. The video camera,
each of the four digital cameras, and the
two 35 mm’s. How disappointing.
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Maybe we need to keep a backup. I didn’t
enjoy dinner, nor did I sleep much that
night.
We’d have to find a store where we could
get another. The closest was over the
Pancha Pass, north at Wal Mart in Salida.
We‘ll make a bee line for it tomorrow.
There is nothing so disappointing and
discouraging to me than to lose some
work that we’ve taken so much time and
effort to do. Over the years we have lost
only a few items. A sketch book we
dropped in the Arizona desert, fortunately
retrieved, but I was really upset about it.
This camera, and each of the ones before I
see as terrible setbacks to our travels and
enjoyment.
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Villa Grove:
On our way to Salida, we passed through a
small place called Villa Grove. It was one
of those towns that had a Post Office, and
if it weren’t for that it wouldn’t exist.
The name rung a bell in Arlene’s memory.
She asked ‘Isn’t this where Russell lives?
‘Why sure enough, let’s stop and say
hello.’
We did. And it turns out that not
everyone in the west wants to share with
anyone else. We had a devil of a hard time
finding out if he really lived here, and if he
was at home. It took us some time to
even get someone to say they knew him.
Russell is the oldest son of our cousin Pat
and Phil Beckwith. We’ve known him
since he was born.
First we asked at a coffee shop. No luck
they didn’t know anyone by that name.
We tried the general store and bar. Same
answer. We went to the Post Office.
What a story we got from the Post Master
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Sorry she said, I’ve only been working here
for the past few weeks and don’t know
anyone by that name. Come on who cares
how long she’d worked there. Just look it
up. No dice she wouldn’t.
We went back to the bar and a character
said he knew someone that he was friends
with that might know where Russell was.
He called this fellow and we had to explain
that we were his cousin etc. etc. Even then
he wouldn’t tell us anything, only that he’d
call back.
Five minutes later he called and told us that
Russell was working nearby. He gave us
instructions and we headed toward the
camp and recreation area where Russell
was working.
We found him and visited for a while
before heading over the Pass to Salida and
Wal Mart. If we got back his way we were
invited to come to his ranch and stay.
Boy! was that an experience.
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In Salida we picked up a Kodak Z740 digital
camera with 10X optical. There wasn’t a big
choice. We usually like more optical, because you
can be a long way from a wild animal and still
take a good shot of them. Of course being 100
yards from a bear is more reassuring than 100
feet. So we settled on it.
We were both tired and on the way back we
stopped at O’Haver Lake State Park thinking
we’d spend the night. It was raining and the
drive up to the lake was muddy.
The lake turned out to be a pretty pond, but we
didn’t like the camp sites and turned away to find
Russell’s Ranch. What a good choice that was.
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Back in Villa Grove we turned at the Post Office
on route 134. After a few miles we turned on to
this dirt road toward his place.
A cloud of dust rose way up along the drive.
Down the drive raced Russell at the speed of
light on his 4 wheeler. He greeted us and
beckoned us to follow. Off he sped at a
terrifying speed. We followed but, much slower.
At his green gate he was waiting for us with one
foot on the gate. We ambled up at about 10
miles per hour, thankfully without bottoming out
along the way. His Ranch house was only
another 500 yards. Down a draw, and up onto a
plateau.
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Here’s a photo of his ranch. Behind it are the
Sangre De Cristo Mountains and a threatening
thunder storm.
We don’t know many westerns, but in the last
few days we’ve met a few. Russell has lived out
here for the last 20 years. He’s a lot of fun, and
fiercely independent. That seems to be the way it
is here in the west.
The ranch was like he said, enough room for
several tractor trailers to turn around in his front
yard. He showed us around, and cheerfully
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pointed out the ‘fourteener’ mountains, across
the way where he and his brother Will had
bagged a couple of elk the previous year. He
showed us the stable, his ‘in-progress’ home,
garage, and barn, and at least 5 horses.
The horses were free to wander around. The
only fence on the property defined the property.
It outlined his ranch.
The horses moseyed up looking for some grain,
which they got. There were two red ones, one
big black called ‘Tequila’. Russell had a scar
where he had been thrown by him. A white
horse and the other red. The last one was a M
ustang. We were advised to stay away from him.
Our recollection of horses told us to stay away
from all of them. They push you around, step on
you, bite and kick. His warning was quite
enough. Arlene was satisfied to stay away while
watching where she stepped.
The ranch was run on solar and propane gas.
The gas was used for heat, cooking, and keeping
the fridge cold. The solar was for electricity ,
lights and the well pump.
Russell had one other characteristic we noticed.
He worked like a mad man on every job he had,
and he usually had several. We had learned that
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he had built almost every building in Villa Grove.
The coffee shop, the pottery barn, several
houses, and rebuilt the general store, and bar.
When we first saw him he was building a series of
sleeping cabins for a recreation area, where he
had previously built the recreation . center and
meeting hall.
The characteristic we’re talking about is that he
works hard on the job, but not so much at home.
We were really tired and slept well. The next day
he made us a working man’s breakfast of eggs,
bacon, coffee and toast. It was good and we
were stuffed.
He had taken the day off so we were able to visit
most of the day. By the afternoon he asked if
we’d like steak for dinner. Sure we would. Why
would we guess they were Elk steaks, like that
would make any difference to us grocery store
easterners.
He said he’d go get them, from his freezer. It
was at a friend’s ranch down in the valley. In the
meantime we should take a ride on his 4X4 into
‘no man’s land’, the BLM that bordered his
ranch.
We went out and started the 4X4. He pointed
out the foot shifter, like a motorcycle, the gas on
the handle and how to steer. Then he bent over
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and let most of the air out of the tires. Arlene
hopped on behind me and we circled the front
yard. Satisfied that we could handle it he jumped
into his red pickup and drove toward the back of
the ranch to the fence. We followed.
Wow! This was our dream. We were headed
into the wild west on our first choice to see it as
it really was. Arlene clung to me like I was the
most important person in the world.
At the gate he took down the barbed wire and
opened it far enough for us to drive through. He
yelled to us. As if we couldn’t hear.
‘NO RULES’ Go anywhere, forget the roads,
don’t worry about the brush, or prickly pear, go
anywhere. Remember ‘NO RULES’. He hitched
the gate closed got into his truck and was gone.
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It would be great if we had some photos we’d
taken while driving around the Bureau’s land.
Only, besides our camera problems we have also
had problems with a disk crash and losing lots of
data. We now have a new PC, but only half of
thousands of photos we have taken in 30 years.
This year 2006, has mostly been lost.
We started out slowly, driving over ruts, turning
to miss cactus so the tires wouldn’t pop. Grass
land was surprising, instead of being flat, like it
looked, it was rugged. Clumps rose 4-6 inches
above the soil. We climbed over them, under,
around and often up them and down. Our 4X4
didn’t care it just kept going.
We were most uncomfortable when tilted to one
side while driving down into a 3 or 4 foot ditch,
diagonally. We’d slide to one side of the seats
and squeezed tighter on the handle bars. But the
machine didn’t tip over and we didn’t fall off.
This was great fun. We stopped and took
pictures. At one point Arlene couldn’t find her
favorite University of Wyoming hat. The one
with the wild bronco on the front. We looked all
over for it. Back tracking getting off the 4
wheeler. We couldn’t find it after searching for
some time. We headed back to the machine to
continue our wild ride. Oh! My! There on the
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back, between the seat and the carry-all was her
hat. What joy! Here’s what the emblem looks
like.
We kept going deeper into the hills, crossing
several roads and thinking about what Russell
had told us about interlopers. Over the years the
ranch had been broken into and robbed. There
was no one around while he was working in
Dallas or elsewhere.
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