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| Emilie's minion on the move |
Here is the first installment.
Tuesday, June 2 –
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| Emilie captures a duck |
I had helped Emilie move all day on the 1st, so I spent much
of the day packing, organizing, and doing last minute preparations. I had
planned to be on the road by noon, but it was 4 p.m. before I actually began
this summer’s adventures.
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| Moving Day |
One of the hardest moments was saying goodbye to my good
friend Twila, who is moving to Kansas City. Although I’m extremely happy for
her, I’m very sad that when I get home in August, she won’t be here. She’s been
my person for so many things for the last few years; living in Sioux City
without her here will be such a difficult adjustment. I love you Twila.
I decided to forego driving across the state of Nebraska on
I-80, perhaps the most boring and mind-numbing drive I know, and cut down
through the middle of the state, going through Wayne, Norfolk, and some other
familiar and not-familiar towns. Driving through some of those familiar haunts
reminded me of trips from the past, and in addition to experiencing the current
landscape, I revisited lovely memories as I drove along. The weather was great,
and I had my arm out the open window for most of the drive as I headed for my
first stop.
I have found a website called freecampsites.net, and I plan
to stay free whenever possible as my funds this year are very thin. Through
that site, I’d located a city park in a small town just off my route, Calloway,
Nebraska. I arrived in Calloway just as it was getting dark, and the campsites
sit just behind the tennis courts at the park. I heard kids calling to each
other and playing on the nearby playground equipment as I fended off mosquitoes
while setting up my tent.
Once I was set up for the night, while I ate a quick dinner
from my cooler, I checked the radar. There were chances of storms, and I had
watched clouds building as I’d approached the town. The radar showed an intense storm stretching
west and north of the town. After texting a friend and mulling over the
possibilities, I followed his advice and pulled up camp instead of risking the
high winds and hail predicted. The campsites were all covered with trees, and
the thought of being hit with a widow maker kind of sealed the deal for me.
As I drove out of town, the wind picked up to the point I
had to turn off my brights because the blowing dirt blinded me. After the strong winds, the rain and hail
began, and even with my wipers on high, it was difficult to see. After being
back on the road for five minutes or so, the radio warned of 70 m.p.h. winds,
hail, and torrential rains hitting Calloway within the next 10 minutes. I had
made the right choice.
My dilemma now was to find a place to sleep. It was midnight
by this time, and I was exhausted. There was a visitor’s center just at the
Colorado border listed as free camping, and although it was two hours away, I
decided to aim for there.
When I arrived, after battling fatigue on the highway, I
simply pulled into their parking area, grabbed the twin-sized Mickey Mouse
comforter I travel with, and curled up in the front seat. I slept hard until 9
p.m. or so, waking only briefly when dawn broke. As my friend Jesse says,
sleeping in your car is highly underrated.
Wednesday, June 3 –
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| Denver REI |
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| REI gets how women should be pictured |
After hitting the road at the Colorado/Nebraska border, I
headed for REI where I had a few things to exchange and replace. The REI in
Denver is so wonderful – it’s in an old brick building and surrounded with
landscaping that evokes feelings of being on the trail.
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| The La Sal Mountains |
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| Colorado River |
As usual, they helped me out, sending the item I needed – a
new sleeping pad – general delivery to pick up in Moab. After fixing a quick
lunch in the parking lot, I was back on the road, intending to get to Moab that
evening. The drive was uneventful, and I enjoyed it. I-70 through Colorado is
one of the few interstate drives I will take. I always prefer two-lane
highways, but there aren’t a lot options from Denver to Moab, and the drive itself
goes through mountains and canyons.
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| Driving 128 to Moab. Fisher Towers, the Colorado River, and the Le Sal Mountains |
I reached Moab around 8 p.m., and I unloaded the car
quickly, settling into my accommodations. My friend Dan Christianson, whom I
met last summer at a campground in Flagstaff, has generously offered his house
for me to stay in as long as I need it. It’s a very comfortable house, and it’s
quite different from what I’m used to on these trips – a bed, a refrigerator,
high-speed internet. I have all the comforts of home. It’s wonderful to have
the space, time, and comfort to do my last preparations for the two stints in
the wilderness I’ll have this summer.
Thursday, June 4 –
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| Start of the hike - part of the old mill? |
I did my first hike of the trip this day. Larry, the
landlord for the place I’m staying, suggested a hike called Mill Creek trail
that is close to town and runs along a creek. He said it is a local favorite,
and there are a few swimming holes in which to cool off. Only a few miles out
and back, it seemed like a good first hike of the season. |
| Hiking on slickrock always takes a little getting used to |
I didn’t get an early start after sleeping in, so I didn’t
get on the trail until after noon. Since much of the hike was shaded and close
to the water, this wasn’t a problem at all. The hike was interesting; there
were various routes available, but all led to basically the same place, running
parallel to the creek.
I arrived at the first fishing hole, and there were lots of
kids there, jumping from a high rock into a pool at the bottom of a small
waterfall. I watched them for a few minutes, listening to the laughter and
hooting, before moving on to quieter stretches of the hike.
Although much of the hike was right along the creek, there
were portions on slickrock that involved climbing or descending the orange
formations. I realized how much I enjoy hiking in this part of the country –
it’s a great way to build confidence and balance for my summer’s hiking. There
are many instances when I hike in this area where I encounter drop-offs,
hard-to-find trails, and various other precarious situations. After the initial
anxiety, hiking these trails becomes natural, and that part of me that loves heights
and adrenaline rushes enjoys being fed.
I found a place to sit with my feet in the stream and have
some lunch. I took off my boots, enjoying the cool water rushing over my toes, and
enjoyed the solitude and quiet. My only companions were birds and insects, and
I could feel the stress of the previous months of artificial light and
deadlines slip away.
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| Roger, leading the way |
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| The cactus were in bloom |
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| Abundant poison ivy along this trail |
After a while, I decided to head back. I knew there was
another swimming hole a bit further on, but I wasn’t sure how far and didn’t
feel like encountering more people. Once I stood and started up the creek bank,
I ran into another hiker. Roger was close to 70 and looked like he’d hiked a
lot of trails. He told me the swimming hole was just a little farther, and,
deciding I would after all go farther, I asked if I could tag along. He said
sure, and told me if I’d come upon him a few minutes later, he’d have been
naked. I said I was fine with naked, and he kind of chuckled.
We reached the swimming hole in just a few minutes. It was
quiet and the water was clear, fed by a small waterfall. Just under an
overhang, to one side, was one hiker reading a book. We said hello and I sat to
take off my boots again and enjoy the place. When I got my boots off and looked
up, there was Roger, stark naked, wading into the water. His freedom from the
restraint we’ve come so dependent upon as a culture was as refreshing as the cool water, and
I watched as he swam, then emerged from the water to hike around to the other
side of the pond, looking for a peach tree he knew of.
I realized then that I have been doing this wrong. Although
I do relax and de-stress on my trips, when I hike, I have a tendency to get too
caught up in getting the hike done, treating it like work. I don’t sit enough,
relax enough, take my boots off enough. I’m not sure why I’ve been this way,
but I vow to change this. I vow to make the lazy enjoyment of the experience my
goal, not accomplishing the hike.
Friday, June 5 –
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| Hidden Valley |
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| Barney Rubble |
After another lazy morning, I decided to do the Hidden
Valley hike. The hike begins with a short but steep climb up “Barney Rubble,”
followed by a flat stroll across a wide meadow.
About two miles in, the trail connects with another trail and offers a
look across an expanse of canyons and rock formations.
The climb was not nearly as demanding as I had anticipated –
a very good thing – and when it opened up to the meadow, it was a wonderful
transition. While climbing to the meadow, I was accompanied by the sounds of
traffic from the main highway running south out of Moab and I continued to see
the outskirts of town. In fact, a couple from Chicago, who were also hiking,
turned around because they wanted something quieter and more remote. If they
had had the patience, all that quiet and solitude awaited at the top of the
climb. |
| Storm in the La Sals |
Once in the meadow, the only sounds were the calls of the
ravens at the tops of the cliffs and melodies of the small songbirds closer to
the ground. Wildflowers bordered the trail in places as if planted by a careful
groundskeeper, and the view of the changes ahead added a dimension to the hike.
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| Coming out of the valley |
When I neared the junction and the overlook, I heard thunder
come from a sky that had been darkened by clouds. I don’t mind rain, and I had
thought to bring my rain jacket, but thunder makes me nervous, especially when
I’m so exposed. Fortunately, I had just reached the end of the meadow and there
were some rock walls and overhangs the offered some shelter. I hunkered down
under one of those overhangs, put on my rain jacket, and ate my lunch. There
was a perfect, smooth rock on which to sit and a place to lean my poles and set
my bag. I ate and waited for the thunder to pass.  |
| My car is the little spec in the parking area to the bottom left of the picture |
When it had quit thundering for a bit, I gathered everything
back up and decided to head back. I was only a little over two miles in, and I
had hoped to go another mile or so, but the weather was unpredictable and I was
anxious about returning thunder and lightning.
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| Back down Barney Rubble |
It rained for about half the hike across the meadow, but
before too long, the rain stopped and the sun worked its way back out. After removing
my jacket, I picked my way back down Barney Rubble to my car.
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