Days 17 and 18 – June 5 and 6 Capitol Reef on Wheels and Wheels Up from Utah

Capitol Reef Cathedral Valley Loop Drive

  The day after we came back from the backcountry, Helen suggested we take a drive around the Cathedral Valley Loop Road. This is a dirt road that loops around the northern end of Capitol Reef. We couldn’t make a complete loop because at the one end, it is necessary to ford a river. We did go check out how deep the water was, and it appeared to be only about 6 – 8 inches deep, but I decided it wasn’t worth the risk. I’ve driven through flood waters before and done hundreds of dollars worth of damage, but that’s another story.

 

We took our time getting up and around, and didn’t get on the road till after noon.  After checking the one end of the loop where we would have had to ford the river, we drove east to catch the other end of it. We missed it the first time by – the sign was off the main highway and the road small and non-descript. Coming back, we made the turn and began about a four-hour journey with some wonderful views.

The road itself was a challenge at times – Jesse would have loved driving it. The first obstacles were windrows of sand blown across it. After slipping through those, we encountered a lot of rocky terrain. The drive not only required a slow pace, but also the views demanded frequent photo stops. Helen has one of the fancy cameras I’ve coveted off and on, so I am eager to see her shots from the day. I took a number with my point and shoot, but I’m not sure any camera can really capture the beauty of a land so wide, full, and varied.

What is so amazing about the landscape we drove through – and much of Capitol Reef – is the wide variety of formations. It’s as if the earth coughed up all her creativity and, unable to decide what kind of action to take, took them all. Again, it struck me how wonderful it would be to understand what happened there all those years ago.

Temples of the Sun and Moon and Glass Mountain

There were specific sights marked on the map and on the drive. We saw the Temples of Sun and the Moon, Glass Mountain (which is actually gypsum rather than glass), a sink hole, and the Hall of Monuments. All were striking, but watching how the landscape moved was maybe more so. We finished up the drive by climbing a very steep, very rocky, switchback to two observation points – one looking east and one west. Both points required a hike to the highest elevation to grasp the full scope of the view, and it was nice to be climbing again. No, not really – but it was nice that the climb was short in the scope of climbs we’d done lately. (My gluts are still recovering.)

 

Coming back down the road, it seemed less difficult driving, but I think it was just that I knew what I was coming to. This may have been a bit of a problem as I found myself wanting to drive a little faster than I should on the road. In fact, about halfway back, my low tire pressure light came on. I checked it repeatedly, but fortunately it was a very slow leak and visually they all looked fine. Once we got back to town, I tested each tire and found the culprit, refilling it to the right pressure.

Glass Mountain

We decided, because of the tire situation, that we would camp near Torrey in a primitive BLM campground. We found a site and began setting up camp. I realized I’d forgotten to buy wood, so I left Helen there, setting her things up, and ran the short 10 minutes to the closest convenience store.

When I returned, Helen was picking up her quilt and pad. I asked what the problem was, and she said we’d had a visitor – a mouse had scampered up to her as she was settling in. I offered my other tent, but she opted to sleep in her car. This was clear reinforcement that I will continue to use a tent when camping. I don’t mind mice, or other little creatures, as long as they don’t come join me in my sleeping bag. This is partly my friend Clayton Kooiker’s fault – years ago he told me about when he was in basic training in Louisiana. Because there are so many cottonmouth snakes down there, the soldiers were given specific instructions what to do if they woke to find a snake in their sleeping bags with them. They were instructed to stay perfectly still, and soon the snake would get too hot and crawl out of the bag. I decided at that moment I would suffer a snake bite in such a situation. There is no way in hell I would be able to lie still with a snake as a bed fellow. No way.

We finished up the night with a nice fire and cooking a small meal for ourselves. We admired the star-filled sky and reflected on our adventures, enjoying our last evening together as we both were moving on in the morning. Helen was heading down to Bryce Canyon to visit the Hoodoos, and I was heading north – as long as my camera batteries and charger arrived.

I awoke to find Helen already gone, so I went to town to pick up my package.

The post office wasn’t open yet when I got to town, so I checked the tracking information to see if I could reliably expect the package. It had left Provo, Utah, the evening before, so unless the truck was hijacked or careened off a mountain road, the package would be there. It took convincing a very grumpy postmaster to look through his pile of packages, but once he did, it was right there on top. I was ready to hit the road again.

I checked the map and decided to visit the salt flats via Ely, Nevada. It was a little out of the way, but I didn’t want to head up through Salt Lake City – too much of that drive is populated and busy. With this route, I could cross to the west and then head north, swinging just a little east to visit the flats. Ely was a good stopping place, so I planned to camp near there.

It felt really good to get on the road – Capitol Reef is a lovely park, but it wasn’t my favorite of Utah’s “Big Five” I had visited in these first three weeks (Arches, Canyonlands, Zion, Bryce, Capitol Reef), and I was ready to move on and see something greener and cooler.

Success Loop

When I got to Ely, I found the BLM office and picked up a few maps and asked the woman there for a suggestion. She suggested I drive the Success Loop and find a campsite there or go to Cleve Creek Recreation Area. She said this last place would be wonderful, but to watch for rattlesnakes. I decided to drive the loop, and then swing around to Cleve Creek. I didn’t realize this was as long a drive as it turned out to be.

Success Loop

The loop was fabulous. It was a gravel road, mostly one lane, and it wound through the mountains where I saw wildflowers and light groves of Aspens. It culminated at Cave Lake State Park, and I drove through its campgrounds to make sure I didn’t want to stay there. They were $17 a night, but included showers, real plumbing, and water. But I wanted to save the money and check out the BLM campground she’d recommended, so I left the state park for that. I tried first to take what looked like a gravel road that went through, but I only got about four or five miles down the road and reached an impasse. So I turned around, passed back through the park, and took the long way around. This long way turned out to be a total of about 40 miles.

The route to Cleve Creek was well marked, but remote. When I finally arrived at the campground, it was completely empty with not a soul in sight. I drove around, looking at the various campsites – there were only about 10 of them – and realized I did not feel comfortable out alone in such a desolate place with no cell service. So I turned around and headed back for the state park.

Curious - what is this person doing?

Eighty miles later, I paid the $17 and set up camp, realizing it was a net loss when I considered gas cost. I guess it’s all trial and error. And to add insult to injury, when I got up in the morning and headed for the showers, they didn’t work. So the money I was to save by having a shower included in the camp cost was lost.  (As it turned out, I was able to secure a free shower later in the day from a totally unexpected source – but more on that tomorrow.)

Days 14, 15, and 16– June 2 – 4 Capitol Reef: Hot, Dry and Hard Work

My hiking partner Helen took this picture during our backpacking through the Lower Muley Twist

Ah, where do I start with the past few days? I guess I’ll start with the first day, which was mostly travel and orienting.

The scenic gravel route, winding down the mountain

I left Calf Creek early, before 7 a.m., so I would have plenty of time to be at the Capitol Reef Visitor’s Center at 4 p.m. to meet Helen.  I took the most scenic drive I could, and the views didn’t disappoint. The Burr Trail Road is well known in the area, especially the eastern end of it where the road make huge zigzag scars in the mountain, switching back and forth at a steep grade, bringing its travelers to the bottom quickly and precariously.  This last part is gravel, as is much of the last 50 miles into Capitol Reef from that direction. The new CR-V is certainly getting its share of washboard gravel and rocky dirt roads.

Ready to climb over the waterfold to Lower Muley Twist

I arrived at Capitol Reef around noon, so I headed into the nearest town, Torrey, Utah, and spent the afternoon rather leisurely. I caught up here, getting pictures loaded and the blog updated, I had a smoothy and a quite spendy dark chocolate caramel, and I sorted my backpacking supplies and packed the behemoth of a backpack I was to carry for miles and live out of for the next four days. Just as I was finishing up, I realized I hadn’t taken care of the camera situation fully. I needed to order a new charger and an extra battery and have it delivered to somewhere in Torrey by the end of the week.

View of the entire waterfold from the trail head. I didn't know then that we'd be hiking over that. Silly me.

I made arrangements with the Chuck Wagon Store and Lodge to have it shipped there, and then I got on line and started to look for what I needed. I soon realized there were, as there always are, many many options when it comes to electronics. I called Jesse, who helps me with so much, but especially all things electronic, and asked his advice. As we were discussing what I needed and how much I wanted to spend, the clock was ticking and I was getting anxious about meeting Helen on time. Jesse generously offered to finish the process for me, making sure I got what I needed by the upcoming Friday.

Campsite the 1st night. That's a drop off where the red ends.

Once that was taken care of, I headed to meet my backpacking partner for what I thought would be the next four days.

Helen is a sweet, gentile woman from Houston, but who has been living in Florida for the past few years. She’s in her early 40s, and she is soft-spoken and cheerful, speaking in that soft drawl I grew up with in Texas and Oklahoma. I let Helen take the lead planning our route as she’d backpacked in part of the park before. She wanted to combine the Lower Muley Twist with the Hall’s Narrows. Now this meant nothing to me as I’m sure it means nothing to you. But the ranger was quick to inform us that the Narrows had places where the trail was covered with six feet of water and we’d have to swim parts of it. I was quite relieved to hear Helen say that we didn’t want to do that.  We decided we would hike down to the Narrows on the second half of the trip, turning around when we hit the deep water.

We also inquired about water on the rest of the trail – I was sure I wasn’t interested in carrying more than a day’s worth of water at any time, as water is one of a hiker’s heaviest items, coming in at about 8 pounds per gallon. One gallon is my limit. We were told the Muley Tanks had water in them, which we planned to hit by the end of the first full day. Water situation solved, or so I thought.

So the route was planned, and we headed to the end point of the trip to drop off my car at an overlook with a trail going into the canyon. This end point was also the halfway point, as we would hike by the overlook as we headed down to the Narrows. This turned out to be a very fortunate situation.

Once my car was dropped off, at the end of a very rocky road that utilized my CR-V’s AWD and high clearance, we walked back to Helen’s car, which couldn’t make it all the way down the road. We took her car down to The Post, the place we were starting the hike. We decided, as it was already getting near dusk, to hike the obligatory half-mile from the trail head to set up camp, and not much further. This half-mile had us on top of the first row of the waterfold – a massive double wall of stone that borders one side of the wash which makes up the Muley Twist.

This is what we hiked over - the second part of the waterfold.

The climb up to that first campsite was steep, but I don’t remember it as being too difficult. I pitched my tent and Helen laid out her sleeping pad and quilt – the combination being all backpacking minimalists use for sleeping. Helen tried to convince me she would have me sleeping out of my tent by the end of the hike, but I assured her that little wall of netting the tent affords was imperative to my comfort and ability to function. I do not like the idea of creatures joining me while I sleep. I have to admit, sitting there on top of that small mountain, looking at the countless stars only a sky void of light pollution can exhibit, it was hard to go inside the tent.

View from the top of the fold

The next morning, we broke camp early. Helen made sure I was awake before 6 a.m. by announcing that it was light out. We were on the trail by 6:30, and the word trail is a bit of a stretch. We had about a mile to cover that was almost all sheer rock, marked by cairns, and some parts we had to walk at angles that forced us to lean into the wall and hope our feet stuck. Helen doesn’t wear boots, by the way. She wears the toed footwear – it’s thin and light weight, and every time I watched her take a step I wondered how in the world it didn’t hurt her feet through those thin soles.

Once we made it across the waterpocket and down into the wash, we were pretty happy with ourselves. It was a very difficult crossing, and looking back at it, we wondered how in the world we had crossed it. But our work had really just begun.

Helen pointing out what we just conquered

The Lower Muley Twist is called that because it twists and turns across sand and boulders and stones. It is a large wash that lies between steep canyon walls for the most part, and the water, over the years, has carved a beautiful and varied landscape. We walked through alcoves, deep like large bandshells, sometimes having to climb and drop off of huge boulders and piles of rock tossed by the water so long ago. Sometimes it was clear the rock had fallen, blocking the way, and we had to find the path the water took and navigate that. It was hard hiking, and it was exhausting. And we soon realized that the chances of making it all the way to Muley Tanks by the end of the day were slim to none. I began to get concerned about water – I drink a lot of it to stay hydrated and the thought of being without water in that hot and arid land was frightening.

Taking a break

Helen remembered from the previous time she’d hiked the trail, that there had been water before the tanks, and if we were lucky she would be able to find it and it would have water this time too. And bless her heart, she did find the water, so we filtered and filled all we could carry.

Now I want to make something clear here – when I say “tanks,” I don’t mean metal round tanks that are filled by a windmill or some kind of pump or even rainwater. I’m talking about holes in the ground where the water hasn’t completely dried up yet. These potholes of water have little and not-so-little tadpoles swimming around in them, so when you dip in your container, you have to be sure to leave the little critters behind. I used a Ziploc bag at one point to scoop the water, and I didn’t want it to look like I’d been shopping in the pet department at Walmart when I lifted it out of the water.  But these little water filters we carry are amazing, and the water was quickly filtered and replenished, and we continued on our way. The timing of this first water hole was fortunate; a very brief sprinkle came through, along with high winds and some lightning, and we were already stopped and under an outcropping of rock.

Because we had plenty of water, we were able to relax on our distance for the day, so after a few more hours we began looking for a place to set up camp. We found one of those alcoves, and except for the old dried mule manure, it was clean and dry. We set up camp – I in my tent and Helen on her sleeping pad, and we turned in early. It was still extremely hot, so sleeping in the tent exacerbated the heat, but I was not giving up the security. 

Yes, we had to crawl through that opening. We ended up having to take off our backpacks.

Before going to bed each night when I’m somewhere without cell service, I have agreed to send out a satellite signal using my SPOT Locator. My kids, Jesse, and Twila get these messages so they know I’m okay. Well, the one I sent the first night went through and everyone knew I was okay. The one I sent that second night did not go through. By 1 p.m. on the second day, my daughter Anna had called Jesse and asked if he’d heard from me. Suddenly, everyone realized that no one got a message, and it was assumed something had happened to me, and Jesse began to put in motion the process to send someone to help us.  I’ll come back to this situation a little later.

Second campsite

Of course I’m oblivious to this. Helen and I were back on the trail by 7:30 a.m. and it was immediately miserably hot. The canyon walls disappeared as we approached the Muley Tanks, and the wash became wider and less twisty. It simply became tedious. We plodded along, either in deep sand or picking our way over uneven rocks, with not much to look at. When we approached the Muley Tanks, Helen pointed out that the tanks were off the trail a little and there was no sign indicating where to turn to find them.   We used the GPS and the TOPO maps to locate the tanks, but not after some wandering around them until Helen spotted them from a high spot.

Storm clouds coming in

As we filtered and filled, the sun blazed down on us – there was no shade in which to work. Once again loaded down with water, we trudged on, taking advantage of the little shade we could find when we came upon it. We decided somewhere along the way that we would cut the hike short by two days and simply hike out to my car at the end of this second day. The third day would have been hiking for hours in the same type of conditions, and with no payoff of the Narrows because of the high water there, we decided it would be better to cut it short and regroup for the rest of the week.

A few miles from the turn to get to the car, Helen mentions that when we turned off the wash, the trail to the car was only about a mile long, but we would have to climb about 900 feet in elevation in that mile. I chose not to think about that until we got to that part of the hike. But before we had to deal with climbing that last wall of rock, we encountered horse flies, or something like that. They were huge and they bit and they really liked my legs. It was one of the most miserable encounters with insects I’ve ever had. No matter what we did – apply bug stuff, swat, move quickly – those damn sticky, biting flies would not leave me alone. Helen had on long pants, so they only bothered her arms, and they weren’t too terrible. It was my legs they like the best. At one point, Helen said I looked like Pig Pen in Charlie Brown the way they were swarming around me. I told her I didn’t think that was funny at all.

Looking down to where we'd come down the wash

When we reached the point to turn from the wash, I was relieved to escape the flies, but we had an unbelievable climb in front of us. We had been on the trail for 10 hours at that point, in 100 degree heat with direct sun beating down on us, and now we had to climb a frickin’ mountain. Neither one of us were sure we could make it, but we didn’t have a choice. We were almost out of water and the flies were driving us from behind, so climb we did. Slowly, carefully, and relentlessly we climbed. There were drop-offs and areas of scrambling, but we persisted. Those last few feet seemed impossible, but when we came up over the ridge and saw my car, it was the best feeling in the world.

Looking up - I doubted I could make it all the way up

View from the top

Meanwhile, while we were struggling through the day, Jesse was contacting the rangers and discussing how to find us in those acres of wilderness. By the time I had cell service, it was 9:00 p.m. and I sent a text that said, “Out of the backcountry. All ok.” I immediately got a text from Emilie saying how glad she was I was okay. I thought that was a little strange because Emilie doesn’t usually respond to my “OK” texts. Then I got one from Jesse that said he was glad we were okay and he’d “call off the rangers (not kidding).”

Once I’d talked to everyone and assured them I was okay and I had sent the message (apparently too much of the sky was blocked for the satellites), Helen and I decided to split a hotel room and stop to eat. After a number of slices of pizza and a number of ice-cold Diet Cokes, we found a room, showered and slept in refrigerated air.  I knew, before I fell asleep, I was not going to hike the next day.

Day 13 – June 1 Slot Canyons

One of the things that has intrigued me about this part of the country are the slot canyons. On the front of the brochure for Grand Staircase – Escalante is a person, a little girl I think, walking through a slot canyon. So when I asked about hikes a few days ago, that’s one of the specifics I asked about seeing.

The slot canyons are accessible down a long gravel/dirt road, and the description of the trails made me a bit apprehensive. Not all the trail is marked; much of it is simply determined by direction and landmarks. Since I would be hiking alone, I wasn’t sure I’d be able to do it. But with some encouragement from the kids, who seemed to think that of course I could handle it, I decided to give it a try.

I need not have worried about being alone. These slot canyons are a big draw in the area, and the trail head parking lot was full. I ran into a number of other hikers both on the way to the canyons and at the actual canyons themselves. There wasn’t a big crowd, but I knew if I got lost I’d have someone around to help me.

There were three canyons – Dry Fork, Peekaboo, and Spooky. Dry Fork, the first one you come to after descending into the canyon, was fairly wide for much of it and you just walk into it from the canyon floor. I was amazed at the lighting and shapes of the rock, carved over thousands, maybe milliions, of years by rushing water. It was also clear to me how being caught in a slot canyon during a flash flood is a very dangerous if not deadly situation. There is nowhere to go except to be dashed against the sides of the canyon.

Entrance to Peekaboo. Couldn't quite make it

After walking down Dry Fork till I hit a wall of boulders, I attempted to enter Peekaboo. To get to this slot canyon, you need to climb a 12-foot wall with crude foot and handholds notched into the rock. I was able to get up about halfway, but without someone there to push me up the rest of the way, I couldn’t navigate it. So I abandoned the attempt after a few failures to make the climb, and moved on to try Spooky.

To get to Spooky, you have to hike over a very large sand dune and then walk down a wide, sandy wash till you get to the opening. Once there, it is clear why it’s called Spooky. Very narrow from almost the very beginning, the shadows and shapes are irregular and haunting. I had to dump my pack at one point and continue on without it, turning sideways at times to squeeze through the opening. I had to actually press against my breasts to fit through in some places, and I thought how happy I was I hadn’t eaten a second pastry this morning.

Ow! My arm!

I also walked down this canyon until it became impassable without climbing over a large pile of rocks. On the way down to that point of turn around, I saw a few things that gave me pause. One was a huge boulder about chest high, lodged between the two walls, under which I had to crawl on my hands and knees. It made me think of Aaron Ralston and when the boulder fell into the slot canyon he was hiking in, trapping his arm and forcing him to amputate it himself after days of being lost there.

I also saw a small dead rattlesnake someone had clearly killed and set up on a ledge. Until that time, I hadn’t even thought about the possibility of rattlesnakes in the canyons – I think of them as out in the open areas, hiding under rocks or foliage where I could give them a wide berth. Here, if I came upon a snake, there are few options to escape, and in this place there would be no way to give any room to a snake. I was more attentive after that.

Once out in the sunlight again, I headed back toward the trailhead. However, I realized soon I wasn’t going the right direction – things didn’t look familiar. So I pulled out my GPS, on which I had loaded many TOPO maps for the areas I’ll be hiking this summer, and checked the map. Sure enough, I was heading the wrong way. I had completely forgotten about the sand dune, and instead of heading back up and over it, I had just continued down the wash for a few hundred yards. Navigation is something I’m learning as I go, and I’ve learned a lot through trial and error. I’ve always got a paper map, sometimes with descriptions of the hikes, my GPS, and a compass. It’s amazing how I need each of these tools at various times.

Once turned around, I climbed up out of the canyons to the trail head and headed back to town to look for a place to shower. On the 25 miles of washboard gravel, I came upon a cattle drive. There were about four kids on horseback, a man in a pickup pulling a horse trailer, and hundreds of cows and calves moving right down the center of the road. I followed behind for probably 10 minutes, moving about as quickly as the slowest cow. Then the young girl rode up to my window and told me I could drive right into the herd and that they would move out of the way. So I did, and they did. I enjoyed the bumper to cow butt traffic though, while it lasted.

Tonight, after a much-needed shower, I’ve been putting things together for my backpacking trip in Capitol Reef. I meet Helen tomorrow at 4 p.m., and we’re leaving then for the five days together in the back country. I really hope I like her. And if not, at least it will be good practice for the JMT next month.   I won’t be blogging until I’m back in civilization, so I should have quite the experiences to report in about a week. Ciao, baby!

Day 12 - May 31 Aw, Hell Yes

Calf Creek Falls

Today I moved a little farther off the grid. It’s a little uncomfortable, but I think it’s important.  All of the places I’ve camped or hiked have either had cell service or been close to it. As I drove north from Bryce Canyon this morning, I realized that was all about to change.

I needed to get an early start to get a site at the campground I wanted to stay in – Calf Creek Campground. I knew it was popular and small, so I needed to get to the campground early, grabbing a site just as people were leaving. When I arrived at the campground, there were about four sites available, and I quickly decided on the one I wanted.

Hell's Back Bone

I wasn’t really in the mood to hike yet, so I drove a little farther north and checked out the little town of Boulder. Town is a bit of an exaggeration – from what I could see there were a few stores and a few restaurants and that’s about it. They did have a nice spot with free wi-fi and cell reception, so I took advantage of that. 

On the way back, I decided to take the loop connecting Boulder to Escalante called Hell’s Back Bone instead of the main highway. It is a long loop of washboard gravel, and it winds up and up, culminating on a one-lane bridge spanning a deep, rugged canyon. The views were spectacular on the drive and at the bridge, and I pulled over more than once to snap some pictures.

Posey Lake

Along the way, the road passes a side road to Posey Lake Campground, so I drove up to check it out. It was a lovely little lake, and there was no one in the picnic area when I arrived. I parked and walked down to the dock, sitting for a while and watching the ducks play on the water. After a few minutes, I noticed a fly fisherman just across from me, waving his rod and making that line dance above the water as only fly fisherman can do. There’s not a lot sexier to watch than a good fly fisherman. Maybe I’m influenced by the book and movie A River Runs Through It, and I know all fly fisherman aren’t Brad Pitt, but watching someone make that line and fly dance through the air is magic.

Resident of Posey Lake

Before long, another man and his son arrived on my side of the lake with big tackle boxes, a few poles, and some camp chairs. Not as sexy. But it was still a part of the magic of the afternoon. After a while I rose to leave and just as I was getting in my car, a big, loud pickup truck and a girl on a four-wheeler showed up. I was glad of the timing.

Calf Creek Falls Trail

By the time I took care of some business on the internet in Escalante and drove back to the campsite, it was almost 5:00. The hike to the falls is a six-mile hike, and I figured I could make it there and back before dark. It was a simple hike without a lot of elevation change. The sand was deep in places, making going sluggish at times, but I was able to move quickly for most of the hike, and I reached the falls with plenty of daylight.

The hike itself was lovely. Much of it was rocky, desert-like terrain, but it also passed through thick foliage of trees and long grasses. I don’t think I’ve ever hiked in such diverse conditions on such a short hike. And the falls were stunning – 128 feet tall, cascading down, hitting a green, moss-covered rock, before falling into a quiet pool. I could feel the waterfall before I could see it as the air became damp and the temperature dropped probably 10 degrees 100 yards before arriving. I lingered for a while, taking it all in, before turning back for camp.

I’ve spent the evening with my next door neighbor, Jen. She’s a young woman from Montana traveling alone for the summer with her little pug dog. She pulled her chair over and talked to me while I built my fire and fixed dinner. We had a nice chat, and I admire her for taking off on her own for the summer. She’s “successfully unemployed” at the moment, as she put it, and she’s taking full advantage of that state. It was nice to have the company, and I think she felt the same way.

 

So tomorrow I’ll hike somewhere up here in the canyonlands of the Grand Staircase, maybe checking out a slot canyon and maybe just finding some other hikes. I’ll decide that tomorrow, letting myself be guided by whatever seems like the thing to do at the moment.