Natural Bridges National Monument

9/25/10 Working our way east thru southern Utah, we camped the night of the 23rd at the north end of Lake Powell, Glen Canyon National Recreation Area, Hite, UT. We left early the next morning, headed for Moab and Arches National Park. That was not to be. A side trip to Natural Bridges National Monument was supposed to be quick. We should have known differently when we talked with the intern at the Visitors Center. She had volunteered there and now was back interning and radiating a love for the place. It was infectious.

The three natural bridges in the Park were formed as the forces of uplift and erosion cut thru a white sandstone formation, creating the White Canyon and leaving the bridges behind. To get to the park, we had driven along the rim of the White Canyon, looking down into an ever deepening cut thru the sandstone. The Park roads and trails took us into the Canyon itself.

How could we be blessed to find ourselves at yet another magical place on this earth’s surface? Through the day of hiking and sketching and writing and looking I found myself developing a love for this beautiful sandstone. Unlike the sharp, raw and vertical walls of red sandstone canyons, we were now in a place where the rock weathered round and soft. I loved her bulbous rolls, cut and smoothed over the eons by the river way below; I loved her overhanging sides, rounded cliffs that shaded and cooled our trail hikes; I loved the way her crannies supported all manner of plant life… spiky cactus, scrubby pinion pine, mountain juniper and dry yellow rabbitbrush. Her vegetation, taken together, was a full green rainbow, set against the pink/grey of the sandstone… deep blue green, yellow and brown tinted green, grey blue green, bright yellow green, light green with red highlights, the variations go on (and change with the changing light). It was spectacular.

We camped that night in the ‘overflow’ campground associated with the Monument, a large open area accessed by a partially washed out road, offering space, views of the setting sun blazing off red rock formations in far mountains, and a glorious full moon… a lovely place to stop.

In the morning we decided to keep our compass bearing headed east toward Mesa Verde rather than Moab and Arches/Canyon Land area. That will have to be another trip.

I was sad to leave Utah. We had been treated to a journey through geologic time and outrageous land forms that could only be seen and touched, felt and walked on. The timeline of this land defies human imagination but her bold faces, raw and deep cuts, jutting mountains, long vistas, and twisting canyons enticed us, invited us in, and ultimately captured something deep in the soul.

Sunglow Canyon

9/25/10 We camped three nights ago (9/22) at Sunglow Canyon near Bicknell, UT, having been told about the site at a shop where we stopped to change drivers and stretch our legs. Sunglow is an isolated canyon, part of a massive west facing fold of rock stretching 100 miles north to south, the Waterpocket Fold. As we left the main road and drove east into the canyon, its tall red face caught the late afternoon sun. Rounding a corner we were there, in the narrow, isolated edge that formed the canyon.

The walls were tall, vertical, ragged and raw. Sun caught by the west facing canyon wall reflected throughout the canyon making it glow radiant orange. At the base of the walls soft, rounded outwash fans, looking like flesh covering the bones of her rock, gave evidence to the erosion and weathering of the walls above. Clutter of large plucked boulders, shards of sedimentary rock, and glacially deposited black basalt filled in below the outwash fans. Beneath everything a small stream, its bed wide and deep, cut flat into the sediments of the canyon bottom.

Walking into this narrowing, radiant place was magical. The canyon drew us with irresistible gravity. As we climbed over her boulders and touched her outreach fans, I was captured by a sense of awe, filled with reverence for this special place on mother earth.

Sunglow Canyon – An Appreciation Meditation

Sunglow Canyon, I walk on your mother rocks of red, sun radiant walls, black rocks of fire…

I honor your blood red walls;
I honor your erosion fans, flesh on bones of ancient, ocean-sediment rocks;
I kiss the layers of your history;
You draw me into your belly of light and dark, cliff and tree, red and gold.
I am held by your blue sage and yellow rabbitbrush, adornments on your iron colored flesh.
Fire of life illuminates you;
Sun is radiant upon you;
Silent secrets explode from you.

We came to this place, not knowing the soul that lives here, sent by a woman who sells flutes. Tumultuous sky, clouds, wind and rain were here this day, but left and the evening quiet settled in. A walk we said, just a short one… and Sunglow Canyon you led us to paths by your green capillary stream, erosion cuts on her banks evidence of the sometimes furry of your waters. Narrow and tall you beautiful canyon, you nurture green points of air giving trees, placed with random grace, just so… as if you know how their dark, dark green makes your orange/red face vibrate with life.

Walking into your center, mother earth, I give thanks to you, for you, with you. May my blood and flesh and bones be lead by the blood and flesh and bones of your solid rock presence. May my strength be from your strength. May your waters flow in my capillaries, your air breathe clarity to me. Wind, sun, rock, flower, tree, rain, slice of earth, roar of falling rock, silence of rising moon, trickle of flowing water, home of nesting creature, Sunglow Canyon, Holder of the Spirit of Unity, we honor you.

Bryce Canyon

9/21/10 Full moon rise at the rim of Bryce Canyon. The bowl of light above us glows deep blue to purple to white on the moon’s east and gentle yellow on the west as it chases the disappearing sun. No clouds, just moon and sky and light. Below us Hoodoo rock formations shine with a luminous orange, gold and apricot. Even after a long day of hiking the rim of the canyon, it is hard to step away from these formations. Their red sandstone layers, capped by white/gray dolomite, have been carved over thousands of years by constant plucking from freeze-thaw weathering and erosion leaving a landscape of pillars, fins, and carved plateau faces, a gapping rift into the layers of sedimentary rock which make up the Colorado Plateau. Standing here at 8,000 ft, on top of the world, one can see the plateau lands behind us, open, tilted and reaching into the prairie distance, and before us the wondrous work of water and ice, wind and rain, uplift and sedimentation. At this one brief moment in time we are gifted, standing in front of this vast sculptured land.

Our trip has taken us through the black basalt and magma domes of the Pacific Northwest, around the southern edge of the arid, gray/tan Great Basin (thank you Death Valley) and now to the erosion/sedimentation/uplift land forms of the Colorado Plateau. The bottom third of the plateau is exposed in the cut at the Grand Canyon, the middle third is seen at Zion Canyon, and here we stand at Bryce Canyon, above the top third, marveling as the full moon illuminates the works of millions of years of geological forces. The ravens that glide on the updrafts of the canyon seem not to notice. The bristlecone pines with their twisted, almost dead limbs, living on the windward, dry point of the canyon rim, seem not to notice. Even some human visitors, with their screeching vehicle stops and photo grabs, seem not to notice.

The land forms are magical. Their colors and shapes play with the mind and soul and invite one to walk deeper down into their world, be surrounded by carved fins of rock, knobby pillars, orange and white erosion skirts, and constant change.

People of all languages and ages stop here, walk the rim trail, embrace what they can, and then move back from the edge. Picnic and camping areas are nestled well away from the canyon rim, in places of human time and dimension. From the point of the plateau one sees for 200 miles to the south, over a vast series of plateaus. At places the repetitive plateaus look like the heads of so many teenaged boys from the 50’s with their flat top hair cuts!

Time and dimension exists on so many scales. As humans it is almost impossible to fathom the forces and time that have brought us to our place and time. One can only be open and listen to the land. We were amused today when we read a quote from Will Durant: ‘Civilization exists by geological consent, subject to change without notice.’ How true that seems as one watches the night come on the high plateau.

Zion Canyon

9/18/10 Early morning in Zion Canyon. The quiet is immense as I watch the the mosaic of rock on the close canyon walls. No other travelers, just red and white sandstone walls, sun on spires, changing, reflected light within the canyon, and my paint box. In the direct light of early morning the red sandstone rock pillars have a golden glow. The canyon land forms are wrapped in the intense blue of the sky and bounded by courageous trees which dare to take root on ledges above her precipitous walls. One comes to understand just how small they are in the presence of millions of years of earth’s history, turned up on end and cut through by the action of water. What we are and how we live matters, but mother earth, with her sun and rock, water, sky and change matters so much more. Water which flows out of sandstone layers today was deposited by rain 1600 years ago. It rolls from a cliff face, watering lush hanging gardens and nurturing a green oasis below.

I hiked along the canyon edge, looking down into the meadow, glancing toward the curving rocks above me, and focusing across the valley at the pillars and cliffs that defined the far side of the canyon. Amazing to be here, just walking and looking and seeing. The intense late morning sun penetrated each step of the hike, making the few places of shade welcome relief.

This land is stark, beautiful, and powerful.

Death Valley

9/17 So here’s the score for yesterday… Carters 7, Sun and heat, 10. Death Valley was an amazing place… and we wimped out in the afternoon sun. It takes mental energy (and lots of water) to be in 100 degree plus heat and remain present and rational. The sun won the struggle and left us totally delighted to find an RV Park in….. drum roll….. Las Vegas. The park had shade, electricity, water, and an air conditioned restaurant. We did the RV tourist thing with great gusto… ate at the restaurant (first such dinner since we’ve been on the road), tried out the air conditioner in the RV (it worked) and least anyone think we were totally fried by the heat, be assured we weren’t. We didn’t go to the casinos… although had we not been so hot and tired and cranky, we might have ventured out. That was not to happen. Air-conditioning (and the night air) made for a good long sleep. We leave Las Vegas and Nevada today, headed for Utah. Weather reports in Utah seem to be a bit cooler.

Yesterday’s experience of intense dry heat reminded me of a similar experience 45 years ago in India. There, with time, I learned to live with the heat rather than fight it. I have lost that skill and will have to re-learn it to fully enjoy being here… As I drove the RV up out of the Death Valley area, I found myself thinking that if the road would just climb a little more, we would round a corner and there would be cool air, green trees, running water… the heat had fried my brain but oh, the images of coolness were wonderful.

Yosemite

9/13/10 We have camped the last four nights in Yosemite Park, two nights at Crane Flats near Yosemite Valley and two nights at Tuolumne Meadows in the high country (8,600’). Yesterday we climbed Lembert Dome, an 850’ dome of granite which marks one edge of the Meadow. The trail started through a conifer forest, circling the base of the dome and climbing steeply. Daryle and I hike more slowly than we did 20 years ago. That is a gift in itself. With all our huffing and puffing on the climb we stop to observe more around us. There was much to see…

Bear cafeterias were everywhere – logs from fallen trees which the bears have ripped into with their claws in search of grubs to eat. Their food search speeds the breakdown of fallen logs, leaving detritus to be returned to the soil.

The understory of the woods was open, and for the most part, very dry. Occasionally we came across a patch of vibrant green understory, grasses and small ferns, supported in their growth by some source of moisture, often not seen. One such area harbored a single purple aster, nested in a clump of grass like a perfect gem stone in her emerald velvet show case.

Old and dead trees still standing, interspersed with the living ones, displayed their beauty in the swirl of growth lines around their trunks. No straight lines but contours which wrap around the lines of past upward growth. The trees stand, bark gone exposing gray weathering wood, shapes and twirls, planes worn or rotted away, homes to birds and insects… they grab the eye and bathe it with glorious shape and color. There too were trees which have succumbed to fire in the past but still stand, shards of charred trunk punctuating the green canopy of living trees. At a distance we see the red spike of a standing, decaying tree, vibrant in the sun.

Our hike levels out as we come around the back side of the granite dome and find the last section of forest trail before moving out onto the rock to climb to the summit. Directional signs cut out of steel plates, now rustyed to blend with the environment, point our way. I am very aware that we are walking in John Muir land, the place where his efforts to protect Yosemite Park began.

Breaking out of the forest path and climbing the gradual back side of Lembert Dome, one is treated to a panoramic view of the mountains and valleys of the high Sierras. We have joined a ranger led walk. His love for this land is infectious. Talking about the geology, pointing out peak after peak in a 360 degree disertation on the impact of continental plates colliding, subduction of the Pacific Plate and rising of the continental plate, formation of metamorphic rock and its extrusion as magma; the subsequent shaping of the surface by glaciers… and the history of native people living on the land, European settlers ‘discovering it’, and its protection as a park. His words and passion for the park were compelling but more so was the gift of sitting on top… sun warm and wind crisp… and seeing forever in this beautiful land.

We leave Yosemite today, going out over the Tioga Pass towards Nevada. It is hard to leave such a beautiful place behind, but the journey needs to continue… and besides, we have eaten most of the food in the cupboards and worn all our clean sox! Time to find a wishy-washy and grocery and stock up for the next adventure.

One last observation… the night sky has been so very dark that when I wake and look out the window by the bed, the stars are a riot which overwhelms the sky with their light. They can be seen the whole way down to the horizon, shining thru the trees around us. The quiet of the night is the matrix on which star light explodes.

All is right with this world. For the generations of people and animals yet to come, this land is a treasure which must be held dear.

Song

9/9/10 – Thursday evening, seven o’clock… the word I have been looking for to complete the song in my head jumps out at me. It’s not my song but a Wings song which speaks to me these days. Just when my dear Wings are singing in Bangor, the song returns to me…

Air moves us
…the sand carrying air of the coastal dunes, the fog swirling air in the redwoods, the clear sun air of the high mountains… they all move me…

Fire transforms us
…sun on the tips of morning trees, stars crisp and bright in the dark night, shorts weather warmth in the afternoon, an invitation to walk; the passion to see shapes and colors and patterns more fully, to paint the passion, to touch the finite and the infinite…

Water shapes us
… the flat plains, the jagged, water carved mountains, glacial carved valley after valley, foot hills where people nestle their activities near water, hillsides golden and green with dry grass and trees…

Earth heals us
…how could one not be centered, focused, passionate while day after day walking and moving thru this beautiful land…

And the balance of the wheel goes round and round, the balance of the wheel goes round
Sometimes this land is so big that it is too hard to embrace… to see its majesty… at these times I see the immediate.. the swirl of red bark on cedar trees, the rich blacks and grays of basalt rock faces, the intricate patterns of lichen and moss growing on the trunk of trees, the seed pods of the grasses… these bring focus and power the wheel of life.

To California

9/6/10 – We are camped tonight in California’s Del Norte Coast Redwood State Park, having traveled the length of the southern Oregon coast today. Arrived in the redwood park near dark. Tomorrow the big trees around us should take more shape… Today we stopped at Port Orford to walk to a point of land. From a cliff top we watched a whale swim below while seals slept on a rock ledge. What a magnificent view! Looking north Cape Blanco, a barren point of land, stretched into the ocean – the farthest west reach of the State of Oregon. In many ways, the land and the ocean were similar to that we saw on the central Oregon coast, just more wild. Pillar/shards of basaltic rock jutting into the sea connected to land by flat expanses of wet gray sand at low tide. It looks as if the rock has pushed its way out of the sand, rather than the sand having come from the abrasion of the rock.

Many long distance bikers on the road which is variously called ‘the Oregon Coast bike Route’ and the ‘Pacific Coast Scenic Highway’. It follows the high cliffs, providing vistas of the beaches and water below, and then returns to sea level, to climb again. Few people were seen in this remote area. The ones we did see from the cliffs looked like tiny moving, bending sticks as they played by the water. They flocked in the manner of the Oregon Dunes sand plovers, individuals making random movements, the flock moving together.

Lunch at Crazy Norwegians Fish and Chips in Port Orford. Try this for size… a fish taco made of taco shell, fried cod fish, cheese, salsa, cilantro, coleslaw and chipotle sauce. What a mixture of cultures! Fine eating.

Noted on the roadway were the signs… ‘Pacific Coast Scenic Highway’ (Total agreement there); ‘Oregon Coast Bike Route’ (one has to be very strong, fit, and a bit crazy to ride these hills); ‘slides’, ‘rock’, ‘elk’, ‘sharp curve’. Beautiful place.

9-7-10 – Followed the Redwood Highway today through the Del Norte State Park and the Redwood National Park, then on down the coast to Arcata where we turned east toward Redding California. We are camping tonight in the Shasta-Trinity National Forest – part of the northern California coastal range. Afternoon rains held off while we were among the redwoods. That gave us time to stop and look and listen to the redwood forest around us. Later the wind and fog rolled in off the ocean, chilling the air and bringing out fleece to stay warm.

To paraphrase John Steinbeck, one can’t spend time in the redwoods, experience their stillness, be lost in their size, without being changed as a person. Access to the redwoods has changed since he wrote about them… high speed roads carry busses of travelers into and out of attractions like humming birds flitting to and from a feeder; individuals take posed photos, a friend by this tree, a family member by a trailhead… and then move on. A few hearty ones take off with passes in hand and back packs of gear, headed for the back country. Even with the changes in access and speed, the redwoods capture people. They bear awe and majesty which dwarfs us as human individuals. Standing among them, one feels the wisdom of these living trees which have populated the planet for over 2000 years.

At Arcata we finally turned east, saying goodbye to the Pacific Ocean and aiming our compass bearing toward Maine. We have been on the road for almost a month, playing in the Pacific Northwest, sharing time with family, getting to know a bit about Oregon, the state that our son calls home. We are ready now to begin the eastward journey.

Wind, Water, Waves, and Cliffs

September 4 – A pair of child’s pink sneakers left on the sand pierced the grays and tans and blacks of the pebble/sand beach. We had traveled north from our campsite at Alder Dune on the densely vegetated, low dune area of the Oregon coast into the twisty, turney area of basaltic cliffs interspersed with wide expanses of sand beaches. Shards of black basalt stretched from the cliffs into the ocean, forcing the powerful waves of the Pacific to split into confused swirls as they lost power on the long flat beaches. From first level escarpments above the beach (where the road was built) one looked south to see layer after layer of cliffs jutting out into the ocean, skirted by sea level fog created by the spray of waves. Looking west the horizon line was clear and sharp – the grey green ocean touching the cloudless, intense sky.

Sand told the story… sharp ripples from wave action left their undulating marks the whole way to the high tide line… wide sweeping sand contours were deposited by the wind as it took the top off drying wave marks… streaks of light sand blown over the wet dark breaking waves sand… sand that curled around beach boulders and half buried them… footprints… dog prints… marks from sneakers and boots. At Hecete Head Beach three people, bundled against the force of the wind and blown sand, poked around the pebble boulder area next to the first escarpment. They looked among the tumbled rounded rocks for shards of garnet and jasper, loosed from the mountain valleys inland and brought by the rivers to lodge among basaltic boulders. They worked slowly, poking and turning rocks, clearly understanding where to look. The yellow orange of the garnet they found should have been obvious to the casual looker but clearly wasn’t. We admired their finds, shared stories of the joyful day, and moved on, leaving them to their treasure hunting. Our treasures were the sun and sky, the wind and water, the power of the earth and air and waves.

In the end, I was drawn back to the pink sneakers, left abandoned while their owner ran the beach, testing the waves, holding hands with a friend, jumping to keep the cold breaking waves below their waists. A mother, carrying piles of towels and little people clothes, watched, moved into and out of the water mimicking the distance the girls played from shore, guardian of their safety.

Tomorrow Daryle and I travel south from Alder Dune towards Coos Bay and the National Sea Shore. This adventure is amazing!

September 1

We camped last night in a forest service campground on the western side of the Cascade Range in Oregon. A grand night’s purchase for $6. Nestled among the tall cedar and Douglas fir trees of the temperate rain forest, the separation of camping sites, the quiet, and the stillness made for wonderful sleeping. The contrast to the last two nights can’t be starker… One night in Wally’s World (Wal-Mart) in suburban Portland (the price was right… the setting left much to be desired) and one night nestled among the mega RV’s in a city campground in Oregon City. I much prefer the Douglas fir to the RV giants for neighbors.

Yesterday we drove from Oregon City up the Clakamas River Valley into the Mt Hood National Forest and then on to the Willamette National Forest. Stopped at a pass to find out why so much congestion of cars and tents and trucks in an otherwise unpopulated area. Had an interesting conversation with the Information Officer for two major fire fighting efforts in the forests. Over 800 people on the fire lines. We had stumbled into Incident Command, with all its facilities to feed, house, transport, plan, manage, equip, and care for the fire fighters who had come from all parts of the Pacific Northwest. Just cooking enough food for all those hungry people was huge, as was safety, equipment management, finance, and information management. The effort had been underway at least two weeks and had cost over $5 million federal dollars. Interestingly the plan was to let parts of the fire go to burn the underbrush and leave the tall trees standing. That is a significant change from past practice.

Back to campgrounds – People are far more friendly when there is separation between the sites. No contact with other campers during the two nights spent in the parking lots of Wally’s World; very minimal contact in RV Parks; and pleasant conversations in forest service sites.

Woke this morning at 6:00 to see the half moon over my shoulder between the black silhouettes of fir trees. For an hour I watched the tops of grey ghost trees, wrapped in morning fog, emerge behind the black campsite ones, and then saw all ease from flat silhouettes into dark green shapes and finally distinct cathedrals of trees. I have been taken by the interface between the trees and ferns on the forest floor… green skirts that wrap the solid trunks. “Ghost trees” was the name for the shards of tree trunks left standing in the ash fields of Mt St Helens eruption… and ‘ghost trees’ is the image of the living trees in this forest – each its own beauty.

Today we continue south thru the Breitenbush River Watershed in the Willamentic National Forest and the middle Sanitern Wilderness.

We are blessed!