Aja Surprise

Ever think you know someone, and then they do something that totally surprises you? Well, here's my latest: My cat, Aja, AKA the huge, monster scaredy-cat, took on a neighborhood dog last week of her own free will! Well, that might be overstating it a little bit, but for an animal that runs for her life when Kevin and I make any sudden movements ("WOAH, you're getting up and walking around? Opening cupboards? Pouring water into a glass? Turning on the evaporative cooler? I can't handle this! I'll regroup in the entryway."), it was stunning behavior.

She followed me out of her usual backyard territory to the front yard as I was clipping the row of roses that line our driveway. She was sitting about 20 feet from me, between me and the gate to the backyard, when a dog I'd never seen before came happily panting his way up to me. It was a larger dog, about the size and color of a yellow lab. I sat there to pet him, and he rolled over on the lawn so I would rub his belly. Apparently that was the last straw for Aja, because she came trotting up to us and sat about three feet away, sitting in a very regal and dignified pose. I yelled at her because I had no idea what this strange dog would do with a cat so close (I don't think the dog saw Aja before that), and I started yelling at Aja: "Don't you know you're supposed to be afraid of dogs?!" But she just sat there, bold and assured.

That was before the dog jumped up and ran into the backyard, and Aja just looked up at me, seeming to say, "So, the dog's in my backyard, what are you going to do about it?" I picked her up and set her on the front porch behind our laurel bushes, where at least she had the sense to stay until I had chased the dog out of the backyard and into a neighbor's yard, and, wrestled my leather gardening gloves away from him that he had been holding in his mouth.

After that, the dog stood one house a way in the driveway, hiding behind a little 2-foot spruce bush and staring Aja down, while Aja sat on my driveway, hiding behind one of the rose bushes and staring back at the dog. That went on for a few minutes and I returned to my rose cutting. And then the dog came over to see me again, and I started petting her again, because hey, I'm an animal lover. This time, Aja was not cool with it. She was more aggressive and started moaning really deep in her throat and arching her back as she stood her ground. Now, back arching is meant to make cats look bigger than they are, but an 18-pound Maine coon mix cat arching her back, her fur all sticking up, looks just huge—I couldn't help but laugh. At that point Kevin came out of the house, and at my request picked her up to take her in the backyard and close the gate. She didn't go willingly, and she sat at the gate and meowed for Kevin to let her back out so she could defend her territory some more. It was so surprising to me that this normally panicked and freaked-out cat would be so set on defending her territory and her people. I guess she doesn't do sharesies with other animals, and that in itself shouldn't be too much of a surprise.

Epiphany in Devil's Garden

I've been wanting to post on hiking epiphanies for quite some time. You know, the experiences we have where we all of the sudden realize, "This is just so cool" and our lives are changed forever. My brother Matt describes his experience in Devil's Garden (incidentally one of my most favorite hikes), and I hope that he won't mind the shout out to him and his experience as described on his site.

The trail was long for short legs, and the few hundred feet of elevation gain had defeated my will. Another death march, up over the worn sandy path, over sandy rock. I hardly noticed the beauty of the towering sandstone fins on either side of me. The majesty of seeing Landscape Arch, the world's biggest, along with Dad's stunning revelation that a whole football field would fit inside that hole in the rock, faded quickly as the hike turned into a mental battle that I was losing.

I don't want to spoil his essay by including the epiphany, but I had to post this paragraph because it's something I could totally relate to. I remember hiking to Delicate Arch in the middle of the afternoon as a small girl, and hiking straight up that hill in the searing hot sun. I complained to my dad that the hike wasn't very cool, as it didn't allow me to crawl around and climb. Somewhere after that must have been my epiphany. I've been working on describing this experience for some time. I even wrote a personal essay several years ago about how I came to love this form of exercise, this quiet time, this family time, and communing with nature--although it's more than a sum of all these parts, isnt' it?-- and this essay was based around hiking experiences with my Dad. Maybe I'll dig that up and give it a tune up for some later time.

Hiking Etiquette

As I have been increasing the amount of time I spend hiking the last few years, and as my responsibilities have shifted since my childhood--now I decide where to hike and whom to hike with--I've been thinking a lot about etiquette, or rather hiking etiquette. Of course, I usually think of this when there's an apparent breach in the unspoken hiking etiquette contract: A large, noisy group fails to fall behind or pass my group when we're going the same direction, someone brings speakers to blast music on a wilderness hike, or someone carries on a conversation in his loudest 'outdoor voice,' that, despite the fact we are outdoors, could easily be handled at a normal volume. Then of course there's the man who let his boy use a rock to dig deep under a large-ish desert flower next to Landscape Arch, in plain site of many tourists, thereby completely exposing the roots and likely killing it.

Watching the plant being destroyed while the father looked on infuriated me. In lesser cases, such as the group-bunching one, I'm often left with that awful choice to either intentionally slow down or take a break, or to quicken my pace in an effort to get ahead. I usually choose the latter, which then creates anxiety when I stop for any reason, such as taking pictures.

All of these hiking false steps cause me some frustration, as it doesn't seem to match what going into nature is all about. I plainly hate crowds, and I try to plan my hikes when I'm least likely to encounter them (I've found Presidents' Day in February to be a great hiking day), and I also think that no hikers outside my hiking group is interested in what I have to say. In searching for hiking etiquette tips, I've found a lot of results that don't really match what I think etiquette is, e.g. "know your limits," and "take plenty of water." Those sound more like safety tips to me. I think that Miriam Webster's definition of etiquette applies to hiking etiquette as well: "the conduct or procedure required by good breeding or prescribed by authority to be observed in social or official life."
Maybe it does take "good breeding," or in other words learned behaviors, to know how to respect others, including natural others, we encounter in the wilderness.

I feel like my father did a good job raising me with the right principles of hiking etiquette such as letting hikers pass, staying off the crypto-biotic soil, "hiding our numbers" by walking single file, etc. I also distincly remember being a Girl Scout up at Treefoil Ranch and having a scout leader reprimand a girl for breaking a twig off of a tree. The leader told us that it hurt her to see nature be hurt, and while I was just as ignorant as my fellow scout, I learned that even small things like tiny branches on large trees need our protection.

I found a site whose hiking etiquette philosophy I agree with, as the author states:

There are three qualities that are essential to a wilderness experience: solitude, silence, and lack of evidence of human encroachment. In addition, the hiker should also seek to preserve the natural balance of the ecosystem through which they are hiking. If these are qualities valued by the hiker, then etiquette dictates that behaviors compatible with these values are adopted. Not only will this reduce the impact of your own presence on the wilderness, but will help to assure that hikers to follow obtain the same enjoyment and sense of exploration from the area as you did.

His six items for respecting solitude are also worth noting:

1. Take breaks and camp away from trails and other visitors. If the trail destination is a popular viewpoint, waterfall or mountain top, spend a few moments enjoying the view then, if you are planning a break or lunch, move off to the side to let other hikers have their turn. Please don't throw your pack down on the most prominent and visible area, kick off your shoes & spread out your lunch as if you owned the place.


2. Be courteous. Yield to other users on the trail. A general rule of thumb is that the person climbing up hill has the right of way.


3. Schedule your trip to avoid times of high use.


4. Visit in small groups. Split larger parties into groups of 4-6.


5. Respect other visitors and protect the quality of their experience.


6. Unless passing or being passed, try to maintain separation between yourself and other hikers.

In addition to these, Todd covers silence, minimum impact, and ecosystem health as aspects of desert hiking etiquette. All I can say is Amen, and I hope I can follow these myself.

Connectedness

"To be whole. To be complete. Wildness reminds us what it means to be human, what we are connected to rather than what we are separate from." --Terry Tempest Williams

To Grandpa

Grandpa, I'll never forget our meeting six years ago. You welcomed me into the family with open arms and inaugurated our meeting by telling me some of your favorite corny and somewhat dirty jokes.

Thank you for taking such an interest to Kevin throughout his life. You have made things easier on him, and I know you felt he brightened a room when he came in. It has been so wonderful to spend time with a person who feels the same way I do about him. I was priveleged to get to know you so much more because of the special relationship the two of you had. Kevin would have done anything for you, and we'll never regret spending our Saturday afternoons with you over the last two years or going on those trips to Pipe Springs, Page, or Cedar Canyon.
I have never met someone who cared more about people than you did. You had friends wherever you went, and you did much more for your customers than sell them cars: you befriended them, you gave them your favorite books, and you often covered a car payment for them. As one person remarked on your obituary guestbook, "Is there anyone in Southwestern Utah you haven't sold a car to?"

I'll never forget the message you delivered about never giving up. I remember when we were at the Gateway Mall to watch that young man come in after completing the 26-mile Salt Lake City Merathon on crutches and how you cried when he reached the finish line and would not be satisfied until you had met this wonderful person who refused to let his disability limit him. Grandpa, during your last few days last week, our family sensed that you didn't want to die, that you were determined to overcome, to not quit. You did not quit, you stuck it out to the end, you crossed the finish line, and you're off to your next new adventure. You're the champion of all people. I love you, Grandpa.

Moab and Fisher Towers

Last weekend Kevin and I snuk away for a one-night stay near Moab. I've blogged earlier about favorite places, and how Arches is special as the place that I returned to time and again and where I learned to love nature. In an effort to explore more and more of Utah's wilderness offerings, we've been more adventurous, and for that reason it's been two years since I visited my favorite places here.

Kevin and I came down early on Friday without stopping and arrived at the Arches National Park visitors' center to get our Fiery Furnace hiking permit. We hiked in the Fiery Furnace for a couple of hours and spent the rest of the afternoon on the Devil's Garden primitive loop trail. I'll talk more about these hikes in another post.

That evening, we set up our tent at the campground, one just outside of Arches, and went into Moab to get some dinner. We've adopted the Moab Diner as our favorite place to eat there after having a bad experience during the annual Jeep Rally where it was very hard to find good, timely service at any restaurant, and a local we spoke to said she always ate at the Moab Diner. So far it and its Kokapeli Chicken have been good to us. After dinner we went into some of the shops around town and eventually wandered into a used bookstore where I became fascinated by the rare book collection. I really like old books and the way they look, and this one had an original publication by Joseph Conrad as well as the original Harpers publication of Trilby, a novel I read in my senior seminar on the Pre-Raphaelites. It's a truly bad novel, but seeing the Victorian original was cool. We went to another store to look at their rare book collection, this time a lot of regional geographic literature and Ed Abbey books. I didn't buy anything, but I enjoyed this experience more than going to the gift shops and seeing the same old souvenirs at every store.

We went back to the campground and showered, played two-person spades, and fell asleep on our new-ish air mattresses. I love having these little backpacking air mattresses, and cannot imagine camping without them. I mention this because I was raised with a very different philosophy about camping--no mattress, no pillow, no pajamas--just your hiking clothes on. Now it feels like I'm in luxury!

We woke up early that morning to drive toward Moab, but to turn after the Colorado River to follow it up northeast of Arches National Park to get to the Fisher Towers and Onion Creek area, BLM land that I haven't hiked on since I was a child. We turned off on a dirt road to get to the Fisher Towers trailhead and started our hike about 9:00 a.m.

It was beautiful starting out in the shade of the towers as the sun gradually crept up over them.

It was a perfect time to start the hike while there was still plenty of shade. There were song birds singing everywhere, and the flowers were out full strength. It was so green at this time of year, and throughout the hike we had great views of the Colorado River, the towers, and the small canyons that descended away from the towers. I think that it would be very fun to explore these small canyons sometime.

A video of the view about 1/2 mile in from the trailhead.

One of these towers is called the Titan, and Kevin was telling me about how National Geographic sponsored a team of climbers to navigate up this tower a couple of years ago. This is also the proclaimed favorite spot of one of their world photographers.

Kevin at the end of the trail. It was a little over 2 miles one way out, but you can see that the sun had already come out by the time we reached this overlook.

Graduation, At Last!

As part of my catching up, here are the pics from Kevin's graduation from law school earlier this month. It was a very nice graduation, and Justice Goldstone, a former South African judge and international leader, spoke wise words about the importance attorneys play in the way national and international policy is shaped.

Kevin waiting to take class pictures.

The attorney and his wife. I love being a law wife! I've been able to meet some amazing people through this, such as law school friends Dave and Christina, and also dignitaries like Justice Clearance Thomas (at least I got to almost eat dinner in the same room with him at a faculty dinner).

My parents, my husband, and me.

All of Kevin's original family.

Catching Up

I haven't posted for quite some time, but this week I intend to catch up. On the 11th Kevin graduated from law school, on the 12th we had a fun family BBQ at our place--our first larger party ever at our house--to celebrate Kevin's accomplishment. We've been busy with getting the yard up and enjoying our roses in full bloom. We went to Moab, on which I have pictures to post later, and did my top two favorite Southern Utah hikes (Devil's Garden and Fiery Furnace) as well as one new one (Fisher Towers). Life's been crazy, but maybe we can settle down into more of a routine as Kevin studies for the bar.

Coyote Gulch in May

It's May. It's graduation time for Kevin, and it's busy short-academic-term time for me, where I teach two nights a week at a local university on top of working my regular job (which happens to be in a very exciting and engaging point on the current project timeline). Despite everything we have going on (or maybe because of it), we are going to take a trip this month to Moab and Arches. I haven't been there in May for a long time, but I'm expecting it to be hot. Last May Kevin and I were in Chesler Park with my brother, Matt. The May before that, we were in Coyote Gulch. I thought I'd write about that Coyote Gulch trip here to psych me up for more May weather hiking, and remind me of the things I don't want to do as well.

Warning: I made several stupid decisions on this hike. I should have known better. I should have carried more water, for one. About three times the water I took (I only took a liter). I should also have not decided to do the whole hike (14 miles) on a whim, and without eating lunch first.

That May, Kevin and I, along with our good friend Olsen, went down to the Glenn Canyon and Escalante area to do some hiking. We wanted to try an area we had never visited before, and with summer fast approaching, we felt like we were running out of time to visit Southern Utah in decent temperatures. After driving through Escalante and traveling 45 or so miles along a dirt road (in a small Honda Civic, nonetheless) to the most remote area of Utah I’ve ever been to, we reached the trailhead for Coyote Gulch, a popular backpacking hike in the area. It was past 1:00 p.m., but we decided to walk a little ways into the gulch to see what it was like. It wasn’t until later that we decided to do the whole 14.5 miles, which left us racing to finish before the sun set and worried about our water supply.

The first part of the trail is very sandy, but it quickly turns into this sandstone marked with cairns that are placed quite far apart and in about 20 different directions. The trick is to locate and head toward “the Crack,” which is the only way to get down into the gulch.


Here's a pretty part: A small waterfall along the Coyote Gulch trail. Once we descended to the water, the hike continued mildly upstream. This was after we'd been down to the first arch (Steven's Arch) and the place where the Escalante River joins up. Here I made the (poor) decision to keep hiking, rather than go back the way we came to the car. It was beautiful, though, and I was drawn in by the siren.

Kevin and I in front of Coyote Natural Bridge.

Jacob Hamblin Arch, where our route in the actual gulch ended. One thing that made me worried as we progressed along this trail was the notorious climb out. The trail book we were reading called this "the most challenging part," and the Glenn Canyon ranger we talked to told us about this cliff right off, making sure we were up to the challenge. That has somewhat of a psychological impact on climbers, as a 45 degree angle cliff was more of a psychological challenge than anything else. This is the side of the 100-foot fin that we had to scale to get out of Coyote Gulch. At first we thought we could just walk right up this part, by the dirt and plants. Only later did we realize that we had to climb straight up the cliff, farther to the right. One of my coworkers had done this with a bunch of older kids and teenagers, and they had a rope they used more as a security blanket. I think that would have helped in this case.

Eventually we made it out alive and back to the road, where we were picked up by a passing car who drove us to the parking lot. Strangely enough, they were looking for another hiker we'd met in the gulch, one who had been kind enough to filter us 2 liters of water on the spot. Never had nasty carbon-tasting water been so good. When we got to our car, they asked us if we had anything to drink, and we were more than happy to hand over a whole gallon of water we had in the trunk, hoping it would somehow return the favor their friend had done for us.

We had planned to camp along the Hole in the Rock road that night before heading to Calf Creek the next morning. After our experience, we decided to get a motel room. After all, we'd earned it.

Zombies

Last night I went to a writers' group with some friends from work. Our assignment was to write on zombies, a subject I know very little about as I haven't seen any zombie movies. So by the time I got to work yesterday, I hadn't written anything. I also wasn't feeling too well as I had weird dreams the night before that left me with a headache. I could hardly keep my presence of mind with the throbbing pain I was experiencing, so I just kept asking questions. It made me feel like a zombie!

While I am no creative writer--I'll admit that straight up--I have always enjoyed the occasional haiku. I can write haikus because I can count. It's that easy. Here's my zombie headache haiku:

Left brain is throbbing
Can't think, can't work now
How are you doing?

Fortunately, at the beginning of writers' group we had a 15-minute writing warm-up to get going, and I was able to write something. I took my inspiration from the Hoodoo formations in Bryce Canyon, those tall crumbling towers.

Hoodoo Army

Brain dead, rock hard, and breaking off in pieces. The crumbling red stone walls are cracking, arching, expanding, shrinking. Orange muddy water etching away the solidity, leaving tall, lumpy, dusty figures. Lifeless yet living, the living dead. Glaring heat survivors, baked, fried, cemented before awakening. They remain motionless, only shrinking by the inch every few years. Eating the sun, sucking the wind, repelling the rain and its destructive drainage, they reside in a lifeless desert--a stupor. All they need to amass their zombie army is to wait, to stand in the presence of ever-eroding walls.

Paria Dunes

One day, I want to hike Buckskin Gulch.

Oh that the desert were my dwelling place,

With only one fair spirit for my minster.

That I might forget the human race,

And hating no one, love her only.

-Lord Byron

No More Class

My mother-in-law tells me that when Kevin was five, he was very excited to go to kindergarten. She'd prepared him by talking about all the things he'd do in kindergarten, the daily schedule, etc. He went the first day and had a blast, but the next day, instead of getting ready for school, she found him sitting in front of the TV in his PJs. She told him that he needed to hurry and get ready for kindergarten, to which he replied, "No, I don't need to go to kindergarten today. I've already been." What a rude awakening that he would have to do this not only for a second day, but for 12 years of public school, college, and beyond.

Tuesday Kevin had his last classes for law school. Congratulations, Kevin. Hey, it's been a long time coming, but you can finally say you don't need to go to class; you've already been.

Kanarra Creek

On of my brother Mike's top Southern Utah hikes is Kanarra Creek, a BLM-managed slot canyon 12 miles south of Cedar City outside of Kanarraville. There's a dirt road past Kanarraville and a little hike (half a mile?) to get to the slot canyon. In the slot canyon, there are several waterfalls, one of which stopped us from ascending further, even though there was a rope there. Kevin and I hiked this with my brothers, my sister, and her husband in July 2005, and for such a short hike had many adventures, including a large rattlesnake next to the creek in the lower canyon and a dead battery in my brother's van to greet us when we came back.

This country is gorgeous, and the area is lesser-known so it was fun for my family to go there as a group. I don't typically like getting super wet, but I put up with it for this one, much to the amusement of my brothers. Sorry, this video is on its side.


Here are two videos of the area in the slot canyon that finally stopped us. My brother-in-law got up this rope, but he'd spent half the previous year roofing and had a lot better upper body strength than the rest of us.


One thing that you can't totally see in this clip is how the water comes down from the side, so the rope is practically hanging in part of the waterfall. Also, loud, rushing water can be a bit distracting.


This is the largest clip, but most rewarding. The makeshift log ladder was pretty slippery and wet, so it required some caution. While I'm making my way down, Matt takes in views of the slot canyon.

Literature Analysis, Revisited

My Papa's Waltz by Theodore Roethke

The whiskey on your breath
Could make a small boy dizzy;
But I hung on like death:
Such waltzing was not easy.

We romped until the pans
Slid from the kitchen shelf;
My mother's countenance
Could not unfrown itself.

The hand that held my wrist
Was battered on one knuckle;
At every step you missed
My right ear scraped a buckle.

You beat time on my head
With a palm caked hard by dirt,
Then waltzed me off to bed
Still clinging to your shirt.

On ny daily walk today, I randomly remembered an experience I had as an undergraduate in a 200-level literature class that involved this poem. The class had about 20-30 students, and I remember I got into a debate with the rest of the class (or the vocal 6 or 7 of them) about the intention of this poem. At first glance, I see what the rest of the class saw, which is about a boy remembering a fun roughousing episode with his father. On second glance, I view this poem as a frightening experience--the boy being beaten by his drunken father--childishly turned into a more pallatable experience or the "Papa's Waltz." There are several litotes, understatements such as "such dancing was not easy" or "could not unfrown itself" that not only are intended as understatements, but I believe imply that the opposite is actually very much the truth. In addition, the words like "death," "beat," "clinging," "caked hard," and "held my wrist" seem to imply a sense of desperation, or not being in control. Despite these evidences, I don't think I was able to convince anyone that this poem did not describe a charming childhood memory.

Ah well, I guess that upon reading this poem nine years later, I can safely say that my opinion about its meaning hasn't changed, except that I feel even more strongly that this poem shows a child's attempt to make sense of a scary situation by putting it in the context of a dance. Is that a good thing? So much for my Walt Whitman stance that a poem should change my view for a day, if not for a few hours.

Furguson Canyon (and Top Five list)

This last weekend I went hiking with my dad and one of my brothers up Furguson Canyon, just south of Big Cottonwood Canyon. It was just a short hike, a couple of hours, but enjoyable to do a little mountain hiking so early in the year. I was amazed how quickly the canyon descended on us, how soon the rocky cliffs seemed to form around us. I grew up looking into this canyon, and never realized how navigable it was, as I was always more focused on the larger Cottonwood canyons. The house I grew up in had a swing set in the backyard, a real park-style swing set with tall metal poles that were buried in the ground. To unwind after school, I used to take my walkman out and swing on the swings, facing east, looking straight into Furguson Canyon.

I had been up this canyon before with my dad, when I was 8 or 9 years old. I remember the rock climbers there--there are some excellent beginner rock climbing spots not too far up where it's not too difficult to reach the top of the cliff through other means and secure the ropes before the climb. There were rock climbers there again, and it looks like a lot of fun. Made me think I need to start developing additional upper body strength if I'm going to attempt that.

During our hike, we each discussed our favorite Utah hikes. I am not a huge fan of top five lists because I dislike picking the last two and leaving everything else off the list, but my brother pressed me to come up with a list of my top five Southern Utah hikes. Here's what I came up with on the fly:

1. Fiery Furnace, Arches National Park
2. Chesler Park, Needles District, Canyonlands National Park
3. Devil's Garden primitive loop, Arches National Park
4. Bell's Canyon/Little Wildhorse Canyon loop
5. Peekaboo/Navajo/Queen's Garden, Bryce National Park

I had forgotten about Calf Creek in Escalante, which really should be there as it is an amazingly fun hike. Also, I'd have to do Coyote Gulch and Upper Muley Twist Canyon in different weather/hiking conditions to see how I'd fare when more prepared.

Photo Shoot, Downtown SLC

The marketing manager at work scheduled short photo shoots with everyone for our new company website. I had mine a couple weeks ago, and the pics are in. Incidentally, I think they chose to go in a different direction for the site, thinking it would be too personal to have our photos and bios posted publically. It was fun to get these taken, though, and it gives the area around my office a more artistic look. When I look at these, I can almost forget that bums go to the bathroom in our stairwell.

April Flowers at Temple Square

Oh my heart is in bloom like a lilac tree

And my heart like the sunlight gloweth

She has but to glance and my lilac tree

And lo, into blossoms it goeth

And my soul has the wings of a nightengale

It lives with the lilac flowers

In extasy singing its wondrous lay

Of joy in its perfumed bowers

F. Schumman

Rain in Capitol Reef

This weekend Kevin and I made our first visit to Capitol Reef, completing our goal of visiting all five national parks in Utah together. I went to Capitol Reef once as a kid with my family and cousins, but I don't remember much of it. I remember driving around dirt roads in my uncle's big suburban while my mom was sleeping in one of the back seats. When she woke up, we were driving through a river. She woke up with a huge gasp at seeing our SUV partially submerged in water, and we all thought that was pretty funny. This weekend was also marked by surprising amounts of water. When we drove from Sigurd into Torrey, I was surprised to see the nearby mountains covered in snow, and realized that we were at a much higher elevation than I had expected. By the time we checked into our hotel, the Best Western between Torrey and the park entrance, a light drizzle had started. We loved our room, which was situated with a balcony that looked out onto the park, and where we were able to spot and hear animal life, including songbirds and a little kitty who spent a lot of time staring at us.
It was raining by the time we drove arrived at the visitor's center, a less than 10-minute drive from our hotel, where we stopped to discuss our plans for the 15-miler we'd be taking the next day. The center is in Fruita, and early settled town which is incorporated into the Park. It sits on the Freemont river and has orchards and livestock around, including many abandoned wagons (I think I saw at least ten). We hadn't planned any specific hikes for our first day, so we also wanted to hear the ranger's recommendations for what we could do on a rainy afternoon (which, incidentally, were all over the place). We decided to take the scenic drive to the Capitol Gulch, which ended at a trailhead for a wider narrows canyon, steep cliffs on each side. We decided to brave the rain and do the short (approximately 2.5 miles) hike around to the Tanks. While walking through the canyon, we saw the Pioneer Register of wagon trains passing through, and I pitied the early settlers who were called upon to navigate through and settle the desert. I immensely enjoyed the quiet solitude on this hike, as Kevin and I were the only people there. I love walking through canyon narrows (these are about as far apart as Bells Canyon next to Little Wildhorse), and every time we'd stop we could hear nothing but the rain fall. The tanks, we presume are at least two of the white domes that Capitol Reef is famous for. There's also a Golden Throne dome (so the Great White Throne in Zion has a sister), Capitol Dome, and Navajo Dome.
After Capitol Gulch we drove to the Grand Wash where we thought we'd hike the narrows or Cassidy Arch, but it was raining so heavily that we decided to just walk around for a few moments and keep driving. We went out on the highway and stopped off at the trailhead for Hickman Bridge, which we decided to take. This 2-mile round trip hike was a lot of fun, and it came with one of those trail guides like Calf Creek (in Escalante) does to point out the different plants, geology, etc. along the way. There were a lot of large obsidian boulders along this path, along with a cool alcove that had two little natural bridges that you could walk under. Hickman Bridge is a large natural bridge, about 133 feet across. Through it you can see Navajo domes and a lot of the geological formations in that part of the park, and it makes a nice resting spot.
We took a stop by some scenic spots, the Goosenecks (referring to overlooks of round curves int he river) and Sunset point. After that, we headed back into Torrey to buy gas, find me a plastic poncho, and get some grub. One of the seasonal restaurants, the Capitol Reef Inn and Cafe had just opened that night, and based on some local recommendations we decided to eat there (apparently Torrey's Cafe Diablo is one of the best-rated Utah restaurants, but it didn't open until April). Kevin had the baseball sirloin and I had the tenderloin and it was all very delicious. They also had seven home-made honey-sweetened pies, and Kevin and I thought the apple was divine. Our only regret is that we didn't order two slices of pie. We then returned to our hotel for a heated room, clean sheets, and warm showers.
The hike we planned for Saturday was on the southern end of the park. The ranger at the visitor's center Friday had convinced us that the switchbacks on the short-distance route, the Notom-Bullfrog dirt road, would be impassable because of the rain. So we woke up early to go over the mountains through Boulder and onto the Burr Trail Road to get the maximum miles of pavement, even though it probably added 45 minutes to our journey (about 2 hours from our hotel). This route was also plagued by snow that had fallen during the night, so we drove through an inch or more of unplowed snow in the mountains for a large part of the trip. It may have been the long way, but the Burr Trail Road was beautiful. There were tall high cliffs, and no one on the road. We saw a lot of wildlife, including a raptor gliding in the sky. Just beautiful canyon country.
When we reached the turn off to the Upper Muley Twist Canyon, we parked our car near the road. There's a 3-mile high-clearance vehicle road to the trailhead that our little Dodge Neon couldn't muster. We had planned to walk the extra 5-6 miles round trip to and from the trailhead. Only two other people were there that day, and they passed us in an SUV about a mile before the trailhead. We caught up to them at the trailhead and asked them if they came in on the Notom-Bullfrog road. They told us that they did and that they almost got stuck several times in the switchbacks, which made us glad we hadn't ignored the ranger's advice and had braved the icy mountain roads instead.
We had started from our car a little after 10:00 a.m., and the skies were pretty clear, although a few drops were falling when we signed the register. From our car we could see the first of many natural arches, Peakaboo Arch. The dirt road, and then the first 1.7 miles of the trail are through a gravel/sand wash at the bottom of a canyon. This leads to Saddle Arch carved high in the red cliffs, the fourth arch we saw, and where our trail divided for the loop. We had covered the first for miles or so in one hour, but the next mile took us a half hour because it's where we climbed straight up a hill to get on top of the Waterpocket Fold. The view in the morning was breathtaking. From the top of this huge Navajo sandstone reef, I felt on top of the world. We could see out to the Henry Mountains and Mt. Pennel, down toward Lake Powell, and up to Capitol Reef and, I think, Canyonlands. We could see so far, and there wasn't a sign of a soul. At that time I thanked God for uninhabited places as well as the uninhabitable ones.
To our left was the red Winegate sandstone canyon we would later descend to complete our loop. There were many arches along the way, and in one picture I was able to capture three of them at once. Looking from this reef, I developed an itch to learn more about geology. Capitol Reef boasts being one of the most geologically interesting areas in the Southwest, and I can definitely see why. The rivers, the mountains, the folds, and the vastly different layers of sandstone side by side were enough to pique any hiker's interest.
Around noon we stopped at a great viewpoint to eat lunch. The sun finally came out at that point and it stayed warm and sunny for about two hours. We had Triscuit crackers with sliced Tillomock cheese and "zesty lemon pepper" tuna in a pouch (which is a big improvement over the can--we didn't have to drain the water, and the trash was easier and cleaner to pack out). It was very satisfying, and the protein sustained us so we didn't get hungry for the remaining 10 miles of the hike. We continued for the next two miles or so before beginning our climb down, which took a lot more of the trail than I had expected. There were several tricky slickrock spots where it would be awkward with an overnight pack, but we survived by merely crabwalking down the steep edges.
As we descended down into Upper Muley Twist Canyon, we could see a large storm cloud left of us. I knew it would probably rain on us a little, but I had been enjoying the cloudy weather. On top of the Waterpocket fold, above everything else, it was such a pleasant temperature. I was feeling very happy that we'd come so early in the spring, and I was imagining that it would probably be pretty miserable in August at 3:00 in the afternoon. As we made our shift over to the red Winegate sandstone, the rain was coming down the hardest so far on this trip. I donned my $1.99 poncho we purchased from the Torrey Texaco the night before, and we kept walking down into the canyon. The slickrock not only gets quite slippery when wet, but the wet sand stuck to the bottom of my shoes which gave me no traction benefits whatsoever. The water from the storm rushed down the sides of the slickrock, which was convenient because when my hands would get muddy, I could find a spot where quick clean water was nearby to wash them in. Overhead lightning and thunder were close together, and I was glad we were getting off the ridge where we would be so exposed.

The rain continued for 45 minutes to an hour, but I stopped paying attention entirely to the rain and when it stopped when we were faced with the new problem of flooding along what is usually the dry canyon floor. All the rain in a short amount of time ran down the slickrock walls and was congregating together. During what probably should have been one of the coolest parts of the hike--winding between the sloping sandstone--we were wading in ankle-deep or calf deep water. In addition, the sound that the water makes as it rushes down the walls, through alcoves, and in narrow canyons is quite loud, and it sounded scarier than it was. We also went up along the sides, but since that wasn't where the trail was, we walked through a lot of nasty wet vegetation. The hardest part was when we went around a boulder and went into what would usually be a dry pothole. Up to that point, I'd been walking in the sand next to the little river that was forming, and I saw another little river (about 1.5 feet wide and a couple of inches deep) slowly coming from the side to join up with it. I jogged a little to get ahead of the new water, before it joined all the other water when I had to move around that boulder and into the pothole. It was only a foot or two drop, but I could see Kevin in the middle of the pool was waist deep in water. I hesitated a little bit, because the water was making a loud noise as it funneled into a couple inch pass around the boulder and poured into the pool. The hesitation cost me because I could hear, and feel when the second water stream merged with the first one, and much more water began pouring down on my legs as I finally went into the pool.
After that, the worst was over. We hadn't been too concerned about a dangerous (i.e. overwhelming) flash flood because it was March (not July or August) and because in general it was a dry canyon. Another half mile or so, and all the water had been stopped by pothole-type structures in the slickrock or absorbed into the sand of the wash. The next step was for us to get dry, and the sun came out a bit to help with that. We walked quickly the last four miles or so, out of the canyon and onto the high-clearance vehicle road, and made it back to our car before 6:00 p.m.

Keeper of the Blue-Eyed Maine Coon Mix

OK, I've posted on my genealogy, and now I've decided to speculate on my cat Aja's as well. I know that Aja's mother was a long-haired solid black cat, so I think it's safe to say that she's basically a mutt.

When she was a kitten, she resembled a blue-point Siamese kitten. Her fur was very pale, except for little dark spots on her ears, her tail, and her feet. In addition, she had the high-maintenance personality and clear blue eyes of that breed and its off shoots. As she grew older, the tabby stripes (the default pattern for domestic house cats) became more prominent, so much that several years ago my mom gave me a small wood gray tabby kitty figurine, saying it looked like Aja; at the time I was somewhat shocked to hear her described as a tabby rather than a Siamese.

One thing that we can't mistake is how big she is. When Kevin took her to the vet last August, the vet walked in to the room and proclaimed, "Wow! You're massive!" and then suggested they might need the dog scale to weigh her. She weighs about 18 pounds, which is huge for a female domestic cat. This is probably due to her sedentary lifestyle (she's spent years of her life just waiting around for human attention), but it's also her frame. Her paws, for instance, are huge.

Recently Kevin and I discovered a breed of domestic cats called Maine Coons, which apparently were the only cats brought over by early North American settlers who could survive the harsh winters. They're named such because they have bushy tails like raccoons, are large, and have the typical tabby stripes. Even though they're large, Aja would still be on the large size even for this breed. Although Maine Coons do not typically have blue eyes, I think there's some of this in her.

Genealogy, I am doing it

I recently engaged in a 14-day trial of Ancestry.com's offerings of genealogical information. For me, filling out my family tree was pretty simple. I had to only go up two or three generations before the computer found my ancestors and linked them into a large family tree.

I had some pleasant surprises while doing this. There's a feature where one can retrieve a list of famous relatives, and mine list left me feeling quite proud for a person who hasn't really done anything remarkable herself.

I found out I'm a 17th Great Granddaughter of Geoffrey Chaucer. I also found out this line connects me with another of his descendants, Jane Austen, who is a cousin I'm seven generations removed from. Other literary cousins include: Henry David Thoreau, D.H. Lawrence, John Steinbeck, and Aldous Huxley.

Other notables? 11th Great Grandaughter of Miles Standish (Mayflower passenger and signer of the Mayflower Compact). Also distant cousins of five first ladies (Pierce, Roosevelt, Garfield, Hoover, and Eisenhower) and others: Humphrey Bogart, John Wayne, Katherine Hepburn, Frank Lloyd Wright, Eli Whitney, Philo T. Farnsworth, J.P. Morgan, and William C. Durrant. (Photo courtesy of Wikipedia.org)

My Original Favorite Place

A couple of posts back, I talked about favorite places. These are places that feel
so much like home that they almost hurt to leave. I recently acquired a photograph of the place that first made me feel this way. This is a picture of Courthouse Towers in Arches National Park. You can see the Three Gossips on the middle left with Sheep Rock to their right. On the right side is the Organ.

I love this picture, and I have it taped up to my bookcase at work. This is the scene that I'd always anticipate on my family's trips to Arches. I never felt like we were actually there until we had ascended the hill from the visitor's center to the main level of the highway and travelled long enough to see these familiar features. My dad taught us to recognize these features instantly, and I see my brothers passing on this tradition with their own kids. A few years back, my oldest niece could point to the 3-pointed fin and identify them as "the Three Gospips [sic]."

I acquired this picture on a trip to St. George. I think this picture is particularly good, taken at sunrise and with a rare set of rolling clouds in the sky. The ground is relatively green but frosty, suggesting it was taken sometime in early spring, and there's a sense of stillness to it. When I look at this photograph, I feel like I'm the only one there.

Places we never want to leave

"I wish I were in Chesler Park" is the statement I currently have under my name on IM. A couple of friends have asked me about this, and Heidi took the challenge to come right back: "I wish I were in Canada... Alberta." She followed with:

"Oh, I always wish I was in Canada. And when I'm there, I never want to leave. The grass IS greener there. It always has been, always will be. Have you ever been to a place that it hurts you every time you have to leave? I mean, really... you want to cry and you feel like part of you has been torn away every time you have to drive away?"

Yes! This is what it is like for me when I have left Devil's Garden after sleeping there a couple nights. This is the feeling I immediately had when I visited Chesler Park for the first time two years ago. This is how my favorite wilderness spots and hikes become my favorite spots and hikes.

And sometimes they are good spots because they come to you at the time in your life when you need them. Two years ago, I went down by Hanksville to Little Wildhorse and Bell's Canyon, with a stop off at Goblin Valley. It was just me, Kevin, and our friend Mike, but it was a President's Day that was desperately needed (I would be defending my graduate thesis a couple of months down the road). We drove our crappy '89 Dodge sedan from Provo through all those miles and then wet dirt roads. It was totally worth it. We got mildly lost and went through Bell's Canyon first, which was a fun twist. The hike was pretty much deserted. Then we went to Goblin Valley, where the playground that existed there was as fun to me as Devil's Garden when I was a kid. Solitude. Brisk air. Red rocks. It was amazing.

A Creature Longing to be Wild

Despite the infinite wisdom of Pi, some animals will never be completely satisfied with a food source, shelter, and a water hole.

Here's Squishy, my dwarf hamster, trying to escape her 10-gallon tank. This is also posted on YouTube.