A friend of mine is traveling through the Southwest and posting things to FB. I was feeling nostalgic, and serendipitously found the journal I wrote in 1996, when I was driving R to Austin. We camped along the way. The big name places were Bryce, Zion, Grand Canyon, and Carlsbad. Here's what I had to say about Bryce:
Left Hwy 70, following the Sevier River. It's a sage-green, tumbling, fast-moving river - seems to have cut through the mountains, and the road we're on is squished in. There are oval and half-moon-shaped holes in the tops of the mountains - most of it looks river-cut. It's amazing to think of how long it took to make this canyon.
Bedtime
We're at Kodachrome State Park: Bryce was full by the time we reached it, but we're just as glad. This is a lovely site, in a bowl of yellow/white/golden/red cliffs, with streams trickling through, scrub pines at every site, spires, etc. We're very isolated, yet close to the water and the bathrooms (which have HOT SHOWERS!) Our fellow campers are quiet - we see their lights, hear some low-voiced comments, a quiet laugh here and there, some rattling dishes - all very peaceful and distant-seeming. Crickety insects are singing. This being both desert and mountain, the stars are incredible.
R called RB (her husband, whom we were joining in TX), and then she made a white sauce out of pancake mix, dried milk, mozzarella, and oil. Some turkey ham and zucchini went in it, and we finished up the pasta. We pulled out the cheap CA wine and it was pretty good. So, we took our mugs and went for a walk in the gloaming. There are rocks here like a miniature version of Ayers Rock - red, smooth, rounded, with oval holes in the base. Behind them, spires climb into the light-blue, darkening sky. I wanted to climb, but it was too late and R wouldn't let me anyway. But it was beautiful.
Then we sat at the table and killed the bottle, while eating Chevalier Noir cookies. Yummm.
We planned tomorrow a bit, and while R went to the bathrooms, I knit by candle lantern light and watched the stars brighten. Then, a walk to the restroom myself, head tilted upwards identifying constellations and marveling. R's already asleep. I'm using her lantern to warm the tent, write, and read. But, I'm getting tired.
Sunday
At North Campground. Just watched the stars come out over East Rim of Bryce Canyon and got totally lost coming back. For a completely packed campground, this is a pretty quiet one. Lighted tents, campfires, lighted RV's looking like houses - it was like walking around a small town without street lights. I made a right downhill when I should have made a left up - and then I began to ramble. Found RV-land, found a bathroom, on trying to find the road I walked into a campsite with a VERY bright light. I asked if they knew where the road was, and they pointed 2 feet away. I got back - candle-lantern lit on table but no R - she'd gone to look for me and ended up at the campfire canyon talk, which she says was pretty hideous. Anyway, she forgave me - said she'd been blaming herself for letting us split up at dusk. We'd gone for a post-prandial cliff-sunset walk and ended up at the general store where she called RB and depressed him by telling him the stove was turning black.
Some beautiful hikes today - first at Kodachrome Basin Panorama Loop. (We woke up freezing cold, and everything we'd left out on the table was soaking wet, even my bag of knitting.) The panorama hike was a cross between John Day Fossil beds and Ayers Rock. At the last we climbed a hill and had the whole basin spread out below us. R left 1st, and I was alone, high above the earth, an intermittant cool breeze making the only sound. Perfect peace. I met 3 German lads on the way down and recommended the climb.
Lots of Germans at Bryce, too. We're flanked by them. An elderly couple in a van (which R covets: "They look so cozy") is directly adjacent.
We mainly drove around to various viewpoints, did a few short hikes. Wind was very cold. We had sweatshirts but were still wearing shorts. Lunched at a viewpoint and shivered. Tomorrow I hike in slacks, I think.
Mmm, wind roaring in the pines, very nice, time for sleep.
Monday, early pm
Today I'm unable to breathe in the scent of sun-warmed juniper and bristle-cone pine to which I've been growing fondly accustomed. I woke up to R rushing me from the tent to see the sunrise before the sun got buried in the rain clouds. There was just a thin line of clear blue before the gray cumulonimbus stuff started. We reached the rim, too late it seemed. So, back to the site to take down tents and make breakfast. As the coffee was brewing, the little weasel of a sun popped up. The camp host in his little golf cart was driving by picking up expired registration tags and he asked us what we were looking at. I said, "the sun" and he said "what sun?" like he'd never heard of such a thing.
After breakfast, while Rhonda was changing in her tent, I saw a little puff-chested bird, white and black, with a black mask, dive onto the table inches away from me, peck for the non-existent food, and dart back up to a low branch of the overhanging pine. He did this several times. No fear of me.
We stopped by the store for a rain poncho for me, and set off down the Queen's Garden Loop. It was terrific to be down amongst the hoodoos, winding in and out along the valley floor. We came back via Navajo Loop, a lung-bursting ascent. The monsoon held off until the very end, when a little fear of heights and slippery trails added to my breathlessness.
Back at the store porch for lunch. The clerk who sold us ponchos was there with coffee and cigarette. I said, "Look at this piece of junk you sold me," and pointed out the split hood. He offered to give me a replacement, and seemed very serious. The thing only cost $2.99; one doesn't expect great things from an essentially garbage bag mit hood and snaps.
It's amazing to me that I went through this area close to 20 years ago, and now I'm living here. It's all still there: stars, rocks, skies, peace. Clearly this is what I've wanted for years.
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