{"id":2536,"date":"2014-06-03T19:27:32","date_gmt":"2014-06-04T01:27:32","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/maxcarmichael.com\/blog\/?p=2536"},"modified":"2020-07-01T14:45:15","modified_gmt":"2020-07-01T20:45:15","slug":"birthday-miracle","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/maxcarmichael.com\/blog\/?p=2536","title":{"rendered":"Birthday Miracle"},"content":{"rendered":"

Note: The photos below are viewable in high resolution.\u00a0After\u00a0clicking on the thumbnail, you can really get a sense of being there by\u00a0<\/em>clicking on View Full Size at lower right of the photo.<\/i><\/p>\n

\"First<\/p>\n

A Spontaneous, Poorly Conceived Trip<\/strong><\/p>\n

Out of work, betrayed\u00a0by faceless bureaucracies, threatened with financial ruin, sick for months with a mysterious infection that kept coming back, filling my aching head with mucus, making me disgusting to be around, slow and stupid, weak and tired from lost sleep, waiting in waiting rooms and in line at pharmacies, traveling sick in airport lines and crowded shuttle buses and crammed in airplane seats\u2026<\/p>\n

And now my birthday was coming up, and I had nobody around to celebrate it with, all my family and close friends were a thousand miles away \u2013 because we had drifted apart, I had moved, my attempts to make new friends were\u00a0frustrated.<\/p>\n

Antibiotics seemed to be working, but still tired and weak\u2026needed to get out of my rut, to fool myself somehow into feeling good\u2026a change of scenery? Couldn’t really afford to travel, even by road. But that seemed the only option, a camping trip. The cheapest place would be my land in the desert. What the hell, you only live once.<\/p>\n

I immediately notified my partner in ownership \u2013 I never go out there without telling him \u2013 but it turned out he had already planned a trip without me, a father and son gathering\u00a0with his son’s friends.<\/p>\n

A sudden decision, no planning \u2013 a self-imposed deadline for departure \u2013 it was a setup for more stress, desperation and inevitable mistakes as I raced to pack, load the truck, get the house and my pathetic\u00a0affairs in order. A heat wave was beginning. I have an impeccable list for these trips but I was two hours past my artificial deadline, the day was getting hotter, and I skipped\u00a0the list.<\/p>\n

A Desert in Ireland<\/strong><\/p>\n

Driving west across\u00a0the southern edge of the Colorado Plateau on I-40, just past Holbrook, gently undulating steppes\u00a0all the way to the horizon, 50 miles away\u00a0on left and right. Suddenly I’m in haze, like fog, lying over the ground and obscuring the blue sky and scattered cumulus clouds above. The sagebrush and juniper look out of place, like a desert in Ireland. It’s been a hot drive, the AC is on, a curious harsh smell coming through the vents. Takes me a while to recognize it as\u00a0smoke from a distant wildfire.<\/p>\n

I drive through the monstrous\u00a0tongue of smoke for more than an hour, and then there’s Flagstaff, with a dark sky of low clouds hanging about the San Francisco Peaks, which I glimpse through an opening,\u00a0draped in\u00a0fresh snow.<\/p>\n

Wearing shorts, I stepped out into cold mountain air at the market, and it began to rain hard as I shopped\u00a0for groceries and beer. One benefit of these trips is getting IPAs\u00a0I can’t get at home. The beer shop had a new, lower-alcohol IPA from Stone that turned out to be a great new summertime beer.<\/p>\n

Disgusted with\u00a0the overwhelming generic\u00a0yuppie landscape and cutthroat\u00a0competitive traffic\u00a0of Flagstaff \u2013 which I first knew as a sleepy little railroad town \u2013 I briefly tried to relax over\u00a0a\u00a0plate of carnitas in an upscale strip-mall taqueria, then raced onward\u00a0through the black silhouettes of\u00a0forested mountains toward the sunset and my cheap motel, where I could see lightning blinking\u00a0above a dimly glowing horizon.<\/p>\n

\"Ash <\/a>
Ash Fork Inn <\/div> <\/div> <\/div> <\/div> <\/div>\n

It wasn’t until the following\u00a0noon in the Mojave, cresting the pass at Mountain Springs Road, that I suddenly felt happy and at peace, returning home to my golden mountains of stone riding like ships above\u00a0their pale alluvial basins as far as the eye could see. On the way up the alluvial fan, while I was grinning at the summit peak\u00a0over on the left with a suggestive white cloud hanging over it, a\u00a0mature red tail hawk flushed out of the low roadside shrubs and swooped\u00a0theatrically over the gravel road in front of me.<\/p>\n

When\u00a0I reached camp, met the LA crowd\u00a0and saw their impressive array of expedition\u00a0gear, I realized I’d forgotten my folding camp chair. Fortunately my partner generously offered me one of his\u00a0for the rest of my trip.<\/p>\n

Sleeping\u00a0in the Open<\/strong><\/p>\n

Few clouds in\u00a0the blue sky, little wind, warm but not hot. The rusty golden slopes, cliffs and peaks of ancient stone embraced the\u00a0broad valley\u00a0below us as I relaxed with the fathers in the shade of their canopy \u2013 the campsite has no natural shade \u2013 while the kids climbed around over\u00a0the granite boulders. Their elaborate cooking gear and wheeled ice chests sat nearby in a ceremonial circle like Stonehenge.<\/p>\n

We talked\u00a0through the rest of the long day until sunset, when they burst\u00a0into chaotic labor, trudging\u00a0back and forth between their individual camp kitchens\u00a0and their vehicles parked below\u00a0in the sandy wash, servicing their kids’ needs and getting them ready for bed.<\/p>\n

After dining, they all retired to the confinement\u00a0of their tents, while as always I slept out in the open, watching the sky darkening, the stars emerging, and the Milky Way reassembling its vague, mysterious shape\u00a0overhead. For some reason, on this trip I slept better\u00a0on the ground than ever before; my 30-year-old ergonomically-designed sleeping pad felt so good that even with my bad back I could rest easily in any position.<\/p>\n

I saw a falling star immediately on lying down, and woke sporadically through the night to enjoy\u00a0the westward progress of the constellations and the galaxy.<\/p>\n

Theriodonts and Chemehuevis<\/strong><\/p>\n

Warmer in the morning. The fathers were already preoccupied with leaving, returning to their deadlines and crises\u00a0in the city, working\u00a0hard to break camp\u00a0and load their vehicles, while I fried bacon for everyone. With his father busy, one of the kids I hadn’t interacted with much gravitated to me and we talked about our favorite dinosaurs. I told him about the theriodonts, reptile ancestors of the mammals that provided evidence for continental drift. But in my mind\u00a0I was regretting the way\u00a0dinosaurs are used to pimp for Big Science.<\/p>\n

I told him about the Chemehuevis and their 10,000 year cultural memory of the extinct horse. He seemed\u00a0relaxed amid all the bustle of departure, enjoying my stories and our conversation, whereas\u00a0one of the other kids had already had enough, immersing\u00a0himself in computer games on his dad’s laptop, anxious to get back to his comfort zone in the city.<\/p>\n

\"Fathers <\/a>
Fathers & sons <\/div> <\/div> <\/div> <\/div> <\/div>\n

As they hurriedly piled into their vehicles, I asked them about the bag of trash they’d left. They all said they didn’t have room for it, apparently unaware it was theirs. This was the second time in a row they’d left me\u00a0with trash to dispose of, but fortunately this time it was only half a bag. Last time it’d been two full ones that I had to sort for recyclables in the heat of Las Vegas. But hey, at least I got a chair out of it, that more than made up for a stinky load and a little dirt on my hands!<\/p>\n

Amazing how much packaging trash and garbage families can generate in a couple of days \u2013 after an entire week of camping I can’t\u00a0even fill a small grocery bag, let alone the full size\u00a0hefty bags\u00a0they bring. But then it takes me months to fill my city garbage can at home.\u00a0They have the families, the urban lifestyle and high-pressure careers; I’m lonely and poor, but have plenty of time\u00a0to focus on the little things.<\/p>\n

Sweating in Silence<\/strong><\/p>\n

It was already quite hot when they left and I packed to head up to the shade house. I figured I’d spend the heat of the day in my hammock in the shade, then go for a hike around sundown. But I wasn’t thinking straight. Sundown would be very late.<\/p>\n

I wanted to park at the overhang midway up the Gulch and take the shortcut path up the alluvial bench, but driving up the sandy wash I realized my 2wd truck probably couldn’t handle the deep sand of the first sharp bend, so I stopped in the narrows just beyond the beginning of the shade house road and filled my pack. Starting up the road I discovered that someone had recently driven up it \u2013 quite a feat since we’ve considered it undriveable for more than 20 years. Of course, this entire area is private property with a No Trespassing sign, but as any rural property owner knows, to many people that’s a challenge not an impediment.<\/p>\n

Someone had obviously seen this as a Jeep commercial, one of those extreme off road opportunities with two-foot boulders to drive over. In the process they’d destroyed 20 years of beautiful native vegetation. With the sun directly above, the morning’s heat radiating from the 2,000′ rock walls\u00a0above me, and still on antibiotics, I had to stop frequently to rest, even though it’s only about a half mile and a climb of 300 feet or so.\u00a0At the shade house, I found a few cigarette butts lying around, and the macho trespassers\u00a0had dumped out the old can of artifacts the kids had collected on previous trips: historic pottery, purple glass, and interesting pieces of metal.<\/p>\n

I strung my hammock and began to read the library books I’d brought from home, but soon I was sweating in the shade, and it was only\u00a0early afternoon. I had to go up on the roof and do some more patching to keep rays\u00a0of sunlight from scorching me. I was sure\u00a0it wasn’t as hot as when I had lived out here in the summer of 1992, but for some reason it was affecting me more now. I was uncomfortable\u00a0for the rest of the day, and knew I wouldn’t be able to do any hiking, which is the main reason I come out here. Later, when I got back to civilization, I checked the temperature history of locations that match our land, and found that day’s temperature was likely 100 degrees, so in retrospect I didn’t feel like such a wimp!<\/p>\n

\"Imperfect <\/a>
Imperfect shade <\/div> <\/div> <\/div> <\/div> <\/div>\n

In mid afternoon I became aware of an eerie silence. The night before, I’d strained to hear a single cricket intermittently chirping in the distance. I hadn’t seen any birds yet. Now, in the springtime, there should be an abundance of both birds and insects. The day before, we had talked about how the desert willow seemed to be blooming sparse and late. At camp I’d noticed how dark and shriveled the leaves of the creosote bush were. A female phainopepla appeared briefly at the shade house, but otherwise there were no birds and no bird or insect sounds throughout the entire day. It might have been the driest, and most dormant, I’d ever seen this place.<\/p>\n

Finally, by 6:30 pm, the sun dropped behind the western ridge, and\u00a0I began to pack for the trip back to the truck. I was so weak at this point I didn’t even feel like hiking the short distance up to the seep\u00a0to check the motion sensor camera. The next day was my birthday, and I wondered how the hell I was going to celebrate in this unbearable heat?<\/p>\n

Maybe it would be better to lie on the sand under the overhang in the Gulch, which is in shade from late morning. But I still wouldn’t be able to do any hiking, and I would probably exhaust my reading material early in the day. Sadly, I realized I’d have to leave my land and drive to\u00a0someplace cooler to spend my birthday in comfort.<\/p>\n

\"Heading <\/a>
Heading back to camp at sunset <\/div> <\/div> <\/div> <\/div> <\/div>\n

Driving back to camp I passed two cottontails huddled\u00a0together under a bush.<\/p>\n

I was staging my meals in order to make best use of the meat I had brought. The chicken would spoil first, so I had to grill it tonight. I\u00a0waited until 9pm to start a fire; it was still uncomfortably hot out, but the chicken ended up tender and succulent. Finally, by about 10:30, the night started to cool off and I went to bed naked. There had been no moon either night, so the stars had it all to themselves.<\/p>\n

Air Conditioning and a Pool<\/strong><\/p>\n

Awakening on birthday\u00a0morning, I decided to head in the general direction of my favorite mountain range in southeast Utah, where I knew there would be moderate\u00a0temperatures, alpine\u00a0hiking, and shady camping in aspen groves. It was a long day’s drive and I didn’t want to spend my birthday driving, so I would need to find a comfortable motel, somewhere in the hot desert not far from here, to break up the trip. I envisioned air conditioning and a pool, someplace with little traffic, but I didn’t know where that would be yet.<\/p>\n

As an omen of the day to come, by the time I had broken camp at 8:30 am, it was already too hot to exercise. I bid a sad farewell to my home in the Mojave, flushing a big jackrabbit out of the desert willows near\u00a0our gate.<\/p>\n

\"Leaving <\/a>
Leaving my place: beetles on desert milkweed <\/div> <\/div> <\/div> <\/div> <\/div>\n

My route would inevitably take me through the southern tip of Nevada, but I wanted to avoid the madness\u00a0of Las Vegas at all costs. Between Goffs and the 95, I stopped to top up my tank with the gas from the\u00a0extra can, and checking the map I found there was a long way to bypass Vegas through the Lake Mead recreation area, which I knew to be fantastically beautiful. I would look for a historic motel in Boulder City, which I knew from old desert trips, when one of my biologist friends was living there.<\/p>\n

El Rancho Boulder turned out to be perfect. I had the large, clean pool all to myself for a birthday swim. What relief after the extreme drought and heat! Decadent, yes. Wasteful and unsustainable, for sure. I spent my calendar birthday in a motel, but my spiritual birthday was yet to come.<\/p>\n

Paiute Homelands<\/strong><\/p>\n

The next day’s drive was better than I’d remembered, better than I’d expected. The road past Lake Mead became vaguely familiar as I arrived at a massive roadside spring. I had stopped here with a girlfriend, not sure which, returning from a road trip decades ago. The garish clay domes and fantastic redrock outcrops were intimations of what I’d find far ahead in Utah; the Moapa Valley was a bizarre\u00a0mix of huge trailer parks, irrigated farms, and McMansions on hills.<\/p>\n

From my place in the California desert, to my destination in southeastern Utah,\u00a0is the ancient homeland of the Southern Paiutes, people whose sophisticated way of life was, unlike ours, perfectly adapted to their environment. They were\u00a0“environmentally sustainable” for thousands of years, until\u00a0the Spanish enslaved them, the American frontiersmen and military hunted and killed them like wild game, the Mormons and other white settlers appropriated their fertile farmland and forced them into indentured servitude on Anglo\u00a0farms, culture hero Mark Twain ridiculed them as\u00a0subhuman degenerates \u2013 and now they’re forgotten or ignored by\u00a0our culture\u00a0of Mars rovers and Google Glass.<\/p>\n

Yet they\u00a0may\u00a0thrive again as\u00a0our tottering\u00a0society consumes itself.<\/p>\n

\"Panorama <\/a>
Panorama from Lake Mead north shore <\/div> <\/div> <\/div> <\/div>
\"Creosote <\/a>
Creosote bush with Lake Mead <\/div> <\/div> <\/div>
\"Northshore <\/a>
Northshore road <\/div> <\/div>
\"Northshore <\/a>
Northshore road <\/div> <\/div> <\/div> <\/div>
\"Northshore <\/a>
Northshore road <\/div> <\/div> <\/div>
\"Northshore <\/a>
Northshore road <\/div> <\/div> <\/div>
\"Rogers <\/a>
Rogers Spring <\/div> <\/div> <\/div>
\"Rogers <\/a>
Rogers Spring <\/div> <\/div> <\/div> <\/div> <\/div>\n

Back on the interstate, I made the improbable crossing through the monumental Virgin River Canyon\u00a0into Utah and steadily uphill to Cedar City, where I took a road east that was new to me. After a week of increasingly hot weather I felt the temperature drop rapidly as the road climbed into aspen and fir forest, past lush alpine meadows and extensive snow-packed slopes.\u00a0Suddenly, the heat was behind me! At 10,000′ there was an overlook from which I could see the towers of Zion far to the south. Then, driving faster because I was concerned I wouldn’t reach my destination that evening, I came upon\u00a0the Markagunt Plateau, an amazing highland of brown and black lava flows in which an aspen forest has taken root. Snow beside the road, meandering trout streams, lots of roadkilled deer.<\/p>\n

Then, descending into the Sevier River valley, with more lush pastures, ponds and lakes, incredibly beautiful country following the river\u00a0north.<\/p>\n

I turned east again across the high Bryce plateau, then down into dry ponderosa forest and the warm, dry Paria River valley with big silver-leaved trees along the floodplain. At the farming village of Henrieville I left all the tourist traffic behind. So peaceful here; I had to stop in the town for a red hen leading 7 grown\u00a0chicks across the highway.<\/p>\n

Climbing again toward dark, heavy clouds dragging tendrils of rain, through badlands divided by small running streams, more lush high pastures and meadows surrounded by ponderosa, and the smell of rain. What a country we’ve invaded, damaged and polluted!<\/p>\n

I stopped for gas in Escalante and found the most beautiful gas station restroom I’ve ever seen.<\/p>\n

Dropping into the red sandstone of the Escalante canyon, a powerful musky smell and edible Prince’s Plume blooming everywhere along the road, then up onto the vertiginous narrow ridge of New Home Bench overlooking the white domes and canyons of the Escalante Country. It was there that I realized more than ever how\u00a0roadbuilding is a sin \u2013 and paved roads are a cardinal sin.<\/p>\n

You will say I’m a hypocrite because I use these roads to quickly reach my favorite places, but two generations ago these places were reached by dirt roads that had vastly less ecological impact, and two generations before that people simply drove their old, high clearance cars across untracked land, getting to the same places that we’ve spent millions to pave. And before that, of course, they went horseback, and before that walked, and because of it were healthier than any of their descendants. All these places were always accessible, but with far less impact, and an unpaved track is quickly reclaimed by nature.<\/p>\n

I began to think of the places where paved roads are most evil: Yosemite Valley, Tioga Pass, the Virgin River Canyon, Long Canyon, the Burr Trail, Comb Ridge\u2026the list is endless.<\/p>\n

At the edge of Boulder I turned off on the Burr Trail, a road my aboriginal skills instructor called particularly wicked, a road fought bitterly by environmentalists in a losing battle against redneck yahoos. Driving up Long Canyon, which should have been a hiking trail not a road, a fat red-brown marmot\u00a0bounced across the road in front of me.<\/p>\n

\"Looking <\/a>
Looking south from 10,000′ atop Markagunt Plateau: Zion in far distance at left, Black Mountain at right <\/div> <\/div> <\/div> <\/div>
\"Markagunt <\/a>
Markagunt Plateau <\/div> <\/div> <\/div>
\"Red <\/a>
Red Canyon <\/div> <\/div>
\"Heading <\/a>
Heading east toward Escalante <\/div> <\/div> <\/div> <\/div>
\"First <\/a>
First view of my destination – the mountains on the horizon – from New Home Bench, above the Escalante River Canyons <\/div> <\/div> <\/div> <\/div>
\"Mouth <\/a>
Mouth of Long Canyon <\/div> <\/div> <\/div>
\"Walls <\/a>
Walls of Long Canyon <\/div> <\/div> <\/div>
\"Head <\/a>
Head of Long Canyon <\/div> <\/div> <\/div>
\"Looking <\/a>
Looking south, past the head of Long Canyon <\/div> <\/div> <\/div> <\/div> <\/div>\n

Camping on the Edge<\/strong><\/p>\n

The sun was setting behind the cliffs as I crested the head of the canyon, with my first view of\u00a0the distant mountains that were\u00a0my destination, dimly silhouetted far in the east, with visible patches of snow on the crests. Below, I saw a dirt trail off to the side and followed it to a campsite on the edge of a cliff overlooking multi-colored hills and canyons and juniper plateaus.<\/p>\n

It was still mercifully cool up there, but I knew that down in the canyon lands to the east, it would be as hot as in the Mojave. I gathered just enough small firewood for a cooking fire. I reached into the ice chest for my birthday steak, which I had bought four days ago frozen but had thawed immediately. The lamb sausages had been waterlogged\u00a0the whole time. I put them all on the grill\u00a0and overcooked them; I joined the steak\u00a0with a cabbage salad and saved the sausages for another night. Midges and lacewings attacked me gently after sunset; a bat hunted through camp, and an owl hooted down in the canyons before I went to sleep under clouds that gradually broke up and revealed the stars.<\/p>\n

At dawn I was awakened by my first mosquito; the midges were bad in my ears and eyes. I hoped they wouldn’t be like this in the mountains.<\/p>\n

Back on the Burr Trail, I passed a big but young mule deer buck standing in a dry meadow staring at me. He\u00a0was so big I first thought he was an elk.<\/p>\n

Down the legendary\u00a0switchbacks into another long valley where I turned north into that\u00a0amazing hidden country of sporadic, huge, lush farms and ranches,\u00a0the prelude to my destination. I’d never approached it from the south before and I overshot my turnoff.<\/p>\n

\"Sunset <\/a>
Sunset from my campsite <\/div> <\/div> <\/div>
\"Sunrise <\/a>
Sunrise in camp <\/div> <\/div> <\/div> <\/div>
\"Panorama <\/a>
Panorama of the entire mountain range, looking east from White Canyon Flat <\/div> <\/div> <\/div>
\"Window <\/a>
Window rock above Burr Trail switchbacks <\/div> <\/div> <\/div>
\"Long <\/a>
Long ridge above Sandy Creek <\/div> <\/div> <\/div>
\"My <\/a>
My destination in view <\/div> <\/div> <\/div> <\/div> <\/div>\n

Salivating for\u00a0Snow<\/strong><\/p>\n

My attraction to these mountains is almost as mysterious as my seduction by the Mojave. I remember driving past them with Katie on our rock art expedition in 1987, and thinking they looked inviting, a high, green, presumably cool oasis in the midst of a vastness of\u00a0red rock. Somehow that vision got lodged in my mind; more than 20 years later I found myself retracing our expedition path, and ended up climbing to the summit and falling in love. Since then, I’ve found a few others who also treasure\u00a0this\u00a0remote, little-known range.<\/p>\n

As far as I can tell, these very mountains were the eastern limit of the Southern Paiutes, the tribe I know and admire the most, the tribe that branched and became the Chemehuevis who claimed what is now my land in the Mojave. The group that lived in this area was called the Yantarii. Nothing seems to be known about them; they managed to evade our historical appropriation.<\/p>\n

Back on course, across dramatic badlands and climbing\u00a0up, up the big mountain from sagebrush foothills through pinyon-juniper into the ponderosa and then the alpine fir and spruce. Dark clouds swirled around the summits up ahead and I salivated for that snow! Someone had driven the road much earlier when it was saturated after snowmelt, and their deep ruts, meandering back and forth, had dried rock-hard\u00a0so that it was very slow\u00a0going in my bouncy, rattling little truck. It was yet mid afternoon and I wanted to park at the pass and try the summit hike.<\/p>\n

I passed a rancher in his pickup truck; these mountains are grazed to the top. I passed groups of mule deer, and a small area of recent clearcut with a pile of ponderosa logs and a trailer. I passed the first\u00a0aspen groves above 9,000′ and carefully inched my way up the final steep, rocky grade. Entering the fir forest near the pass I encountered an ATV trailer someone had\u00a0surprisingly parked right in the road; I squeezed past it, rounded a turn and came upon a\u00a0deep\u00a0snowdrift\u00a0blocking all but a couple feet of the roadway. So I backed to a wide place in the road, parked and loaded my backpack.<\/p>\n

\"Getting <\/a>
Getting closer to the peaks <\/div> <\/div> <\/div>
\"Road <\/a>
Road blocked by snowdrift just before the pass, at 10,500′ <\/div> <\/div>
\"Starting <\/a>
Starting out <\/div> <\/div> <\/div> <\/div> <\/div>\n

Talus and Tundra<\/strong><\/p>\n

The pass was only a few hundred yards past the snowdrift. Out of the trees I encountered a gale force wind, as I had in my previous visit. The air temperature was probably about 50 degrees, and the steady west wind was only slightly less than what would knock me down – maybe 60-65 mph.<\/p>\n

The pass is 10,500′; the peak is only a thousand feet higher, at the end of a crestline\u00a0of four progressively higher peaks. The initial slope is a gentle grade, but with my weakness and the relentless wind I felt uncertain starting out and quickly lost heart and breath. I kept having to stop to rest. I thought I might stop at the first low peak and turn back.<\/p>\n

The crest line is true alpine tundra, which, I’m guessing, exists unusually in this latitude and elevation probably because of the constant cold wind. Thus the slopes are clear, and the approach is mostly a good trail, with occasional traverses of brittle diorite talus, festively decorated with orange lichen.<\/p>\n

I reached the little grove of wind-stunted dwarf spruce\u00a0and firs at the first peak, and tried to cross a snowdrift that blocked the trail between the trees. At first the snow was hard, then my boots sank\u00a0deep and I got snow in them so I had to briefly take them off in that harsh\u00a0environment. I was not feeling particularly robust at this point.<\/p>\n

The trail to the next peak was much steeper. It just headed\u00a0straight up the slope. I forced myself to try it. And somewhere in that difficult climb, in that howling wind, I got my spirit back.<\/p>\n

At the second peak I was on top of the world. I could see across all the canyon lands, a maze of red, yellow and white rock to east and west, burning hot way down there while I was freezing up here: the engine of that wind. Ahead of me across the trail to the third peak was a slab of snow hundreds of feet long, with a small cornice facing me. I skirted it along a soggy slope that got steeper, until I had to find a way across the snow.<\/p>\n

I found a place where it seemed to be shallower, and tried kicking my boots into it. It was soft but firm and I could climb over it. The rest of the third crest was nonstop\u00a0talus, with that howling\u00a0wind threatening to topple me\u00a0from every loose rock I stepped on. Then there was the steep climb to the final summit, over big, sharp, barely eroded loose diorite chunks and slabs. Occasionally I saw a spider scrambling between rocks; I came upon three ravens; otherwise nothing but lichen and hardy tundra plants hugging the sparse soil.<\/p>\n

The clouds were pulling back\u00a0as I reached the summit. I couldn’t believe I’d made it, feeling the way I had at the start. I was so elated, I made a video for whoever may have wished me a happy birthday, back in civilization.<\/p>\n

Coming back down was actually the hardest part, because without the heat of exertion I\u00a0felt the cold a lot more. I cinched my hood as tight as I could around my face. The next day my lungs were burning and I coughed a lot, but after that it cleared up.<\/p>\n

\"Trail <\/a>
Trail to the summit <\/div> <\/div> <\/div>
\"Alpine <\/a>
Alpine tundra: lichen on diorite <\/div> <\/div> <\/div>
\"Halfway <\/a>
Halfway up <\/div> <\/div> <\/div> <\/div>
\"Looking <\/a>
Looking north from the summit <\/div> <\/div> <\/div>
\"Looking <\/a>
Looking south from the summit <\/div> <\/div> <\/div> <\/div>
\"Panorama, <\/a>
Panorama, looking south from the summit <\/div> <\/div> <\/div>
\"Western <\/a>
Western canyon below the pass: fir, spruce, aspen and sagebrush <\/div> <\/div> <\/div> <\/div> <\/div>\n

Waiting for the Dark to Fall<\/strong><\/p>\n

With this cold and this wind, my former campsite in an open grove at the head of a ridge was way too exposed, but I knew there was another attractive aspen grove protected in a bend in the road farther down. What I didn’t know was how cold it would get at night; I had only my lightweight summer sleeping bag.<\/p>\n

When I pulled out beside the lower grove, I found faint old vehicle tracks that passed the grove up a gentle slope, and walking up I found one of\u00a0the best campsites I’ve ever seen, in a mature grove of very tall aspens, some of whose trees had started to die, providing ideal bird nesting habitat. It hadn’t been visited or used yet this year; there was lots of dry firewood; there was a woodpecker working loudly high up in the canopy.<\/p>\n

I got out one of the lamb sausages, sliced and mixed it with some seasoned black beans and rice I’d cooked days earlier\u00a0in the Mojave. I started a small fire and sat waiting for the dark to fall. I thought about how I keep making these trips alone, because I have no one else to make them with. I know of only one other guy\u00a0who might rarely go\u00a0camping alone. Most of my friends would never venture\u00a0it, and certainly not the climbs or canyon hikes I do by myself. The arrogant jocks and bullies who threatened me and\u00a0called me a coward\u00a0in high school are now all out of shape and in poor health and probably couldn’t handle a single night outdoors.<\/p>\n

It was a chilly night, but I slept with all the warm clothing I’d brought, and in the morning I woke to a form of paradise.<\/p>\n

\"In <\/a>
In camp long before sunset <\/div> <\/div> <\/div>
\"Aspen <\/a>
Aspen grove camp <\/div> <\/div> <\/div> <\/div> <\/div>\n

Miracle in the Morning<\/strong><\/p>\n

My grove was full of birds and birdsong. The woodpecker was still working. The first bird I saw was a hummingbird, attracted to the red in my sleeping pad or mosquito screen. I lay in bed for a while as sunlight poured over the crest\u00a0and gilded the high canopy. Then as I prepared my granola and made coffee, I marveled at the avian spectacle all around me. They were working the ground, the middle space, and the sunlit tops of the aspens. I saw flashes of blue and green, tan, red, black and white, all sizes from hummingbirds to jays. Small, sleek swallows kept swooping through my camp. I had my breakfast and while I was eating they all suddenly moved on, as an ensemble, to another grove nearby. Completely different kinds of birds, working independently, yet moving together as a group. I was surprised and inspired.<\/p>\n

As I was rinsing my dishes I heard a sudden crashing at the low end of the grove and looked up. There, about 40 yards away, three bison were galloping away through the trees. Apparently they had been grazing their way closer and suddenly became aware of me. I sort of remembered hearing there were bison in these mountains, but had never seen them \u2013 and had certainly never seen bison wild, outside a national park or a billionaire’s ranch. Now my birthday celebration was complete! First a spontaneous, poorly\u00a0conceived trip, then an insurmountable obstacle leading to an unplanned detour, and now these miracles!<\/p>\n

Traversing the Middle Peak<\/strong><\/p>\n

I wanted to stay there forever. But like my LA friends, I had a deadline and a crisis back in town. I felt I\u00a0needed to somehow get in cell phone range today to call my mortgage officer \u2013 today was the deadline for her to call the lender and extend my application. I could just assume she would remember, but if she didn’t I’d be screwed, with a lot of money down the drain. And I wasn’t sure how far I was from a phone connection: 3 hours, or as much as 6 hours. I was really out there.<\/p>\n

After studying the\u00a0maps I decided to try a new route across the mountains. To reach it I’d have to drive back down into the lower foothills. Before that turnoff, there would be others higher up that led to 4wd-only roads I needed to avoid.<\/p>\n

But of course I turned off too soon, following a sign that seemed to point where I wanted to go. After many miles of steep climbing on a bad road at 5-10 mph, I realized I was on the 4wd road to hell. But if I turned back, I would likely miss my call. So I kept going.<\/p>\n

It took me up across the southwest face of the northern massif. I gradually became confident. I was filling in the blanks of my knowledge of this range. I hadn’t encountered anything undoable. I saw the middle peak getting closer, with its solid granite outlier formation. I began to see exactly where I was on the map. I followed the road down toward the saddle connecting the peaks. Then I came to the bad spot.<\/p>\n

Fortunately I was going down. I might not have been able to come up this part of the road. It turned to deep red powder sand with big, sharp rocks sporadically embedded in it. First\u00a0there was a sharp turn that was just deep sand. Around the turn was a steep downslope of sand and rock. Using gravity, I inched around the turn and carefully lurched down\u00a0the long rocky hill, and breathed a big sigh of relief at the bottom.<\/p>\n

Now I was in an entirely new part of the range. I came into a fairly recent burn area; the entire north and east slope of the middle peak had burnt intensely in 2003 and the ponderosa forest on its slopes was being replaced by thickets of Gambel oak. The middle slopes were gently rolling, with large expanses of grassy meadows and sagebrush flats, with a few small groups of cattle grazing at great distances from each other. The road was, if anything, rockier than ever. I could see the canyonlands desert off in the distance, with its highway that might lead me in calling range, but I couldn’t hurry\u00a0on this road.<\/p>\n

After stopping to make\u00a0lunch in a sunny flat at about 8,000′, I slowly made my way across and down the east side of the mountains into the desert, dropping into the canyon of a major creek and coming suddenly upon a major encampment of ATV enthusiasts with big\u00a0trucks and RVs parked beside the stream. A few miles beyond I hit the paved road.<\/p>\n

\"Panorama <\/a>
Panorama looking southwest over the canyon lands from the saddle between the northern and middle peaks, with the southern peak in the distance at right <\/div> <\/div> <\/div> <\/div>
\"The <\/a>
The middle peak at right, with the southern peak behind it at left <\/div> <\/div> <\/div>
\"The <\/a>
The northern peaks, with alpine cattle in foreground <\/div> <\/div>
\"The <\/a>
The southern peak from my lunch spot <\/div> <\/div> <\/div> <\/div>
\"The <\/a>
The northern peaks <\/div> <\/div> <\/div>
\"The <\/a>
The middle peak <\/div> <\/div> <\/div>
\"The <\/a>
The northern peaks from the western benches <\/div> <\/div> <\/div>
\"Prince's <\/a>
Prince’s plume blooming below the western benches <\/div> <\/div> <\/div> <\/div> <\/div>\n

I still had no phone signal; I kept driving\u00a0southeast through my old familiar canyon country, across the big river and over high mesas, until finally high up on\u00a0the edge of Elk Ridge I saw three bars on the phone and pulled over to try\u00a0calling the bank. It was 4:30 pm on Friday; she was away from her desk so I left a message.<\/p>\n

I had hoped to do another hike before driving home, but I had used up the entire day driving across the best hiking country in the world, just trying to make a futile, and probably unnecessary, call. I was starting to think about dinner; I drove to the village of Bluff on the San Juan River, where I knew there was a good steakhouse, but as I passed\u00a0it I realized I still had leftover lamb sausage, beans and rice, so I decided to look for a picnic spot on the river. Then out of the corner of my eye I noticed that my old favorite cheap motel in Bluff had re-opened.<\/p>\n

Folk History\u00a0in Bluff<\/strong><\/p>\n

Several miles later I was in a grove of cottonwoods beside the San Juan, starting to unpack my cooking gear, until I realized that my stove was buried under everything else, and there were bugs here, and no good camping spots, and no place to camp on the Navajo Reservation if I kept driving. So I decided to return to the Mokee Motel, get a room for the night, and warm up my leftovers there. The next day would be a reasonable 6 hour drive back home.<\/p>\n

Per usual for this time of year, Bluff was hot as hell. After dinner, with the air conditioner rumbling, I intermittently read Richard McKeon’s Thought Action\u00a0and Passion<\/em>\u00a0on the iPad and glanced at a PBS fundraiser on TV featuring mainstream, baby boomer folk music acts of the late 50s and early 60s, some of whom\u00a0had been part of my childhood. Most of them were insipid, and I was reminded of why I don’t really like folk music. It’s a genre primarily consisting of uptight, overeducated urban white people self-consciously trying to reproduce traditional music divorced from\u00a0the traditional context.\u00a0Like professional sports, its another way in which our culture has specialized and commodified the life out of its traditional roots.<\/p>\n

Tamales in Chambers<\/strong><\/p>\n

Traffic was light across the Navajo reservation. I was on the\u00a0decompression leg of my journey. I still had the White Mountains and all the other watersheds of the San Francisco River ahead of me, and the open Gila Country, but first I had to stop somewhere for lunch. There used to be a Denny’s-type coffee shop attached to the motel at the Chambers exit on I-40, so that would be my first attempt.<\/p>\n

It was open, and it was now a bare-bones Navajo eatery. A big TV was blasting\u00a0at the end of the room; a pony-tailed older Navajo was eating and watching from his booth, and an Anglo couple were finishing lunch at theirs. I sat at the counter and a shy young Navajo guy handed me a menu. A middle-aged lady was cooking behind the order window.<\/p>\n

I ordered tamales, and they came out looking good, with big whole kidney beans and rice. The tamales and sauce were much better than I’d expected. I took my time, reading from my iPad. The other diners left. The kid asked me if I wanted him to turn off the TV and I said sure. As I was getting up to pay, the cook came out and I told her I liked her tamales. She went to the other end of the room and started a long, soft-spoken reply that I couldn’t understand, so I smiled and chuckled and strolled out to my truck, to end a journey that turned out pretty well after all.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Note: The photos below are viewable in high resolution.\u00a0After\u00a0clicking on the thumbnail, you can really get a sense of being there by\u00a0clicking on View Full Size at lower right of the photo. A Spontaneous, Poorly Conceived Trip Out of work, betrayed\u00a0by faceless bureaucracies, threatened with financial ruin, sick for months with a mysterious infection that […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[77,86,85,83,4],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-2536","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-2014-trips","category-colorado-plateau","category-mojave-desert","category-regions","category-road-trips"],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"","jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/maxcarmichael.com\/blog\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2536","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/maxcarmichael.com\/blog\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/maxcarmichael.com\/blog\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/maxcarmichael.com\/blog\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/maxcarmichael.com\/blog\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=2536"}],"version-history":[{"count":10,"href":"https:\/\/maxcarmichael.com\/blog\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2536\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":2618,"href":"https:\/\/maxcarmichael.com\/blog\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2536\/revisions\/2618"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/maxcarmichael.com\/blog\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=2536"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/maxcarmichael.com\/blog\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=2536"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/maxcarmichael.com\/blog\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=2536"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}