Santa Clara River, Utah

It is snowing today, but yesterday was supposed to be warm and sunny. I'd never been down through the southwestern corner of Utah from Pine Valley to Beaver Dam Wash on old Highway 91. It looked like a good day to try it. I left pretty early and drove to Pinto, but the road from there to Pine Valley was washed out. I had to turn around. The road from Pinto to Mountain Meadow was washed out, too, but the Chev was up to the task. When I got to Central, I drove to Pine Valley on the pavement. On the way back, I tried to turn off the highway at Veyo to follow the Santa Clara River to Gunlock and beyond. Unfortunately, the road was closed. OK. So, I took the highway all the way to Ivins and tried to go up through the reservation at Shivwits. The road was closed there, too. At this point, I began to learn a couple of things:

First, I stopped along the Santa Clara River in the vicinity of Ivins and realized that it had recently experienced a 15 foot flood. I mean, like in the past few days. There were full-sized cottonwood trees uprooted and resting on new sandbars about 10 feet above the current water level. With all the roads from Pinto washed out . . . and now this . . . I began to put two and two together. We'd had some rain while we were in Bluff, but it seems as though this corner of the state had experienced a steady pounding. Every wash from Newcastle to Mesquite had flooded and removed any road in its path. The road in the Santa Clara canyon wasn't just "closed," it was washed out.

Second, as I wandered through the area I discovered that I was that I was no longer in rural southern Utah, but was instead on the fringes of the St. George urban sprawl. It was awful. From Central to Veyo to Ivins to Santa Clara; from La Verkin to Hurricane to Washington; from Leeds to the Arizona border. What a mess. Pink stucco mcmansions, fast food, and furniture. And the driving. Is that what suburbanites do all day? They drive like maniacs from the light in front of Carl's Junior, to the light in front of the Maverick? Two speeds, "on" and "off," get there as fast as you can so you can slam on your brakes? OK. I'm sure it is like that everywhere, but I'm just sheltered.

At one point in all that silliness, a white sporty thing zoomed up beside me and honked. I looked over and expected someone to curse at me because I was exceeding the speed limit by only 15 mph rather than 45. Instead, a beautiful woman was waving at me. I thought maybe I'd left my turn signal on or something so I checked all my lights. I looked back. She was still there, but now she was smiling and trying to say something. Oh. Well. Maybe she wants to pick me up. She looks a bit chic, but sometimes these wealthy ladies like someone with three days growth and a mud spattered Chevy. I rolled down the window and said, "Hey, what's going on?" The woman's face fell and the smile disappeared. "Oh," she said, "I thought you were someone else." She floored her Acura and vanished around the next couple of curves. Nice to know that I've still got the ability to charm a beautiful stranger.

Montezuma Canyon, Utah

Before we left Parowan, the National Weather Service had predicted sun for Thursday. It was our one chance. Unfortunately, the prediction was a day late; or a day early, depending on your point of view. For us, the view on Thursday was of clouds, and wind, and rain, and . . . did I mention mud? I had hoped to go back to Comb Wash and Road Canyon since San Juan County does a pretty good job with those roads. Actually, only a rookie would leave the pavement after a week of rain, but, as I said, it was our one chance. About four miles up, we hit a very snotty patch, lost traction even with FWD, and slid sideways with the driver's rear tire dropping into a wash. Fortunately it was a shallow wash; plenty of side washes are large enough to swallow a pick-up, but this wasn't one of them. It may have been a rookie move, but I wasn't going to do it twice: We turned around and went back to the highway.

So, then, we tried Montezuma Canyon. The gas companies were working over there, surely the roads would be better? Well, they were better, and they were worse. They were better because they were built wide for the drilling rigs and putting it right down the middle meant that you weren't going to slide off unless you slid for 100 feet. They were worse, because all of that road surface had sucked up enough rain to float Noah, and the mud was deep. Deep. There were some places . . . flat places . . . where FWD and an open throttle were required simply to inch forward . . . with wheels churning and mud flying. Needless to say, we didn't go far. I think we got to Max Dalton's well, but I could be wrong about that. In any case, we spent an hour or two walking around the side canyons looking at glyphs and a few small ruins, including the one above. By then it was late and we spent the rest of the day dredging our way back to asphalt.

The Moki Dugway, Utah

We'd spent the whole day looking for light. We'd gone from the Goosenecks, to Johns Canyon, to Muley Point, but the entire day had been spent, as Valerie put it, "with the lights out." On our way down the Moki Dugway, one shaft of light slipped under the clouds and, very briefly, directed a spotlight into the Valley of the Gods. We pulled quickly off the road and stepped out to try to make something of it with two or three cameras . . . none of which had the lens to shoot such a scene. Suddenly, out of nowhere, zoomed a rented sport-ute, pulling up directly beside Valerie. Out jumped a Japanese guy. He walked up to her, handed her a camera that she said was worth more than our truck (it also had the lens we needed), and asked her in broken English to take a picture of him against the lighted VOG. She complied, and then handed the camera back to him. He said, "Goodbye," returned to the sport-ute, and zoomed away. A drive-by shooting if ever there was one.

San Juan Hill, Utah

At Rural Ways, luxurious living is not a way of life, and we feel prepared to work for food, shelter, and a fire in the wood stove. That being said, our lifestyle is one of effortless ease when compared to the Mormon pioneers. On Monday, we went down to the confluence of Comb Ridge and the San Juan River, near Bluff. It was there, about 120 or 130 years ago that the Hole-in-the-Rock pioneers, on their way from Escalante to the area around Bluff, created a wagon road from the river to the top of Comb Ridge. This was AFTER they had spent the entire winter building a road from Escalante that crossed the Colorado at the Hole in the Rock. The dugway to the top of Comb Ridge, what they called San Juan Hill, was so steep that some of the livestock died in harness while trying to climb it. As the three of us hiked up the nearly sheer wagon road, I said to Valerie that what the Hole-in-the-Rockers did would never be done today. It was so arduous that no one would consent to it anymore. I mean, the federal government just extended unemployment benefits for another couple of years. Why not take it easy today on the sofa and, in time, when the economy picks up, we can look for a job answering phones?

Monument Valley, Arizona

Sunday was overcast in Bluff, so we worked our way along the river to Mexican Hat. It was no better there, but there were some ragged clouds to the south, so we went down to Monument Valley. The wind was powerful and the light was intermittent, but our glimpses of the landscape confirmed its beauty. It is a truly spectacular area. Unfortunately, it is also persistently popular with the yuppies and the euros. Like Arches or Zion, the only time to risk a visit is during December. And, even then, it is bad enough. Rural Ways probably doesn't need to go back.

Rural Ways Exclusive

Tomorrow, Rural Ways leaves for Bluff, Utah. We will be bunking next to the San Juan and exploring some of its canyons for several days. It seems likely that the environment will provide inspiration for a few new paintings. On the topic of new paintings, however, Rural Ways is your first choice for exclusive not-available-to-the-public sneak previews. The unfinished work above depicts the Green River in Lodore Canyon. With its vibrant under-painting, warm foreground, and luminous shadows, this little gem glows as it sits on the easel. When complete, it will be ready for a 2011 debute, perhaps in St. George, Utah. Stand by for further updates.

Black Hills National Forest, South Dakota

Rural Ways spent four or five weeks working in South Dakota during 2010. Here is an excerpt from one of those days:

I've been looking at forest stands in the Black Hills for nine straight days. I'm going to take tomorrow off. Right now it is 50F and sunny. Nice weather for walking in the woods. The woods consist of ponderosa pine, white spruce, quaking aspen, and paper birch. I call them pipo, pigl, potr, and bepa. Commonly, the most common understory shrub is the common juniper. There is a pretty good road system, but the drainage is poor and the native surface holds water. After some rain last weekend, things have been a bit snotty.

Jack Rabbit Mountain, Utah

I was wandering around in the northwestern corner of the Parowan Valley yesterday when I found this little arch. It is far from magnificent, and I'm not the first person to discover it, but I was the only visitor the area has had since at least the middle of November. This is one of the things I like about Utah: There is always something interesting out there, and, if you stay away from the National Parks, you can spend a quiet afternoon by yourself looking for it.

White Pine Ridge, Montana

Rural Ways spent four or five weeks working in Montana during 2010. Here is an excerpt from one of those days:

After a week working in the Big Hole Valley, September 2nd finds me in the Lima-Tendoys. It is not the Big Hole, but it is spectacular nonetheless. The country feels more like the Salmon-Challis, more like central Idaho, with the wrinkled hills of yellow grass and the Douglas fir covered ridges. Nice country, though. It is not far from Dillon or Idaho Falls, but it feels disserted this morning. I've got back lighted views of 11,000 foot Garfield Mountain, along with the cloud-shrouded Lima Peaks. Just another day at the office.

Christmas Tree Cutting

Last year at this time we went Christmas tree hunting and came home with a fir. On my subsequent blog post, I stated that I preferred the beautiful fir over the lowly pinyon. I did, however, have some difficulty settling on the species, and was almost universally lambasted for my ignorance. (Read this to relive my shame.) To avoid a repeat display of taxonomic anguish this season, we went back to, yep, the lowly pinyon. It has two needles, and can be nothing other than a Pinus edulis. See the attached picture to view it in its native environment just before cutting.

Tree identification resolved, then, one might expect that our day proceeded without incident. Well, one would be wrong. (Warning to Forest Service Line Officers: Do Not Read the Rest of This Post.) You see, we bought a Christmas Tree permit from the Dixie National Forest only to find, after it was somewhat too late, that the permit was only good where you bought it. If you bought it in Escalante, which we did, you could use it on the Escalante Ranger District, but not on the Cedar City Ranger District, which is where we live. Now, here at Rural Ways, we are law abiding folk, but let's just say that we abide more by the spirit of the law than the letter. And, let us say further, that I suspect that we were not precisely on the Escalante Ranger District when we absconded with this pinyon tree. Finally, let me also say that a quick, quiet getaway is somewhat difficult when one is thrashing through the oak brush in possession of an eight foot pine tree. Fortunately, we got the thing home and disguised it with a bunch of lights and red balls and stuff. If we can keep the feds off our trail for about the next two weeks, we should be ready to destroy the evidence.

Third Time's the Charm

For each of the last three Fridays, I have gone up on the Markagunt to cut firewood. Today was the first trip where I did not have to spend my time digging someone else's vehicle out of the snow. We had several deep snowfalls in southern Utah around Thanksgiving and the forest roads are, of course, unplowed. On the first trip, my friend Martin and I spent probably ninety minutes helping a guy keep his Dodge from slipping off the road and down through the woods. On my second trip, I dug out a guy from Tuscon driving a Volvo. He was talkative and told me, "Dude, I'd have been OK. I've got my survival gear." I thought to myself, "Dude, if you carried a shovel, you wouldn't need survival gear." (My brother-in-law subsequently commented that our conversation reminded him of that famous line from THE GOOD, THE BAD, and THE UGLY: You see, in this world there's two kinds of people, my friend . . . those with shovels, and those who deploy survival gear.) In any case, the only person I had to help today was myself. Just the way I like it.