Fish Creek

We went out to look at some of the puebloan ruins in lower Fish Creek.  This was a nice one, very solidly built, with four symmetrical windows across the front.  Even better, the interior wall was plastered and painted:  The upper half was white-washed, while the bottom was left brown, giving the appearance of wainscoting.  I'm not sure I've seen that before.

Limed

We drove to the mouth of Lime Creek from the Valley of the Gods.  We hiked up canyon.  After about two or three miles, we were stopped by a dry-fall.  (It was dripping actually.)  We turned around and went back a half mile.  EDO wanted to try finding her way up the steep north-facing wall.  So, we sent VSO to the truck and started.  It was, as EDO said, "sketchy."  But we made it to the top.

Lime Creek above the water fall is beautiful:  Silent and pristine.  The access is difficult enough to keep it from being trashed.  We sat there and had a snack.  I looked at my watch.  It was 2:40p.  EDO said, "Oh, it is early."  "No," I replied, "with how far we have to go to get out of here, it is late."  I was, of course, correct.  We made it back to town by quarter to six.  Knowing when to turn around is the difference between the old man and the young hiker.

Needled

We parked at Elephant Hill, and all of us started down the trail to Chesler Park.  VSO made good progress but, with just one wing, she lacked the sure-footedness required for some of the steep icy sections.  Before dropping into Elephant Canyon, we turned her around.

When we cleared the ridge into Chesler, I asked EDO if she wanted to go back the way we had come, or try for a (longer) loop out toward Druid Arch and back through Elephant Canyon.  She, of course, picked the loop.  So we walked fast.  It was a long way, and the December days are short.  We wanted to be out of there by 4p and, at 3:50p, we slipped down the final ridge and into the Chev.

The Little Mermaids

We've been spending most of our days at The Gap.  Or, I should say, we've been going there every day.  Sometimes it is overcast, sometimes sunny.  Sometimes the wind blows and sometimes it snows.  When VSO comes, we keep it to two miles.  The clavicle she had (inadvertently) removed this summer is causing her a lot of shoulder pain.  When EDO comes, we keep it to three.  She has had some long-term pain in her left foot.  We thought it was simply a bruise back in October, and it seemed to go away, but now it is back.

After the Sunset

We've still been riding the bikes a lot.  Aside from one mid-September rain storm and a mid-November sleeting, we've had no moisture in southern Utah since . . . I don't know, maybe July?  So the mountain biking is still pretty good.  In fact, before the sun sets, you can almost ride in shorts and a t-shirt.  After that, though, the temperature drops quickly, sometimes by 20 degrees.  We got caught out there the other day, a couple of miles from the truck.  The sun went down and it immediately got dark.  I just about froze my fingers off.

Two-Hour Juniper

I went out to do some thinning the other day, and decided to start here.  The trouble was that the large Rocky Mountain juniper was so tangled up with the ponderosa pine that it took me an hour to put it on the ground:  Cutting it wasn't enough, I had to wedge it and finally lever it with the stem of a second tree.  Once down, it had so many big branches that it required another hour to lop and pile.  The two-hour juniper.

Cmas Tree 2017

Last year on this day, we cut a big tree in the snow.  We returned to the same general area today and cut another big tree, but without much snow.  Actually, the trees that we choose are tall, but the bottom half is often undesirable.  So, we cut them and use only the top half.  And, just in case anyone is worried, these are subalpine fir trees, a species one of my colleagues calls "devil weed," so cutting them is a good deed.

Arch of Phipp

Last year on this day, EDO and I made it to the arch in Phipp's Wash (and out again) before dark.  I was thinking about that today because the arch itself is so remarkable.  It is not at all delicate or soaring.  Instead, it is a dense and solid mass, with a low roof.

Antone Flat

We logged 13 miles on Thursday and Friday.  Unfortunately, most of it without VSO.  Between the rigors of physical therapy and a touch of the cold/flu, she was low on energy.  She took Thursday off, and turned around at the two-mile-mark on Friday.

It was the same today.  VSO went back to the trailhead after two miles (four round trip) while the rest of us went five (ten round trip).  The rest of us included EDO and me.  Even after five miles it was a disappointment to turn around.  The views were just getting good, and we'd not even reached Mamie Creek.

Smoke and Digital Mirrors

Prior to the arrival of a small dose of rain and snow, noted in my last post, we had not accumulated any moisture in southern Utah for at least two months.  The woods were dry, and it was an opportunity to try a little burning.  We spent a couple of days working at it last week, with mixed results.

One thing about mid-November burning is that the daily window is short.  The sun is never very high in the sky and, if you are working on an east facing slope, it sets by 3p.  While these low light conditions may not be great for burners, they are a boon for picture makers.  The slanting rays of the sun and the surreal—almost eerie—effect of smoke rising from the shadows provides for some interesting results.  (Please note, however, that this doesn't mean I'm not working:  drip torch in one hand, camera in the other.)

First Rain; First Snow

On September 14th 2017, the Homestead received enough rain to create a puddle.  On two occasions since then we've had a slight drizzle, but not enough to settle the dust and certainly not enough to make a puddle.  This afternoon, when EDO and I were headed out for a few minutes in the foothills, a steady downpour was filling puddles in the street.  By the time we got half a mile up the trail, we were in the snow.  The first measurable moisture in 64 days.

Riding the Range

EDO has been dealing with a foot injury that has slowed her hiking and stopped her running.  Instead, we've spent a lot of time on the bike.  Yesterday we were on a developed trail in Cedar City, but we also frequent a few gravel roads closer to home.  One thing about going out for an afternoon ride in the middle of November is that the sun is setting by 4p.  It makes for a soft twilight glow.

The Muleys

Last weekend we camped on a side road off the Wolverine Loop.  It was a pretty quiet camp, but not far from the park boundary.  First, we went over and tried Upper Muley.  It was too busy and noisy for me, but there were some beautiful arches.  (I'll let EDO feature those because she took—by far—the best pictures of them.)  Next, we did a one-way through Lower Muley, using the Post Trailhead as our exit point.  It was nicer:  Not nearly the traffic.  All in all, though, the National Parks are like Disney World:  Packed with consumers.

I made a bunch of pictures and uploaded too many of them.  Here.  But, the real revelation of the trip was VSO.  She pounded out the miles.  Amazing.  After a complete sternotomy and six weeks of radiation, most people wouldn't be crawling.  Instead, VSO was covering six miles of rough country every day.  And doing it with a smile on her face.  The girl has grit.

Slow Growers

Rural Ways has been quiet for at least a fortnight.  While there is surely some laziness involved, the weather can also be blamed:  We've had a three week run of spectacular Indian summer weather.  It has provided a good opportunity for seeing new places.  Indeed, a colleague has often mentioned that he knew of a place near the Sevier River in southern Utah where 40-inch old growth Engelmann spruce were common.  I got him to take me there last week.

Southern Utah is known for its red-rock canyons, but much of the state exists at elevations above 9,000 feet, and even 11,000 feet.  Conditions in these places often feature ecosystems more frequently associated with Montana or Alaska.  In the case of forested systems, some of the most common disturbances—such as logging or fire—are absent for long periods—sometimes many hundreds of years.  The result can be slow growing trees that reach large sizes.  In this case, a 42-inch spruce, with an estimated germination date of about 1600.

Walking on the Water

We were out for a couple of miles this afternoon.  On our way back along the creek, we needed to find a crossing.  EDO walked on the water.

On the Point

Earlier this week, I found my way around from about Yankee to a narrow point above Center Creek.  Another place with a few Great Basin bristlecone pines.

Another Winner

Last year, VSO won a blue ribbon at the Escalante plein air.  She competed this year, too, but came home without an award.  (She submitted the painting above.)  Instead, EDO won a blue ribbon.  In her first competition, she submitted the painting, below, to the judges in the Junior Division.  And came home with a $50 cash prize for top place.  (Both paintings would look better if they were not photographed in the glare of the sun . . . must be an amateur behind the camera.)

Sympathy for Engineers

I have sympathy for the road engineers, I really do.  When all your infrastructure is at the bottom of the canyon, it is hard to prepare for the worst.  Meaning, of course, fires and floods.  In this case, after the last flood, 20 years ago, I'm sure they thought the culvert was big enough.  And maybe it was.  But then it got plugged by a bunch of debris, and the creek quickly made a new channel.  Directly through the road.

Here They Come

One thing that is really interesting about all the burned areas is that they provide an instant lesson in plant succession.  The thing that arrives first on the site is the one that never left.  That is, the sprouters.  Many "hardwood" and riparian species—such as aspen, birch, and maple—sprout from living roots.  So, when the top is killed, the roots immediately send up runners.

Not so the conifers.  Conifers germinate from seed, so when the trees are killed and the immediate seed source is gone, it can take several decades for them to return.  At any rate, it is time to celebrate the sprouters.

Let Your Horses Do the Walking

We were out this week, looking at post-fire conditions in the headwaters of Waterfall and Bosman Creeks.  I've walked there before, but it is a long way—7 to 12 miles round trip, depending on the ultimate destination—so a couple of my colleagues suggested the horses.  They are accomplished riders; I am not.  As a result, I don't particularly like the horses, but it is true that, on horseback, one can see a lot of country without very much walking.  Big, beautiful country.

August Collection

In August 2015, I shared a scenic collection.  It had been a hot month, and the pictures were mostly of high elevation forests.  August of 2017 was, if anything, hotter.  But the pictures I made were mostly from the valley or from the foothills.  It was an odd month.  We had some big storms, a partial eclipse, and a lot of fire killed trees.  Anyway, the pictures turned out to be eclectic, but this is the best of it.

Restoration

The plan for this stand is to remove the conifer trees that have encroached on the sage-steppe community in the time since European settlement.  Cut, lop, and leave.  Sort of like this.

Faux-lux Cabins

There is a place I know.  Developing.  Filling in with faux-lux cabins.  Plastic siding.  Half a million each.  Probably more.  A million.  In a place that was clear cut.  High graded.  Owner slicked it off before selling half-acre lots to people with more money than sense.  Before that it was intact forest.  Old growth really.  Not that it matters.  But I just hope they know.  Better not be wagging their fingers at roughnecks.  Loggers.  Contractors.  Look around.  You have your faux-lux cabin in a clear cut.  Oh, sure, there are trees.  The trash trees.  The trees they wouldn't take at the mill.  The big trees?  The magnificent trees?  The trees that live 400 years?  They are gone.  What is left is trash.  And plastic.