Wednesday, 10-27-04

Dana, Dee, and I left Augusta around 3.  In Atlanta , we found Jennifer and her friend Renee.  Went up to our gate and found Debbie Glaze.  Left 6ish .  Watched Terminal with some crappy airline earphones.  Touched down in a dreary, rainy Salt Lake City International.  Got our great pile of luggage lugged out and transferred to our various rentals.  I got a Chevy Trailblazer, Dee got a Caravan and Debbie got a Ford Explorer.  Went to Candlewood Suites nearby and ordered Chinese with Dee, Jennifer and Renee.  They all went to their rooms and we were crashing when Suzi called to say she was coming in.  She came up and yakked a while as she sucked down our leftover Mongolian beef and sesame chicken.

  Thursday., 10-28-04

 I left the girls to their own devices and headed out to points east.  Of course, getting on I-80 was not so easy – the signage wasn’t too good – but after finding myself downtown and almost to the temple, I turned around and went to the airport so I could get back on 80.  Switching to Hwy 40. In short order was driving in the cleft between two mountains, with evergreens scattered on their slopes.  Leveled out at something over 8000 feet at Daniel Summit General Store.  Thought my breath was a little short, but that could have been in my head.  Got some jerky, water, and M&Ms for emergency rations, and a cheap flashlight.  Headed downward.  Saw a dead cow on the side of the road, sprinkled with fine snow.

 Snow came and went on the landscape[1].  For a while, it managed to wrest control from the drizzle.  As I descended, the snow was laced with sleet, and then they all momentarily called a truce when I hit flat(er) land again. 

 Roughly 60 miles from Vernal, I saw oil wells.  Also saw poles with reflectors and  black flags on them lining the highway on both sides.  Pondered on that a while until I decided they were to mark the roadway in the event of heavy snow. 

 Stopped when I saw a dead elk cow in the ditch; took a couple pictures[2].  The phone signal had returned so I called Grandpa, then Gil, then Joan (which pretty much comprised the friends programmed in my  cellular phonebook). 

 At long last (too long, even for the grand scenery), I arrived in Vernal.  Found the Utah Field House of Natural History Museum, only to discover it had moved a couple blocks away to a new building.  Did a relatively quick runthrough of the fossils in the place, lingering longest with the diplodocus in the center of the main hall.  Bought a number of books, and a couple of t-shirts (incl. one for Ian).  Then it was westward to Dinosaur National Monument .  Stopped at a visitor’s center south of the place, and took some pictures of what I learned was Split Mountain [3].  Talked with two older women who worked at the center (and I can say that because they were talking about the pretty young attendants across the way in Wyoming ) who advised I go see the cabin homestead of Josie Bassett.  One of them also insisted I see the photogenic Flaming Gorge.  

Drove northward, dipping down and passing some farms; lots of horses, something I’ve noticed all around Utah .  Stopped when I saw a pheasant, and made probably vain efforts to photograph it while propping the heavy lens on the door.  Drove on to where the Green River curved, and took some more pictures. Stomped the heavy mud off my boots, and drove half a mile up the road before taking some more pictures.  A worker drove by as I lay on the side of the road setting up a shot on my tiny pocket tripod, stopped, and asked if I was alright.  I think he was a bit derisive when I explained what I was doing. 

 And up the hill and to the quarry, a place I had dreamed of  going as a dino-nut kid.  I figured this was a way of feeding my inner child, so here I was.  The structure covering the quarry [4] had some very good interpretive materials, explaining the geology, dino anatomy, and both the prehistory and history of the site.  Looked closely at the bones in the quarry wall, and touched a large sauropod legbone fixed in the hard gray stone.  Took a timed picture of myself against the wall.  An onlooker said, “Couldn’t you  tell yourself to smile?”  I replied that I wouldn’t have listened anyway.  Raided the shop, noting there were copies of Sand County Almanac among other things.  Picked ups some postcards and a book on the quarry, and took photos of the valley and surrounding mountains in front of the parking lot.  A drizzle was setting in.   

Headed back down the hill, and sat for a bit at the T trying to make a decision.  It was 4:30 , and the rain was more earnest now.  Decided that the gorge wouldn’t be photogenic and I’d be on an unfamiliar road going home, so chose the driving trail.  Took a couple of pictures of pictographs, shielding my camera as best I could.  Down the road, took a shot of the cliffs framing some cottonwoods along the banks of the Green River .  The precip again subsided to a light drizzle.  The pavement ended and I was on a dirt road, weaving among stone columns and rock walls with more pictography.  Turned a bend and saw some cattle huddled in the lea of a stone rise.  Around another bend, the valley opened up, revealing cottonwoods, willows, poplars and locusts following the creeks which  intersected the grassy meadows.  The road ended at the old cabin [5].  Found my camera had gotten too wet and had given up.  Josephine Bassett built the cabin and vanished outbuildings, and basically carved out a working farm by herself.  The price of independence and solitude (worthwhile but inevitable price that it is) was the isolation from medical help; she was feeding her horse when she slipped on some ice, broke a hip, and died not long after at age 90. Walked around the 70-year-old log cabin, and then went straight for the box canyon [6]that drew me like a siren. Josie B. penned cattle back there; I have visions of gunbattles among the fallen rocks or high up on the stone shelves and caves.  I’m not a good judge of distance, but I’d say some of the walls towered 200- 300 feet or even more above the canyon floor. Towards the back of the canyon, I clambered up tumbled boulders.  Didn’t go all the way back, but after catching my breath I headed back to the car.  And while I was fiddling with my camera, I took out the battery, put it back in, and suddenly my camera was speaking to me again.  So, I trotted back into the canyon.  The rain had picked up, and rivulets were cascading over the edges of the overhangs.  Again, I climbed halfway up, setting up my camera to get a few shots.  The light was poor, so I was taking 15 second exposures with my 100 speed film.  Decided to take one more shot of the canyon floor from atop a boulder.  Set the 10 second timer to take a 20 second exposure, hunched over the camera to keep the worst of the rain off.  The moment the shutter clicked open, I heard the clatter of rock behind and to the right of me, and I was reminded that I was standing on stone that had fallen from the cliffs looming above me I looked but couldn’t see the noisemaker.  The instant the shutter closed I grabbed up my camera, hunched over against the intensifying rain, and trotted past the holed stone, the purple flowers, the colored layers, and all the other photoworthy aspects that on a clear day would have kept me entertained for hours.  The camera was dead again, and I let it rest in peace for the time being.  Talked to Dee, who said they were postponing the Deseret ghost walk until tomorrow, and were just going to the chalet tonight.  Drove out of the monument , stopping to let half a dozen or so mule deer cross the road. Drove past an old tree with cowskulls in it, which was located on the private-owned section of the road in between federal sections.  Also noticed as I drove out of that particular valley that they don’t seem to believe in guard rails here. 

 Drove out and back to Vernal.  Was planning on grabbing fast food, but saw the 7-11 Ranch Restaurant and had a craving for a sit-down, stationary meal.  Got a hamburger steak and ate while looking over some of the day’s loot.

 The rain let up, and by the time I was past Duchesne (du-SHAYNE, I believe), the full moon was peeping out between the clouds.  With it, I could see the dark outlines of mountains in the distance on either side, with some ghostly snowcaps.  I also saw an ominous darkness ahead.  Passed a mulie on the roadside; guess they are like whitetails in that respect. I had meant to try for a moonlit shot on a roadside view I had shot from earlier, but it started snowing before I got there.  So light at first, then heavier, until I was only doing 35, and only the grassy verge showed me where the road lay.  Earlier, I had passed cars every couple of minutes, but now I saw nothing and was getting a little concerned.  As I crept up the big hills of the Uintas National Forest , I saw a snowplow in the other lane, with dozens of vehicles in tow.  The snow was slacking a bit, and the drive wasn’t too stressful.  Stopped at the Daniel’s Summit , and build a perfunctory snowman because I felt I should.  By the time I was ready to leave (and after I’d finished sucking air), a snowplow was heading westward.  I fishtailed just a bit in the parking lot (again, because I thought I should, and it would be better to test the snow there than on a snow-covered mountain road) and headed out.  Dee called to say it took forever to find the chalet.  Maybe it seemed that way, but my sense of scale was somewhat different, having driven a few hundred miles today.  The direction sheet I had was confusing, but I managed to piece together the route, and found the little subdivision in Midway.  There were mule deer across the street and right next to the house. The “chalet” was a fair-sized house, nice enough but just one of many here. The womenfolk were all there, ooh-ahhing over their scrapbook stuff.  Together they were given some $2000 worth of scrapping equipment and material.  I walked in and said, “My boots are dirty, my pants are dirty, my car is very dirty – it’s a good day.”  They laughed and made comments about men at play.  They were especially happy when I saved the day by going out to get some toilet paper (managed to find a 7-11 open after 11:30 ).  Saw more mulies, including some next to the house.  I mentioned them to Dee , and she wanted to see them, so we slipped out and watched them from maybe 15 yards away before they decided to trot off.

  Friday, 10-29-04

 The morning was cool, and though largely overcast the sun did peek through here and there.  Jennifer, Debbie and Renee went on a tour of Salt Lake City.  I drove Dana, Dee, Suzi and Sara over to Ogden [7] .  They went shopping, while I hit some museums at Union Station.  First, I went to the Browning Museum , which features examples of the firearms John M. Browning designed.  Next briefly passed through a museum about trains in Utah, and finally looked at a natural history museum.  This last place was really a collection of collections, featuring stones, gems, fossils, Indian artifacts, and similar things probably gleaned from world travels. Met the girls for lunch at Roosters, and had a good fish n chips lunch.  I was goaded into posing with them under a sign about polygamy (it was the name of a drink at the pub) and naturally I was in the center.

 Food out of the way, we headed across the mountains (stopping once or twice for photos) to Huntsville , where we visited the Abbey of Our Lady of the Holy Trinity, a Trappist monastery. We showed up just minutes before Nones, so we went in to observe.  Perhaps eight or ten other folks came in; a couple were definitely regular worshipers, but I couldn’t tell whether the others were just curious or faithfuls.  As it came time to begin, an old bent man came in, bowed to the altar, and took his place.  After a few minutes, another old man, this one with a walker, did likewise.  One by one they filed in, with the final few in small groups.  When they began chanting, there were eleven old men sitting in a choir built to accommodate somewhere in the neighborhood of 50.  I found it rather melancholy.  The office was in English, which I think disappointed some in the party. After ten or fifteen minutes, they filed out, all save one.  This one had a knit cap on and just sat there in silence.  Once he slowly looked at all of us, then returned his eyes forward, possible to a text.  After a few minutes of expectant silence, folks began to get up and leave.  Several of us hit the gift shop, and I got some pamphlets.  Dee talked with a Father Patrick at the cash register.  Thankfully, there are actually 30 monks, so I’m guessing those too frail for farmwork did the offices. Apparently they were known for breadmaking for some 50 years, but the baker was put to work in the fields.  Currently, they are sold honey.  The Father talked kindly to me about what I did and where I lived, and my interest in chants (I picked up a booklet about Gregorian Chants).  I paid for the stuff and went outside.  Someone said the Father had granted us permission to take pictures in the church, so Dana, Sara and I went in for a few minutes, being careful to stay behind the visitor line [8].  Many of the buildings were gussied-up Quonset huts, and the brochure said they were trying to raise 8.5 million dollars to build new facilities.

 Dee, who was quite tired, sat in the back of the Trailblazer and Dana took her place shotgun.  We rode up to Logan , to visit the campus.  What Dee really wanted to do today, besides cross into Idaho , was see the anthropology museum.  We managed to find the university, but it took longer to find the museum.  Dee was in a bad mood by this point.  We finally found it; it was 5 minutes past the closing time listed on the door, but 25 minutes before the brochure closing time.  The place was much smaller than expected.  I trotted back to the car, got my camera, and took some photos for Dee to use in class.  After all had made the rounds, most of them went back to the car, while I went out to get some pictures of the old Victorian building we had been in [9].  Sara came from the other direction and took a few, and at the bottom of the hill, Dana took a couple as well.  Dee decided that if we were to make Haunted Deseret, we’d have to skip the trip to Idaho . Back into the car – Dee again in the front – we drove through the drizzle and down to Salt Lake City at a furious pace.  And we faced once again the Salt Lake Curse, for, though we tried following the directions, we quickly got turned around, completely unable to find the “This is the Place” park. Numbered roads became named roads and vice versa; a major drag suddenly became a neighborhood road.  1700 E, 500 S, 200 N, there were so many different numbers and none of what we saw jibed with the map.  After asking directions, we managed to find the place half an hour late, only to find our companions who stayed in town hadn’t even arrived. The tour had already left, and we could either catch up with it or wait another hour until the next one.  A poll of the group (who were actually dispersed in the giftshop) it was decided to scrap (no pun intended) the effort, eat the $8 ticket and go home.  Even the most bubbly folks in the Trailblazer simply wanted food and home. Our car circled around a bit before finding a Wendys, and Dee had cleverly gotten everyone’s order written beforehand.  I went in and presented the list, and with Dee ’s help got the food out again and distributed.  We ate on the way, and it took several pairs of eyes to find the way out of the hellish place, but thankfully once we got on 80 we found to the chalet with little effort, around 10 PM .  There were no deer to show folks.  All of us were fried, but Dee was positively crisped.  I plopped down and yanked off my boots.  Jennifer’s group actually arrived after us, having gotten turned around as well. 

 I think I’m going to do a run to Antelope Island State Park to get some bison pictures. Sara is itching to walk up a mountain, so I asked to join her.  Everybody else planned on sleeping in.

 Apparently, Joseph was quite miffed when he found out I was going on this hen party.  Jason was afraid he would have to beat some sense (or maybe some manliness) into me until Suzy assured him I wasn’t there to scrapbook.  

  Saturday, 10-30-04

 Got up when the light was still gray, dressed, and napped on the couch until Sara came downstairs.  Got my camera gear and walked down the road, crossed a fence, and scaled a hill [10].  Only took about 15 or 20 minutes as we clambered past sagebrush and over deer bones.  At the top, we found an ancient Indian double-trail, with bits of rare clear obsidians, and. . . okay, we found where the local kids drive their 4x4s to drink beer.  Took some pictures as best I could with the small tripod and the cloud cover [11][12].  On our way down, we saw four mule deer, and quietly waited until they had looked us over and then walked on before descending.  Slipped past the castle-shaped inn at the base of the hill (mountain, Sara insisted) and headed back.  Saw a man trying to train his Labrador , blowing his whistle and giving hand signals until it found the retrieval dummy in the tall weeds.  He and his wife were very friendly, and he said in a couple of months we’d have elk all over that hill.  

Got back to the house, and the girls were in full scrap mode, going through their free goodies.  After a few minutes of being in the same room with that, I decided it was time to head out again.  Apparently Sara had scrapped enough too, so she went with me to Antelope Island .  It was probably 1 ½ hours to the island, which was at the end of a causeway near Ogden .  The visitor center had some fine interpretive displays about the geology, history and wildlife of the park.  Grabbed a T shirt and some reading materials from the gift shop, and then hunted down the eatery farther down the island.  The joint at Buffalo Point was pretty basic, with a kitchy gift shop and outdoor only seating, but they had buffalo burgers (they advertised buffalo bratwurst, but were out today).  At Sara’s suggestion, we headed up to the next rock terrace to eat.  Still mostly overcast, with glimpses of sun now and then.  Most of the bison were corralled for vet inspection and culling, but a handful wandered placidly on the plain below.  Snow-capped mountains rose in the distance, and I was just able to wear long sleeves, so I was quite enjoying the experience.  The burger was good, too; a bit flat and overdone for the money but good nonetheless.  To let our food settle, we climbed the next and highest knob on the point; from there westward was covered in bouldersh[13]. For fun, we clambered down.  Everywhere, even near the bison-sized rocks, were buffalo chips; I don’t see why they would make the effort when grass and weeds was abundant in the flats.  Nearing the shore, we took a buffalo trail/hiking trail back to the parking lot.  Along the way, I tried to match wits with a magpie, which of course only made me look foolish and didn’t even score me a photo.  From the car, we went down the other hill towards a small group of bison.  Sara got way too close for my comfort, so I waved her back to the position I was taking, some 40 or 60 yards away.  Snapped a few shots before heading back.  Sara alerted me to a fox that was dashing up the hill before us.  It was skinny, sandy brown, but had black on the back of the ears.  I guess it was a red fox, but didn’t have time to focus.  We decided we needed to gather a tour with a wildlife biologist, botanist, geologist, and anthropologist  to tell use what everything was.  She lamented that a geneticist like herself probably wouldn’t be that helpful outside the lab.  

Went back to the visitor center, and debated what to do.  It was after 4, and the group was ordering in for supper.  Sara said, “I still want to climb that mountain,” looking longingly at Frary Peak , the highest point on the island.  My arm needed little twisting, so after getting a map we headed out to the trailhead.  I realized that bounding over rocks blew out my boot treads, but hoped they would survive one more trek.  Sara called Ashley at the visitor center to confirm when the place closed down; she said folks shouldn’t start the trail after 5.  Since it was a quarter til by that point, we elected to go on. The first part of the trail was pretty steep, but we made good time without dying, so we topped the shoulder and went on.  The ground was grassy and littered with fragments of slate and stones of many colors and stripes [14].  It being a state park, I didn’t collect them, but if I had given in to the impulse I’d’ve weighed myself down too much to walk.   

Typical of such hikes, each knob appears to be the summit until a higher point comes into view.  A couple times we wavered, fearing to be locked in, but then pride hardened our determination, and we went farther.  The mountain seemed to stretch upward, lengthening the trail as we went.  The trail alternated steep with gentle, with enough of the later for me to gather strength for the former. The signs indicated some bighorn sheep made their home here, but we never saw any sign.  At one of the last shoulders, we flushed a large covey of chukar, however. At a quarter after 6, with a knob to our left and yet another “summit” looming before us, Sara thought we should throw in the towel and claim a lesser victory with the nearer point.  I looked down and saw a long, striped piece of gneiss at my feet, pointing up to the closer goal.  I took it as a sign, and we went twenty or so yards up the slope.  The light was going gray, as the cloud cover robbed us even of a decent sunset.  The Wasatch Mountains rose up on either side, but as impressive as they were they weren’t splashed with sunset glow as I’d hoped.  And the buffalo chips were scattered across the ground to taunt us.  Still, took a few more pictures [15]and then headed down at a faster pace.  Learned quickly that there were no shortcuts, for when we tried we ended up looking over a 10 foot cliff that wasn’t worth scaling.  Even as the mountain got taller on the ascent, it continued to grow as we went down. I could have sworn it took longer than it should to pass the different landmarks.  Heard some coyotes between us and Elephant Head (the next hill west of us). Foolishly, I had left my flashlight in the vehicle a thousand feet below, and the light faded away; we based our travel calculations on the visitor center's report of 7:30 sunset, and even without factoring the cloud cover I'd say it was a fair bit earlier than that.  But our salvation ( from twisted ankles, anyway) came from the cursed sprawl that lined the shore and filled the valley.  The light from the multitude reflected off the low clouds, bringing just enough light for me to tell the dark soil from the lighter grass.  We managed to pick our way down at a slow walking speed, and eventually reached the parking lot at around 7:30 .  A coyote howled close at hand as if to welcome us.  I guestimate we ascended 1,800 feet over 2.75 miles.  Her worries that the gates would be closed were unfounded.  When we crossed the causeway, I offered to let her dip her hand in the salty water, but she declined; I think she’d had enough adventure for one day. 

 After a brief stop to pick up some water, bananas (for our potassium-starved muscles) and some bread to munch on, and drove back.  The conversation was so charming that I forgot the Salt Lake City Curse until it was too late.  Missed the sign for the turnoff and was nearly in Provo before I was certain of being off course.  Amelia Earhart got us back on track and before too long we were back on track.  Stopped in Midway to pick up her supper (the restaurant had forgot to pack it with the rest) and got to the chalet around 10:30 or so.  

Wolfed down my steak and the group’s brownies, and packed up some of my stuff for tomorrow.  The group seemed to have enjoyed their sojourn into Park City , but wouldn’t have traded buffalo crap on my shoes for all the scrapping paper in Utah. And speaking of shoes, my 8-year-old hikers were a mess.  One was blown out on the side, and the other’s sole was cracked from the back to over halfway down.  The cavorting on the big rocks must have done them in, poor things. 

 Popped a naprocin as a preventative before hitting the hay.

    Sunday, 10-31-04

 Dee and I’d both been awake since before 5, but got up around then.  I finished off yesterday’s steak for breakfast and loaded up our stuff.  With some sadness and several photos, I laid my crapped out boots on the trash barrel like a lost man tribute.  I kept the laces because they were relatively new.  Everybody straightened up their respective parts of the house and hit the trail.  Though I made fun of her navigational abilities, I was glad Sara chose to ride shotgun with me, both for conversation and to watch out for road signs.  All drove out as very light flurries descended.  I went a different way than Dee , and Jennifer’s car left earlier because they had an 8:15 plane.  The flurries became something almost as heavy as anything I faced on Thursday, but we persevered with only a stop for gas and bathroom.  I splatted Sara with a snowball, and her retaliation went wide.  Driving carefully, we had no problems finding our way and made it to the airport.

  Dee ’s scrapping bag was now over 60 lbs, so we paid an additional $25. Some of the others did as well. Jennifer, Debbie and Renee were rebooked on our flight since because of the weather they missed their 8:15 .  Went through security with no problem, and sat around watching the flurries and the now-sunlit mountains until time to board.  Said our goodbyes to Suzi and Sara, who had a later flight, and got on the plane.  The flight was shorter; I didn’t watch the movie (Around the World in 80 Days) but read through some of my museum loot.  Met a bat biologist across the aisle; she’d just been to an annual conference, and was not headed home to Clemson.  I forgot to ask her if the meeting was set near Halloween for a reason. Arrived at Atlanta , said goodbye to Renee and Debbie, and had a quick bite before getting on a small jet.  I slept through takeoff and woke to the disconcerting view of the ground several thousand feet below me.  Arrived at Augusta , said bye to Dana, packed up the van and headed home.