hiking in my southern utah stomping grounds

I realized I don't much talk about specific hikes around here.

Recently, I mentioned Spooky and Peek-a-Boo slot canyons, and those are super cool hikes not to be missed. (As long as you are neither claustrophobic nor well-nourished, as noted.)

Last year, I posted pics and raves about how gorgeous Lost Lake, up on the Boulder, is. (This post also somehow morphs into Hillary Clinton, the Milky Way, and lightning. Don't ask. You'll have to read it, heh.) Then there's the anti-ATV (well, anti-piss-poor users of ATVs) rant that happened because of another horseback ride up to Lost Lake.

Hmm, then there was the one about seeing bighorn sheep along Pleasant Creek Canyon in the Park. No pics, as I'd forgotten my camera that day...but I often see sheep in that canyon. And it is sooo gorgeous there.

Ooh, Natural Bridges National Monument, just down the road from Torrey out in Cedar Mesa. Total wow out there.

There are so, so many hikes I can mention. I'll have to start doing that, and posting pics along with them, of course.

i just wrote a "travel tip" for a nicely-organized travel site called Travel Dudes. My tip was, oddly enough (lol) about Best Hikes in Southern Utah's National Parks. All of the parks down here are, pure & simple, AMAZING. And each is so in its own way. Am I partial to Capitol Reef because that's where I live? Of course. But each park has its own breath-taking delights. Visit 'em all. (Check out this really crisp photo of Bryce Canyon. If you're a camera fiend, that park will keep you occupied for days. For all hours of all the days you spend there, in fact.)

And here are some blog posts on NileGuide I wrote about road tripping and gettin' your beer on in Zion. (Too bad I can't write a similar one about Torrey, ha. Not quite as many drinking establishment choices here, I'm afraid!)

What else. Well, there are my most favorite hikes around Torrey...but I'll have to think about exposing those, so to speak. Not like this is a rabid tourist mecca yet, but it's always been my goal to not encourage the over-visitation of wild places that often means eventual, rather traumatic change. We'll stick with just mentioning Lost Lake for now, hmm? :)

More pics for your viewing pleasure. Then it's off to dreamland for this adventurer...

Blind Lake in the fall, up on the Boulder



Zion...aahhh.

hiking in my southern utah stomping grounds

a day in my life

Okay, these would be from several different days, but you get my drift.

Have I mentioned yet that I live in paradise and I love my job(s)? Capitol Reef is a really sweet place to call home. See below for verification. ;)

Working. Really. (Apparently with a tree growing out of my head, but anyway.) The incredible background of my home behind me, Doc standing very nicely.


Pippin hard at work on one of our pack trips. Ha! (Yes, he had his own sleeping bag.)



Relaxing with a guest after a long day on the trail in front of CRBO's kitchen tent. Aaahhhh...


Spooky slot canyon in GSENM. I led people through here on a hike.


Taking some kids riding past Blind Lake up on the Bouldertop.


The boss (Cody) talking about fly fishing on the Fremont River (ok, not a day in my life, but still a cool picture. I'd like to do more fly fishing).


Pack trip in the desert. Those are the Henry Mountains in the background. (It was kind of hazy because of huge fires near St. George.)


Fall foliage on the Boulder in September. So gorgeous! So chilly!


Scary part of the job: feeding 900-pound hay bales with the tractor! Without running into the fence, ha. And yes, that's actually me driving the crazy huge thing. First woman ever taught how to do so in BCO's history. Hee hee!



Convinced that my job & life here has some perks? :)

Each year that I live here (since 1999) brings me new adventures, discoveries, and understandings. What an amazing place this is, especially since it's taught me so much. There's a sort of magic in the desert and mountains here...if only I keep opening my eyes and heart enough to let it in.

a day in my life

thoughts on life in a small, rural, mormon town

Torrey is one of nine towns in Wayne County (WC), Utah. It is inarguably the most "liberal," "open-minded," "accepting" of all the towns here. Why do I use quote marks? Because, dear readers, your definition of those appellations and WC's definition probably vary wildly.

Torrey, as I may have noted before, actually has three churches, as opposed to the other towns only having the dominant LDS (Mormon) church. Torrey is home to an eclectic pile o' people, including hippies, artists, ranchers, Mormons, grubby outdoorsy types, writers, photographers, horsemen and -women, rich folks, poor folks, in-between folks, and many deliciously diverse more.

Torrey is also, as is most of Utah, a very red town, as in Republican. In the election one year ago, however, for the first time in its history Torrey voted blue! There are plenty of Obama supporters here, and they voted. The local paper, The Insider, very grudgingly noted Torrey's left-leaning sensibilities as my little home ripped itself away from the dominant majority. Heh. (Doesn't really matter if you supported Obama or not...my point is that for once the majority was toppled by the determined, and very few, votes of the lesser-represented.)

In last week's election, we voted for Mayor and Council members. My neighbors on my little street (called, very tongue-in-cheek, Morningwood Drive) both won their respective runs. Adus Dorsey is the new mayor of Torrey, and Jennifer Howe is a new councilwoman. They each take up their duties in January.

Neither one is particularly aligned with the majority religion in WC...they won't be mouthpieces for it. Have I mentioned before that there is little separation of church & state in Utah?

Now, this is NOT an anti-LDS rant. It is merely an observation of the mores and morals (or sometimes lack thereof) in my teeny rural adopted homeland. I will note, however, a conversation the other day with a woman who lives here with her two kids, both of whom are in the WC public school system, and none of whom are LDS. Last year, her son's teacher told his class that anyone supporting Obama was a terrorist! (The kid's eight, for crying out loud.) This teacher also supposedly pushes her pro-LDS sentiments in the classroom...of course, the debate over such behavior from a teacher goes on ad nauseum. I say, no sirree. You'd better not push your values on my kid, lady. You're supposed to be teaching them readin', writin', and 'rithmetic.

I digress. Hmm, this might be just a bit of a rant.

Back to my impressions of my little town. I love Utah. Its gorgeous landscapes have stunned me since I first beheld them ten years ago. I am in favor of difference of opinion, diversity, and honest expressions of one's beliefs. I also happen to believe that there's a time and place for all things! I like to believe in our democratic process...though I also often have my doubts.

Ah, too much to think about. What do YOU think about belief systems and sharing said beliefs with others? What have you experienced in your lifetime, good, bad, or downright ugly?

thoughts on life in a small, rural, mormon town

a natural high: drunk on the beauty of the red rocks

Oh, it is so spectacularly beautiful this morning in Torrey. The sky is a crisp blue, the sun is uncovered, there's a light breeze rustling the changing leaves of the nearly-bare aspen trees, and the red cliffs are just begging to be explored and climbed.

Hmm, I've mentioned before that I live in paradise, no? This is a sublime time (ooh, bad rhyme! Ha.) of year to visit. The nights are definitely chilly, but damn, the daytime is so perfect for tramping around the desert. Think of the treasures you might stumble across in your wanderings! Pottery shards (yeah, don't take those), dinosaur bones (um, don't take those either), petrified wood (okay, you're allowed to take a small amount of that, but you'd best check in with the Bureau of Land Management office for specifics), possible sightings of bald eagles, golden eagles, bighorn sheep, quick-moving lizards, rabbits darting and leaping everywhere.

Dang. I need to get out and explore today myself! Me and the Pip pup. He'll love a good adventure.

Now, here's something I missed from last month. Wild horses are definitely considered iconic in the American West...but they're also hideously overpopulated and not being adopted due to recent economic concerns. In fact, some people have taken to dumping domestic horses out on the range...Yeah, that's what you do with a domestic animal you can no longer care for. Been going on for a while, too, sadly enough. Anyway, Secretary of the Interior Ken Salazar has apparently launched an idea to make sustaining the wild horse herds, well, more sustainable. Will it work? Let's see. This is a whole other discussion for another post. And will I be able to go on and on about it! (You can start by reading more here; please note that these are someone else's thoughts, but any thoughtful addition to the conversation makes it more well-rounded.)

a natural high: drunk on the beauty of the red rocks

the bittersweet season

It's fall here...I love it, yet it brings an anxious pang to my heart every year. Fall is when the colors burst from the deciduous trees, the sky is even more brilliant blue than usual, and the weather is mostly awesome for hiking in desert canyon land. I can relax...explore...revel in uncrowded beauty here. I made apple pie with the fruit from the trees in my back yard. Leaves are thick on the ground, and smoke scents the air as many people (me included) fire up their wood stoves to ward off the chill. This is the sweet part.

But here in Torrey, it's also the end of the season. The tourist season, the awake season, is winding to an abrupt finis, an ending that lands sudden and sharp as the cold and the shorter days. Most of the businesses in town close, including my place of employment, Capitol Reef Backcountry Outfitters. Things start to feel...eerie. It's another winding down. An ending, and we all know how difficult those can be. This, of course, is the bitter part.

It's actually a wonderful time of year to visit. The crowds have slimmed considerably and the cooler temps just make it more pleasant. I plan to get out there and explore a bit. I have been stir crazy lately!

Oh, and my goodness. The remains of Everett Ruess are not his after all, it seems. How crazy is that? Who's to blame for the snafu? Well, that might be a moot point. Although I feel for the family members, who are still lacking the closure they seek, it's sort of nice to have the mystery still open. It reminds me that once again, all possibilities are open.

Which is how I perhaps ought to think about fall. Hmm...off to wander the red rocks and ponder that thought!

the bittersweet season

shameless self-promotion

Well, but I'm also promoting southern Utah, the land of my heart and soul. Damn, I'm actually promoting it all over the place, these days. Can't help it, I love this area so much. I want others to love it too...responsibly. (Do you hear me, silly NYT article that did NOT include a useful sidebar telling visitors how to behave when visiting the perilous desert? Grumble. I hold you responsible for the trashing of Spooky & Peek-a-Boo. Seriously. That and just the all-too-common lack of human decency or respect these days.)

I'm the southern Utah Local Expert (sounds very official, no?) for NileGuide, a very cool travel site for the savvy, hip traveler (hey, that's you, really). I'm in charge of Zion, Arches, Canyonlands, Bryce Canyon, and Moab. Uh...keeps me busy! Hopefully they'll add Capitol Reef sometime (but not too soon, I've got lots to catch up on with the other parks. Yikes....)

Set me up a Twitter account (yeesh, the thought scares me...but here I go anyway), @julietrevelyan.

And soon, hopefully, I'll be blogging for Capitol Reef Backcountry Outfitters, where I just completed my second season full of adventure & exploration.

Ah...the rain is falling wildly and the thunder is shaking and rolling terribly at the moment. Huge storm! And I'm inside! Writing! I love being able to look outside at the sturm und drang yet not have to be in it. God, this place is so beautiful. See?

shameless self-promotion

oh, summertime, how I love thee...

...but how you make my writing suffer! I knew it had been some time since I blogged on here, but I was utterly aghast to realize it'd been almost two months. Mea culpa!!! A thousand times over. Not like I have a huge readership or anything. Yet still, the responsibility hangs heavy on me at the moment.

As you may know, in the summer I am paid (paid, I tell you! Miraculous.) to play outside. Ride horses, go hiking, drive people around to gorgeous areas like Capitol Reef National Park and Grand Staircase-Escalante National Monument (GSENM). Look at these pictures and weep:

(yes, my pants are highwaters...deal with it. I have long legs! Velvet Ridge aglow in background.)


(the bridge at Devil's Garden in GSENM)


(riding my decidedly nervous horse (Doc) in the annual 4th of July parade in Torrey)


(Pippin at Blind Lake!)


(on our way home from Blind Lake...descending Boulder Mountain...with Thousand Lake Mountain in the background. Tough job, eh?)


As you can see, I've been quite busy running around this lovely area. But I really will try to post more often...it's just so hard during these gorgeous, busy days!

Hope summer is going fabulously well for everyone else out there too. Enjoy it...it only comes once a year. ;)

oh, summertime, how I love thee...

don't twig out: the creepy connection between pot hunters & meth

Ever hear of a "twigger"? Yeah, neither had I, until I read this aptly-titled article ("Drugs, Guns and Dirt") in the March/April issue of Archaeology Magazine. Wow. Twiggers: methamphetamine users (often called "tweakers") who apply the drug's obsessive-compulsive drive to search methodically through archaeological sites, loot them thoroughly, then sell their illegally-gained finds on the black market to get more money to supply them with their meth habit.

Unreal, no?

And of course, in the process these addicts are destroying the history and culture of the areas they loot, because they aren't exactly doing it in a way that preserves provenance.

Other articles contribute to the details of this exploding "trade:" here, here, here, and this most recent SL Tribune article.

You might be tempted to think this is small potatoes. Nuh-uh. The illegal antiquities trade (on a worldwide scale, although U.S. Southwest native american artifacts are a huge leader) has been estimated to be in the Billions of dollars--right behind drug smuggling and the illegal arms trade. Yikes, no?

I reported the other day on a big bust right here in Southern Utah. Well, that plot has thickened considerably, and all sorts of people are upset now. It seems that some of the local Blanding residents object to having their names "tarnished"; our very open-minded (she says with a curled lip of distaste) Utah senators are crying foul on Interior Secretary Salazar's harsh crack-down; and at least one accused Blanding resident has apparently committed suicide due to his arrest.

Yegads.

The whole situation is sad, to be sure. Law-breaking, disregard for history, for an entire country's right to enjoy its treasures, the loss of life, the bs and the lies...

But I whole-heartedly agree with the federal process. Those locals of Blanding, UT, who willfully broke the law need to be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law. They do not need to be bailed out. They need to take responsibility for their illegal actions--forced to take it, if need be. Hello, it's called The Antiquities Act of 1906 (yes, that would be 1906, not 2006 for those out there who would like the twist the law to suit themselves), and it says it's ILLEGAL to take ancient human artifacts out of the ground unless you are permitted to do so! And yet many Blanding residents (as well as others throughout the world) justify their actions with the statement, "But I always did it as a kid, it wasn't illegal then." Perhaps not, if you are at least 115 years old.

Grr.

I live in rural Utah. I come face-to-face with ignorant attitudes toward our country's government on a regular basis. Trust me, the people who have gotten away with their "we hate and don't need the federal government" drama for years need to ante up and recognize that if they don't like it, they can darn well move somewhere else. Such as Siberia. Or maybe, just maybe, they could get themselves educated and caring and start protecting the rich archaeological treasures near their homes.

Grrr.

Okay. Off my rant. And remember not to twig.

don't twig out: the creepy connection between pot hunters & meth

Peek-A-Boo & Spooky

No, it's neither a child's game nor time for Halloween. Rather, it's two great little slot canyons, the classic beginner ones that everyone who wants to hike a slot canyon should do. I first hiked them about six years ago, and yesterday had the privilege of taking a friend who had never in her life been in a slot canyon! Lookie here for some of what we experienced:

Yes, ooh & aah. That one is inside Peek-A-Boo.

Let me note that these slot canyons, plus another one called Brimstone, are located near Escalante, Utah, 28 miles down the v-e-r-y- j-a-r-r-i-n-g Hole-in-the-Rock Road (seriously, the washboards were terrible). It's recommended you have 4WD and definitely high-clearance. Since there was a recent New York Times article about Escalante (which features a great pic of Peek-A-Boo), the crowds had stampeded to the area. We saw probably no less than 60 freakin' people on our hike, and it made our experience in Spooky less than desirable, as we had to squeeze back into the rocks to let herds of Boy Scouts pass, and felt rushed when we heard people coming up right behind us in the there-is-no-physical-way-possible-that-you-can-pass-anther-human-being slot.

But I digress. Just look at these pics, and marvel more:

This was our Chaco-clad feet covered in the STINKY muck leftover from recent storms that we had to climb through in order to get up into Peek-A-Boo!


This is other people descending what we climbed UP into when first getting into Peek-A-Boo. Are you now properly impressed with our prowess? Let me tell you, it took forever to get in, because our feet kept slipping on the wet mud. Note: don't try this going up (when wet) unless you're really sure of yourself or use ropes. It could be really dangerous. You didn't hear me tell you to do it!


This is looking down into Peek-A-Boo. I climbed up on top and snapped this to demonstrate how deep in the womb of mama Earth we were.


Spooky. Yes, this is what you have to go through. You truly cannot be wider than about a foot in some areas. People who are, ah, well-nourished, should not attempt this slot canyon. Nor if you have claustrophobia, nor if you are athletically challenged--you often have to climb up, down, over, or all three, the rocks that get caught in a slot, which are called chockstones.



Me sneakin' through Spooky. See? Narrow! And so, so fun.

Southern Utah. Land of the natural cathedrals, sublime beauty, amazing forces of nature demonstrated right before our eyes. Oh, how I love it....

Peek-A-Boo & Spooky

Pot hunting. Yeah, it doesn't pay.

I firmly, albeit sadly, believe that greed will always be a part of the human condition. I suppose that's not all bad...it leads to lessons, no? But it sure as hell is disappointing most of the time. Take this SLTrib article about looters of ancient artifacts in southeastern Utah. It's a big bust, and it just went down. Hoo-rah!

It's aggravating. Annoying. And yet...I feel the oddest little tickles of greed myself, despite all my high-minded (and genuine) ideas about sharing and not doing The Wrong Thing. I'd like to see ancient treasures myself. Up close and personal. In situ, actually. All by myself. Now, I don't want to take them. Heck, no. As I've mentioned before, I have too much respect for a) ancient spirits casting a disapproving eye upon such activity, b) the rights of citizens to be able to enjoy the protected wonders of their country, and c) the laws of the land. In that order, too, I might add. But I do want to see them, admire and enjoy them all by myself. Frankly, I'd really like to see the "pre-Columbian menstrual pad." I mean, come on! How interesting would that be? A great reminder that no, Virginia, contemporary humans did not, in fact, invent the wheel. They just like to pretend they did.

Is that sort of drive, this really deep interest, at the root of this sort of greed? Or do the looters really just want to pay their rent, put braces on Janie, and don't give a fig how they get that money? I wonder.

I'd also like to note that this went down in Blanding, Utah. What a shocker! Blanding has been ground zero for looting over many decades--since the 19th century, really, when white folks discovered that those back Easterners would pay top dolla for real live Injun artifacts. Families in Blanding have been raised around the concept of looting. As if it's The Right Thing. Some members of one family in particular have been involved in pot hunting for a long time.

Grr. And at the same time, HA. You got caught. Now, stop teaching your kids that this is the Right Thing to do. Because it is not. End of story.

Anyhoo. Your southern Utah news for the day. Pot hunting: you can do it if you want, but eventually you'll lose. Especially if you're taking things from the land that by all rights belong to every citizen...not just you and your freakin' greedy little fingers.

Pot hunting. Yeah, it doesn't pay.

little green buds

Ah, Utah. Home to glorious red rock vistas, alpine meadows, sunny blue skies (or tempestuous storms as have lately been visiting us), and...uh...pot farms?

Yep. One of the larger busts of a pot plant "grow" was just discovered right by my house (relatively speaking), up on Boulder Mountain in lil' ole Wayne County. There is a rich history of growing marijuana in southern Utah, it seems. (Who knew. I pay more attention to ancient ruins and OHV tearing up of the land!) Apparently, as crackdowns on illegal grow operations have stepped up in other states (hello, California), the growers have been moving their tidy little money-makers to federal lands throughout the West, including rural Utah.

Now, all this has many implications. First off, let me clear the air about my own viewpoint on pot. Do I really care if people smoke it? Nope. Have lots of friends who do. Heck, one of the medications my grandmother is on right now is Marinol, which is basically synthetic THC that can alleviate pain symptoms in patients. And there are certainly more alcohol-related car accidents and deaths than, um, any related to pot, as far as I know. Should pot be legalized? I believe it should, with all the usual details to make it as safe as possible for users. Would save taxpayers and law enforcement a lot of headaches. Not to mention make life easier for terminally ill people, among other things. I mean, come on--pot sales probably bring in more money for the state of California than the entertainment industry! Anyway, my two cents. And no, I personally don't smoke it. The control freak in me doesn't like the effects of pot on my system. :)

However, pot is still illegal, and grow operations exist all over, and they are potentially dangerous. And that part gives me serious pause. Here are some reasons why:

1) Probably most of the "garden" tenders are harmless, possibly illegals themselves, who are just trying to make an extra buck (or thousand). But that may not always be the case. Some of those arrested in grow-related incidents were armed, and anytime a person feels threatened, there is the possibility s/he will try to defend her/himself with whatever weapon is currently handy. I don't particularly want to stumble upon a grow operation while out hiking alone (or with friends, or guests) while the tenders are there, and possibly armed and jumpy.

2) Ahem, this is not exactly the intended use for federal lands! Pot grows mean water diversion (in areas that already struggle for water), chemicals dumped into the soil via fertilizers (I somehow doubt the growers are using environmentally-friendly stuff), and people knocking about as they lug equipment far into the back country, probably ignoring any sort of notices about fragile soil, revegetation areas, local fauna, etc. I mean, if you're growing illegal little green plants, you probably don't give a darn about other rules, eh?

3) The growers might be tempted to make grow areas as uninviting to hikers or other outdoor enthusiasts as possible. This could mean a little bit of danger at the most, annoyance at the least. I don't know exactly what they might do, but I'm not sure I want to find out.

4) Well, sure blows my theory about solitude in the wilderness, no? A pot farm in the forest or desert seems to taunt the sacredness of wild spaces to me. If I want to get out, meditate, contemplate, hike, rediscover my connection with the earth, just knowing that grow operations, possibly tended by people who certainly don't want me anywhere nearby, might be out there in my perceived solitude just takes away some of the spiritual beauty and meaning.

A pot farm probably does not have the immediate hazards as, say, a meth lab, of which busts in Utah have been common. But even so, I just don't like it.

So watch out for fields of unnatural green when you go hiking...because I'm sure these grows aren't going to stop anytime soon.

little green buds

for Ronan

Ronan, I don't know if you can hear me, but listen to me now: You ARE my family. Peace and amazement to you on your journey, which has come too soon.

At last you have departed and gone to the Unseen.
What marvelous route did you take from this world?

Beating your wings and feathers,
you broke free from this cage.
Rising up to the sky
you attained the world of the soul.
You were a prized falcon trapped by an Old Woman.
Then you heard the drummer’s call
and flew beyond space and time.

As a lovesick nightingale, you flew among the owls.
Then came the scent of the rosegarden
and you flew off to meet the Rose.

The wine of this fleeting world
caused your head to ache.
Finally you joined the tavern of Eternity.
Like an arrow, you sped from the bow
and went straight for the bull’s eye of bliss.

This phantom world gave you false signs
But you turned from the illusion
and journeyed to the land of truth.

You are now the Sun -
what need have you for a crown?
You have vanished from this world -
what need have you to tie your robe?

I’ve heard that you can barely see your soul.
But why look at all? -
yours is now the Soul of Souls!

O heart, what a wonderful bird you are.
Seeking divine heights,
Flapping your wings,
you smashed the pointed spears of your enemy.

The flowers flee from Autumn, but not you -
You are the fearless rose
that grows amidst the freezing wind.

Pouring down like the rain of heaven
you fell upon the rooftop of this world.
Then you ran in every direction
and escaped through the drain spout . . .

Now the words are over
and the pain they bring is gone.
Now you have gone to rest
in the arms of the Beloved.

-Rumi

for Ronan

Everett Ruess: Mystery (Almost) Solved

The wandering ways and days of Everett Ruess caused much speculation in many folks over the last 75 years. The young explorer of the wild, wild West disappeared forever in November, 1934. The last signs of him were seen at Davis Gulch, a prohibitively remote area near Escalante, UT. His beloved burros were left in a corral there, not long after his last known contact with people, a couple of local sheepherders.

His body was never found. Until now. According to the Ogden Standard-Examiner, human remains discovered near Comb Ridge, Utah, are most definitely his.

But it seems as if the skeptics still abound. It is intriguing, to be sure. His burros were found 60 miles from his body. How in the heck did he travel that distance without them? I say, duh--he was bopped over the head by the "bad guys" (opportunists, more likely), who took all his worldly goods, headed west, and left his critters holed up near Escalante. Or something like that.

At any rate, I understand the desire to hang onto the romance of this old mystery. It hooked me too, years ago, when I first moved here. I've read his journals, I've dreamed about discovering clues to his death. And...if this is case closed, then that's it to the dreaming, the wondering, the curiosity.

Although the cynic in me foresees a biography (David Roberts, I'm looking at you), more articles, more people making their names on his brief life and much-debated death, the romantic adventurer and idealist in me longs for more. More information, more mystery, more knowledge to tuck close to my heart and soul and bring out and re-examine on a cold evening.

Cheers to you, Everett. May not all your mysteries be discovered nor solved. Because when I wander in the canyon country, I like to think your spirit whispers out there too, guiding my footsteps and lighting my dreams.

Everett Ruess: Mystery (Almost) Solved

touching my ancestors

Today I looked at potsherds and arrowhead pieces and broken ax heads and irregular marbles hand-fired years ago. I touched the intricate paint designs on the snapped pieces of bowls and mugs, licked my finger to touch the paints and make them come alive in deep, rich color, as if new. The whorls and swirls of mud pushed together by hands long since returned to dust bumped under my questing, delicate touch. I imagined the Fremont, the Anasazi, the tribes I'd never heard of, my visions fuzzy, possibly romantic, certainly not quite accurate. But my imaginings were very earnest and respectful, no matter how they might lack in precise truth.



I imagined myself. I felt their pain, their joy, their simple acceptance of daily existence. I touched their lives, broken and scattered in my palms, and it was only afterward that I thought, This might be all that is left of this person. A broken shard of mud, claimed from its ancient desert resting place by eager, modern, white hands. This might be all that is left of an entire human life.

What do we leave behind, anyway? How much? Why? And who will see it, feel it, in some distant and unknowable future? Who did I touch today, anyway? And how will I ever know that person? Can I actually understand, fully comprehend, the life of someone who lived so long ago, in such a different way than I do?

Doubtful. I mean, I barely comprehend myself in all my complicated, complex, blazingly simple human glory, right?

But I do understand that I hold history in my hands as I look at the shards of pottery. I do understand my link, tenuous as it might be, to these people who hundreds of years earlier roamed this very area I now call home. I can make up stories about them, conjure up their lives, a moment in their day, which might be fired in part by movies and books and snippets of overheard conversation during my lifetime.



I can hold a piece of them in my hands, and I can link myself back to them, and I can touch my ancestors, no matter how far removed they actually may be from me in cellular or geographic or cultural terms. This little piece of mud is me, and you, and it might be the only thing left of us when we too shuffle off this mortal coil. So handle with care.

touching my ancestors

ATV rant

I mean, it's not as if I would PRAISE ATVs. Of course this is a rant. But as it is late, this will be a gentle rant, dear reader.

Stay the @#$#*&$ on the roads meant for your use, ATV riders. Or can you not read the signs that clearly state, "No Motorized Vehicles"?? (And in case the answer is No, actually, I can't, as I'm a morally bankrupt illiterate--well, may I kindly point out that said signs include very clear PICTURES also indicating No Motorized Vehicles.)

So. The most current history behind my rant is from a few days ago, when I took riders (that would be horseback) up toward a gorgeous place called Lost Lake. As we left the road part of the trail to hit the trail part of the trail, guess what greeted my wondering eyes? Yep. Signage, pulled out of the ground and flung (flung, I tell you) carelessly aside, barricading rocks & tree limbs hurled elsewhere, so the oh-how-pretty ATV gouges could destroy the trail, making it five times as wide as it had to be.

I almost said Very Bad Words in front of the guests, but I managed to restrain myself. Instead, I sighed and explained to the Easterners (East as in Massachusetts, not as in Oil for which we spill too much blood) why I was upset. They agreed it was uncool.

Luckily, the trail is a really hard-core one, and the ATV tracks petered out after a few hundred feet. HA! But those hundred feet really did not need to be churned up as they were by some troglodyte (love that word) on his burly man-toy. (Yes, that comment is a bit sexist...but you understand where I'm coming from, right? I'll find stats on ATV gender use and post them sometime.)

God, it just pisses me off. What the hell is wrong with people? How freaking hard is it to stay on their own trails, follow the rules, and think, Gee, I bet there are other people in the world beside myself who might have different viewpoints on things like trail destruction?

Grr. Rant, rant, rant. I'd've taken a picture, but I was so mad I forgot about my camera in the saddlebag. (And you know, for anyone out there ready to take a deep breath and holler about how livestock ruin the land as well, let me point out AGAIN that this particular trail is open to Hikers and Horseback Riders. Period.)

Okay. I suppose this is another example of how being angry can be constructive. Lookie here, it got me writing again, did it not?

Well. I feel a bit better now. Thanks for listening! And remember: if you must ride ATVs (let me throw in here the little tidbit that someone who was riding an ATV in a nearby area over Easter weekend had an accident and is now PARALYZED from the neck down), please follow the rules. There's enough fricking road for you, already. If you want to see the backcountry, get off your ass and walk into it, already.

Signing off, the irate defender of the wilds (and user of ALL CAPS too, apparently).

ATV rant

hibernation

Winter is the time to slink off to one's cave, lick life's wounds, and reflect while keeping one's back safely to the wall, no?

I have been in deep hibernation for the past six weeks, it seems. Time has swung for me crazily, veering in and out and sometimes standing still.

I slept. I dreamed. I moved. I cried. I giggled. I contemplated.

I did not, however, write.

Back again, waking up to the world in a slow, leisurely stretch. Gazing around, blinking, taking in the whole bright world through one cracked lid at a time.

Welcoming myself home. It feels good. And, oh, the writing muscles. How they both long yet fear the impending workout!

Good thing I'm surrounded by red cliffs, snowy mountains, and friends. It's what buoys me now as I plunge back into the world....

hibernation

America's Red Rock Wilderness Act, take 17

America's Red Rock Wilderness Act is about to take center stage again. SUWA provides several links and general information about the act, which has been floating around for some time now. It has been nurtured by several fierce and tenacious political advocates, and of course many unknown people just like you and me.

The current administration, far more friendly to our lands than the last joke (uh, I mean administration), shows convincing signs of being very receptive to the passage of this act. As the SUWA page says, "The 111th Congress represents a real opportunity to gather the support and momentum needed to hold congressional hearings and ultimately pass America’s Red Rock Wilderness Act." That is a refreshing thought that certainly causes hope to beat wildly in my chest.

Wilderness At the Edge: A Citizen Proposal to Protect Utah's Canyons and Deserts was published years ago in an attempt to represent enormous concerned citizen effort to raise awareness--and save the red rock lands they loved. The message got through to some people in power, and those people still champion the need to protect and preserve these lands.
Take a moment. Contact your representatives (see this link for information on how to do that) and share your voice with them. Remember: if the people we chose to represent us do not hear our voices, they can't fight for what we want.

America's Red Rock Wilderness Act, take 17

jump ship and save yourself

Ah...I've been a bad poster this month. Life getting in the way and all that. As they say, crap happens. Some days, it's just more crap than usual.

Wandering the crowded southern California landscape as I have been of late, I notice many things about its bipedal denizens. What strikes me most is the air of urgency, of entitlement, and of myopic vision. That is, many seem to see only what's right in front of them--blocking their way--and do not take time to really be in the moment. To really see their surroundings. To understand that the suffocating concrete wilderness that they call home is perhaps a trap; even more, to understand that it is one of their own making.

Sometimes people here do not seem to be really living. They're existing, sure. But are they paying attention to their own existence? Do they really know who they are and what the heck they're doing, as they zoom and carom around, pinging off one another with barely an honest glance, intent on hurrying to the goal of--what, exactly? The all-powerful god of mass consumerism? Getting through the day in order to fall insensate before the altar of surround sound and 24-hour satellite channels beamed in from around this frantically spinning globe?

I want to reach out. I want to hug someone with jumpy, flat eyes, and say, Go. Go to a truly wild spot, one with fresh air and solitude and a tree with which you can commune in silence for an hour. Remove yourself from the madding crowd for just a moment, and blunder and stumble your way back to who you really are.

Perhaps then we can really talk. Perhaps then you will meet my eyes and look at me, really see me, and allow yourself a deep, cleansing breath as you pause in the midst of the chaos we call modern life.

Or maybe not.

jump ship and save yourself

dusting oneself off & movin' right along redux

Time for an oldie but a goodie. This posted originally in November 2007, which seems an eon ago. It resonates with me at the moment for several reasons. Yes, I have once again destroyed my laptop. (Just a little incident involving a jumping mug of tea...) Yes, I freaked out. Yes, it has been a lesson in humility, loss, and eternal querying (Really? Again? Why me? Etc.). Yes, I had to speak to the Disembodied Technical Voices in India over the phone, which meant lack of clarity on, I suspect, both ends.

Have I learned something? Good grief, I hope so. In the meantime, I still write...and actually, I have slowed down a litle bit and am enjoying other things beside my laptop. Bizarre, no? (Says the passionate advocate for the wild spaces and getting out of our own heads and away from people-stuff such as technology. Snort!)

Here it is:


This whole laptop-has-crashed-and-burned-in-a-mighty-conflagration thing is, as usual, providing me windows of opportunity I might have otherwise missed. (Despite the fact that I really did not want this sort of window--or maybe, come to think of it, because of it? Hmm...philosophical brain twisting in the morning.) Some of the windows include these gems:

1) Forced to either write on my friend's computer (which is okay, but I tend to keep my writing very private and secured), or by hand, such as journaling more. Ah, the old-fashioned way. It does bring the writer closer to the words themselves, makes me think about my choices more carefully, because there is no delete button, nor a backspace....There is only commitment.

2) Strongly encouraged to stop freaking out about this potential loss and simply enjoy what I do have, which is plenty: loving family, generous friends, a spectacular place in which to live at the moment, my mind and its endless machinations & cool new ideas, on and on the list goes. I really am blessed--just have to remind myself of that at times.

3) More time to read! Watch movies! Hike during this amazing fall weather, which is perfect! Talk to friends and acquaintances! Visit and play with my horse! Practice yoga & meditation! Etc., etc. Gifts, indeed.

4) Space to explore the quiet, patient side that I generally lack. I have been a downright hermit lately, and it's been grand.A friend (thanks, Dan) sent me a quote I want to share here, because it's really apt in this moment:

"Let us spend one day as deliberately as Nature, and not be thrown off the track by every nutshell and mosquito wing that falls on the rails."
--Thoreau

I'm letting nutshells and mosquito wings veer me off-course, which is silly. Things happen, and we all really do go on--just perhaps not in the way we expected before the calamitous event. Another friend pointed out my ability to find gifts in the challenging moments, which was a great compliment and meant a lot to me (thanks, Shelley!).

One last gem, the kind that will nurture me for years to come: the other day, I was sitting in a local coffee shop with a friend, grousing a bit about the unpredictable nature of the wilderness therapy industry and proclaiming my own personal doneness with it. Then one of my recent students from the field, one I'd worked with for two shifts (16 days), came in with his parents. He'd graduated, and they'd just finished up their family workshop. I met his folks, noted how centered the student seemed, and we had a brief conversation.

And during that short time, he said to me not once but twice, "Thank you, Julie." And I heard and saw the sincerity resonating through his every fiber, and it just meant so much to me, and brought that sort of smile to my face that can only come from the recognition of right action, of having done something well that touched another life in the most positive of ways. And my last week out with that particular group had been so, so difficult! You never really know how your presence affects another.

At any rate, I want to thank broken laptops (sigh), unforeseen opportunities, a young man named Thomas, and my dear friends, all of whom have helped me in these past weeks to get up, brush off the dust, and just keep going, even if the smile has sometimes slipped from my face.

dusting oneself off & movin' right along redux

Salazar's doin' ok by me so far; or, oil & gas leases cancelled

Cool beans: Interior Secretary Ken Salazar put the kibosh on the oil & gas leases today. Yippee! Although it only involves the 77 parcels that were up for grabs in the "fire sale" back in December, that's a tremendous victory for us desert rats and otherwise suspicious-of-greedy-oil-company types.

Unfortunately for that brave (foolish? Your thoughts?) activist Tim deChristopher, Salazar's decision does not have any bearing on his case. Of course, I say just let the kid go and let's spawn an entire future of sales-disrupting activism to spring up--but I'm also a bit biased.

Well, blow me down with a feather, or something like that. No oil & gas drilling near gorgeous areas? Near where I, or my friends, or our descendants might like to roam, unobstructed of view and lung? Sounds pretty damn peachy keen to me. HA!

Take it on the nose, o greedmongers out there. The people roared, they were heard, and they were righteous in this victory. (Sorry, I'm feeling a bit punchy today. Need to lash out at someone!) As Sharon Buccino, a senior attorney at the Natural Resources Defense Council, said in the WaPo article linked above, "We can have energy security without sacrificing the West's wild places."

Yeehaw. I might need to celebrate a little. :)

Salazar's doin' ok by me so far; or, oil & gas leases cancelled