The Quiet Ripple Defines The Pond

So, last night it rained like crazy.  I am here to visit the town of Urique, which is right down at the bottom of Copper Canyon and very far off the beaten track. After many questions and much driving around the town where I stayed, I head off up the road to Urique. My understanding was that the road would go down to Urique, it being at the bottom of Copper Canyon. On the contrary it is a very steep grade that means staying in first or second gear. After a couple of kilometers the paved road changes into a muddy track and also becomes very narrow. The surface of the track, after all the rain,  is slippery mud. Up and up for kilometers until I convince myself that I am on the wrong road, I mean we should be going down. At this point, a truck arrives coming the other way. The driver reassures me that I am on the right road and says I will love Urique; no mention of any potential difficulties.

A bit further on the road is blocked by a truck that has slid into the ditch negotiating a fairly gentle bend. Frankly I am surprised it got this far. There are two guys and a Tarahumara woman with her son. I manage to get around the truck and we make a few doomed attempts to haul the truck out with my baby Tacoma. My clutch begins to smoke alarmingly and my truck skitters sideways as it attempts to haul out its much larger cousin. We give up. 

The Tarahumara folk ask if I can give them a ride to Urique. I make space on the bench seat but then they start unloading big crates of stuff from the stuck truck. We somehow manage to stow it all in the back of the camper and off we go again, still first and second up hairpins coated in greasy mud.

Things get much worse as suddenly we enter the cloud layer. Visibility is awful.

On the right there are vertiginous drops and on the left is cliff face. Crawling up with 10 meter visibility, we come to a a very narrow part of the road with many statues of the Virgin and associated Saints snuggled into niches carved in the cliff edge. I hate to think what is on the right. The dense cloud is probably a blessing as I am ready to weep and a clear view of thousand foot drops would probably have done it. The lady is crossing herself and muttering prayers of desperation

The prayers seem to work as the road starts to flatten out and is about a meter wider. Suddenly a policeman emerges from the cloud, fully equipped with submachine gun, and behind him are two huge trucks. Again, how the hell did they get here!? The first one is OK but the second is horribly stuck in the ditch.

Everyone seems to be in a very good mood except me. I feel the time has come to try to turn around and get off this terrible road. Of course, I cannot dump my Tarahumara friends and the truck drivers show me I can get by with at lest 30 centimeters to spare before my truck falls off the road and into the void. I hope I never have to do that again.

Anyway the road is now downhill, which adds to the overall slipperiness of the voyage. It is first gear for 15 kilometers.  Suddenly we burst out of the cloud and finally we can see, where we are and where we are going.

The views are amazing as we hairpin it down the almost vertical mountain  side to finally arrive in Urique. I am panting. I have never, ever  been on such a crazy, scary drive. 

What amazes me is that none of the several people I asked for directions, nor the guy in the truck coming the other way, in any way intimated that this was a very freaky dirt road, deep in greasy mud, strewn with stuck trucks and very, very dangerous. I suppose it is their commute.

At Urique, there are people waiting and the Tarahumara folk disappear with no thank you. Again I do not think they felt there had been any drama, just another normal day. 

However the road into Urique is blocked, not by huge trucks, but by a power cable pole that has fallen, cutting off power  to the town. There is no way in. I am writing this sitting by the roadside eating freshly roasted peanuts with truck drivers. It could be days before there is power again and I can send this from Ulrique’s Internet cafe.

I am in Mexico by the way.

You will remember that I came to the U.S. to attend a Bird Photography Course at Bosque del Apache in New Mexico. It was cancelled due to a strong cocktail of bad weather and Government shutdown.

I go to the Reserve anyway, I have come all the way from Okinawa so I might as well see the place. Although all the buildings are closed, there are masses of birds. I spend a wonderful day with my Tokina AT-X 300.

At the end of the afternoon I notice that the love of my life is not feeling well. For some reason she will not focus at distance. This is not a good curse as this is, after all, a bird photography trip. Birds tend to be far away. I haven’t even got to Mexico.

I carefully scrutinize the lens and, sure enough, there are 3 tiny crosshead screws that are all very loose. I am surprised they have not fallen out. Phew, here is the problem, all I need is a tiny screwdriver. I rush back to Socorro.

I am back at the reserve early, confident that the lens is fixed. It is not. The focus ring seems to lose traction as it moves out towards infinity. Oh dear. What a curse.

Oh well, I go to San Antonio, tiny town near the reserve. The Owl Bar, on the corner of Highway 380 and Highway 1, is famous for its green chile cheeseburgers as well as having been a meeting place for the scientists who detonated the world’s first atomic bomb at the Trinity Site east of San Antonio on July 16, 1945.  I can’t wait to demolish a green chile cheeseburger and study the photos of physicists that must cover the walls. I have been looking forward to this. It is Sunday, it is closed. I have no food, I have not eaten all day. I cannot camp. I retreat to Socorro. Damned Apaches!

After my disappointment on not being able to follow the photography course http://www.friendsofbosquedelapache.org/photo-intensives.aspx?ce076808d5494627abcf7f9201fc8146blogPostId=a84db53173f54d4993f5bc6035b44f52 that I came from Okinawa for, I shake off dull care and head out. I decide to go down to Bosque del Apache anyway, who knows global warming might seriously kick in. I also decide to take the most remote route.

I go Blanding, through Gallup, then back roads take me to Grants and I am now in Socorro. It is the best drive! New Mexico is huge and under 2 foot of snow.

The snow has stopped and there is brilliant sunshine. A lot of the road has been lightly cleared and it is slow going over the snowy highway. This suits me fine as I like to watch.

We stop at Quemado, an old guy there tells me, ” If it wasn’t for the hunting and the Meth, this place would have disappeared years ago.” Yay USA!

I am ashamed to say that I have been driven inside by the extreme cold and have spent the last 2 nights in $45 motels. I love these places.

Read an article, which has my byline but I did not write, although I was given the opportunity to edit, about my camper falling off.

I wake up in Hovenweep in that silence that can only mean snow.

I start on my walk around the ruins but it is hopeless as the path is hidden by snow and I worry about falling.

I do find some ruins, very impressive, built in the 12th century, but the hike round all the sites is definitely off.

The snow is getting worse and I head out for the nearest town, Cortez Colorado. The drive is very scary as Google maps takes me down farm roads that are covered in snow, such that you don’t really know if you are on the road or have driven off; this in a whiteout. Delighted after 2 hours of 20 mph crawling to hit a highway and make it to Cortez.

There I get an ATT strong signal and read email. The first says:

The second is worse news:

What to do now? The course was the foundation of the whole trip. I booked it in October last year and then invented the camper trip out there and back. Now I am snowbound in Cortez, Colorado with no destination. At least the snowstorm stops me going anywhere, simplifying decision making for the moment.

I gaze out of the window of the Super 8 Motel in Blanding onto a glorious sunny morning.

Hurrah, the snow has stopped and adventure is in the air.

I drive down the Comb Ridge Trail a dirt trail with the most spectacular camping sites.

I then head back to the Valley of the Gods. It is an amazing place in the sun. I set up camp. The furnace in the camper works. I cook chicken. Hooray!

The next day, still beautiful weather, I have a look at Natural Bridges National Monument. To get there, you have to use one of America’s most unusual highways.

I then head over to Hovenweep, one of the best sites of Anasazi buildings.

The place is closed – Government shutdown. Notwithstanding, I set up in the amazing campsite that has a wonderful view over to the Ute Mountains in Colorado.

The furnace works, I cook chicken again and look forward to a long hike around the Anasazi ruins tomorrow. Thank God the bad weather has gone.

I spend the night in the country outside Monument Valley. Not long after I had set up the camper, an old Indian guy rumbles up in a truly massive truck. He has come from a small er farm a mile or so down the track.

At first he says I can not stay there but once I explain that I am old like him and want to be warm, he says “Ha, no problem brother, you stay here. I just don’t like the drunks who drive around the water tower.” I know what he means. The camper is very snug and warm, the scenery is very big and at this time of the year, very cold.

Next morning I go to Monument Valley.  It is thronged, even though I must be one of the first to get there.

Busloads of Chinese and Russian tourists take pictures in the sub zero temperature.

I become claustrophobic, too many people, so I leave Monument Valley and head off to Goosenecks Bends. I set up at the campsite very early as I am determined to cook something, being heartily sick of the gas station sandwich. It is very cold.

The furnace, camper talk for heater, will not start. This is terrible news. I change propane bottles, check all connections, pray, but it is no good, there will be no heat.

I cook up steak and courgettes in the dutch oven, bring the food into the camper but by the time I start to eat, it is already cold. The beer starts to freeze by the end of the meal. It is well below freezing inside the camper and at 6:00 I heap all warm stuff onto the bed and attempt to sleep.

It is a cold night and I wake up to icicles of condensation inside the camper. It has snowed.

I drive off to The Valley of the Gods which is essentially next door. It is no good: it is snowing, very grey and the road is becoming increasingly slippery.

I finally capitulate and head into Blanding, famous for the Super 8 Motel.

The next destination is Toroweep or sometimes Tuweep, which lies on the North Ridge of the Grand Canyon. I flee all the people at Bryce and pass through Kanab and Sedonia to end up at Pipe Springs. I have been through a lot of correspondence to get a backcountry permit to allow me to camp at Toroweep. The solution is that I pick one up at Pipe Springs National Monument. When I get there Pipe Springs National Monument is closed because of the Government shutdown. The fragility of planning.

I take the road to Toroweep. This is a 61 mile dirt road over a blasted heath. It is not bad but at times washboardish, inducing shuddering that makes me shudder for my airbags.

Notwithstanding, it is a great drive as the sun goes down to my right and I know I have left madding crowd far behind.

Just before I get to Toroweep I am met by a Ranger. It is way past sunset and very cold. He explains that he saw my lights 20 miles away.

“ Can’t stay here, sir. Toroweep is a dawn to sunset camp. Best I can offer are  forest campsites 7 miles back, turn left on the Mt Trumbull road.”

7 miles is nothing on the scale of my current travels and I find an ideal site that I would love to come back to, er, when it is warmer.

I am back at the Toroweep Ranger station early. They give me a backcountry permit with no more difficulty than er a hot knife through butter, falling off a log. Do not get caught up in planning anxiety.

The Toroweep campsite is the best place in the world. It is 500 meters from the North Ridge of the Grand Canyon. There is nobody here. The weather is perfect with sunshine and blue, blue skies.  I could no more go to the established viewpoints of the Canyon than er, um, fill in stuff you do not like here. 

I walk to the Canyon rim in the late afternoon to take photos. The Canyon is not easy to photograph. During most of the day, light covers one wall of the Canyon whilst the other wall is in shade. You have to be there very early in the morning or at sunset to get a light-uniform view.

I spend a very cosy night in the camper and after an early photography session at the rim, I take a long hike that ends up back at the camp.

The sky is black. By the time I reach base it is snowing. No point sitting in the camper all day so I hightail it er slowly, back to Kanab.

There are few places as amazing as Toroweep.

Red Canyon is only 15 miles from its more famous colleague, Bryce Canyon. Few stop there as they want to get to Bryce.

It is equally amazing and, on a freezing December day, deserted.

I decide to go for a little stroll to stretch my legs. The path leads up towards the remarkable rock formations. I follow it into a gully expecting it to lead to the plateau allowing views over the canyon. The trail becomes increasingly indistinct mainly because of the snow. I find myself at the bottom of a steep shale climb but the plateau is on 30 meters up so I decide to go on. Big mistake!

Half way up I realize the one slip and I will tumble down and do myself a lot of damage. I place each foot only after digging out a little platform in the shale. I am scared. I have a couple of slips but avoid sliding. I am panting. I do get to the plateau but I have to spend several minutes to recompose myself.

I look around for the footprints that I expect to indicate the way down. There are none. I realize that my little plateau is by no means the top of the canyon and start a long and very exhausting climb. There are no human prints but the snow is covered in Bear prints. I have not seen a soul since starting out.

I finally reach the top after about 2 hours. I can only see one obvious gully that appears to lead back to the road but its head is about another 4 miles distant. There are several closer, smaller ravines that lead into the main gully but they are full of snow and there are no foot prints leading into them.

So I head down one of these. Snow up to my knees at times, I flounder down the gulch. I worry that I will come across a slope that is too steep and I will have to climb back up. Hmmm, not good as I am tired and my gloveless hands are frozen.

After many crashes into the snow I emerge into the wider gully that I had seen from the top. I walk down and finally see a human footprint. Such happiness. I get back to the truck 4 hours after I had set off for my little stroll. I am exhausted but elated. Phew!

On to Bryce Canyon, so different! The place is swarming with people principally busloads of Chinese tourists. The Government shutdown results in all campgrounds closed and only main viewing point open. I stay 15 minutes.

I head off to Toroweep on the Grand Canyon.

I set off on a month long ramble around the South West hopefully arriving at the Bosque del Apache https://www.fws.gov/refuge/bosque_del_apache/   

There I will take a 5 day bird photography course in early January. After that, the plan is to cross over into Mexico and watch Mexican birds. I hope to get back to San Francisco at the end of January.

I thunder over the Sierras and take Highway 50, “The Loneliest Road.”

The road is cold. I had not realized how sub tropical I have become and the cold is astonishing. Even with gloves, the end of my fingers become numb after a minute or so. The first night I stay in Austin, an old mining town, as are all the settlements along the road.

I stop at the Austin gas station, where I meet Dave. He is so delighted to see me that he buys me a Highway 50 pin and a T-shirt.

There is only one turn on Highway 50 – I missed it! In the middle of the town of Ely there is a right turn that I do not see and go trundling along the main road. 60 miles later I suspect there is something wrong as I have seen 4 cars in the last 15 minutes, far too many. Nothing for it but to turn around.

I finally turn onto Highway 21. Highway 50 is not the Loneliest Highway, Highway 21 is. Incredible country.

I finally get to Wilford UT and spend the night in the rodeo stadium parking lot. Freezing.

My imagined cheery cooking sessions outside each evening have not occurred as I would die of cold. I gobble gas station sandwiches in the camper.

I get together with Bebo to chew the Yuletide fat. We have coffee in Cole Valley, which is where, had I $3,000,000, I would like to live.

I then go off to my Boxing Conditioning class at the USF gym.  Long time readers may remember that I took a similar class 8 years ago, which had the all time great name of, “Boxing Boot Camp with Roxie.” https://spikekalashnikov.wordpress.com/2010/12/11/thanks-roxie/

I am 8 years older with bad knees. The class is a killer but  I have lost 5 kilos. The new instructor is called Christian, not the same ring as Roxie.

So you may remember that I lost my camper on top of a mountain. https://quietripple.wordpress.com/2018/12/05/thank-you-jesus/

Sean interviewed me in situ for his very cool podcast, “The Truck Show.”

Check it out here. Subscribe to the Podcast!

https://itunes.apple.com/us/podcast/the-truck-show-podcast/id1357401021?mt=2

Click  ‘View in Itunes’ on Episode 45. It may take a couple of seconds for the iTunes screen to show. The interview is around 55 mins into the show. Such fun – thanks Sean!