Thursday, July the 27th, 2006. A Utah Day.

On Thursday morning, the 27^th of the July, I awoke in a campground somewhere in the south of Utah. It was (and most likely still is) called the Quail Creek State Campground (or some variation thereof). The campground was alright. I didn’t really care for how open it was, and how there was only one other group there, but I hadn’t had a whole lot of options as to other places to say in the gathering darkness of the previous night. Everything worked out alright, though, so I’m ok with it. I organized my stuff, got out of the truck, sat at a nearby picnic table and downloaded the previous day’s digital photographs. On my way back to the truck, with my newly digitally emptied camera, I spotted a small, cold-blooded creature. This wasn’t the first instance a lizard had crossed my path, but this was probably the closest I’d gotten to one (and that also happened to be the biggest one I’d seen). Here you go:

The previous night, I had spoken to my mom on the phone at length, and she had mentioned that she had been camping somewhere in Utah when she was a kid, and that she remembered some picnic tables that looked like ‘prairie schooners,’ due to a wind shielding shelter of sorts. At some point it was revealed to me that a ‘prairie schooner’ was just another name for a covered wagon (I had no idea previous to that point about such things). When I realized what she was talking about, I said that they did indeed have those same sorts of things at the campground I was at. Here, for your visual edification, is a photograph of such a thing:

After picturing such things, I made my way to the bathroom, because I needed to fill my water bottles. I would have filled them up at any old water spigot, but there didn’t appear to be any old water spigots about. I was forced to take my many bottles to the bathroom and attempt to fill them up with the faucet of inconvenience. I call it the faucet of inconvenience because really, I can think of no better name for it. Most faucets I’ve dealt with in the past have been some form of automatic water on/off, or something you turn or otherwise shift in one direction, but that will allow the water to keep flowing for at least a few seconds once you take your hand away from the dial/lever/switch. Well, this faucet had a plug coming out from the bottom of it, and you needed to shift the plug to one side, thus creating a gap, and allowing the water to flow out. The only problem is, that you have to keep at least one finger on the plug for as long as you’d like water to keep flowing. This was difficult enough just trying to wash my hands, but trying to fill water bottles in a sink with this faucet was particularly nightmarish. I persisted, overcame adversity, and won the day. My bottles became filled with water.

From Quail Creek, I drove generally northward. The plan was to stock up on Red Crème Soda in Cedar City, site of the place my friend Matt had bought his last summer. I drove through the town, found the store that was called “Lin’s,” and went inside. I looked around various ‘soda pop’ looking areas of the store, and found but one half case of Dad’s Red Soda. I inquired with one of Lin’s’ workers as to whether or not there was more Red Soda to be had, and he gave me the unfortunate ‘no.’ I was stunned, perplexed even. What was I to do? Well, I bought that half case, and back tracked to the “Smith’s” store, and then the “Albertson’s” store. The Smith’s had absolutely nothing in the way of Red soda. The Albertson’s, however, was in some small way like hitting the jackpot. I went inside the store and found that they didn’t have any of the kind that I’d already bought. They did, however, have scads of Barq’s Red Crème Soda. This large metaphorical question mark required a call to Matt for clarificatory purposes. He told me that the kind of soda pop he’d bought last year and enjoyed so much had been Barq’s. So I bought a bunch of it. The cashier said something like, ‘you must really like this stuff,’ and I told her the brief version of how Matt had brought some back from Utah last year, and how the stories in the greater Seattle area just don’t seem to carry the stuff. Then the cashier told me that she knew someone who drove in regularly from Las Vegas to get the stuff. I am not alone. From there, after organizing my loot, I headed out for Bryce Canyon.

As I left Cedar City on the road for Bryce Canyon, I couldn’t help but take note of all the signs advising, nay, commanding semi-trucks and otherwise big rigs to turn around now, while they still had a chance. Other signs referenced steep grades and sharp turns, but I didn’t pay as much attention to those ones. Upon starting up into the mountains, I realized just why the trucks weren’t meant to come this way. It was because of the steep grades and sharp turns. I got caught behind a motorhome and I thought, no, that there’s an RV. Anyway, this RV had no concept of slow vehicle-hill-driving-etiquette (and apparently neither did its driver), so I decided to stop and have lunch. After I finished my lunch of pop tarts and granola bars, I awaited my opportunity to pull back into traffic. Unfortunately my first opportunity came right after a dump truck, and the subsequent string of cars. It was kind of an ‘out of the pot and into the frying pan’ situation. Oh, and as I was sitting and eating my lunch, I took a picture of the scenic landscape in the distance:

Then I really merged back into traffic. The very, very, excruciatingly slow traffic. It wound up the mountain, then the road construction trucks made their polite exits, to add their labor to the road construction effort that was going on, but which was not actually effecting the flow of traffic. The road then wound around through the tops of the hills, and I found a scenic view. It turns out that that’s Zion Canyon in the distance, and I would be there the next day. And with no digital pictures to show for it. But that’s another entry entirely...

I was pretty surprised at the amount of meadows up there at the top. I wasn’t sure I’d ever really seen a meadow before, and all I could think of was how foolish Bambi had been when his mother had shown him the meadow. Silly faun. Winding back down the from the mountains, I eventually came to the ‘T’ in the road at which I needed to make my right turn. Just after I made the turn, I crossed a river or creek, and saw an abandoned car near one of the banks. I couldn’t resist the photographic opportunity, and being as I’m somewhat pleased with outcome, I present the photograph to you now:

It wouldn’t be long before I reached the Bryce Canyon National Park. Before I did, however, I had to pass through (what I believe was called) Red Canyon. It was pretty awesome. Especially for me, a person who hadn’t ever really seen this kind of landscape before. Here’s a picture of the left (north) side of the canyon as I entered it:

Here’s another photograph, a little bit closer now, of some of the rock formations:

After passing through the canyon, I tuned dutifully to 1610 AM for instructions and information regarding the Bryce Canyon Shuttle. I stopped at the shuttle parking lot, I boarded the shuttle, and road it on into the park. I disembarked, walked out to Bryce point, and was utterly stunned at what I beheld. It was unlike anything I’d ever seen before. I don’t think I’d ever even seen pictures of this place before that moment. It was awesome, and in many different ways. This is a picture of what I think was the southeasterly rim. The holes in the hillside are called ‘grottos.’

This is a slightly zoomed in picture of what visual spectacle Bryce Canyon has to offer:

And here is the zoomed out version (you can see it’s quite interesting):

This is a different view of the grottos, though I fear the main difference is in lighting only:

Another photograph showing off the visual splendor of Bryce Canyon, and further exemplifying just how taken with the scenery I was:

The next photograph shows off a little of the top side of the grottos, the descent of the basin into the canyon, and the manifold spires. The resolution isn’t super, but I believe you can see a couple of lookout points as well:

As I rounded the basin, I was able to get closer to the spires and spikes, and see just how crazy and neat they really are. Sometimes shapes would make me think of gnarled fingers grasping for something in vain, other times the spires would make me think of an ancient crown that has warped with age. Enough of my imaginings and the visual approximate of similes, here’s the picture:

I was nearing the end of my several mile walk, which I was severely under-prepared for, by the way (no water), when I saw that there were people entering what’s known as the “Wall Street Canyon.”

I felt that I needed to know more about this ‘canyon within a canyon.’ I rounded another bend, and found a switchback filled trail with a posted dead-end sign. Feeling fired by the adventurous spirit of youth, I pursued this trail to the bottom, knowing in advance that every step down would be followed by a step up a little later that would most likely be twice as difficult. And I still didn’t have any water. As I neared the bottom, I turned around and found the people following me down to be an interesting enough sight to warrant a picture. Here it is:

I continued on my merry way toward the bottom, almost reached it, and was blocked from my destination by a dastardly rock pile which has apparently blocked the trail from being a loop since sometime in the 1980’s. There was a family taking their own pictures right by the pile of rocks, so you might notice that the picture is somewhat lacking in terms of ground in the foreground.

Oh, when I turned around to head back, I went ahead and took a picture of that family of whom I said I avoided taking a picture.

Here’s what a view of the sky looks like from the canyon floor:

As I was heading up out of the Wall Street Canyon, back up the windy, steep, switch-backing trail, something in the rock caught my eye-which is completely unlike the time earlier when something on a tree caught my head. Anyway, I noticed that the rocks were more colorful than just the general red/orange/earth color that you can see from afar. The rock actually had fairly wide streaks of yellow and lavender. Don’t believe me? “Check it out:”

I headed back up and out of the canyon once again, and passed the family a couple of times as they stopped to regroup. Climbing the hill didn’t turn out to be nearly the chore I thought it would be. Also, at one point the parents of the family loosed their younger son, and he gave the last third of the very steep trail a brisk jogging that I imagine it won’t soon forget.

Once I ultimately reached the top, I looked around, and noticed that a cloud was currently covering the sun. I also noticed that the lavender and yellow I’d seen down in the canyon were also making themselves more apparent on a larger scale. Or else I was going crazy. But even now, I still feel like I can see those colors fairly well in this next photograph. See for yourself, if you wish:

I finished up the rim trail, saw a few more horses down in the canyon, which I now realize I’ve previously neglected to mention. At times, they would look like ants with swishing tails. Anyway, I got to the last parking lot, found a drinking fountain, and occupied it for some time. Then I caught my shuttle back to the shuttle parking lot, hopped in my truck, and made like a camper in search of a campground. The campground search didn’t go well, because I felt that I desperately needed a campground with power outlets to recharge my ailing digital camera that I’d spent nigh-completely on the sights of Bryce Canyon. Nary an affordable-power-outlet-bearing campground was to be found. So, with no other reasonable choices, I back tracked all the way to Red Canyon before stopping at the national forest campground there. While there, I met with the hosts, found myself a spot, and directed a family to camp in the open spot next to mine. I had been hoping that they wouldn’t, especially after I admitted to them that I didn’t actually sleep in a tent, and then after the father yelled at the children for disagreeing about what to do with the grill. It was an innocent enough argument, but suddenly became the biggest deal in the world. The younger boy, say, 4 years old, decided that the grill needed to be up. The older boy felt that his wise old age of 6 or so gave him the knowledge and experience to know with extreme certainty that the grill needed to be down. The young one pulled up on the grill as the older one pushed down, and the combination of age and strength (I hesitate to say maturity) prevailed. Until the father got involved, by giving them what I can only describe as quite possibly the sternest whispering-to that I have ever been privy to. Bear in mind I was a good 50 feet away. In all honesty, though, I didn’t care where the grill ended up, but I thought the younger one was in the right. I don’t think either of them knew what they were doing, but the older one jumped in with an “I’m older, so I know better” attitude, which was needless and pointless. Maybe it’s because I’m the youngest, and have certain sympathies for children in the younger position, but I’d like to think that here, at least here, I’m being objective.

It was hot, so I went to sleep.