Paradox and Bedrock

The Paradox Valley in April, from above the hamlet of Paradox, Colorado.

One of my favorite lonesome valleys is the Paradox Valley at the West End of Montrose County in southwest Colorado.

The residents call themselves "West Enders" and "Rimrockers". Both terms seem to have a double meaning. Because the early days of this end of the county were wild, as in civilized folks in the valleys trying to bring to justice sometimes lawless characters living (and sometimes hiding) in the hills and "rim rocks" of the surrounding mesas.

Highway 90 south of Bedrock. The La Sal Mountains (in Utah) are on the skyline.

These days the terms signify (in my understanding) very rural and independent folks that are exceedingly friendly, and tough. Who look out for each other, as rural people do. Not that there aren't differences of opinion among themselves. They are ranchers and construction workers. Retirees and highway department employees. Highly attuned to nature, their climate, and especially how dry or wet the current year is. Because it matters a lot.

In Bedrock, the Bedrock Store still stands. When I first visited here several years ago, it was still open for business. Then it was closed for a few years while the owner dealt with health issues. And happily recovered. But sold the store, whose new owners are dedicated to carrying on the legacy.

The Bedrock Store, Bedrock, Colorado.

If you've seen the already-classic movie Thelma and Louise, you have seen this building. It's where the pair made their last phone calls. Louise famously says: "Well, we're not in the middle of nowhere. but we can see it from here." as she looked out the door of the Bedrock Store to the red cliffs across the valley.

"Bedrock and Paradox" was the title of the final chapter of Edward Abbey's Desert Solitaire: A Season In The Wilderness. But the chapter was neither about the towns of Bedrock nor Paradox. So why did he call it that? He certainly knew all about this area.

Looking across Paradox Valley at Bedrock, where the Dolores River cuts through the cliffs on its way to the Colorado River. The far side of the geologic "paradox".

The chapter in that book was about leaving Arches National Monument (now Arches National Park) during one of his stints as a seasonal park ranger there. He was torn between going home for the winter to New Jersey and staying in his beloved red rock canyon country:

When I return will it be the same? Will I be the same? Will anything ever be quite the same again? If I return.
My guess is that he named the chapter Bedrock And Paradox because it sounded cool. Writers and songwriters make a living that way. He had come to feel grounded on the rock layers of the Colorado Plateau, and contradictory about whether to go or to stay. That the two hamlets of Bedrock and Paradox are only six miles apart at the upper end of the Paradox Valley, just on the east side of the La Sal Mountains in southeast Utah, made for a nice pairing, a hidden tribute to those living in or loving the area.

Sunset glow on the cliffs near Bedrock, Colorado.

The Paradox Valley was named by a settler because of the seemingly contradictory nature of the Dolores River there. About how it didn't seem to be behaving as a river should. Which is a topic for a later post. There is so much beauty here that I would never waste it on a single post.

Photo location: Montrose County, Colorado.

See more of my photography on my website: www.NaturalMoment.com.

© Copyright 2018 Stephen J. Krieg

Bedrock to Old La Sal

The Bedrock Store. Eat your heart out, it's finally reopened with limited hours.

The end of February of an unusually dry winter. I was driving around southwest Colorado, taking advantage of the dry roads and relatively mild weather. High, wide, and lonesome.

My first stop (after two hours' driving from Cortez) was Bedrock.

Leaving Bedrock for the Utah state line. The Bedrock Post Office on the left, with the La Sal Mountains in the distance. 

Bedrock, Colorado can barely count as a wide spot in the road. A few people live around there. Ranchers and highway department workers and such. No famous ski resorts close by to drive the cost of living out of sight.

To the west, not far over the Utah state line, were the La Sal Mountains, gleaming with new snow. I decided to take a short side trip.

The hulking Mount Peale, highest peak in the La Sals.

Up at Old La Sal (no services) I pulled over for another lovely shot of Mount Peale. At 12,721 feet in elevation (3,877m) it's the tallest peak in the La Sal Mountains. There are some subdivisions in this area, but they don't seem to have realized the developers' expectations. You could probably get a good deal if you have the money and don't mind being in the middle of nowhere in the winter. I would like to be both.

But I'm not rich so I did not call any of the realtors listed on the signs. Instead I reversed course back to Colorado. Because there was a lot more to see that day.

See more of my photography at my website: www.NaturalMoment.com.

© Copyright 2018 Stephen J. Krieg

January Down the Dolores River

Snow showers on the Abajo Mountains, from the Colorado state line.

A winter storm was coming in. Not a strong enough one for me, because it had been way too dry in the Four Corners region. But we'd take what we could get, with appreciation.

From Dove Creek, Colorado ("Pinto Bean Capital of the World") I headed north toward the Dolores River. On the way there I pulled over to photograph the bare winter fields with a light snow squall and the Abajo Mountains in the distance, across the state line toward Monticello, Utah.

The Dolores River at Slick Rock, Colorado.

Crossing the Dolores River at Slick Rock, Colorado made me pull over for some photos. This past spring the high country had run high with runoff and the river runners had been very happy. Now it was low water, and all of us were hoping for a lot more snow late in the winter and spring, like last year.

Disappointment Valley, Colorado. Wide, high, and lonesome!

It was an overcast winter day, without the snow that it should have had, but still I found it beautiful. Without strong sunlight and deep shadows, the soft colors appealed to me. Into Disappointment Valley, then through the cut over into Big Gypsum Valley.

This is ranch country, for sure.

It was there that I had my on a gravel road heading north from the highway that looked interesting. Because it was high desert, and nobody was around. Perfect.

Down Big Gypsum Valley, toward the river landing.

I was heading toward the river landing on the Dolores River. It would be frozen, but then again this wasn't the river running season. It was the off season. Wonderfully lonely.

Cottonwood trees to the left, red rock cliffs to the right.

At the boat landing, I familiarized myself with the facilities. Quite low key. A shelter, some picnic tables near the river. Nice.

The Gypsum Valley boat landing on the Dolores River. Nothing to float right here, now. But beautiful.

I love the high desert in the winter, since I get too sweaty in the summer.

Down the Dolores...riverbanks of rust and gold.

Finally I reached a bridge crossing of the Dolores below which there was a Wilderness Study Area.

Panorama of the Dolores River where it leaves the Big Gypsum Valley and down into the Wilderness Study Area.

From Google Earth, I could see why it was a red rock river canyon wilderness area.

Photo courtesy Google Earth.

Just look at the sinuous, deeply entrenched river canyon continuing to cut through the middle of nowhere in southwest Colorado. As Edward Abbey called such canyon country: "the back of beyond".

See more of my photography at www.NaturalMoment.com

© Copyright 2018 Stephen J. Krieg

January Up The Dolores River

Highway 145 north of Dolores, Colorado.

My favorite highways are those that are so lightly traveled that, if you saw a must-have photo, you could hit your emergency flashers and stop without pulling off to the side. Most of the time, anyway.

The Upper Dolores near Stoner, Colorado. (Yes, its real name.)

I usually pull over anyway, if at all possible. Because frequently it turns out that there's more than one good shot to be had, now that I have stopped rolling down the road.

Snow covered Alder branches along the Dolores River.

A mid-January snowstorm failed to make it all the way down to the Montezuma Valley of southwest Colorado in any meaningful way. So I decided to go up into the nearby San Juan Mountains to meet it up there.

Blue Spruce sapling, Dolores River.

From Cortez to Telluride, Highway 145 is the way to go. Scenic and lightly traveled, it crosses the Dolores River at the town of Dolores (elevation 6,936 feet), then follows the upper part of the river to its headwaters near Lizard Head Pass.

Due to a very dry and warmer than normal winter, the upper Dolores was partially ice free at about 7,500 feet. Above that it was almost totally frozen over.

Downtown Rico, Colorado, the historic former silver mining boomtown.

I paused once again at my favorite mountain town, Rico (elev. 8,825), which gets a lot of snow in the winter. The roads were wet but clear of snow or ice.

The Rico Community Church, and the Town Hall just down the block.

Above Rico, on the way up to Lizard Head Pass, I spotted a herd of elk up on a mountainside, lounging around in a high meadow. Amazing. Not that there were elk there (it's public land, after all, on the San Juan National Forest), but that they were there now. In January. When normally they would have migrated down to the ranches down near Dolores.

Elk herd in a mountain meadow above Rico, Colorado.

But with the snowpack so thin, why bother? They will happily stay up there unless more vigorous storms force them lower.

Rest area at Lizard Head Pass, elevation 10,222 feet (3,116 meters).

Soon I arrived at Lizard Head Pass itself. The high mountain meadows there are favorites of mine. Especially on such a snowy day when I couldn't see the surrounding high peaks.

Partially thawed mountain meadow stream at Lizard Head Pass.

After a couple more hours I decided I was satisfied with my day up in the high country, and started back down the Dolores. Interestingly, the further down in elevation I drove the more snow was flying. And sticking to everything. I was driving into a snow squall coming in from the west.

Snow flocked Cottonwood trees along the Dolores River.

I paused several times to photograph the ethereal beauty of the white-flocked cottonwood trees along the river, which would drop off their branches early the next morning at the slightest bit of warming.

Upper Dolores River valley in the snowstorm.

Photo location: Montezuma and Dolores counties, southwest Colorado.

See much more of my photography at my website: www.NaturalMoment.com

© Copyright 2018 Stephen J. Krieg