Quest for the Perfect Autumn

Streamside willows and high mountain meadows colors, Lizard Head Pass, Colorado.

Autumn, the perfect season of the year. Hot summertime weather cooling off thanks to shorter days, longer nights. The culmination of the year's growing season. Plant leaves turning colors as they prepare to drop to the ground, to quickly turn brown and begin their decay to help enrich the soil from which they were born. 

Cold rain below timberline, Lizard Head Pass.

September is the prelude to fall here in the Northern Hemisphere, October the climax. November is the last delicious crumbs of dessert.

Of course, it depends upon the elevation you're at. The higher, the sooner, and vice versa. 

Mountain music: a clear, cold brook.

So, in my best anticipatory fashion, I started up high this year. Up near timberline in the San Juan mountain range in southwest Colorado. At the headwaters of the Dolores River. 

Well before the peak of the aspen colors. This time, I'm going to be there throughout, from start to finish. 

This is the start. 

© Copyright 2015 Stephen J. Krieg

Return To Lonesome Valley, Part 2

SP Crater, Coconino County, northern Arizona.

From The Cones north of Flagstaff, those beguiling volcanic eruptions of long ago, I made my way across to Valle, then south to Williams, Arizona. Through the little tourist town I had lived near and called home for a while. 

Across the southern edge of the Coconino Plateau. Meaning: the southern edge of the immense Colorado Plateau, too. Casual tourists who are not naturalists or geologists surely don't grasp the significance of driving off such an edge. It's not like you launch your car off into space. It's a highway, after all. Engineers designed the road to make it feasible to get down there from up here. 

Edge of the Colorado Plateau, south of Williams, Arizona.

 I only point this out so that the unaware appreciate it. Knowing about something makes it even more fun. That's my attitude.

So, down off the Colorado Plateau, into the beloved Central Arizona Highlands. That's their official name. My name for them is The In-Between Land. Because they're below the high country of Flagstaff, but still far above the hot desert of Phoenix. 

Prescott still lay a bit beneath where I was. The Perkinsville Road, so nice to be back alone in such familiar haunts. I had intended to continue on down, to take a motel room for the night. But when I saw Woodchute Mountain again in the evening light, I changed my mind. I had all I needed for the night: warm bedding, food, and...most of all...a superlative view. Turn off the ignition, I'm home for the night. Out in this high, wide, lonesome spectacle of nature that I know. 

Woodchute Mountain, from Perkinsville Road.

I'm home. Even though home is wherever I'm at. I'm a mountain man, I can't explain myself any better.

Tomorrow will find me back down in Prescott. All is well. 

Prints and photo products are available on my Fine Art America sales website:
http://stephen-krieg.pixels.com/

© Copyright 2014 Stephen J. Krieg

Return To Lonesome Valley, Part 1

Humphreys Peak and the San Francisco Peaks, from the Cones.

I'd been away. Up north, exploring some same old country anew. Which, surprisingly, took me a bit further north up onto the Colorado Plateau. 

I loved where I'd been the past decade. Not that it was easy, not by a long shot. But it was getting easier. More importantly, I was learning some important life lessons. That truism about an old dog can't learn new tricks: that applies to dogs. Sometimes we humans turn out to be smarter. 

Sometimes. But back to the trip at hand.

When one returns to a place as hallowed as Lonesome Valley, one should approach it just right. To barge right in from an Interstate highway at top speed wouldn't be right. Just try it yourself if you don't believe me.

So I preferred my way. Of course, I had the time. I'd made sure to have it, but even if I hadn't I would have figured out a way to pare the route down. Something.

Having driven across southeast Utah, sort of exiting the Canyon Country, across the San Juan River at Mexican Hat. Across the northwest reaches of the Navajo Nation. South on U.S. 89, wishing I could turn right and go back up to Marble Canyon and Lees Ferry. But one thing at a time. 

Approaching Flagstaff, northern Arizona. The small but lofty mountain range called the San Francisco Peaks growing ever closer. 

Then, still way north of Flagstaff, it was time to turn off the highway. A cattle guard with a bright orange newspaper mail box posted there. Across the high plain toward The Cones. The volcanic cinder cones at the very northern fringe of the San Francisco Volcanic Field. 

I love driving across that place. So wild and high and clear sky all around. So I indulged again.

SP Crater volcano, from the Cones on the Babbitt Ranches, north of Flagstaff, Arizona.

 The sexy "black" star of the area is listed on the maps as "SP Crater". It's a huge, massive black cone of cinders that erupted a short time ago, uh, geologically, but long enough to us that we can relax and appreciate it without feeling like we have to be ready to scramble for a high speed escape at any moment.

As always, I savored driving around the crater, and the adjacent ones, all older (wiser?) and doing their best to keep melding into the landscape, vegetation wise. Let that soil sprout more grasses and forbs. Trees, too, eventually. Just look a few miles south to the forested hills and mountains around Flagstaff. 

The Cones, some of them, from the high and still wild Babbitt Ranches land.

Then it was time to continue a few more miles west. Out to 180. But, this time, not south to Flagstaff again. Not yet. Instead, up to Valle, and down 64 to Williams. Then, only then, back down off the Mogollon Rim there. Off the southern edge of the entire Colorado Plateau, in fact.

Back down to Lonesome Valley. And I would pause on the way back down. It seemed only fitting, once I was there.

Stay Tuned.

Prints and photo products are available on my Fine Art America sales website:
http://stephen-krieg.pixels.com/

© 2014 Stephen J. Krieg

Autumn, The Best Time, One More Time

[Photo: Quaking aspen fall colors, Grand Canyon North Rim].

It's here again. I waited all year. The late summer and early fall weather were optimal for convincing the aspen trees to keep their leaves longer, to shut them down slowly instead of dropping them quickly, which they would have had an early snowfall or series of hard frosts occurred. But it was perfect: sunny days, chilly nights, plenty of rain showers.

Now the fall colors are just past their peak. I get to revel in their fleeting beauty a few more days. Maybe a week. As usual I will search for the last late pockets of lingering color.

It does a mountain man's heart good.

Fall Colors Again At Last: North Rim and Kaibab Plateau

[Photo: Aspen colors, Forest Service Road 610, Kaibab National Forest, Arizona]

From Lonesome Valley I drove 300 miles north to live for the season on the Kaibab Plateau, at the North Rim of Grand Canyon National Park. From springtime up there (mid May) straight through to fall. Camping, camping, camping. They said it was too cold when I got there in the spring. Then after I breezed through that they said, oh wait until the monsoon thunderstorm season. But I cruised through that, too. After that they said, you really are here for the duration, aren't you?

They usually underestimate me. I'm a native of the Allegheny Mountains of northern Pennsylvania, and have been wandering the woods almost all my life. Plus 14 years as a forester in Oregon, Washington, Colorado, Montana and Maine. And many wilderness trips in other states.

I'm a backwoods boy. A backcountry boy. Maybe a modern day mountain man. It seems like I'm always waiting for something. Waiting to go to the next place, I guess. Sometimes it's not so comfortable, but most of the time it's one thing: freedom.

This year it has been the freedom to live at the North Rim the entire season, to explore it as I never could with any number of weekend trips. It's been day by day. 

Now it's fall, time for the aspen colors. The best time of year. After the leaves drop I will be waiting for the first snowfall. Waiting, waiting.