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

Down North Wash From Hanksville, Utah

The Silver Eagle convenience store in Hanksville, Utah. Effectively, the heart of the town. The Henry Mountains in the distance. A high desert outpost with...heart.

I must say that I love Hanksville in southeast Utah. But then again I love most lonesome towns. Notwithstanding the opportunity to stock up on gasoline and food, I like the people. In my travels I have noticed that the citizens of rural areas are the most relaxed, friendly, and helpful there are. 

The Henry Mountains, from Highway 95 south of Hanksville.

I believe it has to do with their environment. When you live far from anywhere, you realize how closely you might be to the edge, if you hit a tough spot. In short, people out there tend to look out for each other. And they look out for anyone else that might need a hand, too. Which is why I keep finding myself gravitating to rural places.

Well, except for the beauty of such locations. They go hand in hand, naturally.

Sand dunes turned to rock and uplifted a mile above sea level. After millions of years, I mean.

I passed back through Hanksville recently. There isn't much to the town, really. And many services are closed during the winter offseason. This is a summertime tourist town. Spring, summer, early fall. Outside of that the locals settle back into whatever routine they like to do.

Cottonwood trees with spring growth, North Wash.

Last year I stopped by the single grocery store. Its shelves were sparsely stocked, in keeping with the winter season. Keep inventory low, you know. The elderly cashier at the front said: "I love this place. I wouldn't live anywhere else!" 

At first a new visitor might look around the dusty town and wonder if she was nuts. No Walmart or a major chain grocery store. No national chain motel. Though I can enthusiastically recommend the Whispering Sands motel, right next to the Silver Eagle. The accommodations are splendid, especially for such an out of the way respite. 

Shadow of the Highway 95 bridge onto the Colorado River at Hite Crossing.

However, despite wanting yet again to buy a place there and settle down, I turned my truck east again, out of Hanksville. Not that I won't return soon.

Down Highway 95. The Henry Mountains glowing down at me, with their coat of snow. The high desert below. 

Photo location: southeast Utah.

© Copyright 2016 Stephen J. Krieg

San Juan River Goosenecks, Winter

San Juan River, Utah, winter, from Goosenecks State Park.

An extra snowy winter in the high desert canyon country of southeast Utah. In other words, perfect for this time of year. In the desert one always dreams of rain, even while appreciating the lack of it. Cycles and seasons.

Goosenecks of the San Juan River, Utah.

 Another visit down to Goosenecks State Park, overlooking the incredible sinuous canyon depths there. The muddy river flowing on around the bends it continues to scour ever deeper. Ice floes gently scraping the rocks along the river banks. 

San Juan River and sky reflection, winter.

 The snow reveals: in winter, north facing slopes get no sunlight. Their shade allows the snow to remain, for a while at least. On the south facing slopes the snow is quickly melted. Polar opposites, in balance. 

The stark beauty of the high desert canyon landscape. In winter.

Photo location: Goosenecks State Park, San Juan County, Utah.

© Copyright 2016 Stephen J. Krieg

Between Nowhere And Glen Canyon

At the trailhead of Collins Canyon

Early March, southeast Utah. It's been two weeks since the last snow here, things have dried out a lot under the high desert sun. The days keep getting longer, sunlight wise. I decided to stretch my vehicle's wheels a bit after work. 

Highway 276, toward the cliffs of Glen Canyon, and Navajo Mountain.

On the highway to Glen Canyon at Halls Crossing, I soaked up some low evening rays at Grand Flat. Cedar Mesa slickrock sandstone. Scattered pinyons and junipers. Clear mountain air. Blue sky and, the ultimate touch, rain curtain clouds to the east. 

Evening light, Grand Flats.

Finally, it was time to watch a rain curtain become lit up by the sunset. I almost didn't want to go back home. 

Sunset clouds, Highway 95.

Though home is temporary, so I will be back.

San Juan County, Utah, how I admire you.

© 2015 Stephen J. Krieg

Pondering The Ancient Moqui Queen

[Glen Canyon National Recreation Area, Highway 95, North Wash.] 

January, following a snowfall in southeast Utah's canyon country. From the Colorado River crossing at Hite, further westward on Highway 95. Beautifully lonesome. 

An atmospheric inversion had kept the lower river canyons under wraps, low clouds and fog, for over a week. Which served to keep the virgin snow on the ground perfect. And peaceful: no wind. Just calm white beauty on the red canyon sandstone cliffs. 

I stopped to visit a panel of ancient rock art called the Moqui Queen. A pictograph (painting) on a smooth sandstone face in a huge alcove. It's not hard to find if you know it's there. And it's easy to miss if you don't. 

I followed North Wash down from the parking lot, per instructions from friends. The stream was mostly frozen, making it easy to cross, though it was not deep anyway. Up the far bank and into the yawning, cathedral-like alcove. The fresh snow was so perfect that I hated defiling it with my tracks. 

[Moqui Queen Alcove] 

Up into the alcove. Where was she? I walked along the base of the sheer face. There she was. A path led right up to her. People know about this rock art panel, but you have to seek it out. Those who love these kind of sites want to protect them from vandals, so they usually only share the knowledge with someone they trust. 

Which is why I'm not giving you specifics. You need to feel drawn to this kind of thing, to be interested enough to find out more. 

The Moqui Queen. What does this rock panel painting of mineral paint from at least 700 years ago signify? No one knows for sure, since the Anasazi, or Ancestral Puebloan, culture left no written language for us to decipher these things. 

[The Moqui Queen, from below.] 

"Moqui", pronounced "mo-kee", was a term applied to the natives in this area when the first Europeans and American explorers came here. It seems to have been a catch-all name for the pueblo tribes found in this region, including present day Hopi, Zuni, Acoma, and other pueblo dwelling tribes into northwestern New Mexico. 

So what about "queen"? It's because of the regal appearing white dots at the crown of her head. Which are amazingly apparent after seven centuries. They have been described to represent white feathers. But then why round? I think they would have been white shells. Yes, this far from the Baja and California coasts. Because it's well established that their culture had such and extensive trade network. 

[Moqui Queen detail.] 

The robe, too, with the whitish streaks, looks quite ceremonial. 

As to the animal shaped figure to the lower right, well, that's been called her dog. Really? It looks like a bird to me. Some people think it's a turkey (which they cultivated), but the neck is too short. And the tail is too tall for a duck.

[Moqui Queen panel, with "bird".] 

So I think it's a grouse. Though why it's that large in proportion is...still another mystery. 

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

© Copyright 2014 Stephen J. Krieg

November Evening Storm, Cedar Mesa, Utah

[Photo: Evening Rainbow, Natural Bridges National Monument entrance, Utah].

Mid November in the heart of the canyon country of wild southeast Utah. Or near the heart, one of them at least, since this vast, uncrowded region has many. On Cedar Mesa, elevation 6,500 feet. The upper limits of the high desert, just below the Ponderosa pine - aspen mountain zone up above on Elk Ridge. 

After a two week lull in the weather that produced balmy conditions for late fall around here -- by about ten degrees F. -- some more seasonal weather moved in. Rain mixed with snow in the afternoon. The streams will be running in the canyons again. We could see Woodenshoe Buttes and Bears Ears Buttes coated with white above us when the clouds parted enough for a look around. 

At sunset time another thunderstorm slid through. I drove to my go-to sunset spot near here, with an uninterrupted view to the west. To Moss Back Butte and the Red House Cliffs. Navajo Mountain way to the southwest, too. 

[Photo: Thunderstorm sunset over Moss Back Butte, Cedar Mesa, Utah].

Lovely. Soothing though I didn't need soothed. Enriching, then. 

Photo location: Cedar Mesa along Utah Route 275 just outside Natural Bridges National Monument, San Juan County, Utah. Camera: Olympus E-PL5. Development: Adobe Lightroom 5.

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

© Copyright 2014 Stephen J. Krieg