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

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.

Forest Campfire Days

[Photo: Campfire glow, radiant heat and light.]

Arizona Strip: the remote in-between land north of Grand Canyon. In between the Colorado River and the Utah state line. Simple living, basic needs. Self sufficiency, or at least much more so than for a long time. 

After a long day at work or exploring the wilds, a proper campsite is fundamental. Time to cook, eat, clean cookware and dishes, settle in for a good night's sleep. A campfire brings cheer, comfort, company. Properly built, of course: just one match and some tinder and kindling. No cheating with newspaper, cardboard, lighter fluid, etc. Proper preparation is the key. 

And leave a clean campsite. Very clean. In fact, pick up any small pieces of trash that might have been left over by someone else. Leave it at least a little better than you found it. That shows appreciation, respect, and caring. 

Rainbow Rim, Kaibab Plateau, Arizona

[Photo: North Timp Point and Steamboat Mountain, North Rim of Grand Canyon, Arizona.]

Evening at the Rainbow Rim. It's a remote and special place on the boundary line between the Kaibab National Forest and Grand Canyon National Park. About 20 miles by dirt Forest Service roads from the nearest paved highway, Route 67, also known as the North Rim Parkway. And about 50 miles from the nearest town of any note, here on the Arizona Strip in the northwest corner of the state.

You drive through lush mature forests of Ponderosa pine, aspen, spruce, and fir. Big trees. Kaibab squirrels, a tassel eared species with a white tail and dark body, live here on the Kaibab Plateau and nowhere else. I saw four this day. 

I camped near Locust Point, one of the points on the Rainbow Rim. Only a few visitors. Peaceful. Awesome viewing, down into the Tapeats Amphitheater in Grand Canyon. 

Just the kind of place for a modern day mountain man.

On The Mountain Lying Down

The "mountain lying down" is the Kaibab Plateau of the northern Arizona Strip. It's a high (8,000 feet plus) densely forested plateau with a broadly rounded top. A broad upswell in the land that triggers a lot more precipitation (mostly snow in the winter) than the surrounding high desert areas.

["Wildland Fire In Progress" marquee, De Motte Park, Kaibab National Forest, Arizona]

But it has no craggy mountain peaks. Even though the landform was lifted by the Earth's tectonic forces to be so high in elevation, it never was crunched into peaks. Thus to the Paiute Indians it was called Kaibab, the mountain that is lying down.

It's a fascinating portion of the remote Arizona Strip, that area north of Grand Canyon up to the Utah state line. It forms the North Rim of Grand Canyon National Park, as the ever scouring Colorado River far below keeps exposing more cliffs and side canyons to be widened by erosion of water and gravity.

And it's a wildfire ecosystem. Fire is a natural part of the habitats here, especially the Ponderosa pine-spruce-fir-aspen forests. The trees, and the animal species that live there, are well adapted to periodic fires.

So when a thunderstorm on May 23, 2014 produced two wildfires from lightning strikes to trees, the one close to North Rim Village was put out, because it was too dangerous to let grow. The other lightning strike fire was about 20 miles into the backcountry and so let to burn under the intense management of fire personnel from the National Park Service, the U.S. Forest Service, and other cooperating agencies. It was named the Galahad Fire, which you can read more about on the InciWeb Incident Information System website.

Snow Shower Sunset Colors, Lonesome Valley

Sunset on the Lonesome Valley Buttes

I was coming down out of the foothills on the western side of Mingus Mountain as sunset time was near. Out onto Highway 89A north of Prescott Valley. 

I like this high, wide area of open grassland in part because it's right on the break between two watersheds. The small ravines flowing to the south are actually the very headwaters of the Agua Fria River, though nobody knows it unless they study the maps. Meanwhile, on the north side of the highway is Lonesome Valley itself, which drains into Granite Creek, and by that watercourse (usually dry on the surface) into the upper Verde River gorge. 

Thus if you were to pour out your water bottle you could choose which river's watershed to contribute to merely by stopping at this spot versus that spot along the road. Not that your water would get very far in the dry, deep soil, but still kind of cool to think about.

Sunset from Highway 89A, Lonesome Valley

My watershed musings were quickly interrupted by the sunset sky. The day had been one of flirtation with snow. In fact, showers were now hanging down in the distance to the north. The Lonesome Valley Buttes were visible on the horizon, up at Perkinsville Road east of the town of Chino Valley.

The low angle of the setting sun turned the buttes and the snow showers pink, purple, and rose. I wished that I could instantly transport myself about ten miles north to the Buttes, but instead I had to content myself with the view from afar. High, wide, and longingly lovely.