High Desert Winter Sunset, Southeast Utah

[Navajo Mountain in the distance, from Natural Bridges National Monument] 

It's been so still here these winter days. For weeks, with not much breeze. Oh, one more winter storm to freshen things up, then back to stillness.

In the middle of winter, stillness has its advantages. Especially on the high Colorado Plateau in southeast Utah. Cold nights but sunny days. Without wind, the sun feels extra warm. 

An atmospheric inversion of unprecedented longevity has been around for something like a month. Nobody around here has seen this. Fog clouds hanging down in the river bottoms: Colorado River, San Juan River. It moves around a little without leaving. 

[Cedar Mesa Sunset panorama, from Natural Bridges] 

Up here on Cedar Mesa, we're above it. We watch it from afar. People call up here to see if it's foggy way up here, too. Nope, we say. Come on up and bask in the winter sun. 

Being a dedicated sunset watcher, I always find myself scanning the skies to the west in late afternoon. How will the sunset colors be? It all depends on the clouds, because they are the reflectors. Or they close the curtain completely. Or they are totally absent, in which case the sunset is merely, um, nice. 

[Navajo Mountain from across Cedar Mesa at sunset.] 

So here are some from a recent evening here. The inversion was still nuzzling about in the distance. It made the high buttes and cliffs even more prominent. 

Photo location: Natural Bridges National Monument, San Juan County, Utah. 

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

Moonset, Cedar Mesa

Moon setting over Cedar Mesa, Natural Bridges National Monument, Utah.

I'd awoken early enough. Just enough time to throw some things together and hit the road. Three days off.

Leaving Natural Bridges as the dawn was turning toward sunrise, I rounded the curve I call Sunset Point because of its excellent wide open view to the west.

Almost rounded it. Pulled off on the wide outside shoulder, because it was time to photograph already. Oh, yeah. It was going to be a good day, already.

Photo location: Natural Bridges National Monument, San Juan County, Utah.

© 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

On The Bank Of The San Juan River

Mexican Hat Rock, the improbable geologic sombrero upside down.

December, Mexican Hat, extreme southern Utah. Snow swirling above, lightly. 

I feel a part of this country now, so I had no nervousness of driving higher. Up the Moki Dugway onto Cedar Mesa. A piece of cake. 

Still...why today? I had one more. Why not stay down on the San Juan for a night? I knew where to camp. Who wants to camp in December, way out here? 

I did. Had spent a night in a motel the night before. It's nice to have some creature comforts, shower up. But really it's kind of sterile. The window curtains pulled shut, the strange noises of the city. Or even others next door in a little far out motel town. 

The Goosenecks Of The San Juan River,  southeast Utah.

So I usually sleep better in the wilds. I follow my gut, my feelings. I've been right so far. Don't mess with success, right? And I was beneath Mexican Hat Rock, which somehow I had an affinity toward. Maybe a protection from. I didn't feel like I needed that, but comforting anyway.

Right. I chose a campsite out on the red sand, a flat spot with a fire ring. Just a short walk down the bank into the Tamarisk cover along the lip of the cold, muddy river. 

I was looking for firewood. Streams tend to provide that, in the form of driftwood. But in this case I wasn't rewarded. It was a fairly popular spot, after all. The easy wood already gone. 

I noticed the cardboard shell of a beer case. I like to clean up camps I visit. Even though most are so clean, they can use a little more. My theory is: love a place and it will take care of you, too. It's worked so far. Right?

I pulled the beer case out of the sand as I walked back to camp. I'd burn it in my campfire. 

And back at the fire ring, peering into the gulley as I relieved myself, I saw beer bottles. I jumped down the sand embankment to get them. I'd look like a garbage man with all this stuff in my truck. As if anybody would see it before I dropped it off somewhere proper. It felt right to me.

And I gathered what firewood I could. It would be a short fire, burning hot and quick. Good enough for some cheer. 

I had bought a new sleeping bag, and was curious to test it out. Here on the river bank, in December, it was cold but not like being up in the snow. Rather, just below it. Fine. I slept almost too warm, keeping most of the zipper open. 

Morning. Repack camp, shove off. 

Approaching Cedar Mesa, December snow, from Mexican Hat.

Since I was heading past the Goosenecks of the San Juan River, it was only proper to veer west a few miles and gawk over the edge again. The geologists call the Goosenecks far below to be "entrenched meanders". Indeed. 

This un-entrenched mountain man continued on. The Moki Dugway beckoned, up the foggy, snowy face of Cedar Mesa. 

Let's go, up the Moki Dugway. Bring it on.

 No problem. I knew this road now. Loved it. Photographic opportunities. Peace via ascent in my warm vehicle, stopping to get out for more images. 

Winter sunset, atop Cedar Mesa.

Then up onto Cedar Mesa. Former home of the Ancients. And future home, yet again? After all, they have come and gone. Who is to say they won't be back again? 

All is temporary.

Honoring The Ancient Ones, White Canyon

Ancestral Puebloan cliff dwelling ruin, White Canyon.

I followed the trail down from the rim once again. Switchbacking down the slickrock sandstone (which isn't slippery, even when wet). Down steps both built and cut, down some metal stairs. Down three wooden ladders bolted to the cliff. 

Then, down in the canyon bottom, the stream bed, there is no maintained trail. Doesn't need to be: the 500 foot tall canyon walls provide all the side rails you could want. 

I walked upstream, enjoying the solitude. Early December in a remote part of remote San Juan County, Utah. Colorado Plateau, canyon country. The stream was trickling between pools. Cold sandstone wall on the left side. Ice covering some of the pools, even. The last of fall's leaves frozen on top, slowly melting through, because they are darker than the white-blue ice and so absorb more of the day's warmth. Interesting to ponder a dead leaf being warmer than the ice around it.

I came to a wide bend in the little canyon. Looking up on the left hand cliff, I saw ruins. No real surprise. A south facing alcove of sandstone to catch all the low winter sun possible.

Cliff dwelling pueblo ruins. Probably a single family, a few rooms. According to the best archaeological information, they left about 800 years ago. And haven't come back. At least not to live there again. Their descendants may have visited. Probably did. They won't say. 

Just like I won't say exactly where this is located. Because if you really want to know you will do the work to find out. Hopefully that will also make you respectful enough to be guarded about who you share it with, too. 

When you respect a place, you love it. When you care for it, it cares back. It will probably even take care of you. 

Remember that.

T-shaped doorway, Ancestral Puebloan ruin, White Canyon.

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

© Copyright 2014 Stephen J. Krieg