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

Ghosts Of The Cowboys: Vermilion Cliffs, Arizona Strip

Highway 89A on the Arizona Strip.

Early November, and back to the Arizona Strip. That lonely, austere, beautiful high desert land between Grand Canyon and the Utah state line.

Welcome to the Vermilion Cliffs National Monument.

The Marble Platform, the flat shelf above the Marble Canyon portion of the Grand Canyon of the Colorado River. Sagebrush and saltbush and bare soil in between. Soil and stones and bedrock. 

The Vermilion Cliffs and approaching early winter storm.

And lots of blue sky, normally. But not today. Winter was approaching, and I wanted to be there.

I might be that rare person that, when the weather forecast indicates a snow storm coming into an area, I head for it instead of away. Well, at least in late fall I do. I love the changing of the seasons. And not being sweaty just by sitting outside doing nothing at the time, relaxing. And not having to clean the bug guts off the windshield yet again that day.

Simple things.

The clouds were very low, enveloping the Kaibab Plateau just to the west. Snowing up there. But not down here on the Platform. Not yet. If the weather forecaster man in Flagstaff was right, it would be snowing right about this elevation -- 5,000 feet -- before the day was done. So I was hopeful.

Vermilion Cliffs cowboy cabin ruin.

From Highway 89A I drove onto a sandy BLM (Bureau of Land Management) road that headed straight north toward the Cliffs. It was a spot I'd visited before, and it had an historic red rock cowboy cabin ruin.

Cowboy cabin light and shadows. The roof is gone, but not the rafters.

I walked out back of the cabin to take in more of the scenery, of the brilliant light. The corrals are still there. It was clear that this had been no quick, thrown-together deal. A lot of work had gone into it. A cement truck had been driven back here, for the poured concrete foundation of the cabin, and the cement watering or feeding troughs out back, I don't know which.

Corrals and winter storm light, Vermilion Cliffs.

Stock pens and approaching storm clouds, Vermilion Cliffs.

Cowboy cabin ruin and Vermilion Cliffs.

Approaching winter storm, Vermilion Cliffs, Arizona Strip.

Corral, Cliffs, and storm clouds.

Storm clouds, red sand, and sagebrush.

I imagined living there. I'm no cowboy. Just a naturalist, a lover of nature, the land. But just like back then, you have to have a livable income. Otherwise you will have to leave, and your house will start aging back into the landscape.

Photo location: Marble Platform and Vermilion Cliffs National Monument, Coconino County, Arizona.

© Copyright 2015 Stephen J. Krieg

Lonesomest Award: Utah Highway 72

Fishlake National Forest, from Highway 72

Autumn is the greatest season of all. That's a given. Unless you love summer or spring more. In that case I can't help you.

Because nothing can touch autumn. Fall. Harvest time. Time to hibernate, even though we really don't. Though we should.

Fishlake National Forest, from Highway 72.

Thus I've been finding myself driving through southeast Utah in mid November, in a year of early snowfalls.  Snow in the red rock high desert canyon country, followed by blue skies. Why would I want to hibernate?

I drove west into the San Rafael Swell. I stopped to admire its eastern flanks. An interpretive sign called it the "Eastern Edge Of Nowhere". I like that. The wild west outlaw Butch Cassidy and his I Wild Bunch once roamed these parts. Now we cruise up over them at a speed limit of 80 Miles Per Hour. 

If you stick to the Interstate highway, that is.

The Henry Mountains, from Highway 72

I enjoyed it for a while. Then I exited. I wanted to head south, toward Capitol Reef National Park. I took Highway 72 for the first time. Conditions were good, and I had lots of time. How could I lose?

Highway 72 turned out to be a delight. It would never make the category of world class, which in a way only comforted me more. It was high and lonesome. I did not pass a single vehicle either way, though there were some hunters' rigs camped at the pass. I had the urge to camp myself. I would be back.

Looking down onto the high desert around Capitol Reef National Park.

Down the north side, down to lovely Fremont, and Loa. Irrigated cattle and sheep country below the snowy high country. Pasture and high country. Rural life. 

Forest and high prairie, Fishlake National Forest.

I stopped at the grocery store in Loa. Stocked up on some food, then drove on. Highway 72 across part of the Fishlake National Forest was still on my mind.

Fremont, Utah, just north of Loa.

Thus I give my Lonesomest Award for November 2015 to Utah Highway 72. Long may it be so beautifully lonesome.

© Copyright 2015 Stephen J. Krieg

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

Trail Of The Ancients: Cave Towers, Cedar Mesa, Utah

Tower ruin, Cave Towers. 

I went to see the Cave Towers ruins on Cedar Mesa recently. They are not hard to get to, as long as you have proper information. They are called other names, adding to the confusion. No matter: if you're meant to find them you will seek out the proper (usually local) sources. 

Besides, it's about the journey, right? Exploring a new area is a great journey. As long as it's on public land.

The evening was mostly overcast. For many visitors from far away, especially international visitors, they would not have liked such conditions. They have this image (rightly so) of southern Utah as this high desert red rock canyon country with perpetually clear blue skies. They want them in their pictures. But somehow they think we never get clouds or rain. Imagine that.

I, on the other hand, adapt to the conditions. It was overcast, so what? That makes for lower contrast, softer light than normal. It can bring out details that would otherwise be overwhelmed. 

The drive in from Highway 95 passes through a gate. A public gate, no "No Trespassing" sign. Merely open the gate and close it behind you. The road then quickly turns rocky rough, over and down some slickrock sandstone bedrock. It's just fine for an AWD vehicle, let alone a 4 Wheel Drive vehicle. Sedans and vans can just pull over and walk the rest of the way, it's not far.

At the end of the road there is a parking area (meaning a wide open slickrock area to turn around, nothing constructed. A heavily used fire ring indicates popularity. Not far away is a sign planted firmly in the only other direction down which you might wish to try to drive. It says no coming at the ruins site. Meaning the site must be down that gentle wash. 

And not far down you come to it. A tower ruin. Another pile of rubble almost beside it that could have been another tower, or maybe a different structure. Looking across the head of the draw I see another tower.

Tower ruin, Cave Towers.

I walk around, seeing now that there is a vast canyon right below these towers. They were built on the edge. Why built towers when you're already on the highest point around? It's the same mystery of the even more splendid tower ruins at Hovenweep National Monument about 90 minutes drive east of here. 

There is another tower ruin not far west of here that you can park in a paved lot and take an easy stroll to (not the one pictured). The interpretive signs there suggest that tower and these towers were line of sight in their locations. Thus signal fires could be seen between them, to assure all was well (no fire) or emergency. Signaling at the speed of light. 

Since the ancient ones had no written communication, we can only surmise. It's a detective story, sifting through clues left behind. In this case, they left this area about 800 years ago, so it's a really cold trail. 

I poke around some more. I am impressed by how deep the canyon is immediately below. The landscape had changed from flat mesa top to...abyss...just like that. 

On the next ledge below I could see some cliff dwelling ruins. So that's where they lived. Or lived at times, and stored their precious grown grains (corn and beans). 

Cave Canyon panorama

I walked to the far side of this head of the canyon rim. To the other prominent tower ruin. Now from this side I could see more cliff dwelling ruins underneath where I had been previously. 

This was obviously a special place. A prime location: water flowing down the little wash, over the ledge, to more places for collection down below. 

Were the towers built to say: we own this place? Or we live here, don't come here unless you walk in peace? Or were they like round vertical church towers, a symbol of worship, of thanks for the life giving surroundings?

Such questions occurred to me as I wandered, photographed, and then headed back to my truck before dark.

Cave Tower ruin, evening panorama.

Photo location: Cedar Mesa, San Juan County, Utah.

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

Copyright © 2015 Stephen J. Krieg

San Juan Mountains Sunrise

Sunrise glow on high peak clouds

Dawn at my camp on the San Juan National Forest in southwest Colorado. I'd settled in at dusk, nobody around. Two pickup trucks had passed by on their way out. Going wherever home was.

Then, rain. Ah, sweet drumming on the steel roof of my SUV. It had cooled down enough for me to be comfortable inside with the windows closed and the dashboard fan running to bring air in, preventing any mosquitos and moths from joining me for the night. 

It rained off and on during the night. I tried to awaken whenever it did, but I don't have any way of knowing how successful I was, or not. It doesn't matter. I appreciated, and it soothed me. 

Awakening before first light, I'd dozed. Then jerked awake later, the light bright by comparison. The dew was heavy on the inside of the truck windows, from the cool of the high mountain night and my breath. But I could see sunrise colors outside. Dang, slept too late. 

Sunrise fire boiling from below the forest horizon.

Tumbled outside my rig with my camera in hand. No time for the tripod, those colors would fade by the second. Shoot now, or just stand there gaping at it. 

Such a Rocky Mountain palette: high peaks towering above timberline, dark conifer forests and verdant alpine meadows below. The oranges and yellows of the sunrise reflected off the clouds. 

Sunrise mountain mist.

Back onto the main forest road, I stopped to photograph this rustic cabin. That's the kind of place for me.

High country cabin, San Juan Mountains.

Morning in the mountains, the way it should be.

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

© 2015 Stephen J. Krieg