Jack Burns Lives!

Journey To Four Corners-Part Two

Utah.

Sunday morning.

Most of my neighbors back in Dixie are getting ready for church. Dressed in their Sunday finest, they’re preparing to meet the Lord in one of his multi-million dollar houses of warship and write the checks that are necessary to keep the devil at bay and Repugs in power.

Gawd help ‘em.

I’m also preparing for church, but I’m leaving Ridgway and headed out Highway 145 to the canyon country of Southeast Utah.

This is my church. Wilderness. Open country. Mountains, trees, red rock, canyons and rivers.

My fellow parishioners? Lynx, cougar, bear, rattlesnakes, picas, elk.

Even skunks.

The pastor? There is no pastor. Pastors should be encouraged to find honest professions. All churches should be taxed.

The dress? Chacos, shorts and a good hat.

Winding along toward the San Miguel Canyon, the air is warmer and inviting. Sneffles cuts through a cloudless, blue sky and stands in firm command of the valleys beneath it. It’s the undisputed monarch of the Uncompaghre and all surrounding peaks.

As we travel along the ancient Colorado Plateau and its massive layers of sedimentary rock, we enter a very different world from whence we came. It’s a world of plateaus, mesas and deep canyons. A land of rock ranging in age from billions to just a few hundred years old, formerly inundated by tropical seas that deposited layers of limestone, sandstone, siltstone and shale. Layers that would later be carved and cut by streams and rivers, forming magnificent canyons.

We take our time through the La Sals, pausing to view Mt. Peale and enjoy the varied landscape. Shortly thereafter, we reach 191 and head for Moab the de facto capital for thousands of mountain bikers, hikers, river runners, adventure seekers and ATV enthusiasts.

The latter group, the ATV users, are insane rapers of the land as far as I’m concerned. Perhaps $125 per barrel oil will slow them down. Gravity and common sense have failed.

To our left, BLM land separates us from Canyonlands National Parks. Arches lies just ahead, north of Moab. Red rock walls rise up around us, and as we drive northward, I keep waiting on something to hit me. A revelation. Some grand realization that I’ve finally arrived. I’ve found home. The sort of feeling you experience when you meet a true soul mate.

It doesn’t come, but I’m not deterred or disappointed. I tell myself I’m not there yet. I don’t yet understand but that I will.

We arrive too early to check in at the B&B, a lovely little cottage smack in the middle of town and conveniently located to our friends, restaurants and Back of Beyond Books, the local bookseller that’s best known for its Abbeyesque feel and collection of Abbey merchandise. It’s my first stop.

I pick up a few books, including a guidebook on a nearby long trail, written by a comrade, Mike. Mike will serve as one of our “guides” during an afternoon hike, along with some other friends that live in Moab, Lou and Wayne, and possibly another friend, Lori, from Salt Lake.

We all meet at a designated spot and head toward our hike which will take us to Bow Tie arch and Corona arch on BLM land known as the Colorado River Recreation Area.

Lou and I have corresponded over the years, but have never met. She’s pretty much as I had imagined. A real caregiver. Organized, precise, friendly and a splendid hostess. Wayne is quiet and intelligent with a surprising wit and extensive knowledge of the area. He doesn’t say much, but when he speaks, you get the feeling he is going to say something important or make you laugh.

Mike is a real joy, a gregarious, energetic fellow with a big smile and good ideas. The kind of fellow you could spend many hours around a campfire with. Definitely a future backpacking compadre.

Wonderful people, all.

Corona and Bowtie Arch Trail is a short, three-mile hike through some spectacular slickrock formations. It’s an easy hike with only one section presenting any difficulty, and it’s hard to imagine any arch in Utah being more impressive than Corona Arch.

Approaching the arch, it’s difficult to appreciate the sheer magnitude of it. At least until you see people standing around it. But once you arrive, it’s a towering, awe-inspiring edifice worthy of respect.

The diversity of plant and animal life is remarkable, considering the lack of soil and water. Lou gives me a brief overview of biological soil crust, cyanobacteria, lichens, mosses and green algae and their critical importance to the desert ecosystem. As we walk along the trail, Lou and Wayne point out Ephedra trifurca (Mormon Tea), Ericameria nauseosa (Rabbitbrush), Ericameria laricifolia (Turpentine Bush) Opuntia engelmannii (Prickly Pear cactus), Juniperus communtis (Common Juniper) and a few other small, shrub like trees.

She and Wayne take the time to point out a desert “garden” and explain the importance of plant spacing (good landscaping).

Nearing the trailhead, we come upon a wandering minstrel, equipped with flute and pit bull. The pit bull looks menacing but is not. He’s easily approachable and seems pleased to meet humans and enjoys a pet or two on his massive, broad head and muscular body.

It’s easy to see how, if improperly trained, these dogs can become very dangerous, even lethal, although I’m informed the correct breed temperament is exactly the opposite. Very similar to another breed, Perro de Presa Canario, a larger, even more dangerous breed if improperly trained.

Driving along the river, our guides point out multiple petroglyphs and dinosaur tracks at various points along the road. These are fascinating artifacts of natural history that make one pause and imagine what life was like here 1000 or 10,000 years ago, and what life will be like, once again, 1000 years from today.

Allison and I are quite tired, however, and it’s hard to give this area the attention it deserves. As hard as I try to focus and take my time, my mind is drifting toward the cottage, a cold beer and a soft bed.

It’s a good excuse to come back one day and perhaps we will.

The final stop before the cottage is Matrimony Spring. The popular legend is that anyone who drinks from the spring will be married within one year. Since I’m married, that counts me out. But Lou points out that according to another version of the legend, anyone who drinks from the spring once will return to Moab. Drink twice and you’ll return to live.

If that’s true, I’d suggest Moabites stop taking people to the spring, or only let them drink once.

Lou informs us that the water is really, really old water. My guess is the water originates as snowmelt, possibly from the La Sal Mountains, and travels underneath the red rock to the spring. This underground journey beneath the slickrock acts as a natural filter so the water that emerges from the spring is purified and completely drinkable. The guvment occasionally tests the water but stands by the official and safe disclaimer it should be filtered.

I trust the Lou and temporarily suspend my long-standing personal policy of filtering all water and drink several heaping gulps of the fine tasting liquid.

Allison and I finally arrive at our home away from home, a lovely 19th century cottage, equipped with all the modern conveniences. Most important are a comfortable bed (the best I’ve slept in), a warm shower and a cold refrigerator for my six-pack of Fat Tire beer. We shower and momentarily rest before heading out again for a sunset picnic at the Sand Flats with Lou, Mike and Wayne.

Sand Flats is a high plane of slickrock domes, bowls and fins probably best known for being home to the famous Slickrock Bike Trail. With over 100,000 annual visitors, I’m wondering if Moabites advertise a bit too much.

It’s really amazing that Moabites have a place like this right on the edge of town. It’s a vast, open area with plenty of first come, first several campsites, vistas of the La Sals and as Mike points out, “burning California.”

As I gaze downward toward Moab, I wonder how many long time residents regret the change that’s occurred in the town over the past thirty years, its metamorphosis from a redneck mining and ranching town to a mecca for thrill seekers.

One thing is certain. There are a lot more folks.

Mike cooks the burgers while Lou prepares the fixin’s, which include some Mexican strawberries (beans) prepared in a crock-pot. I make a failed attempt at the One True Margarita, mixing the ingredients in my Nalgene bottle. Most opt for the few Fat Tire beers remaining in the cooler. A wise choice.

The One True Margarita recipe is favored my many and a legend to some. Frankly, I don’t like it much. It’s too bitter. The mix is correct, but I believe most bartenders use sweetened limejuice (although fresh squeezed is preferred) which the OTM does not have. My preference is a cold beer with a straight shot of tequila.

Good tequila doesn’t need a mix. Drink it straight like a man.

The food is delicious and the conversation is light and stimulating.

Above us are a billion stars, and although we’re right outside of Moab, the sky is dark and the air is quiet. A perfect night spent with good people, great food and beer and in a beautiful locale.

After a refreshing sleep and a hearty breakfast at the B&B, Allison and consult our local tour guides for hiking opportunities and make a side trip to Cactus Ed’s truck, now resting at Wayne’s house in Moab. This is a big thrill for me, because the truck is a well-known piece of “Ed memorabilia,” and being the insane (professional help?) Abbeyeista I am, it’s a fun, but serious moment of spiritual pilgrimage.

A moment of silence please.

We realize the probability is high that we’ll see a lot of folks at the more popular Arches destinations, but we also figure they’re “must sees,” and head on to the Arches visitor center with a plan to hike the primitive trail at Devils Garden.

The visitor’s center is packed. Industrial tourism in full swing. “The Arches National Money Mint” is sucking in money like flies on shit.

After a quick tour and obligatory purchases at the gift store, we head upward toward Balanced Rock in search of Ed’s old trailer site. A ranger informs me it’s at the gravel pit, just left of Balanced Rock. It’s easy to find, and I park the car.

As it was for Jim Stiles, I suppose this is ground zero for me. The place were it really all began, back in the late 1950′s when Ed was a ranger here and wrote the passages that would become Desert Solitaire. It’s an emotional moment for me, because the writings of Edward Abbey, more than anything (other than my wife and children, which were responsible for the first major shift in my life’s direction), changed the direction of my life.

Happily headed toward a life of yuppiedom and consumerism, Abbey’s writing gave me pause. Made me think. Opened my eyes and turned me into the raving and ranting anarchist bastard I am today. Once I was lost. Now I am found.

I take a couple of quick pictures and return to the truck, only pausing briefly to look back. Ed’s no longer there, and I wonder about his spirit. If there such a s thing, it’s far from here. Trust me. The turkey vulture now soars over some canyon we haven’t heard of or visited. Maybe even Australia. Ed always talked about wanting to end up there, and maybe Bush and tourism finally drove him out and across the ocean.

I find it troubling that his former home in the wilderness is now a gravel pit with a bulldozer and a pit toilet. In the late 50′s, his little trailer was twenty miles in the middle of nowhere. Not any more.

Blasphemy. Sacrilege.

Arriving at the parking lot for Devil’s Garden, we’re confronted by the reality of exactly what Ed wrote about in Polemic: Industrial Tourism and the National Parks. There’s an overabundance of cars in the parking area, and my heart sinks to my knees.

So much for solitude in the land of Solitaire.

But as we head up the trail and reach the primitive section just past Landscape Arch, something predictable happens. We find ourselves alone.

Most people don’t venture more than a half-mile or so beyond their cars, and they end up missing the best of what our national parks have to offer. Fine with me. Stay in your cars. Stay fat, sedentary, happy and die young.

Walking along the sandy trail, we notice large tracks, possibly mountain lion and seemingly too large for a bobcat, but they’re not clear in the sand. Moving a bit further, we can clearly smell where a cat has marked its territory. This makes Allison slightly nervous, but I explain the chances are very slim that we’d see a cat or suffer an attack. It’s the wrong time of day, and cats only attack humans when they don’t have enough territory and food. It don’t think that’s a problem in this area.

This is where it finally hits me. The astounding, mystical beauty of the place temporarily overwhelms me. I imagine I’m a Native American, on a vision quest, making my way through the desert as the sun beats down upon my face.

We take our time, taking it all in, pausing frequently to observe the flora, fauna and magnificent views.

Just before reaching a small stream that flows toward Fin Canyon, we sense another presence. Human. Another hiker comes toward us, most likely turning back and heading back the direction she came. She moves very slowly and looks tired.

We see only two other hikers near the apex of the loop.

The trail is approximately six miles or so round trip, but it presents a couple of slightly technical challenges for the average hiker. Probably nothing for a local or a regular climber, but for people unaccustomed to slickrock or for those afraid of heights, I can see where they might become unglued.

Once such section is a large fin on the west side of the trail. Several hikers that hike clockwise (we hike counter clockwise) turn back upon reaching the fin, since it’s within the first 1.5 miles or so of the trail. It doesn’t seem difficult to me and I press on without hesitation. Allison stops to gather herself before proceeding, but makes it across with no difficulty.

We’ve met more people by this point. Quite a few, actually, and interestingly, mostly German. The Germans have a long love affair with the desert Southwest and several are staying at our B&B. They’re friendly, courteous and easy going. Interesting folks to speak with, if you can understand them because most have a thick accent.

Tired but exhilarated, we reach the truck and move quickly to open the door and locate some iced-down Fat Tires. They’re opened and disappear quickly as we once again drive past the Fiery Furnace, Cache Valley, Balanced Rock, The Great Wall, Sheep Rock, Three Gossips and Courthouse Towers. Names that are now more than just words. They are actual places I’ve seen, touched and experienced.

In between our hike and dinner, I get a surprise phone call from “Wizard Bill,” a true river and desert rat if there ever was one. Bill and I have only actually met once before, but I feel a strong kinship with him. I have the pleasure of sharing a cold beverage with him and his new girlfriend (Bill always has several and they’re always beauties), Noreen, a beautiful and intelligent young lady I’m sure Bill doesn’t deserve. Then again, I don’t deserve Allison, and that’s one thing Bill and I have in common.

We’re both lucky in the lottery of life.

That evening over dinner, I speak with Lou about my experiences and the disappointment of seeing so many people in the park. I state that Abbey was correct about the road, and in my opinion, it should not have been built. She’s quick to point out that because of the road, more people have access and can therefore become aware of the natural world and therefore “defenders.”

I’m not so sure but do not belabor the point.

It seems illogical to me that in order to protect wilderness we should open it up to industrial tourism. To protect it you first endanger it? There’s no evidence to suggest a significant number of visitors become sincere, engaged activists or even change their own individual lifestyles. For the most part, I’m convinced most folks just jump back into their motor homes and behemoths and drive on to the next park, burning fuel and trampling cynobacteria into oblivion.

Furthermore, I believe the sites in Arches are too easily obtained. There’s no adventure, no price to be paid (other than the ten dollars at the gate) to see them. Therefore, I’m not sure the appreciation is as deep and effective as it could be.

How can it be wilderness if there’s a massive road crawling with RV’s, SUV’s and motorcycles right through the middle of it?

The answer is it’s not. It’s a theme park, and the dominant theme is money.

We’re fortunate to meet another friend, Lori, for breakfast before departing for Colorado. It’s been three years since I’ve seen Lori, but she hasn’t changed a bit. Lori is a real life river person that belongs here as much as the native flora. Unfortunately, our visit is brief, as we both have full agendas for the day.

But as I’m driving back through the La Sals, I ask myself, “Do I belong here? Is this a place I could spend the rest of my life?”

I decide the answer is no. And not because it isn’t beautiful or wondrous or less than what I expected. It is exactly what I expected. Magnificent. Unique. Precious. Endangered.

I’ve reached the conclusion that to relocate anywhere in the West is probably irresponsible. There’s too many people fighting over too few resources, especially the most precious of all resources, water. If I really love the West, and I do, isn’t the most practical decision to stay in the East? The East, after all, is already despoiled. It’s an industrial shithole, crawling with people. But at least there’s water. At least for now.

The West can’t take too many more permanent tourists.

But never say never. I suppose I could succumb to the temptation and move one day, but if I did, I’d have live light and lean and in a small, sufficient dwelling. No ranchettes or real estate speculation. No involvement in perpetrating the industrial machine. I’d have to figure out a way I could live without feeling like an invader and usurper of resources, and frankly, I don’t believe that’s possible.

This doesn’t mean I see all immigrants as invaders and usurpers of resources. Clearly, some people are drawn to this place and belong here. But I also believe that you should bring something of value to the community. This is the case with Lou and her husband. They bring something of value, and they work to protect the land. I, on the other hand, would have a hard time figuring out what I could do to bring value to the community.

There’s no shortage of technophiles in the West, and that’s my world. At least until I find an honest profession.

Until then, I’ll carry Arches in my heart, where it belongs. And I’ll stay here, in the Delta, where I belong.

Part Three: Weekhawken Trail

Back to Part One

All pics are here.