Hurricane Draw, AZ

I went down to Hurricane on Friday looking for some time off the pavement, off the grid, off line, and off the air. I left the pavement near Sky Ranch and made it all the way to the power line south of Cottonwood Canyon without incident. It was late on a winter day and the sun was low in the sky ahead of me. I crossed the power line road, crossed a steep gulch, and started into Black Rock Canyon. That was probably a mistake. On the map the road looked like the main route south along the base of the Uinkaret Plateau; plus, it was the Temple Trail. It was, unfortunately, as rough as anything I've ever driven, more of an ATV trail than a road. There were a couple places so narrow that I wasn't sure the Chev would fit. Of course, once you've started, it is almost impossible to turn around, and you ain't gonna be able to back all the way out. I passed the parts of three other vehicles that had been abandoned along the way (fortunately they seemed to be many years old and were not accompanied by human skeletons) and stopped often to move bowling ball sized chunks of basalt off the "road."

By the time I reached the Lower Hurricane Valley near East Mesa, it was dark. At least the road was better and the Chev had, once again, proven itself, but now I needed a place to camp. In the end, there wasn't really a camp. I pulled off the road beneath the East Mesa and went to sleep on the seat of the truck. The forecast of pleasant lows in the 30s and 40s had been incorrect and it was in the 20s with a biting wind. When I woke at 6a, the inside of the truck was thick with ice and daylight was still two hours away. This is, of course, one of the problems with sleeping rough during December: There are 14 hours of darkness each day.

I made some coffee before the sun was up, got the truck started, and headed down the Hurricane Draw. By 10a, the ice was gone from the windows and the road was smooth and straight. The big open end of the Lower Hurricane Valley was before me, with Mt. Logan and Mt. Trumbull in the distance. I reached the Navajo Trail by 11a. I stopped there to brew more coffee and eat a Poptart. I had left the pavement on the edge of Hurricane about 19 hours (and 35 miles) before. I got going again headed west and, after a few miles, turned up the Sunshine Trail. This "trail" was much better than the one for reaching the Temple, though I am not sure why. I made it all the way to Yellowhorse Flat before I stopped for some more food.

This wasn't intended to be a two night trip and I wanted to reach pavement again before the sun set. Fortunately, it wasn't long before I came out on top of the mesa above the Well. I could see Warner Ridge and St. George in the distance. I drove down off the mesa and across the flat. When I reached the outskirts of Washington, a yuppie driving some kind of silly Toyota passed me headed south. It was the first person or vehicle I'd seen in 24 hours. I hit the pavement again after 80 solo miles on the Strip and drove up through Washington to the freeway. I was home before dark.

http://picasaweb.google.com/aorlemann/ArizonaStripAZ#

Grosvenor Arch, Utah

We needed to go to Boulder to pick up some paintings, but we wanted to spend some time over there so we took the camper. When we got to Cannonville we turned off the highway and headed down the Cottonwood Road. I had planned to go down to Wahweap Creek or even Four Mile Canyon, but the road was rough all the way to Grosvenor Arch so the trip was slow. By the time we got to the Wahweap turn-off it was late, so I turned around and we camped along the impoundment above Grosvenor.

The clouds came in before dinner and it got dark early, but it made for a warm night since they served as insulation. In the morning, there was a biting north wind and the girls ate breakfast in the camper. We should have packed up right then, but I believed that it would clear up later in the afternoon, so we left the camper and drove to Boulder. By the time we returned, the clouds had set in above Powell Point, above Bryce Canyon, and above Canaan Mountain. It looked like we were in for some winter weather. We hustled to pack the camper in a drizzle. When we crossed the Paria there was a winter storm towering over us and filling the whole southern sky. We dodged storms all the way back to Parowan and had the truck unloaded just before a snowstorm covered town. It wasn't the best weekend for a campout.

http://picasaweb.google.com/aorlemann/GrosvenorArch#

Kanab, Utah

It was snowing on Friday when we left for Kanab, so, instead of driving over the Markagunt, we went around. The trip down to Hurricane was uneventful, but the bright afternoon sunlight and winter storm clouds were spectacular as we passed Gooseberry Mesa and Moccasin Peak. I was tempted by the light on the walls of Kanab Creek and by the turn-off to Toroweap, but we'd been in the truck long enough by the time Fredonia hove into view.

We stayed at Aikens Lodge in Kanab and attended The Business of Art seminar at the middle school. The organizers did a great job, and it was a pretty good program. Our only problem with it was that some of the invited speakers were academics and art-bureaucrats who were not interested in the practical problems involved with making a living as artists. As a result, their sessions were full of self-indulgently foolish art-speak and social consciousness mumbo-jumbo.

I was pretty much done with it after lunch, so I left Valerie and made a run out to Johnson Canyon. Once again, the light on the winter storm clouds was spectacular. By the time I made it to the GSENM boundary, however, there was no more light, only the darkness of a full winter blizzard. I loved it. I pulled off the road, opened the truck windows, and listened to the snow pelt the pinyon trees. Finally it was time to go back. I grabbed Valerie in Kanab and we made it to Cedar City in time for dinner.

http://picasaweb.google.com/aorlemann/KanabUtah#

West Desert VI

Posted to the WDTL on 18 May 2009:

It's not really the west desert, but I've been spending a lot of time in the southern Sierra for work. It involves crossing the Mojave Desert and the dry foothills near Bakersfield. I love it for some of the same reasons that I love the four corners: big, empty, and rugged. Well, this being California, it isn't so empty. My first stop is always Mesquite, which I don't hate as much as most people do. Then, there is Vegas, which I hate far more than most people seem to. (It is a hell-hole that could cease to exist as far as I am concerned.) I usually stop in Baker, just because it is such an arm pit, and I like arm pits. Barstow isn't much better and I usually pass it by. But, once you get out past Edwards, it becomes really beautiful. There is Mojave and Tehachapi and Keene. I turn off at Caliente and wind my way over to the Walker Basin. Wow. I love Utah and the four corners, but if you want to buy me a few hundred acres of the Walker Basin, I will be happy there, too.

West Desert V

Posted to the WDTL on 3 May 2009:

We drove toward the Gap with a huge storm brewing. A few drops spattered us as we passed the southern end of the Little Salt Lake. The deluge hit as we entered the Gap. Ellen said we had an ocean on our windshield. We did, but it was gone by the time we reached the Minersville Highway. From there we drove straight to Lund. Lund has a population of five. Maybe. But it has two little abandoned (and now vanalized) railroad houses that we like. Valerie wants to move one home for a studio. We turned north past the pig farms and, by the time we hit Jockey Road, Ellen was asleep. She didn't miss much but, after we'd passed the road to the mine, I wasn't really sure where we were going. We passed some hand-carters and finally stopped at an old corral, but we still had nowhere to camp. We turned around and went back to an abandoned gravel pit. It wasn't very picturesque, but the girls were ready to quit driving. We were probably 80 miles from Parowan, but it had taken us about three hours to get there.

After erecting camp, Ellen and I took a walk down a little wash nearby. We were in a pinyon-juniper forest and it showed signs of heavy cutting, even half a mile from the road. Most of the fence posts between there and Minersville must have come from that forest. Nevertheless, there were plenty of trees and they collectively blocked our views of the surrounding area. So, we had just ourselves and our little wash. Which was quite enough. We were out of the wind and the temperature was just right for walking. The air smelled of pinyon and sage. Ellen chattered on about the flowers she found—penstemon, indian paintbrush, and some little native snow-in-summer type plants. We found coyote tracks and scats; we found old horse poops; we heard the call of a crow; and, where the wash entered a little meadow, we startled a grazing cow elk. On the way back we found a couple of resting rocks; we sat there while Ellen dumped the sand out of her shoes. A few minutes later we arrived in camp—just in time to open a bottle of two dollar wine and start cooking dinner.

In the morning, we left Valerie to paint and we drove over to a spring just below the Tetons—three or four little knolls with a grand sounding name. From there I hiked to the crest of one of the, well, Tetons, while Ellen sat on a rock about half way up. I had unimpeaded views across Pine Valley and all the way to Indian Peak. Ellen started to call, so I went down and we drove back to camp. I got Ellen a snack and we packed up the camping gear. The sun was out and it was hot. With the windows open, we turned back down Jockey Road and drove to the confluence with Blawn Wash. We turned there at the old windmill and continued down the wash. Blawn Wash Road was in very good shape and within minutes we were in front of Broze Knoll. We set up Valerie to paint and made lunch. After a while it was time to go and Ellen went to sleep on the seat as we drove back to Lund. From there, it was a straight shot back to the Gap and Parowan beyond.

West Desert IV

Posted to the WDTL on 26 April 2009:

Twice this year I've driven to Kernville, California for meetings. From Parowan, one can drive all the way to Barstow on I-15. There are three words for that trip: Boring, boring, and boring. (The only interesting part is Las Vegas. Instead of boring, Las Vegas is hot, dusty, garrish, and traffic-choked. It is, in short, a hell-hole. But, I digress.) To break up the boredom, I've taken two large detours. On 23 January, I did a 200 mile drive-through of the Mojave National Preserve. It was cool and wet, of all things, and the landscape had the expectant feel of spring. On 21 April, I did a 200 mile drive-through of Death Valley National Park. It was already hot—106F—and one sensed that spring was, perhaps, past. Neither the Mojave nor Death Valley is beautiful in the typical sense, but both of them are large, rugged, and harsh, which makes them attractive. They say that the best time to visit is between Thanksgiving and Christmas—the crowds are gone and the weather is moderate. I may want to take them up on it.

West Desert III

Posted to the WDTL on 22 March 2009:

The wind gusts were hitting 45 mph this morning. At church, the preacher said that one of the local farmer's hens was facing away from the wind . . . she laid the same egg six times. Har. With all that wind, there was a terrific salt storm rising off the Little Salt Lake and blowing up the Parowan Valley. I wanted to see it, so after church I drove towards Minersville and around through the Gap. Ellen was with me and I told her that we were hunting dust storms. Before we got to the Gap we encountered a bad one just on the west side of the little mountain range there. It was worse than fog. I couldn't see the road and Ellen said that it made her eyes water inside the truck.

West Desert II

Posted to the WDTL on 10 February 2009:

Today I went out to Three Peaks. It may be my last visit. It is a beautiful and interesting place, but it looks like another ATV sacrifice area. I don't want to be there with the motors. But, today it was cold and windy. It had snowed hard all morning, and the sun was just breaking out now and then. Besides, it was a Tuesday. So, the place was quiet. And I loved that. I think the loss of the quiet is the thing that is making me miss Escalante so much. That deep silence became a friend to me, and now it is gone. There is no silence in the Parowan Valley; none in Cedar City.

West Desert I

In February, I started a sister blog to the Four Corners Travel Log and called it the West Desert Travel Log. After moving to Parowan, I expected that we would spend as much time in the Great Basin as we did in the Four Corners. But it hasn't worked out that way. In fact, with the exception of two posts that I generated during May while on the road for my job, I've had only one entry since March . . . and not a single post of any kind in almost six months. The West Desert Travel Log simply isn't. And, so, I'm going to shut it down. I will incorporate its contents into the FCTL by copying them over . . . one per day for the rest of this week. After that, any trips west will be posted here despite being slightly off topic. We will call them "geographical oddities." So, without further explaination, here is the first entry from WDTL. It is from 8 February 2009:

You knew it was coming. I promised it when we moved. The sister blog to Four Corners Travel Log has been born. Welcome to the West Desert—very different from the Four Corners, but beloved for some of the same big, empty reasons. For me, the West Desert starts right outside our door. For the sake of geographic simplicity, I-15 makes up its eastern boundary, and I-15 is in our backyard. Well, not really, but close enough. Today, we crossed the border and started west. The first big feature is the Little Salt Lake, but just beyond that is the Parowan Gap. "Discovered" in 1850 by the Parley Pratt expedition that founded Parowan, the Parowan Gap is well known for its incredible 1000 year old petraglyphs. We hiked, picked up rocks, and froze in the February wind. But, it felt good to be out seeing a little of the country—the West Desert.

New Home Bench, Utah

We needed to meet some other painters and photographers at Calf Creek on Saturday, so we drove over to the east side on Friday afternoon. I was planning to camp somewhere between Head of the Rocks and New Home Bench. I didn't turn down Spencer Flat because I figured that would be too popular. Well, I may have made a mistake. New Home Bench was crowded and we had to go half way to Salt Gulch before we could find a place. In the end, it was too close to the road and the traffic kept us up half the night. What the . . . ? This is Garfield County, Utah . . . where is there to drive to at 11:30p?

Of course, it was worse in the morning. When we lived in Escalante, I wouldn't go near Calf Creek because I couldn't stand the mayhem. Well, it was our planned meeting place, so we had to ignore the yuppies, hippies, and euros for a change, and deal with the carnival. V came up with a couple of nice little paintings and E got to wade in the creek, plus we had a good time talking with Irene and some other painters. By 2p we were worn out and we went back up to Salt Gulch for a nap. The nap was followed by a hike in Big Gulch and a spaghetti dinner.

On Sunday morning, I took a run down the Escalante River to Phipps Wash while the girls went upstream to the natural bridge. Even the lower end of Phipps was full of tourists, so I never did have an hour of silence, but I guess that is the price one pays for visiting the Calf Creek area in early October. I messed around in one of the side canyons and missed Phipps Arch, but I did find the Maverick Natural Bridge. By about 1p we were all at the bridge and loaded up for another hundred mile drive back to Parowan.

http://picasaweb.google.com/aorlemann/CalfCreekUtah#

Pardner Canyon, Utah

We needed to deliver 20 pieces of fine art to the Anasazi Museum in Boulder on Sunday, so we left home Saturday afternoon and drove over to Tropic. We stopped there and talked with Ms. Irene at the gallery for a while, before looking for a place to camp. We had always gazed up Pardner Canyon when passing it on Highway 12, but never taken the time to stop. So, after Henrieville and before the Blues, we started looking for an access point. We soon found a little two track and headed north. The road was badly eroded and full of washouts. We made it probably half a mile before an impassable washout stopped us in some waist-high sage-brush. It wasn't the perfect camp, but it wasn't bad either.

I'd forgotten the Pentax, so I took the little Canon and walked up the road for a while before dinner. The temperature was pleasant, the fall colors were beautiful, and the canyon was silent. It was a good hour for hiking. I came upon an old homestead along the banks of Dry Creek and spent a few minutes looking around the cabins and corrals. There was a giant rat midden inside the cabin and sagebrush had taken over the door-yard. It seemed kind of homey nonetheless. After dinner, we sat around a fire of pinyon sticks while I read aloud from J.W. Powell's seminal Canyons of the Colorado.

In the morning, we all scrambled over to Dry Creek and the girls played in the wash while I climbed half-way up one of the buttes. We jumped in the truck by about 10a and weaved through the yuppies and the tourists on our way to Boulder. It was good to see Brenda and Torianne at the Anasazi, and the art show looked great, as always. On the way back we hassled Auggie at the Escalante Visitor Center and dropped the camper in Tropic where we'll pick it up later in the week. We were back on the west-side (Parowan) by 5p after another 300 miles of southern Utah driving.

http://picasaweb.google.com/aorlemann/PardnerCanyonUtah#

Robinson Reservoir, Utah

I went back to Robinson Reservoir this morning to see if I could make a good picture. When I was there on Saturday, the wind was blowing so I didn't have the reflection I wanted. Today, the lake was calm, but the sun was directly behind the line of aspen trees I wanted to shoot. My pictures were better, but not great. On the other hand, it was a beautiful morning and a good opportunity to show Sophie T the area. We stopped in First Left Hand a couple of times to look around. We found a mining claim that I had not noticed before and Sophie took a slide on some scree.

http://picasaweb.google.com/aorlemann/RobinsonReservoirUtah#

Escalante, Utah

We've spent little time in Escalante since we moved. And that is a shame. We still love the area and the people who live there. But, last week was the annual plein air painting competition, so Valerie had an excuse to spend the week painting and taking advantage of Ms. Sharol's hospitality. Her output was excellent, and she had several very nice works to submit to the competition. Unfortunately, the judging seemed to favor the surreal and the, um, weird over the skilled and the beautiful. There were a number of masterful works that received not a mention. Valerie's was one of them, but her friend, Randy Russell, the water-colorist, was surely robbed. It seems strange that a "plein air" competition would reward something other than the strongest representations of that beautiful place, but if that is the trend, I guess we will reconsider next year.

In any case, Friday and Saturday were art festival days, and that gave the rest of the family an excuse to spend some time in Ellen's home town. We drove over on Thursday afternoon and camped in Dead Mare Wash. We ran into Dirk Durfey and one of his boys at our camp, and that made it feel like we were back where we belonged. On Friday, we went into town and had time to see the Mortensens, Keefe, Keith Adams, Mrs. Young, and some of the locals, but the afternoon was hot and the festival was slow so we went back to the Upper Valley and spent some time hiking in Henrieville Creek.

On Saturday, I didn't feel much like going into town. It's not that I didn't want to see some of the pards and help with the festival, but it was hot and the art festival seems to draw all the weirdos. I'd had a poor night's sleep and I thought that if I saw one more long-hair with an "all who wander are not lost" bumper sticker, I might deliberately drive the Chev through a V-dub. So, Ellen and I went back down the Blues and poked around in Henrieville Creek for a few hours. She found a coyote scat, full of rabbit fir, and I found one from a skunk, full of russian olive berries, and it was more like what we love to do than to watch the hippies and the yuppies pretend to discover Escalante.

http://picasaweb.google.com/aorlemann/HenrievilleCreekUtah#

Ashdown Gorge, Utah

Every time we drive Highway 14 from Cedar City to Todd's Junction, we wish that we could stop where Long Hollow meets the highway. It is such a dramatic spot, and it looks like it would make a good picture. Well, this weekend we tried to get there by hiking Ashdown Creek, from Potato Hollow to the Highway. Unfortunately, we didn't give ourselves enough time. It is probably only a mile or two as the crow flies, but the canyon is narrow and rugged. We went down past the confluence with Rattlesnake Creek, but had to turn back. It reminded me of hiking in Zion: It was a lot like the Virgin River, or even the Subway. Speaking of Zion, I saw a newspaper article that mentioned the possibility of converting Cedar Breaks to a national park and adding to it the Ashdown Gorge Wilderness. I guess that is alright except then the Parkies would get ahold of it and start making you get a permit and listen to their "be sure to carry lots of water and don't touch anything" talk with a bunch of yuppies. There'd be no more rambling around that part of the country by yourself with a bag of seeds and a crappy old camera.

http://picasaweb.google.com/aorlemann/AshdownGorgeUtah#

Vernal, Utah

It was high time to see the cousins again, so we agreed to meet in northern Utah at a yurt on the Ashley National Forest between Vernal and Dutch John. We succeeded in finding the Lynips in the Firehole country, not too far from Rock Springs, Wyoming. We caravaned as far as we could and then loaded everybody into the Chev for the long, hard road to the yurt. It was, as you might have predicted, a disaster:

There was the mud; the back to back to back thunderstorms; numerous failed mouse trappings; a swan dive from the top bunk for Ellen at one in the morning; and finally my loss of patience with the hunters driving through our camp. We were lucky that the cousins didn't demand to go home.

On the other hand, we had a beautiful trip to Dinosaur National Monument, some good conversations, a slumber party, a few great meals, and several hours for Bluie and Pinkie the horses to work with their wrangler.

It was tough to say goodbye, but by dinner time on Sunday we were camped along the banks of the Muddy just south of Ferron in our kind of country, big and empty. We made it home early on Monday and started planning for next year's trip to North Fork, Idaho.

http://picasaweb.google.com/aorlemann/LimberFlagUtah#

Cabin Hollow, Utah

We went over to the gallery opening at Clarkes. (http://www.thegalleryatclarkes.com/) The gallery is worth a visit. But, be sure to bring your checkbook, you won't want to leave without spending at least four figures. On the way home, we got off Highway 12 at the top of the dump and drove north along the John's Valley Road. We were looking for a pretty little corner with a few rays of setting sun—maybe something for a painting. We turned west again towards Tom Best Spring and worked along the south end of the Sevier Plateau. We never got the right light, but we did make a run up the east fork of Hunt Creek and then over to Cabin Hollow where we picked up the highway again. We found this little double window in Cabin Hollow. It will make a nice shot this fall when the tourists are gone and the light is good for most of the day.

Brian Head Peak, Utah

Valerie went to Ouray, Colorado for Plein Air Southwest sponsored by the Outdoor Painter's Society (http://www.pleinairsouthwest.com/). The rest of us stayed in Utah and decided to see if we could get some good pictures of the Horse Valley Fire (http://www.utahfireinfo.gov/fire/dixie_nf/horse_valley.htm). So we went up to Brian Head Peak, but didn't have any luck. There was plenty of low hanging smoke, but with the exception of the occaisonal white puff, no well established plume. It didn't help that it was before lunch. The biggest columns, the ones visible from Parowan each day, have occurred late in the afternoon after the high temperatures and winds have had a chance to work. So we went over to Sidney Valley and walked along the creek.

http://picasaweb.google.com/aorlemann/BrianHeadUtah#

Gallatin Gateway, Montana

No part of Montana is in the Four Corners, although it does share a place on the earth with Wyoming and Idaho. In any case, the Bensons had booked a fly-fishing vacation on the banks of the Gallatin River for us, and we weren't about to turn them down, especially since they would be on hand to clean our fish and keep our wine glasses full. When we arrived, I found that I would be bunking next to the kitchen, which was overflowing with food. This provided a good opportunity for me to protect the household from mice. (Unfortunately, by the time we left, the score was 3-0 in favor of the mice.) It also proved that there was no need for me to catch fish in order to survive, which was good because that fly-fishing business looks too fiddly for me. I hear that Grandpa Benson is pretty good at it, but Chris and Matt spent a good part of each day gearing up and then untangling everything. I have enough trouble facing the ordinary frustrations of life without that. In the end, though, a couple of beautiful trout made it into the cooler . . . which is more than I can say for the mice.

http://picasaweb.google.com/aorlemann/GallatinGatewayMontana#

Midway, Utah

Valerie entered the Midway Art Association's Wasatch Plein Air Paradise competition this year(http://www.midwayartassociation.org/). She used the camper for lodging and we parked it at the Wasatch Mountain State Park. Ellen and I delivered her there (and picked her up). We also spent Saturday, the 27th, hanging around Midway. My, how it has grown. It was busy, busy, and busy. Of course, then we went over to Heber City and discovered what busy really looks like. Valerie said that it reminded her of Moab. I started drawing for her the nostagic picture I had in my head of Heber circa 1989. Back then, I said, you could get a haircut and a bad cup of coffee right on Main Street for about $4.50 total . . . and you could do it without being run over by a yuppie. (I sure am turning into a grumpy old man.)

Cedar Breaks, Utah

Operation Baba was in Utah this week. Unfortunately, I was working a lot, so we didn't spend much time in the mountains. Finally, on Saturday, we made a run to Brian Head and Cedar Breaks. The road to Brian Head, however, was still blocked by snow and, even with the Chev, I wasn't going to try it. So, after dodging the flip-flop wearers strewn around on the road who seemed to be surprised to find that the Utah mountains were not the right place for beach-wear (does the whole fat world wear shorts and sandals everywhere they go?), we did the short tour of Cedar Breaks. It snowed hard the whole time, but it was beautiful and Baba enjoyed it. After that, we went down through Cedar Canyon and stopped a couple of times in the vicinity of Moots Hollow to look around. I think that is a spectacular part of the canyon and would like to explore it more but, of course, Highway 14 is like the Daytona 500—it is dangerous to even take your foot off the floorboard for fear of being run over from behind. Finally, we finished our tour in Cedar City where everyone in the truck got a prize at the Thrift Store for a grand total of $2.75.

Sevier Plateau, Utah

We made the turn to Tom Best Spring at about 12:30. Ellen was tired of driving around but it probably took us another 30 or 40 minutes to find an old cowboy camp with a good view of Barnhurst Ridge. I set up the camper while Valerie made lunch. When Ellen went down for her nap, I wandered up the hill behind camp to a little sub-ridge. The Sanford Fire had burned the hillside about seven or eight years ago and the disturbance had stimulated an old aspen clone. The young stems were thicker than the hair on a dog and were obviously providing fodder for the local elk. The best way through was to follow their trails. At the top was an old stand of Mountain Mahogany that had been thoroughly burned. Coming up through the blackened stems was a patch of elderberry. Standing there, I could see the Griffin Top, Escalante Summit, Barney Top, and the Table Cliff Plateau all the way to Powell Point. It was a horizon line that fit my eye like an old friend.

http://picasaweb.google.com/aorlemann/SevierPlateau#

Little Creek, Utah

Not many posts in this blog during May. I guess we've been too busy at The Homestead. Actually, we've spent a fair number of days poking around in the local canyons—First and Second Left Hand near Parowan, and Red Creek and Little Creek near Paragonah. Yesterday, Ellen and I went up Little Creek and tried to circumnavigate Iron Peak. The road was pretty rough and it was slow going. The Chev didn't much like it and Ellen was tired of sitting there. So we turned back and found a place where we could skitter down to the creek. We also found a Pituophis catenifer deserticola, a Great Basin Gopher Snake.

Henderson Hill, Utah

We drove up Second Left Hand Canyon pretty early this morning. When we had a view of Noah's Ark, we dropped Valerie off to do some painting. Then we went up the road to the end. At least, we went as far as the snow would let us, which was probably a couple of miles. We got stuck only once and I was able to dig out in a few minutes. (Last time it took at least a half hour and then a guy came by in his F-250 and hooked a chain to the Chev.) We got out of the truck and scrambled up the back side of Henderson Hill until we were on a ridge with scattered hoodoos. It was sort of like Cedar Breaks or even Bryce Canyon. The sun was warm and we could hear the creek during the climb. It was a nice break after a cold week.

http://picasaweb.google.com/aorlemann/HendersonHillUT#

St. George, Utah

Valerie showed at the St. George Art Festival last Friday and Saturday. It wasn't necessarily a great show for her, but it was a break-even effort and she made some good contacts. The best painter at the festival was Arizona-based Charles Thomas. He is represented by a southern Arizona gallery (http://www.galleriatubac.com/artists/thomas/), but he shows in St. George each year. My favorite painting was entitled, "Escalante." Thomas had applied the paint with a palette knife so it was rough and blocky—a little abstract but with a real feel for the area, actually, around Cannonville.

Park City, Utah

It was time for my yearly ski vacation in Park City. So, I went up to Mark and Kristi's place on Friday afternoon and drank their beer and ate their food. It was a good start. On Saturday morning, Mark had to go blasting, so Jason made me breakfast while I spilled a gallon of coffee all over the kitchen. By the time I had that cleaned up, Cylvick was calling me every five minutes to say that he was waiting for me on Crescent. When I got there, we went straight to Jupe. By the time we caught up with Mark, we'd done a couple laps in Scotts, toured Pinecone Ridge, and latched on to Tall Paul. From there it was a hike to High West, a hike to the North Shoulder, and a couple of beers at the Summit House. After a pair of cruisers, we called it a day. Mark had to go to the patrol banquet, so Cylvick agreed to play host to the free-loader. By the time I got my crap off, he was already waiting for me in Wanship. We toured his office (http://www.ziprider.com/) and went home to see the family. We had a beer, a martini, and a bottle of wine while we excoriated capitalists of all stripes. After a good sleep, Sarah mixed some pancake batter and we drank a pot of coffee. It was time to take my memories of good food, great snow, and outstanding friends back to southern Utah.

Rock Springs, Utah

We had to go to Tropic to drop off a few pictures for the new gallery at Clarke's (http://www.thegalleryatclarkes.com/), so we continued on to Cannonville. At first we thought we'd camp at Kodachrome, but the campground had four or five parties in it. Ellen, a girl after my heart, said, "We don't want to camp here with all these people." No, we didn't. So we went down on the Monument and turned on the Rock Springs Bench Road. After a while we got into a little trouble with the truck and the trailer in a steep, muddy wash. We turned around and went back out to the corral. There we found a really nice little camp just off the road. We hiked, climbed the sandstone around camp, and went to bed when the sun set. It was a pleasant until about 5 am. At that point, I realized that it was cold—too cold for my sleeping bag. It started warming up again by about 9 am, but those hours between 5 and 9, whew, they were cold. After breakfast we drove down the creek a little way and looked around. It isn't too far down to the Paria, but I wasn't going to make it with a little girl. So, we went back, packed the camper, and drove home.

http://picasaweb.google.com/aorlemann/RockSpringsBenchUtah#

Second Left Hand Canyon, Utah

It snowed a lot yesterday. But today was warm and sunny and I wanted to see if I could get up the canyon. I forded the creek and mucked my way through the melting snow and mud for about a mile. When I found a place to turn around, I left the truck and went on by foot. I got to a formation called Noah's Ark (look at the pictures to see if you think it looks like that, but don't expect to see any kangaroos). It was big, beautiful, and quiet--the way I like it. Plus, I needed some wood and I found some. Can anyone tell from the cone what it was? The correct answer wins first prize, but Lannom doesn't get to play.

http://picasaweb.google.com/aorlemann/SecondLeftHandCanyonUtah#

Snowbasin, Utah

There was no way I was going to let Wally have Benson all to himself on Valentine's Day. So, I left Parowan at 6a on Friday and drove to Snowbasin. It was, once again, a case of letting my heart over-rule my better judgment. I soon discovered that I had bitten off more than I could chew. Benson rides like an expert; Wally skis like a bat-out-of-hell; and Jordan finally gave up on me and took some laps on his own. I guess the only good news was that we didn't hook up with the sixty-something Harley riders who, I am told, stopped only to share a flask while riding the 'dola. Fortunately, just when I thought my rubbery quads would finally desert me for good, Wally called last run.

The test of endurance wasn't over though. After gorging ourselves on moose tacos by Katie, we went for a tour of neighborhood homes. My bedtime came and went as we viewed fine art, drank red wine, and solved the world's problems. In addition to enjoying the good company, I also had the benefit of becoming so drowsy that I was able to fall asleep back at the bunkhouse with the Benson buzz-saw running at full throttle.

In the morning we drank a couple of pots of coffee and ate bagels while the snow piled up outside. By the time we got on the road, the 45 minute trip to the Salt Lake Airport had turned into 90 minutes of terror. So much for a leisurely morning. I barely slowed down to push Benson out the door at Terminal 1. If his flight was cancelled, so be it, I needed to save myself. Of course, this being the Wasatch front, once I got off the benches and south of town, it cleared up and I had unimpeded views of Sandy and Draper as I headed down the freeway. I made it back to Parowan before dinner; tired but thankful for a Benson/Wallace sponsored ski vacation.

http://picasaweb.google.com/aorlemann/SnowbasinUT#

St. George, Utah

This was the last day of the art exhibit celebrating Zion National Park's 100th anniversary. We went down to St. George to see it. It had two parts. On the ground floor was a juried exhibition of new works created by contemporary artists specifically for the centennial celebration. Valerie had submitted works to the jury and had not been selected. So, we were wondering what kind of pictures got in. In addition to the usual stuff from painters whose work I don't tend to like—for example, Bonnie Posselli and Jim Jones—there were a handful of very strong paintings from some unfamiliar artists. My favorite was probably Salt Lake painter Anne Penrod's vivid abstraction entitled The Road Less Travelled. It was like she had done Maynard Dixon one better with her strong blue shadows and bright blocks of color.

Speaking of Maynard Dixon, the second floor was taken up with an historic exhibit of works from a variety of artists starting in 1870. Aside from a very nice little painting by Franz Bischoff (and a watercolor from Wallace Lee), I thought the historic part of the show served only to highlight the remarkable skill of Dixon and his reported friend LeConte Stewart. Dixon and Stewart stood out as two of the best painters in the building and it would have been fun to sit with them, circa 1935, to see them strut their stuff.

http://annepenrod.com/welcome.html

Parowan, Utah

When I was guiding in Idaho a few years ago, I remember watching a golden eagle strike a flying chukkar in mid-air. The eagle followed the crumpled chukkar to the ground and began to eat it. I didn't have time to watch, but I was reminded of that incident today when we came home from church. Right in front of our house, a small hawk--a coopers or sharpshin?--had knocked a mourning dove out of the air. The two birds had just landed in the street when I pulled up. I drove up next to them and looked down. The hawk cocked me a weather eye, but otherwise refused to move. As I turned to park, it carried the dove off the street in two short hops. It was obvious that it couldn't haul it away. So, despite our presence, it settled down next to Ellen's swing and began to pluck the dove. With the feathers out of the way, it ate the breast, head, and neck before settling down to rest. Altogether, it hung around for probably two hours--even with me running the chainsaw. When it was gone there were mostly just bones and feathers.

http://picasaweb.google.com/aorlemann/ParowanUtah#

Pipe Spring, Arizona

We drove down through Hurricane and Colorado City to Pipe Spring. It took about two hours. That's not bad, but I don't think we'll go back. The Spring has a somewhat interesting history and a very nicely restored Mormon pioneer structure to tour, but that is about it. The whole visit takes an hour. I guess I wouldn't pay $10 to go in there again. The old boy working in the gift shop did point out that the road to the cane beds actually connected to the Coral Pink Sand Dunes road. So we tried it. It would have been fine in the Chev, but it was pretty rough and muddy for the Sable. Fortunately only three or four miles of it were unsurfaced. We then paid another $6 to go into the State Park. Again, not worth it. We basically paid for parking when we later found free parking a mile up the road. The dunes are beautiful, but it is an ATV sacrifice area where the motors are forever roaring. We drove out to Highway 89, up through Carmel Junction, past Maynard Dixon's old studio, and over the mountain on Highway 14--another 200 mile loop.

http://picasaweb.google.com/aorlemann/PipeSpringArizona#

Escalante, Utah

We've left Escalante now. Our new place is at 200 East and 300 North in Parowan. But before we left town we were staying at Ms. Sharol's. She has a very hospitable house south of town just under the Escalante Rim. One Sunday in December, I noticed a couple of coyotes chasing the rabbits that Ms. Sharol likes to feed. They hunted one down in the rabbitbrush on the north side of the house until it got away when they weren't looking. They gave up on that one and circled back to the south side. I couldn't see them anymore, but the next thing I knew there were a couple of crows in the pinyon by the north side rabbitbrush. "They got one," I thought. After a while when the crows were gone, I walked down there and searched around until I found it. Nothing but a couple of tufts of fur and some blood in the snow. (And I thought food came from the grocery.)

http://picasaweb.google.com/aorlemann/EscalanteUtah02#