As I write this I’m sitting in my camp chair on a 60 degree morning at 8500 feet above sea level. GANNET2 is parked in an aspen grove less than half a mile from the paved state highway 67 that leads to the North Rim of the Grand Canyon.
National Forest Road 22 swings in an arc around our campsite between the trees and from time to time we hear the distinctive rattle of machinery on gravel as the quads, Jeeps, travel trailers and RVs pass by, unobtrusively to someplace else. It’s the only human sound we can hear.
We are hardly intrepid explorers or by pioneers. I have just finished my first cup of tea. Rusty had his breakfast and a bowl of stale milk which I have discovered he loves and which to save waste I offer to him as it becomes available.
The wind at this altitude makes the aspen leaves shiver and they reflect sunshine like glass, sparkles of light shake up the shadows as the sound of the rushing wind intensifies overhead. Layne is asleep. The internet is asleep too, as we have finally outpaced connectivity.
This place is full of birds. Their song fills the glade and in the distance the woodpeckers are hard at work hammering. Summers are short at this altitude and snow stops play at the North Rim around mid October I believe. I would look it up but I have no internet.
The highway winds it’s way through pine forests, passing campgrounds, hotels, lodges and gas stations (nearly $7 for a gallon of regular for improvident virgins seeking oil) but no permanent settlements. The road signs warn that snowmobiles aren’t permitted on the paved highway and none of these roads are plowed in winter.
There’s a long stretch leveled by a forest fire long enough ago to have allowed small aspen to start replacing the lost pine trees. The windy desolation doesn’t encourage stopping.
My plan was to find dispersed camping a short way before the National Park boundary and Forest Service Road 22 bisects State Highway 67 at just the right spot, half an hour before the park entrance.
If you can’t find a free camp spot on the Kaibab Plateau you might want to find a less stressful way to travel. This area is cross crossed by dirt roads and all you have to do is choose one and stop where you see tire tracks and most likely a (disused) fire ring. Park and you are home.
This isn’t the Mongolian Steppe and if you are seeking total isolation and apartness from humanity you will have to drive a long way into the absolute wilderness. This is camping territory, tents, vans, off-roaders, hikers all are welcome in one form or another. However we are alone in the silence as much as we need to be. There are no other campers within sight or sound of GANNET2’s anchorage:
Nighttime temperatures fall below 60 degrees and daytime highs may reach 75 so you might call this perfect. There are insects showing some sign of life happily but mosquitoes no-see-‘ums and flies are nowhere to be felt.
The solar panels are generating electricity despite our wooded parking spot and there is enough sunshine during the midday to keep us warm. It is idyllic.
Rusty sleeps in the grass and wanders from spot to spot finding the sun as he goes. You can spot his head from time to time sniffing the air as something intrigued him.
“Do you suppose we should have bear spray?” I asked the quartermaster at one point.
“Probably,” she said. We went back to our books. Perhaps an expertly wielded fire extinguisher will fill the need if panic arises.
Yes, I expect there are many fearsome things waiting to murder or maim us lurking among the tree trunks. Until they manifest themselves I plan to keep on enjoying some solitude until it’s time to pick up our reservation at the North Rim campground and stop among people and trash cans and water faucets, briefly, once again.
Happy Fourth of July by the way. It’s places like these, not the corridors of power that spell true independence. I’m glad I’ve figured that out at last.
