Shivering Aspens

Some people call them quivering aspens

Sunday morning, Dalton Springs: 

That brown smudge in the grass is a ten year old Carolina Dog called Rusty. Six years ago he was dumped in the Everglades and left to survive which he did, outliving his pack, avoiding being shot or poisoned by farmers fed up with stray dogs hiding in their fields. A rescue group watched him and fed him and eventually  the sole survivor surrendered to his rescuers. Three weeks later my elderly Labrador laid down and died. Two weeks after that  I took the scared thin rejected dog home wondering what I’d done. 

He came out of the grass promptly because he’s not stupid and when he sees us going through our packing routines he knows we’re hitting the road again. He’s not delighted to move as he likes his routines but GANNET2 is his home and he is as devoted to us as we are to him so this is our life, van life and we are all in it together. 

We turned left out of our campsite and took to the paved road winding up the Abajo Mountains in the Manti-LaSal National Forest. This area is west of the town of Monticello south of Moab and for us it offers tons of campsites in the wild and above 8,000 feet seeking cooler temperatures. We went down a few muddy rabbit holes looking for a shady camp spot. In National Forests you can take an open road or track, find an open space already used and usually with a fire ring and if you like it you can park for up to 14 days for free just like that. It’s brilliant and unique to the US, mostly west of the Mississippi. 

We had a bit of trouble on one track which ended in a deep ditch. Turning around was extremely tight but we kept it slow, we watched the wheels on the edge of the ditches, and we turned our tight front wheel drive van around in no space. Teamwork! We found the spot I had in mind eventually, not very far but an hour’s driving poking in and out of the forest. Rusty was delighted. 

The lovely white bark of the aspens is irresistible to assholes with blades. “Puto” is a Spanish insult which seems unnecessary in this lovely spot, but far too many trees were scarred even if the messages are not quite so low.  

Last year we wild camped outside the north rim of the Grand Canyon in an Aspen grove and I really enjoyed the trees in the North Kaibab National Forest so this was what I was looking for, a shady camp site in the shade of those leaves. 

Rusty started whining at the side door when we had finished backing into a more or less level spot. This was right for him, grass to roll in, trails carved by cows through the trees. He was off and away. 

We weren’t that far from the paved road, and twenty minutes down hill lies the small town of Monticello, groceries gas and farm supplies for sale, so even though we have no cell signal we aren’t in the back of beyond. 

I walked out to the road called North  Creek Lane and looked down into the dry creek bed. Someone’s dog was on patrol. Hmm. We weren’t alone…oh wait it was Rusty exploring like the wild dog he used to be. 

And that’s about it. We parked and set up our Moonshade awning, put out the chairs and made a cup of tea. I like the Moonshade awning because it rolls up like a tent and I can put it away inside the van. The traditional awnings are heavy and are bolted to the roof like a big metal tube and I don’t find them worth the money, around $4000 against the Moonshade’s $300. 

This place is like a garden and while I wandered with the camera Rusty was off by himself in the shrubbery. Layne had got an itch to reorganize her pantry. 

Our Mexican Starlink has come into its own in this remote fastness. We lost our cellphone signal down the hill and even though we are ringed with trees the satellite signal hasn’t been bad. I enjoy the ability to be on line when I want to be in touch. People are critical of these modern links but these are the same people who wouldn’t dream of living off line at home. This is our home, we aren’t on vacation to get away from it all. 

We like this place enough we are planning to stay a third night. Rusty will be happy and he’s an important member of the team.

Moab, Briefly

We blitzed through Moab which is the hub of several well known and beautiful national parks. A dog in a national park is a pain, 102 degrees is a pain and a wide longing to revisit southwest Colorado makes it pretty much impossible not to step on the gas. But I did get a burger.

It was so squishy I had to use cutlery and Layne expressed a desire to humiliate me do she took the picture. Utah has moved smoothly into the 21st century and allows the sale of alcohol with food, even a symbolic snack but the best news for me is that draft beer has to be no more than 5% alcohol by volume. 

What this meant for me is that I could order an English amber ale that didn’t blow my nostrils off with bitter hoppy nastiness. I quite like Utah it turns out. Check out this very sensible sign on a highway with an 80 mph speed limit: 

In other words sensible passing is encouraged on these wide open roads. They have full passing lanes too for the less able, but capable drivers barely have to notice the 65 mph heffalump chugging along on the right. Where there is a dashed line you can have at it. A few educated souls did. 

We left our free campground south of Scipio earlier than usual in an effort to finally make some miles. We were a bit anxious about the next stage of our journey as we would be hitting proper desert and high temperatures and we were wondering where we might fiend the night. There was even the possibility we might have to pay to sleep. Horrors!  

It’s a fact well known to van dwellers that altitude decreases ambient temperatures and the trick to being a successful summer nomad is to pursue the cool air found up mountains. 4,000 feet around here is way too low on a hundred degree day. We prefer 6,000 minimum and 7,000 is comfortable sleeping altitude. 8,000 feet above sea level is bliss. 

Meanwhile we had low altitude, five thousand foot valleys to deal with. Salina (“Sal-eye-na”) Utah: 

Layne hit bakery with her usual restraint while the two little piggies went for a walk. I could see myself staggering out of Mom’s with my arms laden with pies and pastries; the trouble was so could Layne. 

Rusty took off running with me in hot pursuit. He was ready to stretch his legs and he cared not one jot about my camera. 

Utah reeks of prosperity. I don’t know what’s really going on but these little towns are filled with pretty little homes, tidy yards and give off a fog of sober industry. Perhaps I’m just over thinking it but Latter Day Saints seem like they’re on to something, too bad I’m an iconoclast and not a joiner. 

I thought the Temples were closed to outsiders and the big kahuna in Salt Lake City was the last time I was there but here they were inviting visitors. Okay then. 

I grew rather fond of the Mormons when they spoke up about immigrants citing their own difficult migrant history. They seemed wedded to their history and decency in a way that has become quite rare. 

I would have volunteered for a haircut at a barber with a sense of humor had they only been open. 

Layne was slightly grumpy when we got back and I was presented with the oddest scones she had purchased. “This is fry bread” she said indignantly. And it was and it had a strawberry sauce and boy, was it delicious. I’d have bought two for me which is why I walked Rusty and didn’t go breakfast shopping. Definitely not a scone! 

I remember I-70 through Colorado from years ago weaving through canyons of red rock and the Utah portion did a fair job of imitating that. It was a gorgeous drive. 

Serious stuff ahead whenever they drop the speed limit from 80. 

And then south half an hour from the freeway to Moab, land of the RVs and off roaders and sportspeople. 

With 5,000 year round residents Moab is a small village and doesn’t really have the pretensions to wealth that we found in Sedona. However, like Sedona there is no there there. It’s a long main drag with Razr rentals and bike shops and tour guides and outfitters all ready to raft you and national park you and rock hop you. 

The land equivalent of 21st century jet skis. We’re used to seeing them on weekends in Mexico where the wealthy run down the poor. 

I’m glad we drove through and checked it out. We really need to come back, perhaps with Gary from Tennessee who enticed us with a river walk/raft trip that got Layne doing some research. There are national parks to visit. 

This was our choice for lunch, kokopelli notwithstanding! 

Our plan was to press on south towards the sight we came to see known as Muley Point. To get there we wanted to spend the night above eight thousand feet. 

An hour’s drive south of Moab. 

Tina place called Monticello oddly enough and not in Virginia. 

Turn right until you hit 8,000 feet above sea level and the temperature drops from 102 degrees to 86. 

While it is convenient for a night it’s not my favorite thing to be in an organized campground even a simple national forest site. Layne was tired and as it was only ten bucks for seniors we were settled quickly and she instantly took a nap. 

And no I had never previously heard of Mant-La Sal National Forest. So much stuff to discover, so I had a quick hunt around the web.  The Manti Forest Reserve was founded in 1903 consisting of half a million acres. They added La Sal in 1949 and renamed the whole 1.2 million acre mess in 1950. It boggles my mind to think this vast area of Utah and Colorado has been enjoyed since before I was born and it has never entered my consciousness! I have a lot more driving to do. 

There are several organized campgrounds with very nice sites but we are doing one night then we are off for some more wild camping.