Photo Gallery: An Overview of A Southern Utah Backroad Trip
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- by Mark Stephens on Fri Apr 15, 2011 - (3) Comments
There must be some kind of way out of here
- Bob Dylan, All Along the Watchtower
What if you sat next to the Colorado River on a three-quarter-moon night in southern Utah? Is it possible to conjure what you'd feel?
On the right night, there's a soft wind that gives you flashbacks of the way that girl's finger ran down your cheek as you kissed her for the first time, the one who became your wife three years later. You rested your hand on her hip, too, and then her arms erupted in goosebumps. A little mutual give-and-take. That's what a night outside in southern Utah is like when the air is still and clear, when the moon rises over a vertical red canyon wall that's taller than your imagination. Most things to which you try to make it compare slips through the cracks. So you get my perspective - hey, lucky you.
We road-tripped through some backroads in Utah a couple of weeks ago - "we" means me, my wife Brooke, our daughter Chloe, and our teenage-daughter-for-the-school-year from Ukraine, Ania. I've paced around the house for days now wondering about this very post because there are so many stories to tell that we're better off just hanging around a campfire or something to share the tales orally.
But I'm going to try something tonight. Here goes, in a wham-wham-wham fashion, okay? Hang tight . . .
Dwelling, corral, horses, huge sandstone walls. The local life in Monument Valley. This is where we began.
We drove the classic 17-mile loop in Monument Valley, but it was clear that the better way to visit this place is on foot or horseback. Whatever it takes to get in there closer. The only problem with horseback is children as young as Chloe - 3 years - are rarely allowed on a commercial guided pack trip. So we simply had to enjoy this from a distance, and move on.
Just as I was getting bummed that the best we could hope for was driving and staring, driving and staring, we got out and I saw her do this. She was surprised by it all, anyway. Stoked kid.
Camping at Goosenecks State Park isn't what you think it is. It's remote, isolated, clean, empty - right on top of the San Juan River with views you don't get anywhere else. We left the highway and nearly all forms of civilization, other than a pit toilet, for this stop. Brooke cooked up this perfect meal of shrimp and serrano peppers. We had a little fire, went to bed a little late, and in the morning Chloe threw up. She hurled just once, and I held on to her tightly. "You okay?" I asked. "Yeah." She said. She always says that. But she didn't even cry. I thought the trip was over, having hardly launched and the first morning began with a little puke in the tent. I was wrong. No one wanted to go home, because being together is the same thing as being home.
We drove through Valley of The Gods. It's just right there, and it has no fee, no pavement. I can't pinpoint why, but we like this stuff. Valley of the Gods: sounds wicked cool, doesn't it? Well, if you're into these things, these far-off places without services, it is.
Sure, we got out an played here and there.
Then we hunted down a couple of geocaches.
Lunchtime is goodtime. Pesto chicken pitas. My job? Take photos, make jokes, set up the chairs.
By the close of the day we'd made it to Canyonlands Needles District. We visited the fine folks at the Outpost, stocked up on Mountain Dew and really bad firewood (cottonwood - tip: avoid it), then went for a hike.
Early spring means the La Sal Mountains are still sporting the white stuff, but the skies are blue and the temperatures just right.
It's a rare moment when that short one is willing to hold hands. This time she humored Ania for a short stretch. Good road trips do this to one another.
Indian Creek, Lockhart Basin Road. Winner. Huge winner. We camped out here on BLM land, located another geocache, and wandered around the desert just for the fun of it.
Classic Arches National Park action here. Short hikes to cool views.
"Who's stoked, kid?"
"ME!"
What a trooper. How about those pink boots, huh?
From Arches National Park, we drove Willow Flats Road - yes, that's this - and soaked in some sweet views. All alone. It's rough, slow-going, and - yet again - for some reason we enjoy that.
Oh yeah, then there was this campsite with a wicked crazy view.
Hello, appetizer. Brooke goes for the gold with her recipes. She got our taste buds glowing with tequila-sauteed tomatoes and then we grilled chicken and cooked rice. And just sat there talking to each other. Just talking.
There she is, the heroine.
I don't know what to say . . .
Ania and I rode horses into Castle Valley - here's our trail leader. Hero shot?
He looks cut straight from the earth, doesn't he? I forget his name, and I'm ashamed of that. The only thing I regret about this horseback trip was that it was not overnight.
Say hi to Buster and Ania. They became super buds.
You can't tell at all, but the wind here at Hovenweep blew hard. This ruin site is down a rarely maintained road, but you'll find a beautiful collection of Ancient Pueblo ruins on a 2-mile hike.
Of course, she can't come all the way from Ukraine and not stand at Four Corners.
So get this. Get this! I set up the tripod, and Chloe, little 3-year-old Chloe, demanded she help me take pictures. So, she's the one responsible for this photo. She pressed the the shutter release. That's Spider Rock in Canyon de Chelly. Yes, the tall one.
I love Canyon de Chelly. The little hogans and corrals here and there really help show the depth of the canyon.
We camped at Spider Rock Campground, which is a privately owned camp. A pony-tailed Navajo man waved us in. When I saw the place, I demanded that we have a family meeting. "If this costs any more than fifteen bucks, we're getting a hotel. Deal?" Brooke and Ania were cool. "Hey there. We're thinking about camping." "Oh yeah. I have some nice spots for you." "How much for the night?" "Ten dollars." "Ten bucks, huh? Well, that's cool. Let's do it." "Ha ha! Yes, it is cool. Come inside." And he laughed. I love a fun little encounter with these old dudes.
By the end, I knew we could put the wheels down on Highway 191 and keep going south until we arrived some place we recognized that would take us home, but when I am on the road with my family, hell, I feel like I am home. And that's good.
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