Thursday, November 6, 2014

Horseshoe Canyon, Utah...


It was a 32 mile drive on roads smothered with washboard ruts to get to Horseshoe Canyon. Even if there were no Great Gallery panels to gander upon the scenery alone is worth the jouncing and rattling.

I was fortunate to be at the right place at the right time. Mark a volunteer for the NPS was heading into the canyon when I arrived. I scored a guided tour featuring natural features and human history. I took notes. 
The so-called Archiac culture artists who created the Great Gallery were estimated to be about 3,000 years older than this Blog. Who the heck knows why they painted the Holy Ghost and his entourage of groupies? What's the ingredients of that magic paint! Why do modern men have to paint so often? Why can't we duplicate this amazing coating? Why are our paint professionals clueless to the knowledge of those Archaic dudes?

Jeff just wondering...

I shot this photo of Venus the Vandal in a nearby canyon. I hope her work won't last 3,000 years. I wish it wouldn't last three hours. 


Long ago in a Galaxy not so far away...


there existed two Superpowers vying for Earth's domination. This period of history was known as the Cold War. There was a lot of in-your-face threats, plenty of chest thumping and one Nikita Khrushchev slamming his shoes upon a desk at a United Nations session. 
The teams were engaged in the Nuclear Arms Race. That was the silent competition of overkill, measured in how many times they could radiate the entire human race. 
The safety feature in this war of words and weaponry was the concept that no country would go MAD (Mutual Assured Destruction) leaving the World to cockroaches and Hostess Twinkies. The End of the World would have really messed up Happy Hours too. (The thought irks me).

Now to my point: In order to make all those multitudes of nuclear bombs and missiles, the U.S. required uranium and lots of it. That is where Temple City, Utah and other western locales came into play. In these remote locations, the main ingredient was harvested for all those horrendous weapons. It took wide scale mining operations to get the "yellowcake" out of the ground. And that is what I saw in the San Raphael Swell at the former town of Temple City, Utah! Old uranium mining operations and here's the photos to prove it. 

PS. I was exposed to the tailings for a few hours, I don't think I'm glowing yet. 

Remember, better Dead than Red. I love those old Cold War propaganda sayings.


Goblin Valley State Park II...



This photo is too whimsical to miss.
Enjoy!

Goblin Valley State Park, Utah...



It took until the late 1920's for White Folk to discover the earth-tone hoodoos of what would become Goblin State Park.
One of the three cowboys who saw it from a mile away opined, "I reckon it ain't no Bryce Canyon, but it's better than a poke in the eye with a sharp stick." 
He was right. Unless you have a thing for the color of mud, Goblin Valley is a one and done destination. However, the campground features such luxury amenities as flush toilets and hot showers. For a guy like me (there is no running water in my mobile Man-Cave), this is HUGE. It's almost as WOW as a 5-star Hilton without the fluffy white towels and chocolates under the pillows. 

Goblin Valley lies in the midst of a lot of cool places to explore. Use it as a base camp like I did. There's heaps to see and experience in the San Raphael Swell.


Be swell out there,
Jeff

BTW: GV State Park had its 15 minutes of fame in 2013 when a Boy Scout Leader toppled a goblin and placed the "Incredibly Stupid Video" on You Tube. It's always wonderful when a Nemesis of Nature Nitwit provides the evidence for their own prosecution. 

We can only hope these imbeciles cease breeding.




Friday, October 31, 2014

A Pilgrimage to the Fallen...



At Storm King Mountain Fire Memorial.

Halloween seemed a fitting day to visit the Wildland firefighters who made the ultimate sacrifice while combating this lightning caused inferno. October 31st is more than Trick or Treating or dressing up in a costume; it's about remembering the deceased too. 

I made my way along an established trail through a steep, windswept landscape. Sporadic stands of scrubby oaks adorned the hillsides. The whole scene was punctuated by narrow gullies plunging toward the Colorado River below. 

On a minor ridgeline I turned right to the site where twelve heroes met their fate. The vertical distance between life and death was approximately 80 feet. For Hot Shot Scott Blecha it was a mere 20 feet to salvation. With the rate of fire spread estimated to be 35'/second the distance may as well been measured in light years. There was no escape from this kill zone when the fire turned into a pyre for the victims. 

Two Helitack crewmembers succumbed in a nearby rocky ravine well below the ridgeline. 

Please take a moment to read the poem placed on a plaque near the memorial. I couldn't help myself, I wept on that mountain.

Mann Gulch Fire: Montana. 1949. 13 Fatalities.
Storm King Mountain Fire: Colorado. 1994. 14 Fatalities.
Yarnell Hill Fire: Arizona. 2013. 19 Fatalities.

We can only hope history will one day stop repeating itself.

Good night on Halloween.


Thursday, October 30, 2014

Thrown off the bike...


Thursday!

This was how my summer of 2014 began. A major tumble followed up by this major owwie. (Please ignore the bikini briefs, little people require little undergarments). 

This purple mess misshaped the left side of my middle. Shorts that previously required a belt were tight on me. Unmentionable body parts were discolored too. I spent my time in boring Utah towns (isn't that a statement of redundancy?) with ice packs on my wounds. I wasn't a happy camper. 

I tried to recover on a two-week raft trip through the Grand Canyon. In that magnificent gouge I acted (correct description) as an assistant boatman. The chores left me feeling worn out and whooped. Hey! I've been retired for nearly seven years. I'm not used to working a schedule or being productive. 

My summer was starting off as a bust.

Then the Queen of Good Fortune rained down on me. On a hike down Mount Sopris, I missed my turn off from the summit. I was following West Sopris Creek when I spotted a young woman sunbathing au natural. 

From that defining moment on, all was good and right in my world. The summer was salvaged! I owe it all to the naked woman on Sopris. May God bless and protect you and provide you with some warm clothes this winter.

That's my Throwback Thursday tale.

The rest of the story can be found on the Mount Sopris post.

From Carbondale, Colorado
Jeff

Tuesday, October 28, 2014

He got the urge for going...


When the meadow grass was turning brown
Summertime was falling down and winter was closing in

Joni Mitchell

Atop 8,144 foot Green Mountain, I could see the inevitable approaching. The summits of Rocky Mountain National Park had the appearance of numerous squashed down vanilla ice cream waffle cones. They were spray painted with White Death (AKA snow) in the parlance of this Blogger. 
I'm no Frozen Chosen Wandering Jew. It's getting too chilly to wear flip flops on my bicycle rides to Happy Hour saloons. It's time to go.
By tomorrow, I'll be saying goodbye to Boulder until the sowing season of 2015. 
The Utah deserts are calling, but I won't wander around them for forty years like Moses and company. 

Isn't retirement great?

BTW. You can subscribe to this blog with no money down and no obligation. If you aren't 100% satisfied, you can unsubscribe anytime. 
Does the Wandering, Wondering Hindu blog offer the same great deal?

Cheers!