Green River, Utah

Groceries, laundry, shower. The State Park near the middle of town has unlimited HOT water for $7.00 for non-resident seniors (wanted tuh see what Berkshire Swash looks like).

Little Valley

The Choices

Accessible

Full Moon

A bit of a slog to Green River.

Tired and in need of entertainment, I decided to weed my library by foisting a couple off on the next passersby.

Mind you, we're out on Yea Olde Spanish Trail, a narrow, dirt track, in places kinda marginal, that runs N-S through Cottonwood Wash. It's a few miles west of highway 6, about 30 miles northwest of Green River; 4wd is recommended.

Many of the washes are steep with a runnel at the bottom; after carefully dropping the front wheels into the trough, it takes a good oomph! to push-pull 'em up and on. The jolt often causes things to leap from the hammock-esque net where I keep a couple of small cookpots, the stove, paper plates, and a few food items.

First up for offerance was a copy of Charlie Mackery's The Boy, the mole, the fox and the Horse

I'd picked it up from a thrift store over a year ago for almost nothing with the idea of gifting someone. It's been languishing long enough.

A trio of Overlanding Bikers were the lucky recipients. Their leader indicated he couldn't communicate with his helmet on and seemed uneager to take it off. I'd put the book in a FedEx envelope so it wasn't immediately apparent what it was. 

As I started to turn away, I saw he'd taken off his glove and was putting the package in the second's backpack; with a wave, they were off. Mission accomplished.

The other was Robert Sexton's All the Way Home.

It went to a youngish (late-thirties?) couple in a black 4-Runner.

In both instances I was wearing only my Walmart-issue, plaid boxers, black socks and boots. It's fun, to me, to be out in the middle of nowhere and see how people react. (I did have a few moments of concern when two ATVs snuck up on me while I was still nude. I made a good-faith attempt to scramble into the boxers which elicited smiles and waves from the women.)

Protocol dictates the moving vehicle stop and ask, "Everything Okay?" A thumbs up is all that's usually given or needed so when someone flags you down, most people stop.

Another contributor to the smog

With my appearance implying overdue quintuplets, not to mention the (who knows what goes on in other peoples' minds?) possible conundrum of a solo male past due, I have to work at keeping a straight face.

Swiftly handing it to the woman (don't they ever drive?!), I extolled Sexton's pointillist drawings while telling how the second half was better than the first. They smiled. He said, "You're too kind," and asked if everything was okay; I gave the thumbs up, and they went on.  Though it wouldn't compete with Lucky and Pozzo in Waiting For Godot,  it was a few moments diversion.

About the size of a

late-model Lincoln SUV

The Bikers were lined up at the store in Green River. They had their helmets off so I didn't recognize them. But their leader let me know, silently, that they were the ones and the same as had passed earlier. We shook hands, smiled, but he made no attempt at vocalization. 

When I came out, they were gone.

I found a spectacular camp overlooking a surreal landscape as only Utah can deliver. And the moon came up like a huge pat of buttuh.

Oh! Lest I forget, Dunham's still had a good supply of melons, pears, apples and "unsprayed" tomatoes. She said they usually go to the end of October.

Noticing

10:30 a.m. and the shade invited. I sat. As I scanned the rock, the sunlight glinted. Whuppin' out muh binocs, I espied a remnant of a previous person's passing. (alliteration!) Now where's that pawnable Rolex they left behind?

D-ring

Phoebe: dead center

Green River Cutoff

12:36 pm - Utah Time

When I woke up this morning I was congested like I'd been a heavy smoker. I was panting, trying to breathe, just lying there. I made breakfast, and left.

Video taken at around 10:00 a.m.

2:10 pm - On way to Little Grand Canyon viewpoint at The Wedge Recreation Area. Note butte on horizon...was in last night's photo of moon.

On the way to Little Grand Canyon Overlook

Little Grand Canyon Overlook 

5:50 pm - Back at CR-401 aka Green River Cutoff. Now to see if there's anywhere to camp in Buckhorn Draw.

So over-grazed there's hardly anything but russian thistle. It seems cruel to put an animal out here...and certainly not justifiable as: Good Stewards of the Land.

6:00 pm - "Exploring" Buckhorn Wash. Camping allowed ONLY in designated sites. The video below is of sites 1-7. 

Green River Cutoff - 1st Leg

Sheriff said it was recently graded and magged (magnesium chlorided to keep down dust) and could be done in two hours. I guage it to be about 80 miles.

5:18 pm - Leaving highway 10 north of Castle Dale.

5:30 pm - Made it about two miles when this cable-supported bridge caught my attention. Notice the debris buildup from highwater on the left side at the base of the concrete.

5:47 pm - Gotta stop to look at rocks. These bentonite hills sometimes harbor dinosaur bones.

Yup, shur' nuff. This hyarz the tip uv uh toe frum uh Red-toed Bentosaurus. Iffn yuh look at hit thru a hand-lens (loupe) yuh kin see the fossilized cells.

6:26 pm - Here's a grouping. They appear somewhat like gypsum, but are much harder. Gypsum is 2 on the Mohs hardness scale; it can be scratched with a fingernail. None of these do that. (Parings from the Bentosauruses.)

6:33 pm - Time to think about making camp. Here we go!

6:35 pm - turning onto sideroad to camp?

6:40 pm - camped 

Moon Over Butte

(after Ansel)

Must've come a good six or seven miles between 5:18 and 6:40. That's an hour and twenty minutes or sumwherz aroun' three miles an hour; a stately pace.

🐢🐢🐢🐢

Salad by sunset. Notice the t't't'tTender light at top of fork.

Silver plate; NOT stainless steel! We used to eat off Bavarian china, but I felt bad about it getting broken so stopped.

Castle Dale

There was a box outside the entrance to the Post Office with real peaches and real tomatoes. 

Flavor I could only have imagined!

Delicious! Completely different from what's in the stores.

And now for The Green River Cutoff. From Castle Dale across The Swell to connect with highway 191 a few miles south of Woodhouse, it enables me to avoid about 75 miles of Interstate 70. The Sheriff said it can be done in a couple of hours. It's 5:18 pm Mountain  Time at the west end...we'll see.

The Taste of Hunter Power Plant

It's innerestin' how you can guage the level of solitude. The splendidly smooth expressway that leaves out of Ferron and up to Millsite State Park and beyond was crawling with tourists.

The weirdness came when I got out to assess Ferron Creek: growling engines and the creek turned from somewhat clear to brown.

Stepping out to see wha'sup, I spied a Defender (with snorkel) and a lifted jeep draining water in the parking lot. Two things made it weird: there's no road across the creek and other than the two males, presumably the drivers, the rest of the group was about a dozen young women in long dresses...the kind they usetuh wear in the 1800s. Comely lasses, I couldn't refrain from advisin' 'em about how the fish downstream mustuh felt...not to mention the fisherman in the next slot over. Jus' goze tuh show, religious piety doesn't obviate thoughtlessness.

Figgurin' tuh git away from 'em awl, I moved up north a few miles tuh Rock Canyon. Maybe it's the  several wash crossings that need extra clearance but the only other was a side-by-side on its way out with Dad at the helm, Mom hanging off shotgun and a half dozen li'l maggot-like critters poking out from all corners and top. These people sure are white!

Heading into the sun, it was impossible not to notice the smog. And it wasn't long before I could taste it. 

Now, two hours later, no other vehicles have been by. It's sad tuh see the depredation. But hey, it's desert; ain nobody but Mormons an' some Native Uhmerikunz out here.

Rock Canyon: The Rant Continued

The Culprit

Hunter Power Plant

I'd hoped to explore further back but by 1:00 pm the smog was so bad I had to leave. The air tasted as if I was knawing iron pipe and my throat & head hurt. Unfortunately, the entire valley, Joe's it's known as, is polluted. In general, Mormons are more kind, honest and quieter than other cults, but this is disappointing.

Rustlers Beware

I recently read an account of rustling in Nevada and the deterrent element provided by brand inspectors. This is my first time of having seen evidence of one.

Small white sign pinned to the truck. Notice how trammeled the ground is.

Quitchupah Creek

High-tailing it out of Scipio and eager to explore along State Highway 10, I picked Quitchupah Creek, as I usually do, off my old Garmin maps running on Mapsource, a legacy program abandoned by Garmin decades ago.

It wasn't until days later I discovered it's "lined" with rock art from the Fremont Culture (see link above).

It's a few miles south of Emery. 

Salina Creek

Once into Utah, it gets harder to continue the eastward trundle. There're just too many interesting sideroads. 

Eschewing freeways, I thought to take Convulsion Road through the mountains to Ferron, thereby cutting off a segment of I-70. After an hour of comparing maps I decided it wasn't possible. But Salina Creek Road was right there and begging to be explored.

Beaver Dam

Problem was, it's at 7,000' elevation. I seem to be able to manage 6,000', at least somewhat, but 7 was too much. My head was throbbing and my legs were made of lead. Still, I waddled over to the crik and was shokt & uhmaized tuh see fish!

The BIG Picture

A Different Fish

The Retention Dam

Scipio Pt II

Sam said it was a six-hour job so leaving him to it, I set off to explore.

Mormon architecture is different than the pueblo style of Albuquerque.

This is the apple lady's; her husband built it in the 1920s.

"They're Jonathans," she said.

It's been so long since I'd seen a maple these seemed worthy of a photo.

This holds more than is readily apparent. Behind the fence on the right is a big garden with the large area of flowers in the video. Further down is yea olde gas station with its rusted pumps. Across the highway, where the parked car sits, is the Scipio Co-op, a combination museum, antiques mini-mall with 30 vendors and a small selection of contemporary tchotchkas.

The Merc is the most impressive building

Hup We Go....easy, easy

The fuel pump came in and she's going on the lift. Sam said it's about a four-hour job...I think as much to prepare me for the bill as anything.

I feel fortunate to have fallen into these folks's hands. It's been interesting being in a place where everyone knows everything about everyone. 

As luck would have it, Keaton's an artist and was kind enough to let me see some of his work. I also got to be a sounding board for some of the difficulties of his dovorce....which was final yesterday.

3:30 pm - The "new" fuel pump was bad. Fortunately, they had another on the shelf. This time they tested it before.

6 pm - Heading out. And with fresh eggs from Keaton's chickens.

Jonathans

I'm gonna blame the elevation of 5360' for the lethargy. I managed to circumambulate the adjoining block where there's an apple tree.

Jonathans With Commercial Honeycrisp

The lovely owner, who looked every bit of a day over 90, was kind enough to, when I asked, encourage me to take a pocketfull. Maybe tomorrow, when the light is right, I can get some pictures.

Out for my evening amble, Cole & Gordon knew a likely prospect when they saw one. 

The way they opined the lack of salted caramel made me wonder if they'd bought 'em all themselves. It being too far back to the car for me to walk, I sent 'em off tuh fetch my wallet.

I've forgotten where I found the wallet, but the lanyard was made by a retired banking executive who had a leathergoods shop in Quincy, California. It's a teensy li'l place, hardly more than a walk-in closet, but if you're up that way it's worth checking out. Cole (the younger) noticed the John Deere emblem.

With four flavors I had to, of course, get one of each.

Cole knew the Albuquerque song, a tune I'd somehow -- in all my 48 years there -- missed.

Gordon had seven knives on him. Three on his belt and four more in his pockets. 

Here's R.W. Hampton doin' the song. 

So then, it's dark and I'm unrolling my sleeping bag when a voice calls, "Hello!" and a young Hispanic woman tells how their car is overheated and asks if I can help. I explain I'm just a tenant and know very little about cars. They're from Delta. Eventually we get the hood up and she assures me he topped off the radiator this morning. All the belts are there and no other obvious signs of trouble. I suggest the motel, apologize for not being more helpful and turn away.

I need drinking water and the spigot is on the other side of the building. As I'm filling the jug, the young man goes by with a couple of gallons of antifreeze. Back at the car I see he's got the radiator cap off. I hold my headlamp so he can see to pour. After the two gallons we switch to my jug. It takes another gallon and a half; the temperature guage is now in the middle. They're still worried that it'll go up when they drive it. I suggest driving two blocks to test it. They do and when they come back the guage is still in the middle. I tell them they'll make it home and after a few minutes they leave.

I did what I could. Isn't that what we all do?

Scipio

Keaton came and got me with a nice-sized F650 flatbed. They used to have four guys but whether it was Covid, rising gas prices or what, it's now just him and his dad.

He unloaded Phoebe onto the slab next to the building and said his Dad'd be by later or bright and early in the morning.

As evening came on, I strolled across to the 76 Station where I met Frazier. Frazier ran out of gas money and since the 76 was hiring, he's now a cashier.

The Baaaahth

A former manager of a wastewater processing plant in Pennsylvania, he comes out to attend Burning Man. He's been modifying a 30-foot motorhome and his explanation of  wastewater treatment just naturally segued to his Nature's Head composting toilet.

My "Veranda" & the Scipio Hotel

Since the "processing" by the bacteria only occurs on the surface, the material has to be rotated. Thus, you'll notice in the picture (in the link above) the crank on the side.

From there we went to a small, rechargeable pump (from Kitchenboss) that screws onto a 5-gallon jug and can remember how much water you got. He'd changed out the shower for a better one and heats his water with a Wadeco water heater. After about forty-five minutes I was exhausted and tottered home.

Between the traffic noise and the kleig lights in the hotel's parking lot, it's alot like Albuquerque.