Westward Ho to The Gallery In Williams...Arizona, that is.

I was on the east side of The Rez when my intuition grabbed me by the shirt-front, slammed me against the wall, and whispered, "Get thee hence to the The Gallery in Williams."...Williams, Arizona that is. It's a two-day trek from Albuquerque and I often camp on Buffalo Range Rd.

As many times as I've been here (30 miles east of Flagstaff) this was the first I was in the mood to pilgrimage the 14 miles to the famed Yeager Canyon Trail. Supposedly accessible from this side, the information at the Raymond Ranch sign-in kiosk about a mile before "headquarters" touts it as easy. There's also a varied and interesting (interesting what might be if they hadn't been removed in the name of cattle-ranching) list of animals that can be seen on the reserve; I saw an (one!!) antelope. 

My one (and only) principal is: dawdle. So by the time I arrived at headquarters it was past 6:00 pm. The roads beyond headquarters were rougher than anticipated; top speed maaaaybe, 5mph. If it'd been earlier I'd have continued the last four miles, but there's a notice at the aforementioned kiosk that stipulates: Camping only allowed in the designated spot...300 ft N of headquarters. The "campspot" is a weed-covered area recognizable only by the presence of the picnic table & barbecue grill. There are no "facilities." 

I do all I can to avoid formal campsites and with still four miles to the trailhead at an estimated four-miles-per hour, I couldn't make it before sunset. And I've reached the age where I don't like to drive after dark.

I returned north of the kiosk and spent a peaceful night on the campable lands (photo above).

Nancy Grossman Discovered!! (Better eventually than never)

Ah, the library. It's one of the culture's few assets. 

Generously donated to the Albuquerque system by the Richard A. Freedman Trust, it's a beautiful artifact that was compiled to accompany the exhibit of the same title (curated by Ian Berry 2/18/12 - 5/20/12). It does a splendid job of showcasing Ms. Grossman's varied talents.  

Most astonishing was the fact that many of the pieces were done in the late 60s. The bracing realization that it takes MUCH longer for those of us in the fly-over states to get a clue set me to worrying abt what else I've missed. (Perhaps LSD has made a comeback?)  

Having spent my formative years in the marketing department of UNM Press, I'm appreciative of design. Thus, it was with focused interest that I perused the credits. There were two, designers, that is...Barbara Glauber of Heavy Meta and Florian Brozek. 

The photographers are too numerous to list, but I found it interesting that the three that caught my eye (pp. 144,145, 147) were among the unattributed. (There is a request for information on the copyright page.) 

Well worth a trip into town.
Mil Gras! to the Freedman Trust.

Treasure Valley, Colorado

It's troo, I'll share locations on request, but this one is so high up and so far off the beaten path I figure most of you'll just enjoy the photos. It's on the one side-road that goes west a few miles south of Platoro. I forget the Forest Number, but if you search on Treasure Creek (Conejos County) you'll find it.

The profusion of the state flower was overwhelming!! But you can see pictures of them anywhere.

Photos just don't do it. When I came around the bend and saw the view below I stopped, got out, and spent the rest of the afternoon walking. I kept expecting Heidi to show up at any moment. Treasure Creek flows through on the far left side. 

This magnificent specimen was its sole representative.

Lookout Mountain and Lake De Nolda in the afternoon light. (Friggin rain!!!)

It gets wild in the upper altitudes!!

Jake Quinones & Black IPA

I had arrived late to the Taos Plateau and was too tired to drive more than a couple miles off the highway on the rough little dirt road. It'd been a peaceful night but here it was, hardly ten a.m. and already TWO cars had gone by. Where were all these people GOING!! So when Jake Quinones, guide and photographer from Las Cruces, pulled over and stopped, I was ambivalent. But, since I was already standing, I figured I'd try and act civil; I walked over and said hello.

When he offered a beer I hesitated. I mean, some people take offense if you're not enthusiastic about their Bud Lite, don'chyaknow? And since I only drink stout...it seemed a risky moment.

Black IPA....a stout by any other name.

  
But I get ahead of myself. I was sitting there with my pants unzipped, belly done-lopped over and no shirt...like a huge frog on its pad, enjoying the morning and thinking about breakfast when I heard the THIRD damn vehicle approaching!! I zipped up and delivered my best military salute as it trundled by. Unlike the others, this one was proceeding at a stately pace. 

Soon, I heard it coming back. Ambivalence, when anticipating company, as prev mentioned, is my usual response, but artists and guides are always welcome. As we talked, the conversation turned to libations and he mentioned a brewing company Michelle Cook had recently discovered. She had tried their Imperial Java Stout and I had agreed it "qualified."

The Existential Dilemma - Photo by Jake Quinones

So when he produced a black can with nothing more than the Zia symbol and the company's name I recognized the provenance. It claims to be an IPA, but that's just fad-pandering: it's a stout. And a good one at that, even in Colorado.

His photographs have been included in numerous publications; most recently in The Most Dangerous Stagecoach Ride in the World: Butterfield Route in the Fall 2015 issue of Overland Journal. At the time, with some awareness of my appearance, I was reluctant to be photographed, but this has since become a favorite.

Platoro, Colorado - Good Eats & Propane

The road follows the Conejos river and although the views are beautiful, the fish are experienced. After several days I ran out of food. 

The southside of town consists of a grocery/cafe. It's a family affair and has a welcoming atmosphere. The owner gave me a deal on four frozen ribeye steaks and when I asked about wifi he explained they didn't have enough bandwidth to make it available to the public. 

The rain had kept me from making breakfast and there's nothing I enjoy more than a steak. When Peggy (shown below) asked how I wanted it, I said I liked it lightly seared, but basically raw. She then delivered an aphorism that described the idea: "You want it dehorned, its ass wiped and chased through the fire." It was one of the best I've had; she also makes wonderful desserts.

The Lodge stolidly dominates the north side of town. Their inventory includes some fishing tackle and a few groceries and gifty items. They also sell propane, rent ATVs, have a guest laundry and (apparently) gleaned their interpersonal skills from a paleo text. The desk clerk took smug delight (yuh gotta get yer jollies where yuh can, right?) in answering with a single-syllable negative when I asked if the password to the wifi could be had. End of conversation. 

It rained all afternoon while I did laundry and read the travel issue of High Country News (Apr 14, 2014, Vol. 46 No.6).

It looks better from a distance. Please say hi to Peggy for me.

The Road to Monte Vista - Pt II

The monsoons are in full swing with (maybe) three hours in the morning when you might see the sun. Forest Road 105 leaves off Forest Road 250 a few miles south of Platoro. I spent a couple of days exploring, but could easily stay weeks...if it weren't for the rain. 

The road soon rises above 10,000 feet and (finally) levels off at the junction to Tobacco Lake where I DIDN't check altitude but guess it to be close to 11,000.  

Monsoon at  >10,000 feet

The trail to Bear Lake takes you into the San Juan Wilderness. The aspen are dying en masse...supposedly due to the li'l gals shown below. They was the only wildlife I seen.

Other than the disfigurement, the leaves of the shrubs didn't appear to be suffering from their case of the carbuncles. (Time to start shopping for a camera that focuses).

Pausing to inhale the aroma of vanilla from a Jeffrey(?) Pine, I noticed a splotch of white in the brush; someone had tossed a bottle of gelled alcohol and yerz trooly, Lucky Herrmann, had found it. Back at camp I celebrated the tradition of stockpiling more than enough wood, but even after shredding the underbark (scout manual page 237, para 2) I couldn't get it going. It was then I remembered....FIRE STARTER!! What a concept!! 

I've never been big on fires; their romantic effects not withstanding, on my own, once the tater's done, so'm I. And with this kind of wet, youse either gotta be a duck or from Portland to stand around.



It's less than a mile past Saddle Creek to this view. Time for lunch!

The High Road to Monte Vista - Part I

Out ahead, the road melded into the horizonless expanse of the monsoon. After more than two hours of grey clouds and intermittent showers I had succumbed to the deep depression that affects New Mexicans whenever the sun goes out. I was trundling north solely motivated by smoldering patriotic fervor: I would do what I could to aid in the economic recovery by burning gas. (Does that qualify as a "burning" desire?) I pulled onto the shoulder and got out the map.

After intense perusal, I spied the dirt road along the Conejos River. Executing the necessary u-turn, I caught a whiff of the subtle change that signals "alignment."  

That afternoon, as we passed the final vestige of civilization (an RV Park) on Forest Rd 250, a woman in a small group looked up and gave a friendly wave. Too far to discern more than the gladful energy, her gesture inspired a gentle stiffening in Eggbert's white. I smiled as he straightened his cummerbund and perched himself a bit higher on his shoes. 

The one daunting aspect of the stretch between highway 17 and Platoro is the restricted camping -- only in designated sites, in this case...campgrounds. Being Lucky Herrmann I often find the one & only dispersed site available. (Dispersed is Nat'l Forest speak for an undesignated campsite i.e., wherever I choose. RVers refer to it as Boondocking.) But as sundown drew nigh without even a hint of an alternative, we resignedly pulled into Spectacle Lake Campground.

The campground's hand-pumped water is severely sediment-laden so when Richard, the host, offered use of his purification setup, we gratefully accepted. He recommends the 50 micron filters rather than the 30.


A whole greater than its parts.

The pump came with clips. Richard converted the negative connector to a long-term solution (above).

The filter canister (below) required a couple of adaptive nipples to fit this application. 

Richard recommends the 50-micron filters rather than the 30 shown below.

The water, which was brown when it went in, came out clear. It took less than a minute with the 50-micron filter to process five gallons. Thanks Richard!

It was an uneventful night and nearly everyone left the next morning before nine. I sometimes puzzle over where people are going at that hour. Now that they've freed themselves from their constraints, you'd think they'd spend the morning making love (scroll down to "Erotic Writings" under Literary Career).