Over at Holiday they were looking for more content to keep their blog fresh, so of course I volunteered. Here's what I came up for as a first post, Book Cliffs and Badlands: An Introduction to the Cisco Desert
Sunday, November 6, 2011
Book Cliffs and Badlands
Over at Holiday they were looking for more content to keep their blog fresh, so of course I volunteered. Here's what I came up for as a first post, Book Cliffs and Badlands: An Introduction to the Cisco Desert
Desolation Canyon 2010
(originally posted Jan 4, 2011)
I have been unable to write the story of my favorite river trip of the summer for quite some time because someone who was on the trip with me, Chris P, took a month and a half to send me his pictures. It was only once they were finally developed, scanned, emailed, and downloaded into my possession that I could at long last use them as the basis to write this story.
You will be very quick to notice this story does not begin at a put in or end at a take out. It encompasses my learning about the existence of Deso, my planning for it, running the canyon, taking out and returning to "civilization", with of course the last quarter of the story entirely devoted to the quest to replace my tire that was destroyed late at night while driving the shuttle. In addition to numerous trip photographs, discussions of meals, campsites, side hikes, and various tidbits of entertaining dialogue, you will find numerous explanations of much historic, geologic, social and economic phenomena that anyone doing this trip is going to encounter- whether they recognize it or not. My ability to write a story of this length is largely due to the fact that for two and half months I have unemployed, between seasonal jobs, and living in my car in Durango, Coloardo. Thus I had plenty of free time to devote myself to writing, and I was quick to catch on to the fact that the interiors of Durango Joes' coffee shops are a lot warmer that the interior of my car. Especially at night.
I had many questions about this trip that I wanted to solve for myself through research, which writing this gave me the opportunity to conduct. Furthermore, in producing this I have been able to effectively procrastinate from my Ghost Town book for three solid months now.
It is my hope that the approach I have taken will answer a lot of questions you might have about running "Deso" before you plan a trip of your own. I also hope that this article could become a resource for anyone who, in an amateur or professional capacity, finds herself drawn to this part of the world and developing an interest in being able to explain a bit more about what is going on here. It is in everyone's interest that Utah river guides, when asked how the rocks got here, be able to avoid one sentence dismissive "explanations", like, "The rocks are interfingered Wasatch and Green River Formation that was deposited in an ancient lake 50 million years ago." Such phrases are all too commonly encountered by those paying someone to take them down a river and what they don't explain is always infinitely greater than what they do.
I've also tried to keep this article accessible to those who are unfamiliar with the routines of river runners, the geography of Eastern Utah, or the culture of seasonal workers in the desert. I've taken steps to avoid jargon where I can, and I've tried to explain it where it is necessary.
If you find any of this story helpful, if you find some of it inaccurate, or if you are just another seasonally homeless person killing time by hanging on in coffee shops surfing the internet, I'd appreciate any comments being left at the bottom. My generation is no longer paid to write. But peer review and mutual encouragement might keep us going yet.
-LF Dec 17, 2010
I have been unable to write the story of my favorite river trip of the summer for quite some time because someone who was on the trip with me, Chris P, took a month and a half to send me his pictures. It was only once they were finally developed, scanned, emailed, and downloaded into my possession that I could at long last use them as the basis to write this story.
You will be very quick to notice this story does not begin at a put in or end at a take out. It encompasses my learning about the existence of Deso, my planning for it, running the canyon, taking out and returning to "civilization", with of course the last quarter of the story entirely devoted to the quest to replace my tire that was destroyed late at night while driving the shuttle. In addition to numerous trip photographs, discussions of meals, campsites, side hikes, and various tidbits of entertaining dialogue, you will find numerous explanations of much historic, geologic, social and economic phenomena that anyone doing this trip is going to encounter- whether they recognize it or not. My ability to write a story of this length is largely due to the fact that for two and half months I have unemployed, between seasonal jobs, and living in my car in Durango, Coloardo. Thus I had plenty of free time to devote myself to writing, and I was quick to catch on to the fact that the interiors of Durango Joes' coffee shops are a lot warmer that the interior of my car. Especially at night.
I had many questions about this trip that I wanted to solve for myself through research, which writing this gave me the opportunity to conduct. Furthermore, in producing this I have been able to effectively procrastinate from my Ghost Town book for three solid months now.
It is my hope that the approach I have taken will answer a lot of questions you might have about running "Deso" before you plan a trip of your own. I also hope that this article could become a resource for anyone who, in an amateur or professional capacity, finds herself drawn to this part of the world and developing an interest in being able to explain a bit more about what is going on here. It is in everyone's interest that Utah river guides, when asked how the rocks got here, be able to avoid one sentence dismissive "explanations", like, "The rocks are interfingered Wasatch and Green River Formation that was deposited in an ancient lake 50 million years ago." Such phrases are all too commonly encountered by those paying someone to take them down a river and what they don't explain is always infinitely greater than what they do.
I've also tried to keep this article accessible to those who are unfamiliar with the routines of river runners, the geography of Eastern Utah, or the culture of seasonal workers in the desert. I've taken steps to avoid jargon where I can, and I've tried to explain it where it is necessary.
If you find any of this story helpful, if you find some of it inaccurate, or if you are just another seasonally homeless person killing time by hanging on in coffee shops surfing the internet, I'd appreciate any comments being left at the bottom. My generation is no longer paid to write. But peer review and mutual encouragement might keep us going yet.
-LF Dec 17, 2010
See You in Valhalla!
Or, How I Became a Viking and Helped to Win a Cardboard Boat Race!
(Origionally published 8/16/10)
A lot of characters I have met this summer through the "Lazy Lizard" hostel in Moab. Insane ones, drug addicted ones, rock climbing ones, river guiding ones, tourists, French tourists, boy tourists, girl tourists, father and son tourists, seasonal volunteer park rangers, seasonal restaurant workers, promiscuous oil geologists, people moving cross country, mountain bikers, people with hyponatremia, all kinds indeed you might say.
Chris P, or "Philly Chris", arrived in Moab about a month before I did. He is a graduate of the Park Ranger Academy and is endevouring to become a park ranger. He knows about tazers and the desert and weapon take-backs. Something I like about Chris is that we both used to work in fancy restaurants on the East Coast, both started to hate it, and both decided to move out West. He used to be a head chief in Philadelphia, I was a head waiter in Washington, DC.
Chris P also impressed me with one of the better car-living in set-ups I have seen: A Chevy Colorado with a topper, where false plywood bottoms have been built over the bed to provide storage space below the sleeping / "living" space above. Slide-in plastic containers under the false floor held food and miscellaneous equipment, and two trap doors at the front of the bed allowed access to upper storage that way. Chris also had the remarkable habit of taking his bed out of the truck each night and putting it on the roof to sleep there, enjoying the breeze.
Sometime around mid-July a lot demographically changed in the hostel. A few seasonal workers, including Chris, had moved out to houses or apartments around Moab. A few more climbers / explorers / hippies who were hanging out for a while left to explore new environs. An unfortunate personal conflict or two prompted a few more to move out.
I came over to visit Chris at his new place South of town. He presented me with this pamphlet from the Library about a Cardboard Boat-Race it was sponsoring....
(Origionally published 8/16/10)
A lot of characters I have met this summer through the "Lazy Lizard" hostel in Moab. Insane ones, drug addicted ones, rock climbing ones, river guiding ones, tourists, French tourists, boy tourists, girl tourists, father and son tourists, seasonal volunteer park rangers, seasonal restaurant workers, promiscuous oil geologists, people moving cross country, mountain bikers, people with hyponatremia, all kinds indeed you might say.
Chris P, or "Philly Chris", arrived in Moab about a month before I did. He is a graduate of the Park Ranger Academy and is endevouring to become a park ranger. He knows about tazers and the desert and weapon take-backs. Something I like about Chris is that we both used to work in fancy restaurants on the East Coast, both started to hate it, and both decided to move out West. He used to be a head chief in Philadelphia, I was a head waiter in Washington, DC.
Chris P also impressed me with one of the better car-living in set-ups I have seen: A Chevy Colorado with a topper, where false plywood bottoms have been built over the bed to provide storage space below the sleeping / "living" space above. Slide-in plastic containers under the false floor held food and miscellaneous equipment, and two trap doors at the front of the bed allowed access to upper storage that way. Chris also had the remarkable habit of taking his bed out of the truck each night and putting it on the roof to sleep there, enjoying the breeze.
Sometime around mid-July a lot demographically changed in the hostel. A few seasonal workers, including Chris, had moved out to houses or apartments around Moab. A few more climbers / explorers / hippies who were hanging out for a while left to explore new environs. An unfortunate personal conflict or two prompted a few more to move out.
I came over to visit Chris at his new place South of town. He presented me with this pamphlet from the Library about a Cardboard Boat-Race it was sponsoring....
Life on Mars
In October 2007 I went fishing in the South Platte River in the Front Range mountains West of Denver, Colorado. I caught several tasty trout, but in the process of parking along the river I drove over a sharp rock that tore holes in my oil pan.
The next day I was in the waiting room of the Pep Boys on Alameda where I was subjected to poor customer service and usherous fees to get the old Subaru working again. One good thing, however, did happy as a result of being forced to spend all day there waiting for an estimate. I met Ken, a twitchy, intellectual, and interesting person who was also getting something worked on that day.
"So you're just kind of road tripping, driving around America, huh?"
"Yup, pretty much. I'm happy with it, it's awesome."
"You should go to this place called Arches. It's in Western Colorado or Eastern Utah, not far from I-70. But the rocks are all red and it looks like Mars. There's a national park there, and the town is called Moab. You totally got to see it."
Four years later, the region of South East Utah and South West Colorado has become a second home to me. Moving to Colorado in 2008 I made the mistake of trying to live in Denver for quite a while, yet I'd always find myself coming back to the Moab area every chance I had. And it wasn't just Moab that intrigued me. It was Gateway, the Henry Mountains, the Sal Lals, Cisco, Thompson Springs, and the Book Cliff Plateau. The High Rockies were great, and grand, of course. But The Western Slope seemed a lot more strange, unfamiliar, and interesting. Everytime I passed Avon- the last of the big high rockies ski towns before descending into deserts and plateaus- I started to perk up. Things started to sound quite a bit more Western. There was Historic Downtown Rifle. Parachute. Grand Mesa. Grand Junction. Signs like the one in Cisco that said "No services, next 48 miles", or Green River, "No services, next 107 miles". And of course, there was the Colorado.
Of the millions who have driven down highway 128 from Cisco to Moab, most have made the journey during some high point of the tourist season. And they have had the experiance terribly spoiled! I was, indeed, quite lucky to be traveling there in late October, a week or less from Halloween. There were no cars, no traffic, and the campsites were all completely empty. The Colorado cut through its canyon. Why, it's not just the Grand in Arizona! There are *many* canyons to the Colorado! And this one seems a pretty fine one to start with. If only I had a boat...
Camping at the Goose Island that night, I had the whole area to myself. It was, of course, mighty cold after the sun went down. This continued into the morning too, when it seemed to take forever for the live giving orb to work its way over the canyon rim. But in that morning I nonetheless had the upriver views of Wingate and Chinle cliffs- names unknown to me at the time- all to myself to enjoy. A river otter was playing in the Colorado. As it investigated, he spotted me, dove under, and swam out into the current. 15 or 20 seconds later, and further down stream, he popped his head up, looking right at me, knowing just the right direction to be looking. It was a good time to be on the Colorado.
I didn't get far into Moab that trip. Just the Maverick for Gas and fake PBR and a little time to admire the mural on the wall of Poison Spider Bicycles. But I wasn't worried. Because I knew I'd be back in time enough to give the area- the whole area- time enough of my undivided attention.
Four years later, I have lived summmers (rent free!) in Moab and Green River. I've gotten mail in Mack, Colorado- the last exit before entering the Utah Desert. I've shredded tires over I-70, crashed a car on 550, hitch hiked, burnt, crawled and climbed far, far across the region. Tamarisk jungles, Mesa Verde Cliffs, Indian Creek and Wall Street, Mt Ellen and Mt Mellenthin, the Hostel, the shuttles, and of course, there were the rivers...
In the second year of guiding I took and passed on the first try the Utah Whitewater Captains' test. Second season was over 700 river miles. Third season was over 90 river days for over 1000. It still doesn't feel like enough. But I have been getting much closer to that goal of boating everything. The famous canyons are now familiar. Westwater still keeps me on my toes but I'm no longer terrified of it. And some of my favorite trips are some of the least known and least often run. The San Miguel from Norwood to the Confluence. The Dolores from Gateway to Moab (and yes, Stateline Rapid is *still* runnable in a duckie, if you can figure it out!). And in 2011, the calmer stretches made much more exciting by the high water! One of that years' best trips was along the Colorado from Grizzily Creek in Glenwood Canyon to Parachute. Passing rifle on the first day- over 30 miles in 6 hours! Flipping twice, of course.
In the course of all those travels and development a blog I started in 2007 became way to convoluted. No longer a travel blog, its identiy was lost. Part river trip reports, part ghost town exploring, part political enlightenment, part geological ponderings. It was too broad. So this fall I've been splitting it up. Utah's Ghost Towns has got its own blog, and utah- specific stories of life, adventure and rivers now finally have a home of their own, here.
I'll start by reposting the stories that should have been posted here long ago. And then going from there. Stick around, and check back now and then for updates.
The next day I was in the waiting room of the Pep Boys on Alameda where I was subjected to poor customer service and usherous fees to get the old Subaru working again. One good thing, however, did happy as a result of being forced to spend all day there waiting for an estimate. I met Ken, a twitchy, intellectual, and interesting person who was also getting something worked on that day.
"So you're just kind of road tripping, driving around America, huh?"
"Yup, pretty much. I'm happy with it, it's awesome."
"You should go to this place called Arches. It's in Western Colorado or Eastern Utah, not far from I-70. But the rocks are all red and it looks like Mars. There's a national park there, and the town is called Moab. You totally got to see it."
Four years later, the region of South East Utah and South West Colorado has become a second home to me. Moving to Colorado in 2008 I made the mistake of trying to live in Denver for quite a while, yet I'd always find myself coming back to the Moab area every chance I had. And it wasn't just Moab that intrigued me. It was Gateway, the Henry Mountains, the Sal Lals, Cisco, Thompson Springs, and the Book Cliff Plateau. The High Rockies were great, and grand, of course. But The Western Slope seemed a lot more strange, unfamiliar, and interesting. Everytime I passed Avon- the last of the big high rockies ski towns before descending into deserts and plateaus- I started to perk up. Things started to sound quite a bit more Western. There was Historic Downtown Rifle. Parachute. Grand Mesa. Grand Junction. Signs like the one in Cisco that said "No services, next 48 miles", or Green River, "No services, next 107 miles". And of course, there was the Colorado.
Of the millions who have driven down highway 128 from Cisco to Moab, most have made the journey during some high point of the tourist season. And they have had the experiance terribly spoiled! I was, indeed, quite lucky to be traveling there in late October, a week or less from Halloween. There were no cars, no traffic, and the campsites were all completely empty. The Colorado cut through its canyon. Why, it's not just the Grand in Arizona! There are *many* canyons to the Colorado! And this one seems a pretty fine one to start with. If only I had a boat...
Camping at the Goose Island that night, I had the whole area to myself. It was, of course, mighty cold after the sun went down. This continued into the morning too, when it seemed to take forever for the live giving orb to work its way over the canyon rim. But in that morning I nonetheless had the upriver views of Wingate and Chinle cliffs- names unknown to me at the time- all to myself to enjoy. A river otter was playing in the Colorado. As it investigated, he spotted me, dove under, and swam out into the current. 15 or 20 seconds later, and further down stream, he popped his head up, looking right at me, knowing just the right direction to be looking. It was a good time to be on the Colorado.
I didn't get far into Moab that trip. Just the Maverick for Gas and fake PBR and a little time to admire the mural on the wall of Poison Spider Bicycles. But I wasn't worried. Because I knew I'd be back in time enough to give the area- the whole area- time enough of my undivided attention.
Four years later, I have lived summmers (rent free!) in Moab and Green River. I've gotten mail in Mack, Colorado- the last exit before entering the Utah Desert. I've shredded tires over I-70, crashed a car on 550, hitch hiked, burnt, crawled and climbed far, far across the region. Tamarisk jungles, Mesa Verde Cliffs, Indian Creek and Wall Street, Mt Ellen and Mt Mellenthin, the Hostel, the shuttles, and of course, there were the rivers...
In the second year of guiding I took and passed on the first try the Utah Whitewater Captains' test. Second season was over 700 river miles. Third season was over 90 river days for over 1000. It still doesn't feel like enough. But I have been getting much closer to that goal of boating everything. The famous canyons are now familiar. Westwater still keeps me on my toes but I'm no longer terrified of it. And some of my favorite trips are some of the least known and least often run. The San Miguel from Norwood to the Confluence. The Dolores from Gateway to Moab (and yes, Stateline Rapid is *still* runnable in a duckie, if you can figure it out!). And in 2011, the calmer stretches made much more exciting by the high water! One of that years' best trips was along the Colorado from Grizzily Creek in Glenwood Canyon to Parachute. Passing rifle on the first day- over 30 miles in 6 hours! Flipping twice, of course.
In the course of all those travels and development a blog I started in 2007 became way to convoluted. No longer a travel blog, its identiy was lost. Part river trip reports, part ghost town exploring, part political enlightenment, part geological ponderings. It was too broad. So this fall I've been splitting it up. Utah's Ghost Towns has got its own blog, and utah- specific stories of life, adventure and rivers now finally have a home of their own, here.
I'll start by reposting the stories that should have been posted here long ago. And then going from there. Stick around, and check back now and then for updates.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)