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.
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