I went to Sedona today, on a whim.  In 1983, Penny and I climbed a mountain called Wilson Mountain.  It is about 1.7 miles northeast of Sedona proper, just across a span called Midgely Bridge.

This being Father’s  Day in Sedona, of course I parked by the side of the road.

The majestic red rocks of Sedona speak for themselves.  I will not interrupt.

Wilson Mountain trail itself wends away from the red rocks and is a sun-drenched, rugged high desert mountain hike.  For this reason, as I had started late, due to a morning some commitment, I stopped at the saddle and leave the crest for another time.  I did this with some nudging from the angel on my shoulder.  She indicated she would not be happy with me if I over-stressed myself.  That would have made two of us.

Still, it was a fine 5.4 mile round trip, and took me through some amazing country.

Above, one can view Oak Creek Canyon from the trail.

This rock formation lies midway up South Wilson Mountain

The flowering agave, below, is the tallest I’ve seen.

Here is what remains for me to explore here, on a slightly cooler day, maybe in early November.

After retracing my steps down Wilson Mountain trail, I looked down a bit at the coolness of Oak Creek and its canyon.

While I waited my turn to view Oak Creek at the overlook,   a family from the Caribbean made a short video.  As a token of gratitude for my waiting, the father of the family took this:

This was a fine Father’s Day, topped off with a Tuscan Tuna Salad and Mango Frappe at this fine establishment:

Canyon Breeze’s back patio gives a lovely view of  the red rocks, while one savours its delicacies.

Hope all my fatherly readers had a great day.

I had the opportunity to see and savor the Gulf of Mexico twice today.  After saturating my senses with SPI’s Birding Station and Wildlife Sanctuary, I headed across the road to  the city’s Andy Bowie Beach Park.  The basics are all here- rolling dunes, vegetative windbreak, a roiling surf and strong undertow- but with a shallow sea level, as far as five miles out.  This gives the surf a sandy, brownish tinge.  It doesn’t feel gritty, though. Truth be known, I was glad to be back in the water.  It has been 21 years since I was last in the ocean- that was in Korea. I’ve been around it, in SoCal, Massachusetts and New Jersey, but to put on a swimsuit, beach shoes and full-body sunblock- not since 1991.

So,  on Thursday afternoon, I went to a swim shop, and got two new swimsuits,  and beach shoes.  Friday morning (5/25), I was one with the surf, for thirty five or forty minutes.  Then, I walked along Bowie Beach for about 1 1/2 miles,  just letting the surf do its thing on my feet- perfect.  The Gulf is a comfortable 75 degrees.

Here are some things I saw at Bowie Beach.

The dunes here are well covered, a good plan to avoid erosion.

Here’s a casualty of  a short attention span.

The tide was slowly coming in.

These condos are a risk for a low-lying, hurricane-prone island, but are better-built than some of their predecessors.

I took this shot of the South Padre Island- Port Isabel Bridge, from Pier 19, at the island’s southern tip.

Here’s Pier 19, where I indulged on more seafood enchiladas.

Across the narrow channel from South Padre’s own southern tip, is Boca Chica.  The peninsula is about four miles, north to south, and ends where the Rio Grande empties into the Gulf.  Part of me wanted to see this, but when I got there, it was thirty minutes until sunset, and security concerns kept me back.

I still got to see Boca Chica’s rather primitive and captivating beach.

Boca Chica’s dunes are more highly sculpted than those of South Padre.

The surf towards sundown was every bit as feisty as earlier.

I was able to get a shot of the Rio Grande, about three miles shy of its confluence with the Gulf.  Across the river is an area once known as Bagdad, Tamaulipas.

A sidelight to the story of this border region is the last battle of the Civil War, fought AFTER Robert E.Lee surrendered at Appomattox.  Tejano cotton traders, led by Santos Benavides, defeated a force of Union regulars at Rancho Palmito.

In between the two beaches, I spent two hours in the delightful town of Port Isabel.  Its treasures comprise Day 8, Part 3.

As I headed south on Thursday afternoon, my intention was to go into Brownsville, get a room, and check out the mouth of the Rio Grande at Boca Chica.  Sometimes, the angel on my shoulder can gently get me to change direction.  When I got to the turn-off to South Padre Island, a whisper told me to turn left and go over the bridge.  I did so, and was rewarded with an affordable motel room at Island Inn, and visits to both the western, or Laguna Madre side of the island, and to the eastern, or Gulf side.

South Padre Island was detached from the rest of the barrier island by the dredging of Port Mansfield Channel in 1964.  It’s relative isolation spurred economic development as a beach resort.  The presence of condominiums along the Gulf side increases the risk of hurricane-induced damage, both to the structures and to the sand dunes that lie in from the shore.

The island is nonetheless captivating, though, and I spent about an hour Thursday afternoon , and two hours on Friday morning,  taking in the SPI Birding Station and Wildlife Sanctuary and its attendant boardwalk, which takes the visitor out onto platforms overlooking serene Laguna Madre, on the bay side of  the island.

Birds, fish, crustaceans and four American alligators, may be seen below the boardwalk, at work and at play.

The facility is a five-story wonder.

Here is a view of the Boardwalk, which juts out into Laguna Madre.  There are 7 viewing platforms and 8 sections of Boardwalk, overlooking both bay and marsh.

Pintails like both marsh and bay.

Alligators have found their way to South Padre.  A family of four is here now, with more eggs preparing to hatch.

Great blue herons, gallinules and egrets top the list of shore birds who enthrall birders by the dozens.

The glistening bay may be appreciated, both at eye level, and from the fifth floor lookout.

With all of South Padre Island’s natural wonders, the greatest and dearest wonder is the strength of its people.  The community has organized a Memorial Park, just north of the Birding Station.  Great local leaders, and lost youths, are commemorated here.

Among the fallen, Alyson Marie Knight, 18 at the time of her passing, stood out to me.

I trust the people of this beautiful island may always have Alyson’s stars to hold.

Next, Day 8, Part 2, Andy Bowie Beach Park and Boca Chica

Corpus Christi has made a concerted effort to preserve the semi-tropical forest in its midst, thanks largely to George Blucher.  He was a son of Felix von Blucher, an early settler of the Corpus Christi area, and with his siblings, managed his father’s ranch and coastal properties, until his own passing in 1929.  His house is still maintained as a Bed and Breakfast and is registered with the Texas Historical Commission.

The park is across the street from the B & B.  I post these photos, without further comment, so that you get a sense of the serenity, even in the midst of a busy neighbourhood.

After this delightful walk, I headed south on US 77, towards the Rio Grande Valley.  Along the way, I passed through the countryside that was home to John G. Kenedy, the benefactor to Corpus Christi’s Catholic diocese.  His ranch is a Texas Historic Site, near Falfurrias.

Here is a glimpse of the area.  It’s known as the Wild Horse Desert.

Next-  Day 7, Part 3:  South Padre Island Intro.

Now I got to experience a bit of Texas’ other wild side.  I had no idea what to expect when I got to Pedernales Falls, except that there would be more bus loads of kids, which, as I said earlier, suits me just fine.

The bucolic nature of Johnson City gave me a sense of peace and dignity that one looses in even the finest of cities.  It’s no wonder such a hyperactive man as Lyndon Baines Johnson could actually clear his head here.

I was greeted by the wildflowers which so inspired Lady Bird.

The broad reach of the Texas Hills dispels the myth of “Big Flat’.

I set off down this path, towards the wonderland created by wind and water.

This is what brought peace to one of the  most tortured minds of the Twentieth Century.

I will let the following photo montage speak for itself.

The limestone does get quite slippery for us humans, but flowering plants know how to get a grip.

Never doubt, though, the power of water to dig its own hole.

By the time I got to the Falls area, the high school kids were on their way back to the buses.  So, I had Mother Nature’s energy pretty much to myself.  It’s days like this that kept me on track with my overall purpose of showing the real beauty of Texas to that portion of the world that shares my life.

Next, Johnson City and Luckenbach.

This sweet morning set me to thinking about replenishing my own beach wear.  That would be done later, in South Padre Island.

Yesterday, I went to America’s second longest canyon- Palo Duro, about nineteen miles south of Amarillo.  You can see photos of this marvelous place at http://www.palodurocanyon.com/.  They are copyrighted, so I can’t show them here.  I had a great time walking along Paseo Del Rio, which goes along the Prairie Dog Town Fork of the Red River.  At a place called The Sha-la-ko (Rain Maker), I felt a very strong vibration, for about a minute or so.  This spot is a vortex, much like several places in Sedona, and a few in Prescott.

I also hiked to the base of Lighthouse Peak, another striking landmark.  The heat kept me from going to the top, which is probably a sign of encroaching wisdom.

After stopping at the Trading Post for a sports drink and some soft-serve ice cream, I picked up a silver wind chime for one of my generous hosts, and headed to the city of Canyon, and the humongous Panhandle Plains Historical Museum.

The security guard told  me that only 2 % of the museum’s collection is on display, at any given time.  I learned a great deal about the Battle of Palo Duro, where Col. McKenzie’s forces fought to a draw against a combined force of Kiowas, Comanches and Southern Cheyennes, led by Quanah Parker.  Chief Parker never surrendered, but made his peace with the whites, and led his people into a settled life of farming.   I will have more about him in my next post.

I caught up with @texastidbits around 6:30 PM, at  one of his frequent haunts.  I got to meet a few of his friends this time.  The girl he calls “Freckles” heard my story, surprised that I was out and about, after having been widowed.  Truth is, though, Penny and I lived much the same life, before her illness.  Around eight, I headed out of Amarillo and got as far as Childress, 106 miles southeast, before running out of steam.  For some reason, the motel people were on edge, and very wary of my being alone and casually dressed. I got a room anyway, and rested for the night, before moving on towards Fort Worth.

Wednesday night began my second visit to Enid, OK.  As before, my purpose was to connect with @plantinthewindow.  It took me a while longer to get from Guymon, where I had dinner at Yesterday’s, a Fifties-style diner, to the new wildcat oil drilling capital of the Southwest.  I found one of the results of the wildcatting: Few rooms at the inn, any inn.

I found the last available room in Enid, at midnight, and gladly took it.

The next morning (Thursday) I met up with John, and went first to Enid’s landfill (below),

then to breakfast and on to the Gloss Mountains, so-named because of the glossy gypsum that used to cover the tops of the buttes.  It has mostly worn away, and now shards of gypsum are ubiquitous on top.  This was a first hike for John’s newly adopted dog, Cabella.

This area is close enough to both Enid and Woodward, yet we had few other fellow hikers on Thursday morning. I know- most people work.  That just gives me more incentive to stop and smell the flowers.

The “gloss” may be discerned, as well:

Above right is a small cave.  There are many caves in an area just to the west of here.  

Another interesting enterprise in Enid is Johnson’s Jewelers. The business began in the 1940’s, and is now operated by its second set of owners. The establishment is focused not on fine jewelry, per se, but on what the earth has provided us directly.

Fossils, arrow points and geodes abound. A favorite is the barite rose, Oklahoma’s state rock, so called because of its reddish hue and flower-like ridges. We each picked up some items to give to deserving friends and family.  Here are some scenes from the store.

Before closing, I must tip my hat to downtown Enid.

Mother Nature doesn’t think too much of state lines and such.  On Wednesday, I left Lamar, Co and headed south, through range and silo country.  One farmer outside Springfield has this arrangement of his silos.

Along the route to Black Mesa, Oklahoma, the Comanche National Grassland of southeast Colorado offers several bucolic scenes.

Some of these evoke days gone by, but there are some active cow herds grazing under lease.  I’d have photographed them, but the bulls were a bit too close to the road.

Once in the Oklahoma portion of Comanche National Grassland, I saw hints of the terrain to come, and spotted Black Mesa (above, right).

I spent about ten minutes driving around the nearly empty town of Kenton, before getting directions to Black Mesa from the Postmistress.  The Diner tells no tales; it’s closed.

Here are some shots of the eight-mile round trip up and down Black Mesa, Oklahoma’s highest peak.

Each mile is marked.  The first three markers are benches.

The view is terrific, once atop the switchbacks.

At the summit, there is an obelisk with info on how far it is to distant point, in each direction.  It was clear, so I could see New Mexico (a whopping 1,299 feet away) and Texas (18 miles due south)!

Every plain has its heights and every mountain its low points.

This past Monday was the last full Denver area day, for this trip.  I went to visit my Uncle George, whom some of you may remember from last May, at his apartment in Longmont.  The year has slowed his gait, but not his mind.  He took me over to Niwot (Arapaho for “Left hand”), which lies halfway between Longmont and Boulder.  There, we enjoyed seeing a pair of carvings- created from dead trees along the side of the main drag.    Mr. Eddie Running Wolf, Arapaho artist, is the man behind this extraordinary display.

Mr. Running Wolf has not decided yet what he will carve on the remaining stump, or what he might place in the spots on either side of “The Eagle Catcher” or “spear lodge Man”.  Whatever his inspiration brings about, it is sure to convey the dignity and strength of the Arapaho Nation.  BTW, Niwot is named for the Arapaho chief Niwot (“Left Hand”).  After this, Uncle George and I went to lunch at Garden Gate Cafe, in a mall just north of the display.  It’s one of three eateries in Niwot that draw a good-sized crowd. I enjoyed both the Cuban sandwich with a side of slaw, and a gratuitous roast beef with fries, that the server thought I wanted, for some reason.  If you ever get up that way, though, Garden Gate is a satisfying breakfast/lunch spot.

After bidding my uncle adieu, I went over to Boulder, and enjoyed a walk with@BoulderChristina, along Marshall Mesa, plus a quick jaunt down to El Dorado State Park, which is now on the Colorado segment of my bucket list- for the next visit.  I will show photos of both, once I get them from my “Little Sis”.

HIGHLIGHT: The Niwot Sculptures

I met my friend, @BoulderChristina, on Saturday morning, looking for a cafe that appears to have relocated.  We enjoyed breakfast at North Boulder Cafe instead, and it was perfect.  Then it was time to get her dog, Salem, and ourselves up on one of this magical city’s many trails.  Mesa Trail, in Chautauqua Park, was selected.  It was training time for Salem, and conditioning time for each of us.  

The day was overcast, but it didn’t stop anyone, including us, from getting up into the foothills of the Front Range.  Christina says it gets brown here in mid-summer, and I have seen it so, in nearby Aurora in July.  Now, though, the Rockies are glorious green.

I got along well with the big baby Shepherd, but I’m used to large dogs- having owned two Rottweilers and having been on the best of terms with my in-laws’ late Rhodesian Ridgeback- Great Dane mix.

The morning was awesome and I can see myself someday walking much, if not all, of the 500-mile Colorado Trail- along with a few others.  That will wait a few years, though.  I still have a few things to which I must tend.