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”.
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.
In seeking to understand the civilizations which predated Europeans in the American Southwest, there are certain places which offer more insight than others- Chaco Culture National Park, Casa Crande Ruins, and Mesa Verde. This was my third visit to the latter national park, and probably my longest.
I arrived in Cortez at 2 A.M., Friday, and caught six hours of sleep. After a typically fine breakfast at Jack & Janelle’s, I was ready to roll.
The prognosis was for rain, but the day in southwest Colorado was picture perfect. After running a short gauntlet of road workers, I arrived in Mesa Verde at 11:30.
The terrain is filled with mountains (La Plata Range) and canyons- and has a fair amount of poison oak.
The original road into the ruins, built in 1916, resembled a country road in the Andes. It was, suitably called the Knife Edge Road.
In 1957, Knife Edge Road was replaced by a more accommodating tunnel.
The La Platas are, nonetheless, a challenging environment, several months of the year, and were all the more so for the Ancient Puebloans.
As with any civilization, that of the Ancient Puebloans started small, with pit houses, on the mesa tops.
Gradually, with more groups coming to the area, development became more robust and conflict ensued. These factors led to more sophisticated structures, and to some taking to cliff dwellings that were less accessible to interlopers.
The kiva on the above right is a prototype of those later adopted by the Hopi, Zuni and Rio Grande Puebloans, for their ceremonial use. Below are more cliff faces which attracted the short and nimble Ancient Puebloans, formerly called Anasazi (“Ancient Enemies”).
As in many organized societies, there was a system of worship, the most significant representation of which was at Sun Temple.
The lion’s share of the anthropology and archaeology which uncovered the story of these intrepid folk was led by:
Several groups of school children were learning about Gustav, and the Ancient Puebloans, at Chapin Mesa Museum, on the southeast segment of Mesa Verde. Active research goes on, especially in Wetherill Mesa, a seasonally-accessible section of the park, which won’t open until Memorial Day weekend. So, another visit to Mesa Verde will certainly be in order.
Next up, the road to Denver, and my pair of reality checks.
I finally got up to Yavapai County’s highest peak, Mt. Union, yesterday afternoon. The road to Potato Patch community was not as skeevy as it was the last time, and the parking area at the edge of the village was snow-free, so I parked and walked through Potato Patch to the trailhead.
The trail was generically uphill, through ponderosa pine, but my focus was on the shade, and the fragrance, as opposed to dwelling on the sameness.
Mining does not appear to be active here, but the claimant is taking no chances, with the “gold rush”(dribs and drabs) downhill in Stanton, AZ.
I spent some time along the east slope of nearby Mt. Davis. Summiting it did not seem very easy. There must be a route to the top, though,as others have written about reaching it.
There are always more mountains, no matter how many one explores. Here are nearby Moscow Peak (foreground) and Big Bug Mesa(background).
The summit of Mt. Union offers radio towers, and views of the southern Bradshaws.
Then, one can view Granite Mountain, off to the northwest,
I have had this urge to further explore the area of Agua Fria National Monument known as Badger Springs, for some time. Looking at the weather prognosis of rising temperatures in the Sonora Desert, it seemed yesterday was the best day for this. I headed out before fixing lunch, which I don’t often do- and found myself at the empty parking lot of Badger Springs Trailhead, some twenty minutes later.
I stopped and sat on a rock in the gas company’s line field, and finished off a “lunch’ of trail mix, then headed on down the trail into the Monument itself. The first part of my journey followed a BLM road, up and down desert hills, for about two miles. I was planning to hike around for two hours or so, then head back to town.
The landscape is full of white granite and limestone, leached by the intense summer sun, for thousands of years.
It is also the season for cacti to flower, so the hedgehogs were very accommodating; so, too, were the desert bushes, like the catsclaw.
As I was headed up and over yet another hill, I heard a rustling on the trail behind me. I was no longer alone, with the approach of E., who, it turns out, is a frequent visitor to these parts. She had a light, almost ephemeral, manner, and offered to show me Badger Springs’ most amazing area: The Agua Fria itself, flowing in earnest. So, we backtracked and went down to a spot where the river which has given its name to the monument.
Coming to the conclusion that the intervening marsh land would not make for a pleasant walking experience, we headed further west, to the actual Riparian Trail. Along the way, we were greeted, briefly, by a bull snake, which hightailed it back into his hole, after checking out the “threat’ with his tongue.
Other than a red-tailed hawk, the snake was our only vertebrate companion for most of the afternoon. We came upon these scenes, once reaching the river. There are petroglyphs, just before the river itself.
Then, the Agua Fria reveals what made Bruce Babbitt work to get this area designated as a national monument, in the first place:
After we took off socks and boots, rolled up our pant legs and enjoyed the cool water for a while, we sat on a limestone boulder which has brought E. great comfort in the past. She has spent many hours with this rock, and contemplated its story: All the people who have sat, laid or just stepped on it; the ants who crawl over it, in search of tidbits; the weather and water it has endured. For the next ninety minutes, we sat and discussed just about everything under the Sun- our life experiences, her metaphysical beliefs, my faith, Christ, Baha’ullah, Quantum Physics, ectomorphs and endomorphs (She is the latter, and I am somewhere in the mesomorph range), her career as a hairdresser and mine as an educator, my life with Penny, and our respective child-rearing experiences. I realized that my conversations with people, of late, have been getting much longer and more intense, but also much more mutually satisfying. So it was yesterday afternoon- just two souls, appreciating the joyous day and our surroundings. Her purpose, E. said, was to seek after truth, and so we did.
The surroundings got even better still. After another ten minutes of boulder hopping, E. led me to the Agua Fria’s piece de resistance.
This led to another forty minutes of discourse, by which time, we found the after-school and after-work visitors arriving, jumping in the cool water, as we had earlier, and, up on the mesa above, engaging in rifle practice, though thankfully not aiming at any of us below. Two hours had turned into four and a half, and it was time to head back to the cars. The delightful afternoon began and ended with a hand shake. There were no exchanges of e-mail addresses, phone numbers or future meet-ups. The afternoon was far too meaningful- and the surroundings much too blessed.
Thursday, I spent the afternoon going along the Watershed Trail, on the northwestern flank of Spruce Mountain, in the Bradshaw Range. It was 6 miles, round trip, and gave me a fair workout. This is the second of the three hikes I have planned in the north section of the Bradshaws. I think the last one, Homestead Trail, will wait until I have my project for my online course put to paper. That will be a victory lap, of sorts. Mt. Union/Mt. Davis are also in the same range, and will be Sunday’s focus, weather permitting.
Here are some shots, which are also in my Prescott Area Hikes album. The first one has a sign, that is a bit faded.
The foundation of the old cabin makes a great water trough.
On the northeast ridge, one may view Mingus Mountain, and beyond it, the San Francisco Peaks.
There’s no snow on top of this old smoky, but the transmission lines run from Phoenix to Flagstaff, by way of this wilderness.
As I indicated in my Easter post, several things are on my agenda for this month, including a few hikes. I got out and showed the video “Education Under Fire” last night, to a few friends in Chino Valley, about ten miles north of Prescott.
Today, I did my course assignment, then headed out to one of the trails I have picked out in the Bradshaw Mountains. This is the Ranch Trail. It takes the hiker up and over three small mountains, or large hills. It’s just far enough out of town that one may see the Costco to the north and Mt. Union to the south.
Much of the time is spent in stream beds.
It’s spring, and small life forms show the promise ahead.
Thursday was “Back to Sedona Day”, via Jerome and Page Springs. I started with a crab cake croissant and grilled spinach, at Mile High Grill, in Jerome. I featured this fine place in my post on the Ghost City, last Fall.
That set me to finishing what I started last week, so the road led to Page Springs, at the juncture of the Verde Valley and Oak Creek Basin. Page Springs is well-known for three things: Wineries, John McCain’s “cabin” and two fish hatcheries. I”m not into the first two,but I do appreciate fish hatcheries, and these two, Bubbling Ponds and Page Springs, help stock sport fishing lakes throughout central and northern Arizona. If you do like wine, the Page Springs fare is said to be quite satisfying.
Here a few shots of Bubbling Ponds Hatchery:
A few miles further east, one comes to Page Springs Hatchery, run by the Arizona Department of Fish and Wildlife.
Here, stock tanks were running in earnest.
There is also a short nature trail, where Penny and I saw a wealth of birds, early one morning in September, 1983.
I headed up to Sedona, having had my fill of ducks and stock tanks for one day. Today’s goal was Chicken Point and Red Rock Chapel.
Here are some more bits of Red Rock Eye Candy:
As you might tell by the cars in a parking lot, I was getting close to Red Rock Chapel in the last frame.
Here is a view of the chapel, which is a non-denominational facility.
After this, I found the short cut back to my car was a route set aside by the Home Owners Association of Bell Rock Vista, through their neighbourhood. Although the trails were crowded, I felt solitude, since none of the visitors to Sedona is much for talking. If you visit, you’ll see why.
