Last week we spent in Santa Fe and hiked Picacho Peak (which means peak peak) three times, did a 15 mile day hike in Bandelier and went to Pecos to see the ruins and the Civil War Trail, Albuquerque to see the museum of natural history, and ate a lot of Mexican food. Good thing we did all that hiking. On the way back we toured Acoma, the sky city. By the by, Winslow has the BEST chili rellanos in the world at El Pueblo.

Since we spent all week studying the Ancestral Pueblo, this weekend we decided to load all the stuff in the car and hike to Keet Seel. Haven't been there since Robert was a wee young thing. Probably at least 15 years. 8.5 miles in, wading in a yucky creek full of cow. The ruins were nice as always, and a nice little ranger took us on a private tour for an hour and a half. We were the only people in the campground. It was sooo quiet. No water running (you have to carry in all your drinking water), no wind, just some little animal that kept rustling the leaves, probably seeing if he had left anything for it to eat.

Apparently there was a cow stuck in the mud on the "low" route. We took the high route, and on the way out four trucks, a horse, and an ATV were on their way in to get the cow. Everyone asked about it, and we had to say, nope, didn't see it. I wanted to say: just the tips of some horns and a little note reading, "Help me, help me", but I didn't.

Met a gal who was hiking in the day we were hiking out, so I told her to bring me a Cherry Pepsi, and she did! It was HOT climbing that last sand hill, too.

Rode my bike to Shoshone point, but there was a Ranger meeting in progress, so I turned around. Then rode to Yaki Point. One of the men off the suttle bus suggested that it was a "hard ride". I agreed. Why not?

They are tearing up the landscape by the Visitor Center, probably for the new parking lot. Part of the Greenway is closed, so I had to ride on the road. The lot for the Kaibab shuttle is closed. It was only open a few months, and it was nice to be able to park there and jump onto the green line. No more, alas. Now one has to catch the bus at Yavapai and then switch over to the green line, which usually takes up to an hour.

The parking lot at SK has been closed for years now. It used to be open in the winter, but then the rangers noticed that when it was closed,their SAR calls dropped more than in half. I guess when people wander down the BA, there are amenities like water and phones and rangers, but when they wander down the SK there is nothing but trouble.

Friday we hiked down the SK to Cedar and chatted with the PSAR rangers. Also erased Noah, Ivan, and Marika off the rocks.

Today we hiked to Two Mile Corner. On the SK you work around the trail crew, on the BA you you work around the mules. The trail crew smells better. Saw a normal squirrel eating what it is supposed to eat: namely mule dung. Must be better for them than Cheetos.

Mule strings are supposed to travel 10 minutes apart. We met three strings between two mile and mile and a half, so I guess no one told them. Dusty, dusty trail. The wrangler told everyone it is because it hasn't rained. Also because the mule shoes grind the rock into dust, but they wouldn't say that.

Suggested to a hiker that his pack would ride a lot better if he would tie his sleeping bag on instead of letting it swing free and bounce against his legs. Ignored me.

Erased Avi and a couple of others off the rocks. Busy, busy, busy.

Climbed Humphreys Peak (12657) for a change . A wind up there is not uncommon, but it was blowing so strongly I couldn't stand while approaching the summit. Made it up in three hours (4.8 miles) and down in 2 1/2.

Lots of people climbing. Many in cotton tees and shorts, no wind gear, no water, etc. One gentleman informed me that my hair "was a mess".

I said, "Oh, damn. And I bet I've chewed off all my lipstick!"

It was kind of nice going DOWN when tired. The trail is a good grade for down: I could really move.

The wind actually picked up as we were walking down, so I doubt most of the people heading up climbed to the summit. I wouldn't have...

A funny thing about Humphrey's Peak. When people come to the Grand Canyon, they often want to hike to the river and back in a day. On the BA, this is 4300 feet in 7.5 miles. Ask them if they want to climb Humphrey's, outside of Flagstaff, and they say, oh, that's too high! But the elevation change is only about 3700 feet, which is less than hiking out from the River! But they can't see the distance from the bottom of the Canyon to the Rim.

Just got back from a nine-day river trip with CRATE. I don't like motorized trips. They seem to me a bit like doing a rim-to-rim in a day. You see everything, but it becomes a blur. But this was a natural history trip with Dr. Bob, from whom I have taken several geology classes, and Dr. Ron, a biologist extraordinaire. So number-one son and I signed on.

I learned a lot, which was the point. Took pages and pages of notes and pestered the experts about stuff. We hiked up North Canyon, Buck Farm, Deer Creek, Kanab, and Havasu. Rode most of the way with a boatload of Canadians (go keeners!). Another thing about motorized trips is they often attract the blase type of passenger who has done it all and been everywhere, and this is just another notch in the belt. The Canadians were there for the action and the expertise.

It rained the first night. Then it rained every day. I had my rain gear, and my wet suit (yes, I am paranoid), but a lot of people didn't bring rain gear, or not good rain gear, because it was supposed to be hot in May. Indeed, but this is the Grand Canyon, and sometimes it has its own agenda.

I have done three private trips, and the first one we flipped a boat in 24 1/2, the second one we flipped a boat in Bedrock and I got to ride down the left side sans boat. The third time I was white knuckled all the way with the thought of another flip, even though we didn't. So on the motorized trip I thought: at least we won't flip!

So we get to Havasu, and the boats tie up in the fast water, as they do. We go for a hike, and when we get back there is another boat upstream from us, trapped on our boat. They are pushing and shoving and motoring, and suddenly, POP! Then POP! POP! Three of our valves tear out and the upstream pontoon deflates.

The boat lists, water is pouring into the motor well. The boatmen snatch up all the bags rapidly vanishing into the water and tie them on the uphill side, then put us all on the good boat. As we try to free ourselves, with the upstream boat floundering under its flat side, we start to be pulled under the boat just downstream from us, a Hatch boat.

"High side, High side!" Wait a ding-dang minute! Why am I high siding on a boat the size of a greyhound bus? Then one of the ropes holding the Hatch boat in place goes "SNAP!".

"Everybody down!" We all huddle together, trying to figure out where we will jump if the boat gets sucked under. If we go straight in, we will all be sliced off by the Hatch boat. If I jump to the rear, I go into the rapid. If I jump forward I go into the rocks. If I jump onto the other boat, it is half sunk. Then a bystanding boatman jumps into the Hatch boat, revs up the motor. The remaining rope is cut, and we swing free. It takes hours to fix the valves (we have two spares, but not three, and they have to fiddle with the third valve to make it work. And then it LEAKS!)

So we continue downstream, the bad valve bubbling away madly. We pull over just before Lava to fill the pontoon (good thinking, guys) but not for every rapid, which makes me very nervous. I'm nervous anyway, but the boat is sinking! It leaks!

At one point the motor quit, and the boat is sinking, so we started to sing, "And my heart will go on..." But I still don't look like Kate Winslet.

Anyhow, we made it, and the food was good, and the boat didn't sink. But if that River is out to Get Me, I might as well stay in the little boats.

Poem: written by Robert, Slim, and Lynn

There are strange things done 'neath the noon day sun
by those who toil through stone.
They face the waves that gape like caves
as they perch on the bow, alone.

Dr. Bob talks of sexy rocks* and tales of ancient terrain
Ron has the style of a nutrient pile* and we echo in refrain
But a cad on a raft, he rammed our craft and it listed, to our dismay
But our fearless crew knew what to do and leapt in to save the day

With a sense of brava we splashed through Lava on our newly inflated pontoon
We camped on the sand with our merry band, after enjoying the full moon*.
There are strange things done 'neath the noon day sun by those who toil through stone
But none so strange as by those deranged within the Precambrian zone.

*in joke alert