Tuesday, December 9, 2014

It seems as though every time I do something really macho, like hike to the River and back, or down the SK and across the Tonto to BA, no one asks me how far I've been.  But let us hike to Skeleton Point and back, and invariably everyone will ask, "So, are you coming from the bottom?"

Of course, there is nothing wrong with a little six mile and 2,000 foot jaunt.  And I could lie.  But I am not a facile liar.  I have to think things out in advance so I don't become confused.  It is easier, as someone once said, to tell the truth because then you don't have to remember what you said the first time.

Brad is good at dissembling.  He doesn't lie, per se, but he is a good prevaricator.  A bunch of Texans asked if we were climbing out from the bottom, and Brad said, "It's a great hike."  So it is, we just weren't doing it that particular day.  Or if they ask, "Been to the bottom?" I can answer truthfully, "Why, yes."   So I have, just not that day.

It reflects on me more than anything else that I don't want to admit that I am doing something less ambitious than an in-and-out.  Especially to people I don't know and will never see again, unless I catch them writing their names on the rocks, but then I don't care what they think
.  After all, when I see people I know, I  don't mind admitting that we only hiked halfway down.  Of course they know what Skeleton Point means, and these others usually don't.

Once though, I got my lie just right.  We were trudging out and a group of Boy Scouts nudged us off the trail (uphill has the right of way!).  They were chatting about all they were going to do on the North Rim, and they were less than halfway down the South Kaibab.

The leader asked, "Coming from the North Rim?"

Without evening thinking about it, I said, "Yep".

"What time did you start?"

"Five AM."  Which happened to be true.

He stared.  "Wow.  That's a good time."

"Yep."  I kept going and thought, "that will give them something to talk about on their way across."

Monday, November 10, 2014

rigging at Lee's Ferry
Back from our river trip.  Going at all was up in the air because Brad needed a substitute who could teach math.  Turns out there are NO substitute math teachers available in the entire state.  Maybe because people who are good at math and science get real jobs.  Finally Renta's brother came to the rescue.  He makes more in 10 hours of computer programming than he got for three weeks subbing, but he enjoyed working with the kids and taking hundreds of pictures of the Canyon.  I didn't realize my math certification was such a valuable commodity.

Twenty one day trip, and these were the campsites:

Soap creek, Oct 14.  We did not realize fully that the wet sand where we unloaded meant the river would rise that high overnight.  Flooded the kitchen, but nothing floated away. A commercial group passing yelled, "Do you know where you are?"  Might have been trying to warn us, might have been ticked because they wanted that site.  No help in either case.

21.5 Mile: Oct 15
Hike up Buck Farm

Nankoweap: Oct 16.  Hiked up to the site.  I kind of agree with Bob Leighty that these don't look like granaries.  The doors are wrong.  Granaries have a specific type of doorway and lintel, also hooks of willow to fasten the door into place.  As to what they really are, couldn't say.

Lava Canyon: Oct 17.  HIke up Chuar and down Lava, which I have wanted to do for a long time.  Fantastic geology along the Butte Thrust Fault.  Randy slipped on a rock by the River and his leg swelled up twice its size.  Dr. Jane and EMT Karen splinted him up and we BEAMed him over to a copter landing site.  He was evaced in the morning.  Turns out it was not a break, but a compartment injury.  In any case, he wasn't walking out on his own.  The rescuers were most impressed that the victim was packed and ready to load.
BEAMing victim to the landing zone

Randy gets a fast trip out


We hit the LCR that day, and it was in flood.  So much for our clear, green water.  Had to settle all water overnight before purifying after that.

Nevill's Rapid: Oct 18.  I have always wanted to camp on this lovely beach.  Have walked through it many times on the Escalante route.

Cremation: Oct 19: Shared camp with another group, as is usual when groups are doing passenger swaps.  Dan took eight hikers to Phantom at 5 AM, headlamps blazing.  It took them a while to figure out if they looked at Dan, he couldn't see to row, then they all aimed downstream.  Quite a sight.  Actually, some of them never did figure out that while wearing a headlamp, it is easy to "frog" the person who is being talked to.

Switched out riders at Phantom the next morning.  Brought Karen a lemonade, since she was stuck on the beach organizing everyone.  Loaded the passengers, hit Horn Creek, and Karen flipped.  Jim hit a rock at the bottom of the rapid so hard he was thrown out of the boat.  I yelled "swimmer!" (proper terminology.  Brad's group yelled, "they're out" which he thought meant they were out of the rapid).

I slid back to grab the oars, but one was in the water and the other trapped underneath a poorly tied drybag.  Since the oars are on a leash, one was easy.  The other I was able to free enough to row forward and pick up Susan, who was swimming.  Then she and I, with much blue language, managed to move the errant drybag and tie it out of the way.  I rowed into an eddy, because I wasn't sure where Jim was, and I didn't want to head downstream if he was still in the water.  The other three boats were around a cliff downstream.  Much yelling ensued.  We did have radios, but ours was dead because it had been submersed in a bucket of water for a week.  They are waterproof, but not that waterproof.  We were working out a plan to float down to Karen while still tied up to the eddy, so she could row the boat when Jim and Jerry appeared, crawling along the rocks.  I rowed over and picked them up, and we joined the other boats.

Brad, Karen, Scott, and I had taken a river skills class in 2007, so we knew how to right a flipped boat.  They roped up, walked across the bottom of the boat, and yanked it back upright in about five minutes.  The last time we flipped, back in 1991, we didn't know that trick, and we had to unload the boat while it was underwater.  Then a second group came through upside down, so we offered to unflip their boat.  It took a bit longer, because they thought they were supposed to jump into the water instead of walking back along the bottom.  Bill was in the flipped boat, and decried the loss of his sunglasses, which were, in fact, still hanging around his neck.  Understandable.

Granite: Oct 20.

Emerald: Oct 21.  A small, rocky camp, but everyone was tired and still freaked out from the flip.  That night I slipped on a rock and sprained my ankle.  When I fell, I woke up Ted: I told him that I sacrificed myself by throwing my body to the side so I wouldn't land on him, but truth be told, I would have landed on him anyway had he been in the wrong place.  He and Paul wrapped the ankle and I soaked it in cold water.  In the morning, Karen berated me for not waking her up.  I told her I wasn't going to bother her for less than exposed bone.  Much consternation because I broke my headlamp and everyone thought I was wearing it at the time, which should have meant a concussion.   Nope, it was in my hand.

Lower Bass: Oct 22.  Another lovely beach I had wanted to spend time at, but now that I was here I had that stupid sprained ankle and no one would let me walk anywhere, including to the groover.  Others walked up to the top of the hill, and a few into Bass Camp.  I sat under the trees, brooding.

There is a parable about a Rabbi who visits around.  He goes to a poor man's house and is treated well, and when he leaves, the man's cow dies.  He goes to a rich man's house and is treated badly, and when the Rabbi leaves he thanks the rich man lavishly and pays to repair a fallen wall.  The Rabbi's companion asks where the justice in in that?  The Rabbi answers that the poor man's daughter was due to die, and instead his cow was taken.  The rich man would have found gold behind the ruined wall, so the Rabbi repaired it.  I like to figure that I was supposed to have flipped in Horn, and instead I sprained my ankle.

Above Fossil: Oct 23.  Stopped at Stone Creek, which I had always wanted to do as well.  I grabbed a big stick and hobbled over to the waterfall.  Deer Creek had no one there except a group of drunks who had camped across the river.

What a relief to get Bedrock over with. That is where I swam the left side in 2001.  We always remember the rapid we swim.

Football Field:  Oct 24.  Hit Matkatamiba Canyon.  I have in my notes to skip this, and I was right.  Karen advised all and sundry to wear helmets, and Jim didn't and fell and cracked his head.  I was plotting on how to get the boats through sans one boatman.  I figured we would have Scott row, pull over and walk back, and row again at each rapid.  The doctors stitched Jim up with steri-strips and tagaderm, and pronounced him good, so we didn't have to resort to double running.

The scout at Upset Rapid was so long that I began to scare myself.  I decided I was walking this one.  I started downstream and met the boatmen, and told them I was chickening out.  Karen said, "Good idea, in fact I think everyone should walk this one."  So most of us walked, and some stood ready with throwbags.  Scott went left, and had a good, wet run.  Karen went right and did fine.  Brad tried to go right, but got into the hole.  He rocked around dramatically, but made it.  Getting everyone back into the boats was more dangerous than the rapid.

Upper Ledges: Oct 25. Brad hates this camp.  I like camping on the rocks OK, but I admit it is dangerous to get in and out of the boats here.  One of our party would always wander off while the rest of us unloaded in order to find the best campsite, and this time the chosen site was where we wanted the groover.  The only place, in fact, that would not involve a long hike across the rocks.  This party argued mightily, but we said, Slim shouldn't be walking that far with her ankle, and Jim shouldn't be walking that far with his head, so the groover was put where we wanted.

Tuckup: Oct 26. We had planned a layover here.  The climbers were going to put in a route so we could climb up into the upper canyon.  They set out in the evening to check it out, and decided it was too risky.  I admit I was just as glad, because I couldn't have done it with my ankle.  Certain party had to move the campsite again, because it was right next to the groover.

Honga Springs: Oct 27.  Nice little side canyon with water and an Agave Roasting pit.  Had to chase another person out of the groover sight.  When there is a trail leading off into nothingness, and it stops at a sheltered spot, it is usually a groover spot.

We seemed to have two schools of thought regarding groover placement.  Some of us wanted privacy, some wanted convenience.  At Emerald, the groover was right next to the kitchen.  When it was pointed out to me, I said rather acerbically, "I know where it is: I can see it".  They strung a tarp.  If one has to hang a tarp for privacy, the groover is too close.  I go for privacy, even if if means a bit longer walk.  Or in my case, hobble.  This site was considered a challenge to find in the dark, to which I say, I always locate the groover before it gets dark.

Ran Lava no problem.  I was with Scott, and we went through first, thank goodness, I didn't have to contemplate the run.  We turned backwards about halfway through, which was fine with me, because then I didn't have to see it, either.  As Brad said, you commit and your decision has been made,  all that's left is the ride.  I was holding onto a strap which attached the frame to the boat, in retrospect a bad idea.  I bruised one knuckle badly, and had the boat wrenched around much more, I could have trapped my hand.

Really love the basalt flows in this area.  Query: for those who believe that the Earth is 6,000 years old, and the Canyon was formed by Noah's flood, where did the basalt come from?

Whitmore Wash: Oct 28 and 29.  A layover day for hiking.  My ankle was good enough (I told it sternly) that I could walk with an aggressive ankle brace (thanks, Karen!) and hiking sticks (thanks Karen and Paul!)  The first afternoon some us us climbed up a "stock trail" above camp.  If stock went up that trail, I want to see that stock.  Saw our first rattler.  The next day we hiked to the Pictographs, and some of us continued up to the rim.  Another rattler.  When we got back, I changed shoes and walked down to the River.  I flipped my skirt out of the way, and a scorpion went flying off.  Hmm, wonder how long he was on there?  Probably climbed on when I sat down to change footwear.    It wasn't centroides, so it wouldn't have been a bad sting, but it could have been an embarrassing sting.

Parashant.  Oct. 30. Hiked about three miles up the canyon.  Found lots of lots of cool fossils, including a crinoid head.  Very rare.  In the morning (Halloween) I planted  fluorescent plastic spiders around camp, including several in my hair.  Arachnia, queen of the spider people.

Granite Park Cap: Oct 31.  Hot and boring.  We were supposed to hike here, but the streambed was open, hot, and not interesting, and the "crack" climb the climbers were excited about was too far away and too hot.  Not worth it.  Paul and Melody had brought costumes, and gave us trick or treat.  Someone asked, "Did you plan that?"  Why, no, they found the costumes under a tree.

That evening I was sitting up late (8:30!) with some folks, and we wondered how much butter and cream cheese we had been given.  We seemed to have a lot.  I got the supply book, and we had been given 16 pounds of each.

I started reading the list.  One of the problems with this trip, particularly during the first week, was no one could find the food when they were on kitchen duty.  So some things were substituted (OK), and some were just left out.  Not so OK, when it meant a skimpy lunch or dinner. Certain parties didn't try very hard to find anything, either.  If it didn't jump into their hand, they skipped it. There was a lot of "Oh, no, that's not on MY boat".  Even when it was.

 I saw in the list that we had frozen fruit, so I dug that out for breakfast in the morning.  We had four boxes of Nutter Butters.  "What?" I said, "All we get are stupid Chips Ahoy, I haven't seen any Nutter Butters!" Ted said, "Oh, there are some in the lunch box", so I fetched them and we ate about half of them.  Ted complained loudly that he only got one, and I told him to shush: he was a lousy conspirator.  When lunch came around the next day, no one said a thing.

Ran into another group when we stopped to hike.  They invited us to a Halloween party at 220 along with another group we had been passing so they could "use up all their booze".  Fortunately, we still had an extra day, so we begged off.

I waited seven years for this permit, and I assume the other groups waited about that long.  So why get so wasted that you don't even know where you are?  That can be done at home on the couch.

Nasty headwind getting into camp: the first we had to fight.  Brad was rowing and going nowhere.  In the afternoon, we saw what looked like a bag of garbage floating, and I thought: flipped boat.  But it was two people with river boards.  Kathy says these are new, and they use them in Buena Vista in the play waves.  Looks cold to me.  They had a paddle boat, an oar boat, and a dory in support. Brad thinks it was AZRA guides on an end-of-the-year jaunt.

Mile 200: Nov 1.  Hiked up to the mosaic rock, and then to a chockstone.  The mosaic is wonderful.  A mastic filled with all the rocks of the Canyon, and polished to a sheen.  Wayne Ranney tells me that in the Ice Age, the groundwater was much higher in calcium, which would have formed the mastic.  Then a permanent stream sometime in the past would have polished it.

Nov. 2 we took out at Diamond Creek.  Just beat AZRA so they had to unload in the mud.

I was scared for most of the trip, until Lava Falls, actually.  I agree with Dan, that a river with class two rapids would be about right.

 My flip in Bedrock in 2007, made a believer out of me.  Then when the boat flipped in Horn, all the passengers were caught under the boat, which gave me nightmares, and I wasn't even in the flipped boat.  I like the camping, and I like hiking into areas which are difficult to get to otherwise, but I don't like the big rapids.  Most everyone else treats it like a Disney ride, but those of us who have swum know better.  I confess at times I wished some of the Disney people would be thrown out of the boat.  Not flipped: I don't wish that on anyone.  Just a little adventure swim.

We had our trip outfitted by PRO, and they did a sterling job.  Last time the menu was very elaborate, and we spent a lot of time in the kitchen.  This time we had the "quick and easy" menu, and it was just right.  Heavy on meat, butter, and cream cheese, but otherwise fine.  I wonder if they sent so much of those because we were edging into winter and we might need the extra calories.

Three meals had beans: bad idea when 16 people are using the same groover.  We skipped those meals.  We had enough leftover meat that we could switch around and still have lots to eat without the beans.  Had lots of canned food left.  The cans were designed for the last week, but our ice lasted the whole time, so we could use the leftover meat.

All of us on the trip were set back to zero for the permit lottery, and we missed the entry date this year.  We were on the River!  But we'll all put in again for a permit in February. I lost one river knife and one swiss army knife, probably from the pocket in my life jacket.  I suppose they were worthy sacrifices.
The whole Motely Crew at Mile 220
Brad and me, with crutch, at Stone Creek.



Sunday, June 15, 2014

Finished a five day trip mountain biking Bryce to Zion.  Advertised to be 154 miles and was 121.  I am not that slow of a biker that they had to change the itinerary.

Really, really despise campfires, particularly bonfires so big that everyone sits 10 feet away so their clothes don't catch sparks.  And dragging wood in to smash against trees is so 70's.  Getting drunk and bunny hopping bikes over the fire: very unprofessional.




Had a nice optional hike to a mini Bryce canyon with arches.  No one wanted to come see it: too busy building smoky fires and drinking beer.

Sunday, April 27, 2014

Last weekend we met a young man who was mountain biking the Arizona Trail. He was tying his bike onto his ittsy bittsy daypack, and we met him later at Mormon Flat.  About a mile after we passed him, we found one of his valve stems.  Oopsie.


on his way to the Arizona Trail


Got a call to fill in as emergency WFR for a springs survey, so spent the last week hiking around Grandview Mesa and writing down plants and springs information.  Lots and lots of cactus flowers.  The last night an un-forecast storm roared in.  I had brought a wee little MSR emergency shelter tarp because it only weighed 7 ounces, as opposed to my tarp tent which weighs 20.  It took three of us and a lot of moving rocks around to pitch it, and this was the dry spot I spent the night in.  I finally had to wrap my head up in my rain parka to keep it dry.  Most of the night I was thinking: how much difference would 13 ounces have made?  








Monday, April 7, 2014

Missed the peak of the redbud this year.  We tried the week before spring break, then there weren't enough trees to justify hiking down or out that way on the Clear Creek Trip.  Went through March 30 with a group, and some of the trees were full bloom, most had passed bloom.  I have pictures from years past with all the trees in full.  Oh well.

Regular Skeleton this weekend, Friday and Sunday.  Sunday took a young friend.  Trails getting more crowded.  Lots of graffiti as expected.  A couple of rangers told me if I find any last names, let them know, because they have resources that I lack to track these clowns down.


The loveliest of trees, the Redbud now
Is hung with flame along the bough.
Poised along the Canyon trail
They make the very sunset pale.
Now of my 80 years (I pray)
Sixty will not come my way.
Take from three score years a score
Only leave me twenty more
And since to look at things in bloom
Twenty springs is little room
To the Canyon then I came
To see the Redbud hung with flame.

Apologies to A.E.Housman,

Wednesday, March 26, 2014

It must be spring break, because all I seem to do on the trail is erase graffiti.  And I mean erase names on the way down and then again on the way back out two hours later.  Christians writing "jesus" and scratching in crosses.  People writing love notes.  A lady proclaiming herself "queen of the canyon".  Kids writing "keeping going" to their friends, who apparently are not good enough friends that they actually decided to wait for them.  Just writing encouraging notes on the rocks.

Hearts, names, initials: I'm getting just a little sick of this.  In and out Skeleton Point Saturday and Sunday, down to Mile and a Half on Tuesday, and I used up a bottle full of water each day.

John Steinbeck opined that people may not quite believe they exist, and so they leave marks on the rocks to convince themselves.

I think that writing on the rocks shows that people are ignorant.  They are inexperienced.  They are self centered.  They are selfish.  These people would throw a fit if I tried to scratch my name into their car door.  But a 270 thousand year old rock?  Fair game.  I'm starting to have fantasies of hiding near a popular graffitt spot such as Ooh Aah with a huge super soaker.  Then when someone starts to write, I blast them, and then exclaim, "Oh! Sorry.  I was just trying to get that ugly writing behind you."

Wednesday, March 19, 2014

Have tried for three years to get into Clear Creek again and this year it worked.  Haven't carried a 30 pound pack in a while, though.  Lots of peeps at Bright Angel Campground, this being the first weekend of spring break.  As we descended into Clear Creek a group was coming out.  No one camped there that night.  The second night a small group arrived after dark and vanished into the gloom.  So we essentially had the place to ourselves.

We both remembered the ruin as having a lot more artifacts, and referring to old pictures we were right.  I guess the more persons who visit a site, the more likely one or two will have sticky fingers.

I filled my graffiti bottle before coming out since it had been the start of spring break, and sure enough, the kiddos were busy at the rocks.  One IS-2014 was very nicely carved, as though he thought he would return in ten years and still find it.  Sorry, bud, it lasted perhaps three days.  One little book Christian (so called because they think all it means to be Christian is to carry a Bible around) wrote Jesus and put crosses all over.  WWJD?  Probably not write his name on the rocks.

I had wanted to hike down Bright Angel to see the Redbud, but binoculars indicated that they were not in full bloom.  But we did find some up Clear Creek.

Some of this was a shakedown for our ten day hike in the Sierras this summer.  Equipment worked fine.  Brad probably needs a new 80 liter pack.  I was a bit cold, but I can add a few items when we are camping at 10,000 feet.
The first cactus flower of spring

redbuds

trilobite butt print (we hid it and left it there)


Sunday, March 9, 2014

So the report from Indian Garden was that the redbud were just starting to come out last weekend.  Brad and I ran down this morning, and there were just a few buds on the tops of the trees which are in the sun most of the day.  Try again next weekend.
this year's reduds, so far

According to my records, last year they peaked on March 24, so I suppose we were too forward.  Lots of people on the trail. I really don't want to do a Maverick and ram into people on my way out (apparently he would actually crash into people head-on when he was in  a hurry) but I get tired of runners coming right down the middle of the trail expecting me to move so they don't lose two seconds off their time.  Today I also met a huge group, probably a school, in the Fault Switchbacks who were not only in the middle of the trail, but hopping from side to side to avoid rocks.  I'm afraid I repeated, "Excuse me, excuse me!" several times, and each time was a bit more strident.  They also did not have any food or water, so they will not be happy campers coming out.

I should be pleased that so many people wish to experience the trails, but, really, no supplies whatsoever?

Also ran into two dogs who were "service dogs".  Sure.  That's why you had no water for them and no bags to pick up after them.  Liars go to hell, you know.

When we got back there was a big dent in the backyard fence and hoof prints all over the ground.  An elk had crashed over our little fence to reach our piddly little tufts of native grass.  He/she ate most of them and uprooted more.  One would think we are in the worst drought in recorded history or something.
I see how the elk got in, but I am not sure how it got back out.

Wednesday, March 5, 2014

Wow, Phantom Ranch two weeks in a row.  One week working (which means I got paid to take a batch of great ladies in and out) and one with old buddies.  First trip down we were sitting at the six thirty dinner (stew), and the server asked one of us to move and make room for another chair.  Then a woman starting running around, and finally brought in her friend who was so tired her knuckles were dragging.  They had not made it for the five o'clock steak dinner, and then had gone to take a shower!

When signing up for Phantom, we are told firmly that late for meals means no meals.  Period.  Usually if it is possible the kids at Phantom will try to accommodate late seaters, but they don't have to.  Hint: they are doing a big, huge favor, so it behooves the favoree to act a little grateful.  This gal muttered at her cold steak and said, "I'd just as soon have stew".  Then, "I am used to to eating at eight".  Sweet Anne tried to chat her up, and she finally said, "I prefer to just be quiet".  Well, we would prefer you keep quiet too, so that works.  The standard response for the rest of the weekend was "I am used to eating at eight".  

Anyhow, the next weekend we were back with old friends.  The weather was supposed to be lousy, but it turned out fine.  Hubbie had to be in Prescott, and I was expecting two inches of rain (promises, promises) so I went down by myself first thing in the morning.  I never get to hike alone and it was nice.  Though the mule riders worried about me.  I didn't tell them that one is never really alone on the Corridor Trails, I just said my husband was behind me. Several hours behind, but still.

Got into the Ranch and decided to hike to the Bright Angel and surprise those coming down.  At Pipe Creek Beach the Park Service copter came whooshing overhead.  Found out that night that it was another friend who works at the Ranch.  She fell on the Utah Flats Route and was being heli-evacted.  I told her later I would have waved had I know it was she.

Hung around and took pictures and got bored and walked back and, surprise!  They had decided to come down the SK because the weather was going to be lousy.  Oh, well.

I have new high-cut boots to break in.  I wore them to Skeleton twice, and then to Plateau Point, so I took them on this trip, and they gave me bruises on the ankles.  Ingrates.
almost there

out
The weatherpersons said two inches of rain, then two inches of snow, so I took the ice grippers and it rained maybe a quarter inch total.  WE NEED RAIN, y'all.  The weather was so nice coming out that Daine abandoned her partner in crime to walk back with us.  She said she was joining "the zen group".  I like that.  I think I'll use it the next time I have some people take their time coming out.

Sunday, February 16, 2014

How many times have we hiked the Dripping Springs Trail?  Must be over a hundred.  And how many times have we walked past these cool footprints?  Oh, about a hundred.

One of the teachers at school said she saw "hand prints" on the trail.  We scoffed.  Must have been some sponge fossils.  But nothing loath, we headed out for Columbus Point today, and by gosh, there are huge prints, and they do look like hands.
Up the rock he goes.

They are, of course, a mammal-like reptile that was crawling across the sand dunes which would later make up the Coconino Sandstone, but they do look like as though someone walked up the rock on his/her hands.  There were, in fact, three pairs of tracks heading up this rock.  None coming back.  Maybe they got et.

Decided we needed a long hike today, so we did thirteen and a half miles to Columbus Point and back.  Not as much elevation change as our normal long hike to Panorama Point, but rougher.  The Boucher, in fact, is extremely rough.  At one point, Brad told me to wait up, and I was in a most precarious position, and my thought was, "got to be kidding".

Saw two backpackers coming in with no permits.  Then two ladies coming down asked us where Dripping Springs was.  Brad pointed and they disagreed,  "No, it is only two and a half miles to Dripping Springs".

"It is three miles."

"I'm not talking about Santa Maria."

"Neither am I, and we just came from Dripping Springs."

"Well, why aren't we there yet?"

"Probably because you have only walked about one mile."

Why do people ask if they are going to say, "No, that's not right".  If they know that, why do they ask?


Friday, February 14, 2014

525 million year old Tapeats sand over and around  one billion year old quartzite
Taking geology classes gives one a whole new perspective on the landscape.  One begins to notice offsetting by faults, or intrusions.  On the South Kaibab I have walked past this rock hundreds of times.  Last weekend it was featured in a lecture about the Grand Canyon Supergroup, and I sat down and had lunch here today.

One billion years ago, the Shinumo Quartzite (or more accurately, the Shinumo meta-sandstone, see below) formed a cluster of islands in an advancing sea.  The Cambrian Sea, for such it was, surrounded these islands, often knocking pieces of Shinumo off the cliff and into the sea sand beneath.  Think the sea stacks on the Oregon Coast.

The Olympic Peninsula
 
As the trail winds down through the Supergroup on South Kaibab, one can see boulders of Tapeats with huge hunks of Shinumo lodged in the sandstone.  It almost looks as though they could be picked up and moved, but of course, they are part of the rock matrix.

Shinumo rocks which were knocked loose by wave action and stuck in beach sand.
This section of trail follows a block of Supergroup which was faulted down during the breakup of the continent of Rhodenia.  I am outlining a talk I will give in April about the history of geologists at the Grand Canyon.  While I was researching it occurred to me that the geologists who came out west: Newberry and Powell and Blackwelder, had studied geology in Europe or back east.  They had never seen rivers that could cut through mountains and plateaus.  They had never seen rocks that folded and bent in the scale seen around Mexican Hat.  This was a completely new paradigm for them.  A few of them suggested that the land had uplifted, but this was before plate tectonics, so all they could imagine was the land moving up and down via volcanic action.  This must have totally blown their minds.

Bill Nye says that when scientists find something they cannot explain, this is great!  This is how science and knowledge advance.  When new information becomes available, science incorporates it to explain old ideas.  When plate tectonics was first suggested, everyone said, great idea, but what is the mechanism?  Then during deep water exploration in the 1960's, scientists discovered lava pouring out in deep ocean trenches, pumping out acres of basalt which are pushing the oceanic plates apart.  Ah ha!  Here is the mechanism!  And tectonics were used to explain heretofore unexplained phenomena.

I have an old science book with a map of the world superimposed with dinosaur icons.  Since the same types of dinosaur fossils are found on different continents, this book explained,  the climate was the same sixty five million years ago in these disparate areas.  Well, it was, but because it was all one continent.

There is a lot I don't know about geology.  Of course, I know extremely educated geologists who, when I ask a question, will still say,"well, I'm not sure about that one."  Wayne Ranney says that one geologist is a blessing: two is an argument.

I once asked why a metamorphic rock (Shinumo Quartzite) can be layered between two sedimentary rocks (Dox Sandstone and Hakatai Shale) and was told that the sophistication of my question indicated my progress in understanding geology.  Wow!

The answer is that all the Supergroup was buried long enough that every layer underwent a bit of metamorphism.  And the layers should actually be described as meta-sandstone, meta-shale, etc.  But since most people are still at the Deposition Uplift Downcut Erosion level of geology, the interpretive signs won't change anytime soon.





Monday, February 10, 2014

Part of being a good educator is being a lifelong learner.

So many teachers I know have their set way of teaching their set classes, and under no circumstances will they change.  "I've been teaching for twenty years, so don't tell me..."  Marzano does empirical research on teaching, and his book is called "the art and science of teaching".  A lot of teachers hate this.  They tell me that teaching is an art.  That may be so, but learning is a science.

So back to life-long learning. I had, of course, known the formations of the Grand Canyon for a long time.  A formation being an identifiable section of rock which can be described scientifically and is distinctive in appearance.

I was leading a rim to rim hike, secure in the knowledge that we were in the Redwall Limestone, and it was 325 million years old.  A woman on the trip, who obviously knew more geology than I, commented, "Surely we are coming to the Ordovician soon".  If you say so.

Just then we fortuitously ran into a sign which stated that the Ordovician and the Silurian do not present within the Grand Canyon.  With great relief I referred to the sign and said with authority, "Afraid not, because they have either eroded away or they were never deposited."  Whew.

However, I did think: if I am going to keep doing this, I had better start taking geology.

I have to date taken 9 credit hours in Geology of the Grand Canyon and 6 in general geology.  Having this scaffolding, as we say in education, has helped immensely when I attend training for Grand Canyon guides.  When Christa Sadler gives us her version of how the Colorado River cut through the plateau and talks about the Mogollon Highlands, and the Sevier Highlands, and the Basin and Range Disturbance, it is like meeting old friends.  Yes, Yes, I know of what she speaks!

So I pass on this learning to my classes in the Canyon.  And they are are duly impressed.  Often they are overwhelmed, not having the advantage of 15 hours of college level scaffolding.  It was, in fact, suggested to me by a peer that I should restrict myself to one new term a day.

That's a toughie.  Especially when I am asked questions.  "What exactly is a nonconformity?"  "I'm sorry, I've hit my quota for new terms for the day".

One of my best friends teaches at the University level, and I asked him about this.  He said that he thinks of learning as sitting in the breeze from a fan.  You may not get all of the moving air, but you get as much as you can use.

And then sometimes I get people who are Interested.  They take in what I say, and they ask for more. And sometimes I can't answer their questions.  So I have to do some reading. Or ask someone who knows more than I.  Or take another class. And so it goes.

But I was at a ranger program this year, and one of the attendees asked the ranger why there is so much uranium in the area.  She didn't know, so I raised my hand.

"Breccia pipes," I said.  Blank looks.  "The Redwall Limestone was exposed at the surface for a long time, and being limestone, it developed a karst landscape.  One it was buried under subsequent formations, the caves sometimes collapsed, forming breccia pipes.  These pipes fill with rock debris, called breccia, and hot water from beneath the earth ascends due to capillary action, carrying heavy minerals within.  These minerals tend to congregate within the breccia pipes, and that is where they find uranium."

The ranger was happy.  The questioner was happy. I was happy. Lifelong learning.  I recommend it.
Breccia pipe in Supai


Friday, February 7, 2014

Our science teacher at the school is determined that students at Grand Canyon High School will by gosh learn about Grand Canyon.  She dragged her Environmental Science class down to Indian Garden last night. In the dark.  In the snow.  On the ice.  And shanghaied me to hike down and give a lesson on geology.

Hike to Indian Garden on a lovely winter day?  Twist my arm.

Started out bright and early and there was untrammeled snow on the Bright Angel Trail. I was breaking trail in new snow.  On the Bright Angel.  On THE most traveled trail in the Canyon.  Wow.

Unbroken snow at lower tunnel.  OMG
Didn't see another person until just before Indian Garden.  I told them they should have hidden so I could break my record of no one until IG, but that just got me One Of Those Looks.

I have told several people that they were the first I've met on the trail all day, and they rush to assure me that "there are a lot of people behind me".  I guess they think that I am worried about being alone on the trail, when in fact I am reveling in the idea.

So met the class, gave my standard "four reasons the Grand Canyon is here and nowhere else on earth" and hiked down to the Great Unconformity with them.  Gave my GU talk, and hiked to the stop of the Devil's Corkscrew. Then we had to, alas, hike back out.  I have meetings all day on the rim tomorrow.  Twelve miles RT and 3,500 feet, not counting the walk to the rim and back from the apartment.

Then I passed some kids who mentioned something about "bringing out the competitive nature" in them, so I had to beat them out.  Came out from Indian Garden in under two hours.  Show off.  I justified it by telling myself that I needed a long interval workout because I'll be sitting on my butt for the next two days in meetings.  It had nothing to do with beating three kids a third my age out of the Ditch.

Right.

Sunday, February 2, 2014

One of the perks of working in a National Park is that I get to drive onto closed roads.

Not all of them.  I know the combination to get into the Shoshone Point road, but I am not allowed to use it.  Either this indicates that they trust me, or that they are messing with me.

In any case, I know the code for the West Rim Drive, and I can legally drive around the barrier to the South Kaibab Trailhead.  Parking for the SK is really limited, so it used to be open for public parking only during the winter.  Then the powers-that-be noticed that when the trailhead was so open, the search and rescue calls more than doubled.  I suppose if a hapless hiker wanders down the Bright Angel Trail, there is water, and emergency phones, and often a Ranger or two.  If one haplessly wanders down the SK, there is no water, one emergency phone four and a half miles down, and usually no Rangers.  Just other hapless hikers.  So they closed it all year. Except for those of us who live and work in the Park.  Hoping against hope that if someone has to be organized enough to take a shuttle bus to a trailhead, they are organized enough to carry a few frivolous items like water, food, and a flashlight.

The problem is, if I scoot around the barrier, someone often follows me.  The barrier is just a gate that closes off half the road.  Shuttle busses tootle in and out of this road all the time, and there is no power source for a number pad control for a gate.

So one drives onto the wrong side of the road to get around a gate which has a sign proclaiming that this road is indeed closed to traffic, that only residents and official vehicles are allowed therein, and please take the free shuttle bus.  Most people turn around.  Some don't.  Several follow me.

So what exactly is the reasoning here?  If she is breaking the law, so can I? They'll ticket her first, and while they are writing the citation, I'll get away?  There is safety in numbers, and they can't catch us all?

I've tried that last one before while waiting for the dining hall to open at Phantom Ranch.  I say, "There are forty of us and only one of her.  She can't stop us all!"  No one ever takes me up on it.

I tell people who do follow me that unless they have a sticker like this one (pointing at my visual aid), they are not allowed to park here.  "Oh," they usually answer.  "I didn't see a sign."  No, you just drove around a barrier.

Often the hikers who took the shuttle in give me a dirty look.  Sometimes they will walk over and say, "I didn't think you were allowed to drive in here," at which point I answer, "Well, you aren't.  But I am."  Then I show them the stickers on the windshields of the Phantom workers who park there, and the Rangers who park there.  Once an educator, always an educator.

Some of the Rangers make a point of putting a warning sticker on illegal cars.  It is just a warning: they don't have the personnel to ticket and fine people.  Though I think it would pay for itself.  Back in the day, cars were towed.  When one obtained a backcountry permit, they wrote down the licence plate.  If the plate at the trailhead was not on the permit, and was there overnight, it was towed.  After one of the periodic rock slides on the Grandview Trail, it was closed for repairs.  My college roommate zipped up there to hike in illegally, and when she came out, surprise!  Her car had been towed.  Really, what did she expect?

When I have extra time and am in the mood, I put my own warning tags on cars.  They are printed on bright pink paper, so they look official, and say, "There is no parking at this trailhead.  Please take the shuttle bus, or park at Pipe Creek Overlook".  I hope it gives them a jolt when they see the colored tag, but I know it does no good.  It makes me feel a little better, though, so I suppose it is worth it.  We don't have television up here, after all.  We have to entertain ourselves somehow.
Abandon all hope, Rraawk!


Friday, January 31, 2014

We have broken the 130 year record now for days without precipitation.  As I was coming out the South Kaibab today, little white things were dotting the trail, and I thought, "What's blowing down from the trees?  Oh!  Snow!".

Haven't been on the trail in Two Weeks!  We have been babying Brad's calf and just walking the Rim Trail. Which is like 200 percent more than most Americans do, but still.  Made it to the breccia pipe before his calf started stiffening up.  Those water bars are deadly.
Snow at last! Snow at last!
Saw NO ONE for like an hour and a half.  I was hoping not to see anyone until Cedar Ridge on the way out, and thus break our record, but an over-achieving lady hiker met us at the Supai  footprints.  Oh, well.  

I know people mean well when they say, "Oh, you're almost out!".  Like, yeah, I can see the rim?  And they don't know, the little darlings, that every single other hiker we have met that day has told us we are almost out.  Sometimes they say that when we are not.  A mule wrangler once told me at Two Mile Corner that I was "almost out".  I answered, "Well, if I left from the River, I am almost out.  If I left from Indian Garden, I am halfway out.  If I left from Three Mile, which in fact I did, I am one third of the way out."  That got me One Of Those Looks.  

Sometimes someone will say, "You're almost there."  Then I can respond, "According to Buddha, I am there."  

Once trudging out with a group of ladies, a gentleman stood to the side for us (uphill has the right of way!), and as we passed he enthused, "You ladies look radiant!"

Much better than "you're almost out".  

Monday, January 27, 2014

I got one!

Many are those who, as have I, dealt with graffiti on the Canyon rocks who mutter, "Just once, ONCE, I'd like to catch one of these bozos in the act."  Well, Brad and I were on our morning constitutional up the West Rim Trail, and I got one!

I had just picked up some toilet paper (nasty!  And, by the way, the West Rim Drive is open to cars now, so all you had to do was carry the stuff back to your vehicle, or (what a thought) to the trash can 100 feet away).

So on my way to said trash can, I espied a young male busily leaving his mark on one of the rocks bordering the parking area.  Since my hands were full of stuff I was anxious to get out of my hands, as I passed I said, loudly, "Please don't write on the rocks.  It is ugly, and it is rude."  His mother looked up from her perusal of an information sign and yelled, "What do you think you're doing?"  So he didn't get in trouble with the Rangers, but his mom is almost as good.

The Grand Canyon Post Office is a mile and a half from the apartment, and I walk over to check the mail every day when I am not working.  I listen to books on my ipod, but as I pass through the Village, I don't put the earbuds in.  I like to listen to the people.

Sometimes I can be of help.  I rescued a couple today who were driving around in circles looking for the Bright Angel Lodge.  Sometimes I can answer questions.  I pointed out the Great Unconformity to two ladies who had just left a ranger program which mentioned same.  So I showed them how to find it and explained the significance.  "Oh, thank you," they enthused. "Do you happen to know, has anyone ever been there?"  Yeah, me, two days ago.

Sometimes I have to remind people, tactfully, that writing on the rocks is discouraged. That throwing rocks is discouraged even more.  That making a paper airplane out of your Grand Canyon Guide and throwing it off the edge could be hazardous to your health.

But sometimes I just like to listen to what they say when they first look over the edge.  Some of them are blase.  It looks too flat.  Or it isn't as colorful as the pictures.  Most of them are excited.  It's so big!  It's so colorful!  So massive!  So awesome.  Ginormous! Old tourist books describe people fainting or falling to their knees, but I haven't seen that.  Must be all this insensitivity resulting from exposure to mass media.

One woman asked me where the River was, and I told her at the bottom: it just can't be seen from the Village.

"Well, how did it get down there?"

"Strangest thing.  One day it was up on the Rim, and the next day it had just slipped down inside."

I suppose my most recent favorite was a young man who strolled up to the barrier with his young lady.  He shook his head in dismay.  "Man," quoth he, "They have a serious erosion problem here."


Friday, January 24, 2014

We had tried six times to get to the White Rim Trail in Canyonlands.  Once it was snowing: not a good thing for riding in Chinle clay.  A couple of times there was a family crisis.  Once the last part of the trail at Horsethief was washed out.  The June we finally managed to get onto the trail, Potato Bottom was flooded and we could not do the whole loop, so we rode to Hogback and out.

June 2013, the fates finally aligned.  The permit came through.  No one was in the hospital.  The road was not flooded.  We even had a designated driver to haul the supplies and the water (no water for the 100 mile route).

So Brad and Coop rode down the Shafer Trail a couple of thousand feet.  The "trail" is a dirt road.  Good enough for a high clearance car, but rough enough and steep enough that 4X4 is recommended. I walked maybe a third of it.
The Shafer Trail, no place to skid off the road.

I do love rocks.  The White Rim is all rocks.  Most of the ride is along the Permian White Rim Sandstone on a massive shelf just above the drop-off down to the Green River.  There is approximately one tree along the 100 mile trail.  

So it was hot.  Moving on a bike, one makes a breeze, but stopping is always hot.  The breeze is also dehydrating, which is an issue.  First night's camp at Airport was open but scenic.  I was on my way back from the outhouse when I heard a funny noise.  It sounded almost familiar, but not quite right.  I stopped to look carefully and found that I had just stepped over a pigmy rattlesnake. It was totally torqued off, so I didn't get a good picture.  Our Grand Canyon rattlers are much more mellow.  Coop had a nice freak-out.  "If you hadn't told me I would be blissfully ignorant!"

Second night was at the White Crack. This is THE premier campsite on the entire route.  There is only one group allowed, and it is at the end of a long isthmus of sandstone surrounded by cliffs.  We got a great sunset, and enough of a breeze to keep the gnats at bay.  Lots of worked shards of rock scattered about.  It is possible that this was a ceremonial area in which to work on rock tools.  It certainly wasn't a convenient area to work on rock tools.

White Crack
Now, I love the desert.  I was born and raised in the desert.  One thing I really love about the desert is that there are no bugs.  Canyonlands is a desert, and every time I have visited there have been bugs.  Gnats or deer flies or biting black flies.  Some seasons the bugs are so bad that mountain bikers talk about riding with one hand and swatting frantically with the other.  I am told that the area is not that buggy, that I just hit it at the wrong time, but, in any case, there were bugs.

We wanted to camp at Candlestick the next night, but it was full so we had a longer ride on day three.  We passed through Candlestick and it was exposed and hot and dry with no shade.  Sometimes things do happen for the best.  Rode all the way down to Potato Bottom right next to the Green River.

Coop decided he would swim, so we thrashed our way through the invasive Tamarisks until we reached the water.  Which was about 6 feet down a sheer bank.  Nothing loath, Coop and Brad took off upstream to find a place they could get in.  They did manage to find a muddy bank, but by the time they struggled in and out of the mud, they weren't very clean or refreshed.

Along the next day's route there is a site called Fort Bottom.  Brad and I decided that we would check it out that evening, so we drove up Hardscrabble Hill.  Part of the way, anyhow.  These roads are narrow and steep and there is no place to turn around or pull over.  We finally parked at a "wide" spot and walked the rest of the way.

The site is on a little peninsula of land in a gooseneck of the Green River.  It is approached by a trail which descends, then ascends, then crosses a dramatic causeway of sandstone stepping stones on top of hoo doos. It is thought that it might have been ceremonial.  The approach would suggest so to me.  We had to rush to beat the sunset.  We hadn't brought flashlights, because it was only a short three mile hike.  That has gotten me into trouble before.  "Oh, it's only a short hike.  We don't need a flashlight/map/lunch".  That's before we parked the truck and walked another two or so.  We were told upon our return that we missed the onslaught of ravenous riparian insects.

Causeway to Fort Bottom Ruin
Up and over Hardscrabble hill and then along the Green River.  We were supposed to spend a night at Taylor, which would set us us to hike to Upheaval Dome, but we were all pretty tired of setting up camp early afternoon and then sitting in what little shade we could find, waiting for the bugs to go away and the sun to go down, which in June was not until about ten at night.  This is why Arizona does not go on Daylight Savings Time.  When we reached the turnoff for Taylor, Coop just kept riding, and we tacitly agreed.

What goes down must come up, and we climbed back out of the trail back onto the plateau.  I managed to ride all the way up Horsethief with only a few stops when I fell off the bike from riding too slowly.  Coop and Brad wanted to ride all the way back to the car, about 12 miles.  We were going on a long bike trip in a few weeks, so I tried to ride as well.  They, of course, were far out of sight.  I kept saying, "Okay, up this hill and then it is downhill the rest of the way.  Well, that wasn't the top, so up the next hill.  Well, that wasn't it either..."  I kept this up for about an hour and called it quits.  I flagged down the truck to ride in style.  As it turned out, there was no top to the hill.  It went uphill all the way to the highway.

The road was narrow enough that we carried two-way radios so we could signal to our driver if another vehicle was coming up or down. Uphill has the right of way, but that does no good if you meet another car that is halfway down a hill with no place to turn around or pull over.  Most drivers were gracious and understanding.  One pair of dirt bikers, when I told them that they would have to wait at the top of the Hogback, snarled,  "What's the issue?"  "Well, our Yukon is about halfway up the hill."  "So?"
"So you won't both fit, and believe me, between a Yukon and a dirt bike, you are going to lose the argument."
The Yukon tops out the Hogback: no room for dirt bikes

So I did like it.  If I went again, it would be in spring or fall when the weather is a little more forgiving. And maybe no bugs.  But I've heard that in spring, the winds can blow gale force for a week.

One thing I couldn't get used to was no hiking off the road.  I fully understand.  The area is all cryptobiotic soil.  One does not bust the crust.  But it would be nice to be able to wander a bit.