Day 14

Monday 14th May 2007    <?xml:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:office" />

 

After breakfast of coffee, toasted rolls and a Danish pastry, we got away by 10:00am to do some sight-seeing.  Green River is close to several National and State Parks, as well as other areas of outstanding natural beauty.  Having studied a local leaflet, I plumped for the Goblin Valley State Park, so we headed back West on the I-70 for a few miles, before turning off (South by my reckoning but East according to the road sign) on Utah Route 24, signposted to Hanksville (I love these place names).  This road followed the San Rafael Reef for most of its distance, a jagged line of upended strata jutting into the sky.  37 miles later, after a couple more, well-sign-posted, turns and a visit to another insalubrious loo of the same ilk as in Yellowstone but less noxious, we came to our destination.  This is a curious valley in the San Rafael Swell, where the Entrada Sandstone layer has been eroded by wind rain and sand into hundreds of little pillars of varying shapes and sizes, some of which resemble goblins, people and, dare I say it, male sex organs.  So I had to pose by one for a photo, just so that we can caption it “Two Dickheads” or “Spot the ….”

 

The ranger at the entrance to the Park told us that we could walk where we liked, and noticesat the site confirmed this, apart from where they had fenced it off.  They are conducting an experiment to gauge the effect of human activity on the rate of erosion at the site.  We walked down among the goblins and took lots of photos.  The view to the South included the Henry Mountains, with the most prominent peak, Mt Ellen, covered in snow.  The temperature at this stage, according to the car’s thermometer, was 70 and rising, but it felt a lot hotter and we didn’t have much water or sun protection, so we kept our walk short and returned to the car for a quick bite to eat and a drink, then started on our next adventure.

 

Against my principles, but sometimes it has to be done, we retraced our route back to Green River and then beyond on the I-70 till it met the US 191 going South to Moab.

We resisted the temptation to get lost in the Maze at Canyonlands NP and plumped instead for the Arches NP, where we spent the next 4 hours, happily snapping more odd rock formations and, in particular, the famous Balanced Rock, the Windows, Tower Arch and Delicate Arch (which features on Utah number plates).  The dramatic backdrop to many of these shots was provided by the snow-capped LaSal Mountains.  The visit to the Windows included the chance to stretch our legs again, so I climbed up to both those and the Tower Arch to take photos, having left Mary to go back to the car as her asthma was again playing up.  We also took several photos of flowering yuccas and other cactuses and desert plants.  I was captivated by a singing bird with red chin, which at first I mistook for a red-throated pipit but then had to correct myself when it also revealed a red rump and finch’s beak.  My best guess, from studying the book, is a House Finch, or perhaps a Purple Finch or one other whose name escapes me.  None seemed to quite fit in the terrain occupied by this bird though.  There were also lots of martins that are assisting in the erosion process by nesting in holes along a fault near the tops of the arches, and some splendid ravens, calling evocatively.

 

Down at the well-appointed Visitor Center, before our tour of the NP, we watched a brief Discovery Channel production on Canyonlands and Arches, explaining how the geographical and geological features had developed over time, as best the geologists can work it out, anyway.  There are still some mysteries as to how some of the formations could have evolved.  We also bought a DVD about the area and other National Parks, and a CD of music written and played by a Native American, inspired by these places.  We played it as we toured but must report that “inspired” it was not: really rather dull fluty stuff with uninteresting rhythms and melodies.  Pleasant enough background music but nothing to make you gasp with pleasure.  Other musical accompaniment today included John Renbourn and Jacqui McShee, an orphaned vine that I will be happy to resuscitate if anyone is interested, more Mr Bill weirdness and one of his best of 2006 collections: most satisfying.  This effectively means that after two weeks we have now exhausted our collection of CDs, so from tomorrow will have to start listening to them all again.  Reception for our iPods has not been good in this area (too much interference from religious channels), so we have not listened to the additional music we have on them.

 

Leaving the Arches at about 5:00pm, with the temperature in the mid-90s, we headed on South, past Moab towards Monticello and Blanding.  Moab lies in a fertile valley, next to one of the quieter sections of the Colorado, which we crossed.  This leg of our journey then took us up into fertile lands, still largely sandstone dominated, but much greener, where some fields had even been ploughed and plentiful agricultural activity was in evidence.  Then there were cedar forests and wide vistas, uninterrupted by mountains until the far distance, well into Colorado.  We had to endure two long waits for roadworks, but otherwise the journey was uneventful.  Despite several notices warning us of migrating deer, we didn’t see any on this leg.  In some places along the way you could almost have been driving in England, given the ploughed fields and flat terrain.

 

Arriving in Blanding, we couldn’t find our motel but Connie came to our rescue and guided us there safely.  Blanding, it seems was founded by Mormon pilgrims, who came to “civilise” the Navajo Indians, who, of course, were already quite civilised enough thank-you.  The legacy of this is that restaurants are not allowed to serve beer or wine and there is no liquor store in town (the nearest, in Monticello, is 21 miles away, according to Connie).  There is also a shortage of tea and coffee, both being stimulants disapproved of by Mormons.  However, there is a pot of coffee on the go in the motel, but barely luke warm.  We ate next door, in “The Old Tymer” restaurant, which despite its tee-total list of beverages, is decorated with a picture of a bawdy western saloon bar, complete with be-stockinged harlots holding aloft halfempty beer glasses.  If you think we were frustrated by lack of wine, imagine how it must have been for our French neighbours at the next table, whose mode de vie demands a bouteille de vin with every meal.  When the waitress asked them if they wanted anything else, one old boy muttered under his breath “wine”, which made Mary chuckle.  This building was of the same vintage as the motel (ie very new) but its interior had been well-designed to give the impression of rustic antiquity.  As it features the same family photo of about a dozen healthy looking teenagers and a proud parent or two, we surmise that it belongs to the same family.

 

Tomorrow, on into Arizona …