14 April, Monument Valley campground, AZ

Back among civilization, by which I mean RVs and OPKs (other people’s kids). SG was right: this is the most beautiful campground ever. Spectacular views to the east and west. It was hazy this morning when I hiked out of the Devil’s Pocket, and clouds brewed on my way south through Bluff and the Valley of the Gods; when I arrived here a wind was whipping up a blanket of red dust (still on my car -ed). The clouds have continued to mass and group all evening. There was a little rain and I see lightning flashing in the bank of clouds moving, alas here, from the east. An unconventional if no less beautiful Arizona sunset, leading forces of that storm front silhouetted against the pale blue and darkening sky.

I see I wrote nothing yesterday, which I hope will be forgiven me in light of my activities, namely hauling a great deal of gear, and more importantly, water, into the Devil’s Pocket. Although it is tempting to let that name stand for itself, I must admit that this particular Pocket is a salt graben, a long valley formed when a strata of buried salt dissolved and allowed the land above it to collapse. The mass of needles at the end of the valley looks like a collapsed castle or cathedral, and I confess that I entertained myself for some time imagining how its ramparts could have been defended. That, and listening to the colony of house finches discussing who knows what in a nearby stand of juniper. I was somewhat reluctant to believe they were HFs, in spite of my ears, but reference to my bird book informs me that they truly are that magnificent of generalists.

The park here is on Navajo land, and the visitor center contains a rather disappointing museum and a gift shop with a lot of beautiful and expensive artwork, and an inordinate number of John Wayne posters and cardboard cutouts. There is also a 17 mile loop one can take through the valley by car, but I spent enough time on dusty roads in the Valley of the Gods that such an undertaking seemed superfluous. It is better to watch the clouds massing and breaking from up here. Touristyness aside, it was good to be reminded after my excursions in the backcountry, and my reflections on my frailty, that humans have lived in this land for a long time and have found a way to – forgive the cliche – live in a certain harmony with it.

Bluff, UT seems to live at the transition point from Mormon southern Utah to Navajo land. Transition zones are always interesting from the standpoint of biological diversity, and Bluff does seem to have collected a certain hippie element, although one is forced to conclude that it probably arises from allopatry rather than drift. Stopped at a gas station to call home, and then at a coffee shop/art gallery whose name I have forgotten but whose brew I have not. Best stuff I’ve had since brunch when I left. The shop is run by a guy whose wife is an archaeologist, and the art (someone else’s) is really lovely, photographs of deserted shops, modern Navajo dwellings, and eerily lit landscapes.

(cdm, in ContinuingEastwards | 14April2006 )