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| author | luxagraf <sng@luxagraf.net> | 2024-10-10 15:18:00 -0500 |
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| committer | luxagraf <sng@luxagraf.net> | 2024-10-10 15:18:00 -0500 |
| commit | 84abb974c8fc4cf74e929d8497b29771e7d9c84a (patch) | |
| tree | dc5552902468569877d280790ffd5d63ac5ce39c /bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2010 | |
| parent | 16a38bf5d206b23b79b0cd2b6edd3673d9d9d70b (diff) | |
deleted some old cruft
Diffstat (limited to 'bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2010')
45 files changed, 0 insertions, 8934 deletions
diff --git a/bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2010/03/index.html b/bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2010/03/index.html deleted file mode 100644 index 60e47d0..0000000 --- a/bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2010/03/index.html +++ /dev/null @@ -1,104 +0,0 @@ -<!DOCTYPE html> -<html dir="ltr" lang="en-US"> - -<head> - <title>Luxagraf - Topografical Writings: Archive</title> - <meta charset="utf-8"> - <meta http-equiv="x-ua-compatible" content="ie=edge"> - <meta name="viewport" content="width=device-width, initial-scale=1"> - <meta name="description" - content="Luxagraf: recording journeys around the world and just next door."> - <meta name="author" content="Scott Gilbertson"> - <!--[if IE]> - <script src="/js/html5css3ie.min.js"></script> - <![endif]--> - <link rel="alternate" - type="application/rss+xml" - title="Luxagraf RSS feed" - href="https://luxagraf.net/rss/"> - <link rel="stylesheet" - href="/media/screenv8.css" - media="screen"> - <!--[if IE]> - <link rel="stylesheet" - href="/media/css/ie.css" - media="screen"> - <![endif]--> - <link rel="shortcut icon" href="favicon.ico" type="image/x-icon"> - <link rel="manifest" href="manifest.json"> - <meta property="fb:pages" content="900822029969349" /> - -</head> -<body id="archive"> - <div class="wrapper" id="wrapper"> - <div class="header-wrapper"> - <header role="banner"> - <h1><a id="logo" href="/" title="home">Luxagraf</a></h1> - <h2>Walk Slowly</h2> - </header> - <nav role="navigation" class="bl"> - <ul> - <li id="laverdad"><a href="/jrnl/" title="What we've been up to lately">Journal</a></li> - <!--<li id="nota"><a href="/field-notes/" title="Quick notes and images from the road">Notes</a></li> - <li id="fotos"><a href="/photos/" title="Photos from travels around the world">Photos</a></li>i--> - <li id="maps"><a href="/map" title="Maps">Map</a></li> - <li id="about"><a href="/about" title="About Luxagraf">About</a></li> - <li id="etc" class="last"><a href="/projects/" title="the less visible portions of the iceberg">More</a></li> - </ul> - </nav> - </div> - <ul class="bl" id="breadcrumbs" itemscope itemtype="http://data-vocabulary.org/Breadcrumb"> - <li><a href="/" title="luxagraf homepage" itemprop="url"><span itemprop="title">Home</span></a> → </li> - <li><a href="/jrnl/" title="See all Journal Entries" itemprop="url"><span itemprop="title">Journal</span></a> →</li> - <li><a href="/jrnl/2010/">2010</a> →</li> - <li>March</li> - </ul> - <main role="main" id="writing-archive" class="archive"> - <h1> Archive: March 2010</h1> - <ul class="date-archive"> - <li class="arc-item"><a href="/jrnl/2010/03/so-far-i-have-not-found-science" title="So Far, I Have Not Found The Science">So Far, I Have Not Found The Science</a> - <time datetime="2010-03-13T12:50:48-05:00">Mar 13, 2010</time> - </li> - </ul> - - - - <footer role="contentinfo"> - <nav class="bl"> - <ul> - <li><a href="/blogroll" title="Sites that inspire us">Blogroll</a></li> - <li><a href="/jrnl/feed.xml" title="RSS feed">Subscribe</a></li> - <li><a href="/contact/" title="contact luxagraf">Contact</a></li> - <li><a href="https://twitter.com/luxagraf" rel="me" title="follow luxagraf on Twitter">Twitter</a></li> - <li><a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/luxagraf" rel="me" title="luxagraf on Flickr">Flickr</a></li> - <li><a href="https://www.facebook.com/luxagraf" rel="me" title="luxagraf on Facebook">Facebook</a></li> - <li><a href="https://www.instagram.com/luxagraf/" rel="me" title="luxagraf on Instacrap">Instacrap</a></li> - </ul> - </nav> - <p id="license"> - © 2003-2018 - <span class="h-card"><a class="p-name u-url" href="https://luxagraf.net/">Scott Gilbertson</a><data class="p-nickname" value="luxagraf"></data><data class="p-locality" value="Athens"></data><data class="p-region" value="Georgia"></data><data class="p-country-name" value="United States"></data></span>, except photos, which are licensed under the Creative Commons (<a href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/" title="read the Attribution-Share Alike 3.0 deed">details</a>). - </p> - </footer> - </div> - -<!-- Piwik --> -<script type="text/javascript"> -var _paq = _paq || []; 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A few warblers are flitting around in the fetterbush and holly-like shrubs that line the channel around the put in. I unroll a sleeping pad and stretch out in the sun. It's the first warm day I've seen in months.</p> -<p>Eventually the others return from the car shuttle run. Gear piles into the canoes and we after it. </p> -<p>The swamp water is inky black here. Dead still everywhere. </p> -<p><amp-img alt="Kingfisher Channel, Okefenokee Swamp" height="642" src="https://images.luxagraf.net/2010/kingfisher-lg.jpg" srcset="https://images.luxagraf.net/2010/kingfisher-lg-640.jpg 640w, - https://images.luxagraf.net/2010/kingfisher-lg.jpg 1180w, - https://images.luxagraf.net/2010/kingfisher-lg-2280.jpg 2280w" width="1140"></amp-img></p> -<p>When the water becomes shallower on day two it reveals its true colors, a deep cinnamon red that's often compared to well-steeped Earl Grey tea. The color comes from the acid in the myriad decaying plants. The stillness comes from something else.</p> -<p>The water is so still that even following another canoe, provided you hang back a hundred yards, the water never appears disturbed -- the ripples of previous paddles quickly fade, absorbed into the marshland around the narrow channels.</p> -<p>It isn't more than a couple of hours paddling before we run across the first alligator, sunning itself on a boggy patch of mud, one of the countless floating islands of the swamp. </p> -<p>Some of these islands are hardly worthy of the name, a patch of mud barely big enough to support a six-foot alligator, others are immense, supporting swamp cypress, pines and who knows what else lurking deep in the impenetrable thickets of grass and shrubs and undergrowth. </p> -<p>Okefenokee is a Creek Indian word, O-ke-fin-o-cau, "Land of the Trembling Earth."</p> -<p>Standing on the islands would be akin to walking on a waterbed. Full of alligators. None of us try it. </p> -<p>Our route through the swamp takes us mainly through the prairie areas -- grasses and sedges with patches of peat, water lilies starting to bloom, clumps of pitcher plants luring unsuspecting insects.</p> -<p><amp-img alt="Matt paddling a canoe, Okefenokee Swamp" height="371" src="https://images.luxagraf.net//2010/matt-paddling.jpg" width="660"></amp-img></p> -<p>The first two days we see no one. Once, as the channel swings back toward the edge of the swamp we hear distant murmur of a train whistle. The rest of the time the only sounds are the splash of paddles in the water. The cries of Red Tailed Hawks, Wood Ducks and Cowbirds. The occasional groan of an alligator.</p> -<p>In the evenings Ibis and Sand Hill Cranes can be heard calling in the shadows of larger islands. The silhouettes of Sand Hills glide across the horizon, their enormous wingspans black against the orange of the setting sun.</p> -<p><amp-img alt="Sunset at Bluff Lake, Okefenokee Swamp" height="540" src="https://images.luxagraf.net//2010/blufflakesunset.jpg" width="960"></amp-img></p> -<p>We paddle for six hours a day. Muscles complain. The shoulders, the triceps, the back. Something called the rotator cuff. It is hard not to suddenly wonder about the exact names of these new pinpoints of pain, muscles previously unaccounted for in daily activities. </p> -<p>The aches start in the shoulders and generally cascades down the back. But it's bearable. An acceptable trade off for solitude, Sand Hills and a land of trembling earth.</p> -<p>When the channel narrows and weaves through the dense thickets of forest on day two, our pace slows to only one mile an hour. Otherwise we are able to do two, even three at times, depending on midday beer consumption.</p> -<p>The last night a smallish alligator, no bigger than your leg really, shows up right around dinner time, circling the front of the platform in what looks like a reptilian attempt to beg for food. At some point the alligator has no doubt been fed a leftover clump of cold pasta, a extra Oreo cookie or some other paddler morsel and is now attempting, as best its species can, to beg for more.</p> -<p>Strange though it might sound, it's hard not to find the alligator (hereafter, Steve), well, scaly yes, but also somehow strangely, yes, perhaps even cute.</p> -<p><amp-img alt="Alligator, Roundtop Shelter, Okefenokee Swamp" height="371" src="https://images.luxagraf.net//2010/alligator.jpg" width="660"></amp-img></p> -<p>It's likewise difficult to not regard Steve's dark watery eyes, nearly unblinking in their stare, as quite simply curious. An alligator in the midst of teenage curiosity and rebellion. </p> -<p>It's hard not to anthropomorphize. It's also hard not to see any single alligator as possessing the entire history of the species. True, Steve in particular has not been alive since the Late Cretaceous Age, but the species has. It found its niche and did so well that evolution decided it was done, perfection attained, no need for further change. And it survived shifting continents, disappearing oceans, possibly comets, ice ages and all other manner of geologic apocalypse.</p> -<p>Alligators are one of the only living links back to the dinosaurs. 100 million odd years of continuous existence on earth.</p> -<p>There is something Zen-like about the alligator. A creature which has not only not changed in 100 million years, but found a way to spend the majority of its day simply lying in the sun, eating when it wants, doing nothing when it wants.</p> -<p>It is the apex of evolution in many ways. Perhaps not the top, perhaps not the goal, but nevertheless able to be here now, then, and like the swamp itself, perhaps here forever.</p> -<p>In the mean time, we will have to move on.</p> -<h4 class="notes">Assorted notes and further thoughts:</h4> -<dl class="addendum"> -<dt>to the person or persons who complained in the registration book at the Bluff Lake shelter that some "jerks" left a large bundle of plastic piled under the cooking table</dt> -<dd>The "jerks" are the rangers who left it there so your hemp sleeping bag won't get wet should the rain become horizontal. Are you by chance the owners of the DIY wooden camper we saw in the parking lot with the license plate VEGANS?</dd> -<dt>to people buying things made of alligator skin.</dt> -<dd>Desist.</dd> -<dt>to the only live armadillo I have ever seen, which was running at breakneck speed toward the very cars and highway that reduced its brethren to the far more familiar smear of blood and guts and flattened shell</dt> -<dd>Stop.</dd> -<dt>to the very loud, very drunk retirees camping in the monstrous bus-size vehicle near the water at Laura Walker state park who quite clearly were not worried what the neighbors might think</dt> -<dd>Rock on.</dd> -<dt>to the wonderful people of Stinton's barbecue in Lumber City, Georgia</dt> -<dd>The ribs were delicious. We hope that Mrs <span>_____</span> finds a buyer for her land and that coons are not too much trouble (we can't help thinking six acres for $20,000 is a steal, inquire within). We do not, however, think that the girl sitting at the table by the windows was really old enough to get married. We are assuming this is some sort of inside joke played on passersby like ourselves. In any case, the mustard sauce was excellent.</dd> -<dt>to the person or persons who erected the dogmatic, and frankly, quite alarming, religious billboards in Lumber City</dt> -<dd>We are concerned about your soul and hope that your view of humanity is soon profoundly improved by something beautiful.</dd> -</dl> - </div> - </article> -</main> - -</body> -</html> diff --git a/bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2010/03/so-far-i-have-not-found-science.html b/bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2010/03/so-far-i-have-not-found-science.html deleted file mode 100644 index e44aa39..0000000 --- a/bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2010/03/so-far-i-have-not-found-science.html +++ /dev/null @@ -1,403 +0,0 @@ -<!DOCTYPE html> -<html -class="detail single" dir="ltr" lang="en-US"> - -<head> - <title>So Far, I Have Not Found The Science - by Scott Gilbertson</title> - <meta charset="utf-8"> - <meta http-equiv="x-ua-compatible" content="ie=edge"> - <meta name="viewport" content="width=device-width, initial-scale=1"> - <meta name="description" - content="A canoe trip through the Okefenokee swamp down in the southern most corner of Georgia, complete with begging alligators. 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A few warblers are flitting around in the fetterbush and holly-like shrubs that line the channel around the put in. I unroll a sleeping pad and stretch out in the sun. It’s the first warm day I’ve seen in months.</p> -<p>Eventually the others return from the car shuttle run. Gear piles into the canoes and we after it. </p> -<p>The swamp water is inky black here. Dead still everywhere. </p> -<p><img class="picwide" sizes="(max-width: 960px) 100vw" - srcset="[[base_url]]2010/kingfisher-lg-640.jpg 640w, - [[base_url]]2010/kingfisher-lg.jpg 1180w, - [[base_url]]2010/kingfisher-lg-2280.jpg 2280w" - src="[[base_url]]2010/kingfisher-lg.jpg" alt="Kingfisher Channel, Okefenokee Swamp"></p> -<p>When the water becomes shallower on day two it reveals its true colors, a deep cinnamon red that’s often compared to well-steeped Earl Grey tea. The color comes from the acid in the myriad decaying plants. The stillness comes from something else.</p> -<p>The water is so still that even following another canoe, provided you hang back a hundred yards, the water never appears disturbed — the ripples of previous paddles quickly fade, absorbed into the marshland around the narrow channels.</p> -<p>It isn’t more than a couple of hours paddling before we run across the first alligator, sunning itself on a boggy patch of mud, one of the countless floating islands of the swamp. </p> -<p>Some of these islands are hardly worthy of the name, a patch of mud barely big enough to support a six-foot alligator, others are immense, supporting swamp cypress, pines and who knows what else lurking deep in the impenetrable thickets of grass and shrubs and undergrowth. </p> -<p>Okefenokee is a Creek Indian word, O-ke-fin-o-cau, “Land of the Trembling Earth.”</p> -<p>Standing on the islands would be akin to walking on a waterbed. Full of alligators. None of us try it. </p> -<p>Our route through the swamp takes us mainly through the prairie areas — grasses and sedges with patches of peat, water lilies starting to bloom, clumps of pitcher plants luring unsuspecting insects.</p> -<p><img alt="Matt paddling a canoe, Okefenokee Swamp" class="picfull" src="https://images.luxagraf.net//2010/matt-paddling.jpg"/></p> -<p>The first two days we see no one. Once, as the channel swings back toward the edge of the swamp we hear distant murmur of a train whistle. The rest of the time the only sounds are the splash of paddles in the water. The cries of Red Tailed Hawks, Wood Ducks and Cowbirds. The occasional groan of an alligator.</p> -<p>In the evenings Ibis and Sand Hill Cranes can be heard calling in the shadows of larger islands. The silhouettes of Sand Hills glide across the horizon, their enormous wingspans black against the orange of the setting sun.</p> -<p><img alt="Sunset at Bluff Lake, Okefenokee Swamp" class="picwide960" src="https://images.luxagraf.net//2010/blufflakesunset.jpg"/></p> -<p>We paddle for six hours a day. Muscles complain. The shoulders, the triceps, the back. Something called the rotator cuff. It is hard not to suddenly wonder about the exact names of these new pinpoints of pain, muscles previously unaccounted for in daily activities. </p> -<p>The aches start in the shoulders and generally cascades down the back. But it’s bearable. An acceptable trade off for solitude, Sand Hills and a land of trembling earth.</p> -<p>When the channel narrows and weaves through the dense thickets of forest on day two, our pace slows to only one mile an hour. Otherwise we are able to do two, even three at times, depending on midday beer consumption.</p> -<p>The last night a smallish alligator, no bigger than your leg really, shows up right around dinner time, circling the front of the platform in what looks like a reptilian attempt to beg for food. At some point the alligator has no doubt been fed a leftover clump of cold pasta, a extra Oreo cookie or some other paddler morsel and is now attempting, as best its species can, to beg for more.</p> -<p>Strange though it might sound, it’s hard not to find the alligator (hereafter, Steve), well, scaly yes, but also somehow strangely, yes, perhaps even cute.</p> -<p><img alt="Alligator, Roundtop Shelter, Okefenokee Swamp" class="picfull" src="https://images.luxagraf.net//2010/alligator.jpg"/></p> -<p>It’s likewise difficult to not regard Steve’s dark watery eyes, nearly unblinking in their stare, as quite simply curious. An alligator in the midst of teenage curiosity and rebellion. </p> -<p>It’s hard not to anthropomorphize. It’s also hard not to see any single alligator as possessing the entire history of the species. True, Steve in particular has not been alive since the Late Cretaceous Age, but the species has. It found its niche and did so well that evolution decided it was done, perfection attained, no need for further change. And it survived shifting continents, disappearing oceans, possibly comets, ice ages and all other manner of geologic apocalypse.</p> -<p>Alligators are one of the only living links back to the dinosaurs. 100 million odd years of continuous existence on earth.</p> -<p>There is something Zen-like about the alligator. A creature which has not only not changed in 100 million years, but found a way to spend the majority of its day simply lying in the sun, eating when it wants, doing nothing when it wants.</p> -<p>It is the apex of evolution in many ways. Perhaps not the top, perhaps not the goal, but nevertheless able to be here now, then, and like the swamp itself, perhaps here forever.</p> -<p>In the mean time, we will have to move on.</p> -<h4 class="notes">Assorted notes and further thoughts:</h4> - -<dl class="addendum"> - -<dt>to the person or persons who complained in the registration book at the Bluff Lake shelter that some “jerks” left a large bundle of plastic piled under the cooking table</dt> - -<dd>The “jerks” are the rangers who left it there so your hemp sleeping bag won’t get wet should the rain become horizontal. Are you by chance the owners of the DIY wooden camper we saw in the parking lot with the license plate VEGANS?</dd> - -<dt>to people buying things made of alligator skin.</dt> - -<dd>Desist.</dd> - -<dt>to the only live armadillo I have ever seen, which was running at breakneck speed toward the very cars and highway that reduced its brethren to the far more familiar smear of blood and guts and flattened shell</dt> - -<dd>Stop.</dd> - -<dt>to the very loud, very drunk retirees camping in the monstrous bus-size vehicle near the water at Laura Walker state park who quite clearly were not worried what the neighbors might think</dt> - -<dd>Rock on.</dd> - -<dt>to the wonderful people of Stinton’s barbecue in Lumber City, Georgia</dt> - -<dd>The ribs were delicious. We hope that Mrs <span>_____</span> finds a buyer for her land and that coons are not too much trouble (we can’t help thinking six acres for $20,000 is a steal, inquire within). We do not, however, think that the girl sitting at the table by the windows was really old enough to get married. We are assuming this is some sort of inside joke played on passersby like ourselves. In any case, the mustard sauce was excellent.</dd> - -<dt>to the person or persons who erected the dogmatic, and frankly, quite alarming, religious billboards in Lumber City</dt> - -<dd>We are concerned about your soul and hope that your view of humanity is soon profoundly improved by something beautiful.</dd> - -</dl> - </div> - <div class="entry-footer"> - <aside id="wildlife"> - <h3>Fauna and Flora</h3> - - <ul> - - <li class="grouper">Birds<ul> - - <li>Anhinga </li> - - <li>Black-crowned Night-Heron </li> - </ul> - </ul> - </aside> - - - </div> - </article> - - - <div class="nav-wrapper"> - <nav id="page-navigation" > - <ul> - <li id="prev"><span class="bl">Previous:</span> - <a href="/jrnl/2009/05/how-to-get-your-butt-and-travel-world" rel="prev" title=" How to Get Off Your Butt and Travel the World">How to Get Off Your Butt and Travel the World</a> - </li> - <li id="next"><span class="bl">Next:</span> - <a href="/jrnl/2010/04/death-valley" rel="next" title=" (There'll Be) Peace in the Valley">(There'll Be) Peace in the Valley</a> - </li> - </ul> - </nav> - </div> - - - - - - -<div class="comment--form--wrapper "> - -<div class="comment--form--header"> - <p class="hed">Thoughts?</p> - <p class="subhed">Please leave a reply:</p> -</div> -<form action="/comments/post/" method="post" class="comment--form"> - -<input type="hidden" name="rder" value="" /> - - - <input type="hidden" name="content_type" value="jrnl.entry" id="id_content_type"> - - - - <input type="hidden" name="object_pk" value="98" id="id_object_pk"> - - - - <input type="hidden" name="timestamp" value="1596833466" id="id_timestamp"> - - - - <input type="hidden" name="security_hash" value="6b87fc1d56f35761d15f042e3582951bcbf91194" id="id_security_hash"> - - - - <fieldset > - <label for="id_name">Name:</label> - <input type="text" name="name" maxlength="50" required id="id_name"> - </fieldset> - - - - <fieldset > - <label for="id_email">Email address:</label> - <input type="email" name="email" required id="id_email"> - </fieldset> - - - - <fieldset > - <label for="id_url">URL:</label> - <input type="url" name="url" id="id_url"> - </fieldset> - - - - <fieldset > - <label for="id_comment">Comment:</label> - <div class="textarea-rounded"><textarea name="comment" cols="40" rows="10" maxlength="3000" required id="id_comment"> -</textarea></div> - </fieldset> - - - - <fieldset style="display:none;"> - <label for="id_honeypot">If you enter anything in this field your comment will be treated as spam:</label> - <input type="text" name="honeypot" id="id_honeypot"> - </fieldset> - - - <div class="submit"> - <input type="submit" name="post" class="submit-post btn" value="Post" /> - <input type="submit" name="preview" class="submit-preview btn" value="Preview" /> - </div> -</form> -<p style="font-size: 95%;"><strong>All comments are moderated</strong>, so you won’t see it right away. 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A few warblers are flitting around in the fetterbush and holly-like shrubs that line the channel around the put in. I unroll a sleeping pad and stretch out in the sun. It's the first warm day I've seen in months.
-
-Eventually the others return from the car shuttle run. Gear piles into the canoes and we after it.
-
-The swamp water is inky black here. Dead still everywhere.
-
-<img class="picwide" sizes="(max-width: 960px) 100vw"
- srcset="[[base_url]]2010/kingfisher-lg-640.jpg 640w,
- [[base_url]]2010/kingfisher-lg.jpg 1180w,
- [[base_url]]2010/kingfisher-lg-2280.jpg 2280w"
- src="[[base_url]]2010/kingfisher-lg.jpg" alt="Kingfisher Channel, Okefenokee Swamp">
-
-When the water becomes shallower on day two it reveals its true colors, a deep cinnamon red that's often compared to well-steeped Earl Grey tea. The color comes from the acid in the myriad decaying plants. The stillness comes from something else.
-
-The water is so still that even following another canoe, provided you hang back a hundred yards, the water never appears disturbed -- the ripples of previous paddles quickly fade, absorbed into the marshland around the narrow channels.
-
-It isn't more than a couple of hours paddling before we run across the first alligator, sunning itself on a boggy patch of mud, one of the countless floating islands of the swamp.
-
-Some of these islands are hardly worthy of the name, a patch of mud barely big enough to support a six-foot alligator, others are immense, supporting swamp cypress, pines and who knows what else lurking deep in the impenetrable thickets of grass and shrubs and undergrowth.
-
-Okefenokee is a Creek Indian word, O-ke-fin-o-cau, "Land of the Trembling Earth."
-
-Standing on the islands would be akin to walking on a waterbed. Full of alligators. None of us try it.
-
-Our route through the swamp takes us mainly through the prairie areas -- grasses and sedges with patches of peat, water lilies starting to bloom, clumps of pitcher plants luring unsuspecting insects.
-
-<img class="picfull" src="[[base_url]]/2010/matt-paddling.jpg" alt="Matt paddling a canoe, Okefenokee Swamp" />
-
-The first two days we see no one. Once, as the channel swings back toward the edge of the swamp we hear distant murmur of a train whistle. The rest of the time the only sounds are the splash of paddles in the water. The cries of Red Tailed Hawks, Wood Ducks and Cowbirds. The occasional groan of an alligator.
-
-In the evenings Ibis and Sand Hill Cranes can be heard calling in the shadows of larger islands. The silhouettes of Sand Hills glide across the horizon, their enormous wingspans black against the orange of the setting sun.
-
-<img class="picwide960" src="[[base_url]]/2010/blufflakesunset.jpg" alt="Sunset at Bluff Lake, Okefenokee Swamp" />
-
-We paddle for six hours a day. Muscles complain. The shoulders, the triceps, the back. Something called the rotator cuff. It is hard not to suddenly wonder about the exact names of these new pinpoints of pain, muscles previously unaccounted for in daily activities.
-
-The aches start in the shoulders and generally cascades down the back. But it's bearable. An acceptable trade off for solitude, Sand Hills and a land of trembling earth.
-
-When the channel narrows and weaves through the dense thickets of forest on day two, our pace slows to only one mile an hour. Otherwise we are able to do two, even three at times, depending on midday beer consumption.
-
-The last night a smallish alligator, no bigger than your leg really, shows up right around dinner time, circling the front of the platform in what looks like a reptilian attempt to beg for food. At some point the alligator has no doubt been fed a leftover clump of cold pasta, a extra Oreo cookie or some other paddler morsel and is now attempting, as best its species can, to beg for more.
-
-Strange though it might sound, it's hard not to find the alligator (hereafter, Steve), well, scaly yes, but also somehow strangely, yes, perhaps even cute.
-
-<img class="picfull" src="[[base_url]]/2010/alligator.jpg" alt="Alligator, Roundtop Shelter, Okefenokee Swamp" />
-
-It's likewise difficult to not regard Steve's dark watery eyes, nearly unblinking in their stare, as quite simply curious. An alligator in the midst of teenage curiosity and rebellion.
-
-It's hard not to anthropomorphize. It's also hard not to see any single alligator as possessing the entire history of the species. True, Steve in particular has not been alive since the Late Cretaceous Age, but the species has. It found its niche and did so well that evolution decided it was done, perfection attained, no need for further change. And it survived shifting continents, disappearing oceans, possibly comets, ice ages and all other manner of geologic apocalypse.
-
-Alligators are one of the only living links back to the dinosaurs. 100 million odd years of continuous existence on earth.
-
-There is something Zen-like about the alligator. A creature which has not only not changed in 100 million years, but found a way to spend the majority of its day simply lying in the sun, eating when it wants, doing nothing when it wants.
-
-It is the apex of evolution in many ways. Perhaps not the top, perhaps not the goal, but nevertheless able to be here now, then, and like the swamp itself, perhaps here forever.
-
-In the mean time, we will have to move on.
-
-<h4 class="notes">Assorted notes and further thoughts:</h4>
-
-<dl class="addendum">
-
-<dt>to the person or persons who complained in the registration book at the Bluff Lake shelter that some "jerks" left a large bundle of plastic piled under the cooking table</dt>
-
-<dd>The "jerks" are the rangers who left it there so your hemp sleeping bag won't get wet should the rain become horizontal. Are you by chance the owners of the DIY wooden camper we saw in the parking lot with the license plate VEGANS?</dd>
-
-<dt>to people buying things made of alligator skin.</dt>
-
-<dd>Desist.</dd>
-
-<dt>to the only live armadillo I have ever seen, which was running at breakneck speed toward the very cars and highway that reduced its brethren to the far more familiar smear of blood and guts and flattened shell</dt>
-
-<dd>Stop.</dd>
-
-<dt>to the very loud, very drunk retirees camping in the monstrous bus-size vehicle near the water at Laura Walker state park who quite clearly were not worried what the neighbors might think</dt>
-
-<dd>Rock on.</dd>
-
-<dt>to the wonderful people of Stinton's barbecue in Lumber City, Georgia</dt>
-
-<dd>The ribs were delicious. We hope that Mrs <span>_____</span> finds a buyer for her land and that coons are not too much trouble (we can't help thinking six acres for $20,000 is a steal, inquire within). We do not, however, think that the girl sitting at the table by the windows was really old enough to get married. We are assuming this is some sort of inside joke played on passersby like ourselves. In any case, the mustard sauce was excellent.</dd>
-
-<dt>to the person or persons who erected the dogmatic, and frankly, quite alarming, religious billboards in Lumber City</dt>
-
-<dd>We are concerned about your soul and hope that your view of humanity is soon profoundly improved by something beautiful.</dd>
-
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Stars still fill the western sky, above the snow capped Panamint Mountains. Down the hill from the roadside overlook is a short trail that cuts through the chalky, barren ground. </p> -<p>The land in front of us looks like the moon. In technicolor. Multi-colored layers of rock and sand, hardly a plant to be found. It's an alien looking place, once a lake, now a sinking basin full of salt and dust. </p> -<p>When we arrived there was only one other lone traveler standing around the point, which made it seem even more desolate, but by the time the sun begins to paint its way down the distant ridges of the Panamints, the overlook is chock full of people. </p> -<p>Still, hardly anyone makes a sound, and when they do it's only the soft footfalls of boots treading the alkaline gravel or hushed whispers that fade in the empty stillness and silence of the desert.</p> -</div> -<p><amp-img alt="sunrise, Zabriskie Point, Death Valley National Park, CA" height="205" src="https://images.luxagraf.net//2010/dvzabriskiepoint.jpg" width="960"></amp-img></p> -<p>I lived just four hours from Death Valley for twenty-five years. I've been all over Europe and Asia, but I never made the trip out here. Until now. Now that I live clear across the country from Death Valley, I finally arrive. Sometimes you miss what's right in front of you. Sometimes you think you have to go around the world to find the exotic when in fact it's just down the road.</p> -<p>After the sun is well up and the light on Zabriskie Point has become the even glow of mid-morning we drive down the valley to Badwater, the lowest point in the United States. </p> -<p>There's no one around. The desert is utterly silent save the crunching of our boots as we walk out on the salt flats. Even in the morning light the salt is almost blindingly bright, by mid-afternoon it will be painful to look at. </p> -<p><amp-img alt="Salt Flats, Badwater Basin, Death Valley National Park, CA" height="292" src="https://images.luxagraf.net//2010/dvsaltflats.jpg" width="520"></amp-img></p> -<p>Only one person died to give Death Valley its name. And that was during the winter. Death Valley is also not technically a valley. Valleys have entrances and exits, streams that feed through them. Death Valley is a basin, no entrance, no exit. Whatever little rain falls in Death Valley returns back into the ground, the excess eventually making its way here to Badwater, where it mixes with the salt and slowly sinks into the rock or evaporates off into the air.</p> -<p>Badwater is where Death Valley ends in that respect. It is the exit point, where the basin returns its water back into the earth, taking the land with it -- Badwater continues to sink down a little bit every year.</p> -<p>But it's hard to imagine Death Valley as the lake it once was when you're standing in the middle of a salt flat feeling parched, salt caked to your shoes and nothing but pure featureless white as far as you can see.</p> -<p><span class="drop-small">T</span>he previous day we drove through Titus Canyon. The drive starts on the eastern side of the park where a four wheel drive trail veers off the main road and cuts straight through the high desert. The flat expanses of desert to the east are carpeted with yellow flowers, the product of a relatively wet (by Death Valley standards) spring.</p> -<p>Eventually the road begins to slowly wind upward, past barren, red rock outcroppings and on toward the appropriately named Red Pass, which crosses the main ridge of the Grapevine Mountains, where the road begins the descent into Titus Canyon proper.</p> -<p>The canyon itself is an impressive display of geology and the power of earthquakes -- massive, jagged walls of thrust up strata loom at every side. Looking down the canyon is like staring into the history of the earth. </p> -<p>Black limestone has been thrust up through red and white layers creating a rainbow palate of rock. The dark black rock dates from the Cambrian period when Death Valley was awash in the algae that would later become the limestone that surrounds us.</p> -<p><amp-img alt="Titus Canyon Narrows, Death Valley National Park, CA" height="388" src="https://images.luxagraf.net//2010/dvtitusnarrows.jpg" width="274"></amp-img>The further on we go, heading west back toward Death Valley proper, the narrower the canyon becomes. The rock walls creep closer and closer, eventually squeezing the road and the dry stream bed it has been following into one single track.</p> -<p>We get out and walk around for while. It's cool here in the narrows, the walls are too steep for the afternoon sun to penetrate. The ranger said there are hanging gardens up on the rock face above us, but the walls here are too steep to see much. </p> -<p><span class="drop-small">T</span>he next day, after watching the sunrise and seeing Badwater, we drove up to Aguereberry Point, midway up in the Panamint mountains. At the end of the road a short trail leads out to the point where the ridge line drops off into the vast basin below.</p> -<p>Death Valley is white from above. Slat flats and borax. Once people came here to dig up borax, copper, gold and handful of other metals that have been thrust up from the depths of the earth.</p> -<p><amp-img alt="View from Aguereberry Point, Death Valley National Park, CA" height="450" src="https://images.luxagraf.net//2010/dvaguereberry.jpg" width="253"></amp-img>Pete Aguereberry, for whom the point is named, mined in the area until he died in 1945. But Aguereberry didn't build the road to get the mines, he built his road to the point simply because he liked the view. </p> -<p>Today the National Park service has built a newer road (still dirt and somewhat rough) but along the way you can still catch glimpses of Aguereberry's original work snaking its way through the sagebrush.</p> -<p>It must have been a brutal job back when Aguereberry did it. But it is a commanding view, the hills seem to fall away at your feet, offering a glimpse of the land far beyond the basin to the east and up and down it to the north and south. </p> -<p>Far below, running along the opposite side of the salt flats, I can make out the road that will take us down to the south and eventually out of Death Valley. </p> -<p>Later, as the car winds down that same road I stare out the window thinking that I should really go to Savannah, Georgia, a place I have heard about for years, but never, in the ten years I've lived in Georgia, have I been. Sometimes you just forget about things that are right there in front of you.</p> - </div> - </article> -</main> - -</body> -</html> diff --git a/bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2010/04/death-valley.html b/bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2010/04/death-valley.html deleted file mode 100644 index 7dae9a4..0000000 --- a/bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2010/04/death-valley.html +++ /dev/null @@ -1,355 +0,0 @@ -<!DOCTYPE html> -<html -class="detail double" dir="ltr" lang="en-US"> - -<head> - <title>(There’ll Be) Peace In The Valley - by Scott Gilbertson</title> - <meta charset="utf-8"> - <meta http-equiv="x-ua-compatible" content="ie=edge"> - <meta name="viewport" content="width=device-width, initial-scale=1"> - <meta name="description" - content="Watching the sun rise over Zabriskie Point in Death Valley National Park, wondering why I have never been here before... 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Stars still fill the western sky, above the snow capped Panamint Mountains. Down the hill from the roadside overlook is a short trail that cuts through the chalky, barren ground. </p> - -<p>The land in front of us looks like the moon. In technicolor. Multi-colored layers of rock and sand, hardly a plant to be found. It’s an alien looking place, once a lake, now a sinking basin full of salt and dust. </p> - - -<p>When we arrived there was only one other lone traveler standing around the point, which made it seem even more desolate, but by the time the sun begins to paint its way down the distant ridges of the Panamints, the overlook is chock full of people. </p> - -<p>Still, hardly anyone makes a sound, and when they do it’s only the soft footfalls of boots treading the alkaline gravel or hushed whispers that fade in the empty stillness and silence of the desert.</p> - -</div> - -<p><img alt="sunrise, Zabriskie Point, Death Valley National Park, CA" class="picwide" src="https://images.luxagraf.net//2010/dvzabriskiepoint.jpg"/></p> -<p>I lived just four hours from Death Valley for twenty-five years. I’ve been all over Europe and Asia, but I never made the trip out here. Until now. Now that I live clear across the country from Death Valley, I finally arrive. Sometimes you miss what’s right in front of you. Sometimes you think you have to go around the world to find the exotic when in fact it’s just down the road.</p> -<p>After the sun is well up and the light on Zabriskie Point has become the even glow of mid-morning we drive down the valley to Badwater, the lowest point in the United States. </p> -<p>There’s no one around. The desert is utterly silent save the crunching of our boots as we walk out on the salt flats. Even in the morning light the salt is almost blindingly bright, by mid-afternoon it will be painful to look at. </p> -<p><img alt="Salt Flats, Badwater Basin, Death Valley National Park, CA" class="picfull" src="https://images.luxagraf.net//2010/dvsaltflats.jpg"/></p> -<p>Only one person died to give Death Valley its name. And that was during the winter. Death Valley is also not technically a valley. Valleys have entrances and exits, streams that feed through them. Death Valley is a basin, no entrance, no exit. Whatever little rain falls in Death Valley returns back into the ground, the excess eventually making its way here to Badwater, where it mixes with the salt and slowly sinks into the rock or evaporates off into the air.</p> -<p>Badwater is where Death Valley ends in that respect. It is the exit point, where the basin returns its water back into the earth, taking the land with it — Badwater continues to sink down a little bit every year.</p> -<p>But it’s hard to imagine Death Valley as the lake it once was when you’re standing in the middle of a salt flat feeling parched, salt caked to your shoes and nothing but pure featureless white as far as you can see.</p> -<p><span class="drop-small">T</span>he previous day we drove through Titus Canyon. The drive starts on the eastern side of the park where a four wheel drive trail veers off the main road and cuts straight through the high desert. The flat expanses of desert to the east are carpeted with yellow flowers, the product of a relatively wet (by Death Valley standards) spring.</p> -<p>Eventually the road begins to slowly wind upward, past barren, red rock outcroppings and on toward the appropriately named Red Pass, which crosses the main ridge of the Grapevine Mountains, where the road begins the descent into Titus Canyon proper.</p> -<p>The canyon itself is an impressive display of geology and the power of earthquakes — massive, jagged walls of thrust up strata loom at every side. Looking down the canyon is like staring into the history of the earth. </p> -<p>Black limestone has been thrust up through red and white layers creating a rainbow palate of rock. The dark black rock dates from the Cambrian period when Death Valley was awash in the algae that would later become the limestone that surrounds us.</p> -<p><img alt="Titus Canyon Narrows, Death Valley National Park, CA" class="postpicright" src="https://images.luxagraf.net//2010/dvtitusnarrows.jpg"/>The further on we go, heading west back toward Death Valley proper, the narrower the canyon becomes. The rock walls creep closer and closer, eventually squeezing the road and the dry stream bed it has been following into one single track.</p> -<p>We get out and walk around for while. It’s cool here in the narrows, the walls are too steep for the afternoon sun to penetrate. The ranger said there are hanging gardens up on the rock face above us, but the walls here are too steep to see much. </p> -<p><span class="drop-small">T</span>he next day, after watching the sunrise and seeing Badwater, we drove up to Aguereberry Point, midway up in the Panamint mountains. At the end of the road a short trail leads out to the point where the ridge line drops off into the vast basin below.</p> -<p>Death Valley is white from above. Slat flats and borax. Once people came here to dig up borax, copper, gold and handful of other metals that have been thrust up from the depths of the earth.</p> -<p><img alt="View from Aguereberry Point, Death Valley National Park, CA" class="postpic" src="https://images.luxagraf.net//2010/dvaguereberry.jpg"/>Pete Aguereberry, for whom the point is named, mined in the area until he died in 1945. But Aguereberry didn’t build the road to get the mines, he built his road to the point simply because he liked the view. </p> -<p>Today the National Park service has built a newer road (still dirt and somewhat rough) but along the way you can still catch glimpses of Aguereberry’s original work snaking its way through the sagebrush.</p> -<p>It must have been a brutal job back when Aguereberry did it. But it is a commanding view, the hills seem to fall away at your feet, offering a glimpse of the land far beyond the basin to the east and up and down it to the north and south. </p> -<p>Far below, running along the opposite side of the salt flats, I can make out the road that will take us down to the south and eventually out of Death Valley. </p> -<p>Later, as the car winds down that same road I stare out the window thinking that I should really go to Savannah, Georgia, a place I have heard about for years, but never, in the ten years I’ve lived in Georgia, have I been. Sometimes you just forget about things that are right there in front of you.</p> - </div> - - </article> - - - <div class="nav-wrapper"> - <nav id="page-navigation" class="page-border-top"> - <ul> - <li id="prev"><span class="bl">Previous:</span> - <a href="/jrnl/2010/03/so-far-i-have-not-found-science" rel="prev" title=" So Far, I Have Not Found The Science">So Far, I Have Not Found The Science</a> - </li> - <li id="next"><span class="bl">Next:</span> - <a href="/jrnl/2010/05/los-angeles-im-yours" rel="next" title=" Los Angeles, I'm Yours">Los Angeles, I'm Yours</a> - </li> - </ul> - </nav> - </div> - - - - - - -<div class="comment--form--wrapper "> - -<div class="comment--form--header"> - <p class="hed">Thoughts?</p> - <p class="subhed">Please leave a reply:</p> -</div> -<form action="/comments/post/" method="post" class="comment--form"> - -<input type="hidden" name="rder" value="" /> - - - <input type="hidden" name="content_type" value="jrnl.entry" id="id_content_type"> - - - - <input type="hidden" name="object_pk" value="99" id="id_object_pk"> - - - - <input type="hidden" name="timestamp" value="1596833466" id="id_timestamp"> - - - - <input type="hidden" name="security_hash" value="630ae414d086d310e2b53b4d6bb7a9e7b11957b4" id="id_security_hash"> - - - - <fieldset > - <label for="id_name">Name:</label> - <input type="text" name="name" maxlength="50" required id="id_name"> - </fieldset> - - - - <fieldset > - <label for="id_email">Email address:</label> - <input type="email" name="email" required id="id_email"> - </fieldset> - - - - <fieldset > - <label for="id_url">URL:</label> - <input type="url" name="url" id="id_url"> - </fieldset> - - - - <fieldset > - <label for="id_comment">Comment:</label> - <div class="textarea-rounded"><textarea name="comment" cols="40" rows="10" maxlength="3000" required id="id_comment"> -</textarea></div> - </fieldset> - - - - <fieldset style="display:none;"> - <label for="id_honeypot">If you enter anything in this field your comment will be treated as spam:</label> - <input type="text" name="honeypot" id="id_honeypot"> - </fieldset> - - - <div class="submit"> - <input type="submit" name="post" class="submit-post btn" value="Post" /> - <input type="submit" name="preview" class="submit-preview btn" value="Preview" /> - </div> -</form> -<p style="font-size: 95%;"><strong>All comments are moderated</strong>, so you won’t see it right away. 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-<p>It's well before dawn when we arrive at Zabriskie Point. Stars still fill the western sky, above the snow capped Panamint Mountains. Down the hill from the roadside overlook is a short trail that cuts through the chalky, barren ground. </p>
-
-<p>The land in front of us looks like the moon. In technicolor. Multi-colored layers of rock and sand, hardly a plant to be found. It's an alien looking place, once a lake, now a sinking basin full of salt and dust. </p>
-
-
-<p>When we arrived there was only one other lone traveler standing around the point, which made it seem even more desolate, but by the time the sun begins to paint its way down the distant ridges of the Panamints, the overlook is chock full of people. </p>
-
-<p>Still, hardly anyone makes a sound, and when they do it's only the soft footfalls of boots treading the alkaline gravel or hushed whispers that fade in the empty stillness and silence of the desert.</p>
-
-</div>
-
-<img class="picwide" src="[[base_url]]/2010/dvzabriskiepoint.jpg" alt="sunrise, Zabriskie Point, Death Valley National Park, CA" />
-
-
-I lived just four hours from Death Valley for twenty-five years. I've been all over Europe and Asia, but I never made the trip out here. Until now. Now that I live clear across the country from Death Valley, I finally arrive. Sometimes you miss what's right in front of you. Sometimes you think you have to go around the world to find the exotic when in fact it's just down the road.
-
-After the sun is well up and the light on Zabriskie Point has become the even glow of mid-morning we drive down the valley to Badwater, the lowest point in the United States.
-
-There's no one around. The desert is utterly silent save the crunching of our boots as we walk out on the salt flats. Even in the morning light the salt is almost blindingly bright, by mid-afternoon it will be painful to look at.
-
-<img class="picfull" src="[[base_url]]/2010/dvsaltflats.jpg" alt="Salt Flats, Badwater Basin, Death Valley National Park, CA" />
-
-Only one person died to give Death Valley its name. And that was during the winter. Death Valley is also not technically a valley. Valleys have entrances and exits, streams that feed through them. Death Valley is a basin, no entrance, no exit. Whatever little rain falls in Death Valley returns back into the ground, the excess eventually making its way here to Badwater, where it mixes with the salt and slowly sinks into the rock or evaporates off into the air.
-
-Badwater is where Death Valley ends in that respect. It is the exit point, where the basin returns its water back into the earth, taking the land with it -- Badwater continues to sink down a little bit every year.
-
-But it's hard to imagine Death Valley as the lake it once was when you're standing in the middle of a salt flat feeling parched, salt caked to your shoes and nothing but pure featureless white as far as you can see.
-
-<span class="drop-small">T</span>he previous day we drove through Titus Canyon. The drive starts on the eastern side of the park where a four wheel drive trail veers off the main road and cuts straight through the high desert. The flat expanses of desert to the east are carpeted with yellow flowers, the product of a relatively wet (by Death Valley standards) spring.
-
-Eventually the road begins to slowly wind upward, past barren, red rock outcroppings and on toward the appropriately named Red Pass, which crosses the main ridge of the Grapevine Mountains, where the road begins the descent into Titus Canyon proper.
-
-The canyon itself is an impressive display of geology and the power of earthquakes -- massive, jagged walls of thrust up strata loom at every side. Looking down the canyon is like staring into the history of the earth.
-
-Black limestone has been thrust up through red and white layers creating a rainbow palate of rock. The dark black rock dates from the Cambrian period when Death Valley was awash in the algae that would later become the limestone that surrounds us.
-
-<img class="postpicright" src="[[base_url]]/2010/dvtitusnarrows.jpg" alt="Titus Canyon Narrows, Death Valley National Park, CA" />The further on we go, heading west back toward Death Valley proper, the narrower the canyon becomes. The rock walls creep closer and closer, eventually squeezing the road and the dry stream bed it has been following into one single track.
-
-We get out and walk around for while. It's cool here in the narrows, the walls are too steep for the afternoon sun to penetrate. The ranger said there are hanging gardens up on the rock face above us, but the walls here are too steep to see much.
-
-<span class="drop-small">T</span>he next day, after watching the sunrise and seeing Badwater, we drove up to Aguereberry Point, midway up in the Panamint mountains. At the end of the road a short trail leads out to the point where the ridge line drops off into the vast basin below.
-
-Death Valley is white from above. Slat flats and borax. Once people came here to dig up borax, copper, gold and handful of other metals that have been thrust up from the depths of the earth.
-
-<img class="postpic" src="[[base_url]]/2010/dvaguereberry.jpg" alt="View from Aguereberry Point, Death Valley National Park, CA" />Pete Aguereberry, for whom the point is named, mined in the area until he died in 1945. But Aguereberry didn't build the road to get the mines, he built his road to the point simply because he liked the view.
-
-Today the National Park service has built a newer road (still dirt and somewhat rough) but along the way you can still catch glimpses of Aguereberry's original work snaking its way through the sagebrush.
-
-It must have been a brutal job back when Aguereberry did it. But it is a commanding view, the hills seem to fall away at your feet, offering a glimpse of the land far beyond the basin to the east and up and down it to the north and south.
-
-Far below, running along the opposite side of the salt flats, I can make out the road that will take us down to the south and eventually out of Death Valley.
-
-Later, as the car winds down that same road I stare out the window thinking that I should really go to Savannah, Georgia, a place I have heard about for years, but never, in the ten years I've lived in Georgia, have I been. Sometimes you just forget about things that are right there in front of you.
- diff --git a/bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2010/04/index.html b/bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2010/04/index.html deleted file mode 100644 index 5e94e85..0000000 --- a/bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2010/04/index.html +++ /dev/null @@ -1,104 +0,0 @@ -<!DOCTYPE html> -<html dir="ltr" lang="en-US"> - -<head> - <title>Luxagraf - Topografical Writings: Archive</title> - <meta charset="utf-8"> - <meta http-equiv="x-ua-compatible" content="ie=edge"> - <meta name="viewport" content="width=device-width, initial-scale=1"> - <meta name="description" - content="Luxagraf: recording journeys around the world and just next door."> - <meta name="author" content="Scott Gilbertson"> - <!--[if IE]> - <script src="/js/html5css3ie.min.js"></script> - <![endif]--> - <link rel="alternate" - type="application/rss+xml" - title="Luxagraf RSS feed" - href="https://luxagraf.net/rss/"> - <link rel="stylesheet" - href="/media/screenv8.css" - media="screen"> - <!--[if IE]> - <link rel="stylesheet" - href="/media/css/ie.css" - media="screen"> - <![endif]--> - <link rel="shortcut icon" href="favicon.ico" type="image/x-icon"> - <link rel="manifest" href="manifest.json"> - <meta property="fb:pages" content="900822029969349" /> - -</head> -<body id="archive"> - <div class="wrapper" id="wrapper"> - <div class="header-wrapper"> - <header role="banner"> - <h1><a id="logo" href="/" title="home">Luxagraf</a></h1> - <h2>Walk Slowly</h2> - </header> - <nav role="navigation" class="bl"> - <ul> - <li id="laverdad"><a href="/jrnl/" title="What we've been up to lately">Journal</a></li> - <!--<li id="nota"><a href="/field-notes/" title="Quick notes and images from the road">Notes</a></li> - <li id="fotos"><a href="/photos/" title="Photos from travels around the world">Photos</a></li>i--> - <li id="maps"><a href="/map" title="Maps">Map</a></li> - <li id="about"><a href="/about" title="About Luxagraf">About</a></li> - <li id="etc" class="last"><a href="/projects/" title="the less visible portions of the iceberg">More</a></li> - </ul> - </nav> - </div> - <ul class="bl" id="breadcrumbs" itemscope itemtype="http://data-vocabulary.org/Breadcrumb"> - <li><a href="/" title="luxagraf homepage" itemprop="url"><span itemprop="title">Home</span></a> → </li> - <li><a href="/jrnl/" title="See all Journal Entries" itemprop="url"><span itemprop="title">Journal</span></a> →</li> - <li><a href="/jrnl/2010/">2010</a> →</li> - <li>April</li> - </ul> - <main role="main" id="writing-archive" class="archive"> - <h1> Archive: April 2010</h1> - <ul class="date-archive"> - <li class="arc-item"><a href="/jrnl/2010/04/death-valley" title="(There'll Be) Peace in the Valley">(There’ll Be) Peace in the Valley</a> - <time datetime="2010-04-24T11:45:59-04:00">Apr 24, 2010</time> - </li> - </ul> - - - - <footer role="contentinfo"> - <nav class="bl"> - <ul> - <li><a href="/blogroll" title="Sites that inspire us">Blogroll</a></li> - <li><a href="/jrnl/feed.xml" title="RSS feed">Subscribe</a></li> - <li><a href="/contact/" title="contact luxagraf">Contact</a></li> - <li><a href="https://twitter.com/luxagraf" rel="me" title="follow luxagraf on Twitter">Twitter</a></li> - <li><a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/luxagraf" rel="me" title="luxagraf on Flickr">Flickr</a></li> - <li><a href="https://www.facebook.com/luxagraf" rel="me" title="luxagraf on Facebook">Facebook</a></li> - <li><a href="https://www.instagram.com/luxagraf/" rel="me" title="luxagraf on Instacrap">Instacrap</a></li> - </ul> - </nav> - <p id="license"> - © 2003-2018 - <span class="h-card"><a class="p-name u-url" href="https://luxagraf.net/">Scott Gilbertson</a><data class="p-nickname" value="luxagraf"></data><data class="p-locality" value="Athens"></data><data class="p-region" value="Georgia"></data><data class="p-country-name" value="United States"></data></span>, except photos, which are licensed under the Creative Commons (<a href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/" title="read the Attribution-Share Alike 3.0 deed">details</a>). - </p> - </footer> - </div> - -<!-- Piwik --> -<script type="text/javascript"> -var _paq = _paq || []; 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Everything warbles and blurs in the heat. It ends up looking like a natural, persistent, <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tilt-shift_photography" rel='nofollow"' title="wikipedia: tilt-shift photography">tilt-shift</a> distortion, turning the building below into a miniature, toy world. </p> -<p>The effect is odd, transfixing and a bit disconcerting after a while, a feeling heightened by the Hare Krishna sitting next me incessantly chanting the Maha Mantra. </p> -<p>Later, outside the terminal a sign reads: Welcome to Los Angeles.</p> -<p><span class="numeral">2.</span></p> -<p><amp-img alt="Union Station Subway Stop, Los Angeles" height="293" src="https://images.luxagraf.net//2010/launionsubway.jpg" width="520"></amp-img></p> -<p>Around the time I was in high school Los Angeles built a subway system. I remember it showing up on page 15 of the newspapers. The universal consensus among those of us used to living under the constant threat of earthquake was that voluntarily going underground for extended periods of time would be tantamount to suicide.</p> -<p>Besides, Los Angeles is all about the car. Shiny, air-conditioned comfort, gliding you soundlessly from one place to another without the need to interact with anything in between.</p> -<p>Like most, I forgot about the subway as soon as it was done. The only time the L.A. metro system entered my consciousness was when a train accidentally hit someone crossing the tracks. Again, subway == death.</p> -<p><break></break></p> -<p>Then I moved across the country. </p> -<p>Just before I left to visit L.A., I stumbled upon some photographs of Union Station, which might well be the pinnacle of Moderne/Art Deco architecture. I decided I must see Union Station, and what better way to arrive than by subway?<sup id="fnr-001"><a href="#fn-001">[1]</a></sup></p> -<p><amp-img alt="The Old Ticket room, Union Station, Los Angeles" height="400" src="https://images.luxagraf.net//2010/launionticketroom.jpg" width="240"></amp-img>So into the subway I went. It was uneventful, an ordinary subway -- commuters sitting stoically, staring into space, a homeless man muttering in the corner, a older woman with a small trolley full of grocery bags, a fanatic handing out flyers for some cause. But Union Station is more than ordinary.</p> -<p>Coming up out of the subway into the passenger rail terminal at Union Station is a fantastically beautiful step back in time -- back in time to moment when trains were travel, when building were more than containers for retail stores, when architecture mattered, even in otherwise dull places like a train station. </p> -<p>From the ceiling in the entrance to the heavy, ornate waiting room chairs, Union Station feels more like a cathedral than a train depot -- inlaid marble abounds, backlit windows glow like stained glass.</p> -<p>L.A.'s Union Station feels like a cathedral in part because the architecture far exceeds the purely utilitarian function it serves -- you can't help feeling that there is some hidden message in its design. Walking under the magnificent heavy ceiling beams in the waiting room, you begin to feel the same sense of tiny insignificance you feel in the Gothic cathedrals of Europe.</p> -<p><amp-img alt="Union Station Ceiling, Los Angeles" height="268" src="https://images.luxagraf.net//2010/launionstationceiling.jpg" width="520"></amp-img></p> -<p><span class="numeral">3.</span></p> -<p>It's a strange thing to be a tourist in the area you grew up in. I didn't grow up in L.A. proper, but many of my memories of the area are tied to L.A. because that's where everything fun happened -- live music, art shows, restaurants, movies... did I mention live music? </p> -<p>Aside from the beach, which was closer to home, L.A. was where everything happened and so it figures larger in my memory than in actual waking hours. And yet I've never really bothered to pay any attention to Los Angeles the city, the streets, the buildings, the people.</p> -<p>It's an easy thing to miss. Los Angeles seems designed to be unreal, a land where everything is plastic and shrunken like set pieces in a toy train set<sup id="fnr-002"><a href="#fn-002">[2]</a></sup>. </p> -<p>I'm convinced that part of the reason behind the toy train illusion is to protect L.A.'s residents from certain unpleasant facts, like, for example, the fact that there is no ground below the ground in L.A -- there is no real earth. </p> -<p>I don't mean like a bit of earth showing where the lawn has been worn by foot traffic, but actual earth, large undisturbed expanses of it. It simply isn't there.</p> -<p>I spent most of my life in Southern California and I could never find the ground below the ground. The actual earth. The sand at the beaches is trucked in from elsewhere and everything is paved. The roads lead to driveways, to kitchen floors, to backyard patio slabs with that strange pock-marked concrete. Even the riverbeds are poured concrete. Who paves a river?</p> -<p>You might think New york is the same way; it's not. There's plenty of earth in New York. Central Park, Prospect park, any neighborhood park. Subways leak water, betraying what is behind them, under them, around them. New Yorkers have plenty of reminders about the ground under the ground.</p> -<p><span class="numeral">4.</span></p> -<p>I still haven't found the ground under the ground in Los Angeles (the subways don't leak, the concrete tubes under the city are still unbroken), but I have discovered that if you get out of your car and walk, the toy train set illusion reverts at least to a life size city. </p> -<p><amp-img alt="Los Angeles" height="400" src="https://images.luxagraf.net//2010/latallestbuilding.jpg" width="273"></amp-img>The tallest building on the west coast towers overhead; in the distance City Hall looms and the ultra-modern hideousness of the Disney Concert Hall glitters in the afternoon sun. Further up the hill the Department of Power and Water building seems to float, an island in the middle of a man-made lake.</p> -<p>Everything is very real. We walk down to a park, the tiniest park I've ever seen, but a park nonetheless. Everything seems very real.</p> -<p>But only for a moment. A few streets later we stop off for a pint at a pirate bar. Fake sailing detritus litters the walls -- ships wheels, heavy braided hemp ropes, portals to nowhere, flags bearing the skull and crossbones. </p> -<p>Our table is a fake oak barrel, fake pirate insignia decorate the ceiling. The bar looks like a post-production yard sale from the <em>Pirates of the Caribbean</em>.</p> -<p>The illusion of reality collapses.</p> -<p>Los Angeles cultivates that aspect of itself, it enjoys the rest of the world seeing it as a completely unreal world. A world of pirate bars and movie stars. You either have to embrace it or get the hell out.</p> -<p>I went with the latter, but I enjoy returning, trying to find little moments of the real where L.A. drops its pretense and becomes a real city.</p> -<p><span class="numeral">5.</span></p> -<p>The next day I walk a mile or two down Wilshire Blvd to Lincoln where I catch the bus to the airport. I drop my change in the box and find a seat near the back of the bus. Someone has scratched the window, initials carved, then crossed out and more initials carved. </p> -<p>Out of the corner of my eye the scratched window makes the view turn blurry again, the building begin to look more plastic, shrunken. I'm back on the ride. </p> -<p>The tilt-shift world will go on without me. Nothing to do now but punch your tickets for the toy train and watch the shrunken madness as you slowly click home on the tiny plastic tracks.</p> -<ol class="footnote"> -<li id="fn-001"> -<p><span class="note1">1. Actually there is a better way: to arrive on some trans-continental train. Sadly, that was not an option for this trip. </span><a class="footnoteBackLink" href="#fnr-001" title="Jump back to footnote 1 in the text.">↩</a></p> -</li> -<li id="fn-002"> -<p><span class="note2">2. I know what you're thinking, to talk about Los Angeles as singular entity is sloppy writing, sweeping generalizations being the number one fallacy of self-appointed prognosticators. Of course you're right, there is no Los Angeles. And yet there is. </span><a class="footnoteBackLink" href="#fnr-002" title="Jump back to footnote 1 in the text.">↩</a></p> -</li> -</ol> - </div> - </article> -</main> - -</body> -</html> diff --git a/bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2010/05/los-angeles-im-yours.html b/bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2010/05/los-angeles-im-yours.html deleted file mode 100644 index 4a103e0..0000000 --- a/bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2010/05/los-angeles-im-yours.html +++ /dev/null @@ -1,373 +0,0 @@ -<!DOCTYPE html> -<html -class="detail single" dir="ltr" lang="en-US"> - -<head> - <title>Los Angeles, I’M Yours - by Scott Gilbertson</title> - <meta charset="utf-8"> - <meta http-equiv="x-ua-compatible" content="ie=edge"> - <meta name="viewport" content="width=device-width, initial-scale=1"> - <meta name="description" - content="Ditch the car and ride the subways of Los Angeles, the toy train world where there is no ground beneath the ground... 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Everything warbles and blurs in the heat. It ends up looking like a natural, persistent, <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tilt-shift_photography" title="wikipedia: tilt-shift photography" rel=nofollow">tilt-shift</a> distortion, turning the building below into a miniature, toy world. </p> -<p>The effect is odd, transfixing and a bit disconcerting after a while, a feeling heightened by the Hare Krishna sitting next me incessantly chanting the Maha Mantra. </p> -<p>Later, outside the terminal a sign reads: Welcome to Los Angeles.</p> -<p><span class="numeral">2.</span></p> -<p><img alt="Union Station Subway Stop, Los Angeles" class="picfull" src="https://images.luxagraf.net//2010/launionsubway.jpg"/></p> -<p>Around the time I was in high school Los Angeles built a subway system. I remember it showing up on page 15 of the newspapers. The universal consensus among those of us used to living under the constant threat of earthquake was that voluntarily going underground for extended periods of time would be tantamount to suicide.</p> -<p>Besides, Los Angeles is all about the car. Shiny, air-conditioned comfort, gliding you soundlessly from one place to another without the need to interact with anything in between.</p> -<p>Like most, I forgot about the subway as soon as it was done. The only time the L.A. metro system entered my consciousness was when a train accidentally hit someone crossing the tracks. Again, subway == death.</p> -<p><break></p> -<p>Then I moved across the country. </p> -<p>Just before I left to visit L.A., I stumbled upon some photographs of Union Station, which might well be the pinnacle of Moderne/Art Deco architecture. I decided I must see Union Station, and what better way to arrive than by subway?<sup id="fnr-001"><a href="#fn-001">[1]</a></sup></p> -<p><img alt="The Old Ticket room, Union Station, Los Angeles" class="postpicright" src="https://images.luxagraf.net//2010/launionticketroom.jpg"/>So into the subway I went. It was uneventful, an ordinary subway — commuters sitting stoically, staring into space, a homeless man muttering in the corner, a older woman with a small trolley full of grocery bags, a fanatic handing out flyers for some cause. But Union Station is more than ordinary.</p> -<p>Coming up out of the subway into the passenger rail terminal at Union Station is a fantastically beautiful step back in time — back in time to moment when trains were travel, when building were more than containers for retail stores, when architecture mattered, even in otherwise dull places like a train station. </p> -<p>From the ceiling in the entrance to the heavy, ornate waiting room chairs, Union Station feels more like a cathedral than a train depot — inlaid marble abounds, backlit windows glow like stained glass.</p> -<p>L.A.’s Union Station feels like a cathedral in part because the architecture far exceeds the purely utilitarian function it serves — you can’t help feeling that there is some hidden message in its design. Walking under the magnificent heavy ceiling beams in the waiting room, you begin to feel the same sense of tiny insignificance you feel in the Gothic cathedrals of Europe.</p> -<p><img alt="Union Station Ceiling, Los Angeles" class="picfull" src="https://images.luxagraf.net//2010/launionstationceiling.jpg"/></p> -<p><span class="numeral">3.</span></p> -<p>It’s a strange thing to be a tourist in the area you grew up in. I didn’t grow up in L.A. proper, but many of my memories of the area are tied to L.A. because that’s where everything fun happened — live music, art shows, restaurants, movies… did I mention live music? </p> -<p>Aside from the beach, which was closer to home, L.A. was where everything happened and so it figures larger in my memory than in actual waking hours. And yet I’ve never really bothered to pay any attention to Los Angeles the city, the streets, the buildings, the people.</p> -<p>It’s an easy thing to miss. Los Angeles seems designed to be unreal, a land where everything is plastic and shrunken like set pieces in a toy train set<sup id="fnr-002"><a href="#fn-002">[2]</a></sup>. </p> -<p>I’m convinced that part of the reason behind the toy train illusion is to protect L.A.’s residents from certain unpleasant facts, like, for example, the fact that there is no ground below the ground in L.A — there is no real earth. </p> -<p>I don’t mean like a bit of earth showing where the lawn has been worn by foot traffic, but actual earth, large undisturbed expanses of it. It simply isn’t there.</p> -<p>I spent most of my life in Southern California and I could never find the ground below the ground. The actual earth. The sand at the beaches is trucked in from elsewhere and everything is paved. The roads lead to driveways, to kitchen floors, to backyard patio slabs with that strange pock-marked concrete. Even the riverbeds are poured concrete. Who paves a river?</p> -<p>You might think New york is the same way; it’s not. There’s plenty of earth in New York. Central Park, Prospect park, any neighborhood park. Subways leak water, betraying what is behind them, under them, around them. New Yorkers have plenty of reminders about the ground under the ground.</p> -<p><span class="numeral">4.</span></p> -<p>I still haven’t found the ground under the ground in Los Angeles (the subways don’t leak, the concrete tubes under the city are still unbroken), but I have discovered that if you get out of your car and walk, the toy train set illusion reverts at least to a life size city. </p> -<p><img alt="Los Angeles" class="postpic" src="https://images.luxagraf.net//2010/latallestbuilding.jpg"/>The tallest building on the west coast towers overhead; in the distance City Hall looms and the ultra-modern hideousness of the Disney Concert Hall glitters in the afternoon sun. Further up the hill the Department of Power and Water building seems to float, an island in the middle of a man-made lake.</p> -<p>Everything is very real. We walk down to a park, the tiniest park I’ve ever seen, but a park nonetheless. Everything seems very real.</p> -<p>But only for a moment. A few streets later we stop off for a pint at a pirate bar. Fake sailing detritus litters the walls — ships wheels, heavy braided hemp ropes, portals to nowhere, flags bearing the skull and crossbones. </p> -<p>Our table is a fake oak barrel, fake pirate insignia decorate the ceiling. The bar looks like a post-production yard sale from the <em>Pirates of the Caribbean</em>.</p> -<p>The illusion of reality collapses.</p> -<p>Los Angeles cultivates that aspect of itself, it enjoys the rest of the world seeing it as a completely unreal world. A world of pirate bars and movie stars. You either have to embrace it or get the hell out.</p> -<p>I went with the latter, but I enjoy returning, trying to find little moments of the real where L.A. drops its pretense and becomes a real city.</p> -<p><span class="numeral">5.</span></p> -<p>The next day I walk a mile or two down Wilshire Blvd to Lincoln where I catch the bus to the airport. I drop my change in the box and find a seat near the back of the bus. Someone has scratched the window, initials carved, then crossed out and more initials carved. </p> -<p>Out of the corner of my eye the scratched window makes the view turn blurry again, the building begin to look more plastic, shrunken. I’m back on the ride. </p> -<p>The tilt-shift world will go on without me. Nothing to do now but punch your tickets for the toy train and watch the shrunken madness as you slowly click home on the tiny plastic tracks.</p> -<ol class="footnote"> -<li id="fn-001"> -<p><span class="note1">1. Actually there is a better way: to arrive on some trans-continental train. Sadly, that was not an option for this trip. </span><a href="#fnr-001" class="footnoteBackLink" title="Jump back to footnote 1 in the text.">↩</a></p> -</li> -<li id="fn-002"> -<p><span class="note2">2. I know what you’re thinking, to talk about Los Angeles as singular entity is sloppy writing, sweeping generalizations being the number one fallacy of self-appointed prognosticators. Of course you’re right, there is no Los Angeles. And yet there is. </span><a href="#fnr-002" class="footnoteBackLink" title="Jump back to footnote 1 in the text.">↩</a></p> -</li> -</ol> - </div> - - </article> - - - <div class="nav-wrapper"> - <nav id="page-navigation" class="page-border-top"> - <ul> - <li id="prev"><span class="bl">Previous:</span> - <a href="/jrnl/2010/04/death-valley" rel="prev" title=" (There'll Be) Peace in the Valley">(There'll Be) Peace in the Valley</a> - </li> - <li id="next"><span class="bl">Next:</span> - <a href="/jrnl/2010/07/begin-the-begin" rel="next" title=" Begin the Begin">Begin the Begin</a> - </li> - </ul> - </nav> - </div> - - - - - - -<div class="comment--form--wrapper "> - -<div class="comment--form--header"> - <p class="hed">Thoughts?</p> - <p class="subhed">Please leave a reply:</p> -</div> -<form action="/comments/post/" method="post" class="comment--form"> - -<input type="hidden" name="rder" value="" /> - - - <input type="hidden" name="content_type" value="jrnl.entry" id="id_content_type"> - - - - <input type="hidden" name="object_pk" value="100" id="id_object_pk"> - - - - <input type="hidden" name="timestamp" value="1596833466" id="id_timestamp"> - - - - <input type="hidden" name="security_hash" value="02769bba75043e2386948849a886b208e9ccbe02" id="id_security_hash"> - - - - <fieldset > - <label for="id_name">Name:</label> - <input type="text" name="name" maxlength="50" required id="id_name"> - </fieldset> - - - - <fieldset > - <label for="id_email">Email address:</label> - <input type="email" name="email" required id="id_email"> - </fieldset> - - - - <fieldset > - <label for="id_url">URL:</label> - <input type="url" name="url" id="id_url"> - </fieldset> - - - - <fieldset > - <label for="id_comment">Comment:</label> - <div class="textarea-rounded"><textarea name="comment" cols="40" rows="10" maxlength="3000" required id="id_comment"> -</textarea></div> - </fieldset> - - - - <fieldset style="display:none;"> - <label for="id_honeypot">If you enter anything in this field your comment will be treated as spam:</label> - <input type="text" name="honeypot" id="id_honeypot"> - </fieldset> - - - <div class="submit"> - <input type="submit" name="post" class="submit-post btn" value="Post" /> - <input type="submit" name="preview" class="submit-preview btn" value="Preview" /> - </div> -</form> -<p style="font-size: 95%;"><strong>All comments are moderated</strong>, so you won’t see it right away. 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-
-As the plane sweeps in low over eastern Los Angeles the heat of the engine exhaust smears the top portion of the view from my window. Everything warbles and blurs in the heat. It ends up looking like a natural, persistent, <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tilt-shift_photography" title="wikipedia: tilt-shift photography" rel=nofollow">tilt-shift</a> distortion, turning the building below into a miniature, toy world.
-
-The effect is odd, transfixing and a bit disconcerting after a while, a feeling heightened by the Hare Krishna sitting next me incessantly chanting the Maha Mantra.
-
-Later, outside the terminal a sign reads: Welcome to Los Angeles.
-
-<span class="numeral">2.</span>
-
-<img class="picfull" src="[[base_url]]/2010/launionsubway.jpg" alt="Union Station Subway Stop, Los Angeles" />
-
-Around the time I was in high school Los Angeles built a subway system. I remember it showing up on page 15 of the newspapers. The universal consensus among those of us used to living under the constant threat of earthquake was that voluntarily going underground for extended periods of time would be tantamount to suicide.
-
-Besides, Los Angeles is all about the car. Shiny, air-conditioned comfort, gliding you soundlessly from one place to another without the need to interact with anything in between.
-
-Like most, I forgot about the subway as soon as it was done. The only time the L.A. metro system entered my consciousness was when a train accidentally hit someone crossing the tracks. Again, subway == death.
-
-<break>
-
-Then I moved across the country.
-
-Just before I left to visit L.A., I stumbled upon some photographs of Union Station, which might well be the pinnacle of Moderne/Art Deco architecture. I decided I must see Union Station, and what better way to arrive than by subway?<sup id="fnr-001"><a href="#fn-001">[1]</a></sup>
-
-<img class="postpicright" src="[[base_url]]/2010/launionticketroom.jpg" alt="The Old Ticket room, Union Station, Los Angeles" />So into the subway I went. It was uneventful, an ordinary subway -- commuters sitting stoically, staring into space, a homeless man muttering in the corner, a older woman with a small trolley full of grocery bags, a fanatic handing out flyers for some cause. But Union Station is more than ordinary.
-
-Coming up out of the subway into the passenger rail terminal at Union Station is a fantastically beautiful step back in time -- back in time to moment when trains were travel, when building were more than containers for retail stores, when architecture mattered, even in otherwise dull places like a train station.
-
-From the ceiling in the entrance to the heavy, ornate waiting room chairs, Union Station feels more like a cathedral than a train depot -- inlaid marble abounds, backlit windows glow like stained glass.
-
-L.A.'s Union Station feels like a cathedral in part because the architecture far exceeds the purely utilitarian function it serves -- you can't help feeling that there is some hidden message in its design. Walking under the magnificent heavy ceiling beams in the waiting room, you begin to feel the same sense of tiny insignificance you feel in the Gothic cathedrals of Europe.
-
-<img class="picfull" src="[[base_url]]/2010/launionstationceiling.jpg" alt="Union Station Ceiling, Los Angeles" />
-
-<span class="numeral">3.</span>
-
-It's a strange thing to be a tourist in the area you grew up in. I didn't grow up in L.A. proper, but many of my memories of the area are tied to L.A. because that's where everything fun happened -- live music, art shows, restaurants, movies... did I mention live music?
-
-Aside from the beach, which was closer to home, L.A. was where everything happened and so it figures larger in my memory than in actual waking hours. And yet I've never really bothered to pay any attention to Los Angeles the city, the streets, the buildings, the people.
-
-It's an easy thing to miss. Los Angeles seems designed to be unreal, a land where everything is plastic and shrunken like set pieces in a toy train set<sup id="fnr-002"><a href="#fn-002">[2]</a></sup>.
-
-I'm convinced that part of the reason behind the toy train illusion is to protect L.A.'s residents from certain unpleasant facts, like, for example, the fact that there is no ground below the ground in L.A -- there is no real earth.
-
-I don't mean like a bit of earth showing where the lawn has been worn by foot traffic, but actual earth, large undisturbed expanses of it. It simply isn't there.
-
-I spent most of my life in Southern California and I could never find the ground below the ground. The actual earth. The sand at the beaches is trucked in from elsewhere and everything is paved. The roads lead to driveways, to kitchen floors, to backyard patio slabs with that strange pock-marked concrete. Even the riverbeds are poured concrete. Who paves a river?
-
-You might think New york is the same way; it's not. There's plenty of earth in New York. Central Park, Prospect park, any neighborhood park. Subways leak water, betraying what is behind them, under them, around them. New Yorkers have plenty of reminders about the ground under the ground.
-
-<span class="numeral">4.</span>
-
-I still haven't found the ground under the ground in Los Angeles (the subways don't leak, the concrete tubes under the city are still unbroken), but I have discovered that if you get out of your car and walk, the toy train set illusion reverts at least to a life size city.
-
-<img class="postpic" src="[[base_url]]/2010/latallestbuilding.jpg" alt="Los Angeles" />The tallest building on the west coast towers overhead; in the distance City Hall looms and the ultra-modern hideousness of the Disney Concert Hall glitters in the afternoon sun. Further up the hill the Department of Power and Water building seems to float, an island in the middle of a man-made lake.
-
-Everything is very real. We walk down to a park, the tiniest park I've ever seen, but a park nonetheless. Everything seems very real.
-
-But only for a moment. A few streets later we stop off for a pint at a pirate bar. Fake sailing detritus litters the walls -- ships wheels, heavy braided hemp ropes, portals to nowhere, flags bearing the skull and crossbones.
-
-Our table is a fake oak barrel, fake pirate insignia decorate the ceiling. The bar looks like a post-production yard sale from the *Pirates of the Caribbean*.
-
-The illusion of reality collapses.
-
-Los Angeles cultivates that aspect of itself, it enjoys the rest of the world seeing it as a completely unreal world. A world of pirate bars and movie stars. You either have to embrace it or get the hell out.
-
-I went with the latter, but I enjoy returning, trying to find little moments of the real where L.A. drops its pretense and becomes a real city.
-
-<span class="numeral">5.</span>
-
-The next day I walk a mile or two down Wilshire Blvd to Lincoln where I catch the bus to the airport. I drop my change in the box and find a seat near the back of the bus. Someone has scratched the window, initials carved, then crossed out and more initials carved.
-
-Out of the corner of my eye the scratched window makes the view turn blurry again, the building begin to look more plastic, shrunken. I'm back on the ride.
-
-The tilt-shift world will go on without me. Nothing to do now but punch your tickets for the toy train and watch the shrunken madness as you slowly click home on the tiny plastic tracks.
-
-<ol class="footnote">
-<li id="fn-001">
-<p><span class="note1">1. Actually there is a better way: to arrive on some trans-continental train. Sadly, that was not an option for this trip. </span><a href="#fnr-001" class="footnoteBackLink" title="Jump back to footnote 1 in the text.">↩</a></p>
-</li>
-<li id="fn-002">
-<p><span class="note2">2. I know what you're thinking, to talk about Los Angeles as singular entity is sloppy writing, sweeping generalizations being the number one fallacy of self-appointed prognosticators. Of course you're right, there is no Los Angeles. And yet there is. </span><a href="#fnr-002" class="footnoteBackLink" title="Jump back to footnote 1 in the text.">↩</a></p>
-</li>
-</ol>
- diff --git a/bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2010/07/backpacking-grand-tetons.amp b/bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2010/07/backpacking-grand-tetons.amp deleted file mode 100644 index 2e0a6fd..0000000 --- a/bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2010/07/backpacking-grand-tetons.amp +++ /dev/null @@ -1,193 +0,0 @@ - - -<!doctype html> -<html amp lang="en"> -<head> -<meta charset="utf-8"> -<title>Backpacking in the Grand Tetons</title> -<link rel="canonical" href="https://luxagraf.net/jrnl/2010/07/backpacking-grand-tetons"> - <meta name="viewport" content="width=device-width,initial-scale=1,minimum-scale=1"> - <meta name="twitter:card" content="summary_large_image"/> - <meta name="twitter:url" content="/jrnl/2010/07/backpacking-grand-tetons"> - <meta name="twitter:description" content="Hiking into the wilderness empties your mind. 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In the distance the light begins to retreat up the jagged, snow-patched granite walls. A soft twilight falls over the rocky meadow in front of me where a marmot is rooting through the grasses and purple lupines. Some where farther up the hillside from the granite boulder I am leaning against a pair of deer are grazing. Everything seems hushed and perfect.</p> -<p><amp-img alt="Meadow near Holly Lake, Grand Teton National Park" height="309" src="https://images.luxagraf.net//2010/tetonshollymeadow.jpg" width="550"></amp-img> </p> -<p>Further down the stream that runs through this meadow a couple of late arrivals are setting up their tents. The wind that has been blowing all afternoon has died down a bit, though it still gusts and will pick up again before night falls.</p> -<p><break></break></p> -<p>This place feels limitless. The high alpine country of Grand Teton seems to stretch forever in every direction, the sheer granite peaks reach up into the clear blue doom overhead. The wind begins to howl again, blasting at the gnarled Whitebark Pines to my left compounding the wild feeling of the backcountry.</p> -<p>Here in the meadow the wind is less severe, the pines block the full force of it and it slows to something more like a strong breeze. The lupines sway slightly, the light is retreating up the granite walls on the opposite side of the canyon. I eat dinner, watch the light retreat.</p> -<p><amp-img alt="Smaller Lake near the exit of Holly Lake, Grand Teton National Park" height="420" src="https://images.luxagraf.net//2010/tetonshollylakemouth.jpg" width="280"></amp-img> Just beyond the pines, over a small ridge where my tent is pitched in relative shelter from the wind, lies Holly Lake, a small, sapphire lake nestled at the base of Mount Woodring. Near the exit of Holly Lake is a smaller pond, cut off from the lake by a rocky moraine, the remnants left by retreating glaciers. To the west is Paintbrush Divide, some 2000 feet higher and still choked with snow. Beyond that lies the seemingly endless Teton Range -- wild mountains stretching clear over into Idaho.</p> -<p>The Tetons are about as spectacular and dramatic a mountain range as you'll find. These mountains are young (in geological timescales anyway) and jagged, with majestic peaks, pristine lakes and gorgeous meadows carpeted with wildflowers even in July. The meadow in front of me is littered with the purple of lupines, yellow Balsalmroot and the occasional red tuft of paintbrush flowers.</p> -<p>Part of the reason the Tetons are so striking is that they seem to arise from nowhere. Just a few miles east of my camp is a nearly flat sage-covered valley. There's not much in the way of foothills, the mountains simply begin. That abruptness is part of what makes the Tetons feel so utterly wild -- there is something raw and elemental about the Tetons that sets them apart from other mountains I have hiked through, only the Himalayas convey a similar sense of being in the real wild.</p> -<p>Of course you probably won't get that sense of wildness if you stick to the paved roads. Grand Teton National Park gets very crowded in the summer. Still, as with most places on earth, if you get our of your vehicle and walk a few miles in any direction you'll quickly find yourself alone in the remarkable wilderness and beauty that exists here. </p> -<p>That wilderness can bite though. Yesterday when I arrived a storm hung over the peaks raining hail, snow and lightening on a number of climbers trying to summit Grand Teton. All afternoon rescue helicopters flew back and forth, up and down the mountain plucking a total of 16 climbers off the peak, some of whom had been struck by lightening several times. It was the single largest rescue effort in the history of the park. Tragically, one person was killed. (For more details check out this <a href="http://www.jhnewsandguide.com/article.php?art_id=6281">harrowing account of the rescue on Grand Teton</a>).</p> -<p><amp-img alt="Trail through Paintbrush Canyon, Grand Teton National Park" height="266" src="https://images.luxagraf.net//2010/tetonshollytrail.jpg" width="320"></amp-img> I used to climb, but these days I'm content to just walk. To get away from the crowded campgrounds clustered around the lake area at the base of the peaks I strapped on a pack and hiked up here, to Holly Lake, where I was, for the most part, totally alone.</p> -<p>I'm not one for covering long distance in short periods of time. I set out early and was at Holly Lake by noon. It's only a six mile walk, though you do go up some 3000 feet. I felt no need to keep going. Part of letting the world slip away in the backcountry means you can let go of that endless need to keep pushing. The exercise is good, but so is the doing nothing. The relaxing.</p> -<p>I set up camp and walked over to the meadow where I watched the clouds roll by, sometimes finding images in them, sometimes not. Eventually I dozed off for a while and woke up feeling refreshed. I spent the afternoon walking around the lake, exploring the hillsides and the meadow. A few day hikers came up, ate their lunches and left.</p> -<p><amp-img alt="Sunset over Holly Lake, Grand Teton National Park" height="272" src="https://images.luxagraf.net//2010/tetonshollylakesunset.jpg" width="350"></amp-img>As evening fell -- late at these latitudes, it did not get completely dark until nearly ten -- I made a small dinner and sat in the meadow watching a pair of deer eat their own dinner. They watched me, perhaps a bit more warily than I them, but they did not run.</p> -<p>By the time the stars came out it was too cold for lounging in the meadow, I retreated to my tent, crawled in my sleeping bag and stared up through the mesh top at the stars above.</p> -<p>Hiking into the wilderness empties your mind. You fall into the silence of the mountains and you can relax in a way that's very difficult to do in the midst of civilization. The white noise that surrounds us in our everyday lives, that noise we don't even notice as it adds thin layers of stress that build up over days, weeks, years, does not seem capable of following us into the mountains. </p> -<p>Perhaps something about the quiet of the land, the stillness of the evening, the silence of the night, something out here that makes all of that back there fade away for a time. The wilderness is a reviver, a giver of perspective, all you have to do is step out into it. </p> -<p>[Note: this story is park of my quest to visit every National Park in the U.S. You can check out the rest on the <a href="http://luxagraf.net/projects/national-parks/" title="National Parks Project">National Parks Project</a> page.]</p> - </div> - </article> -</main> - -</body> -</html> diff --git a/bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2010/07/backpacking-grand-tetons.html b/bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2010/07/backpacking-grand-tetons.html deleted file mode 100644 index 6070927..0000000 --- a/bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2010/07/backpacking-grand-tetons.html +++ /dev/null @@ -1,346 +0,0 @@ -<!DOCTYPE html> -<html -class="detail single" dir="ltr" lang="en-US"> - -<head> - <title>Backpacking In The Grand Tetons - by Scott Gilbertson</title> - <meta charset="utf-8"> - <meta http-equiv="x-ua-compatible" content="ie=edge"> - <meta name="viewport" content="width=device-width, initial-scale=1"> - <meta name="description" - content="Hiking into the wilderness empties your mind. 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In the distance the light begins to retreat up the jagged, snow-patched granite walls. A soft twilight falls over the rocky meadow in front of me where a marmot is rooting through the grasses and purple lupines. Some where farther up the hillside from the granite boulder I am leaning against a pair of deer are grazing. Everything seems hushed and perfect.</p> -<p><img alt="Meadow near Holly Lake, Grand Teton National Park" class="picfull" src="https://images.luxagraf.net//2010/tetonshollymeadow.jpg"/> </p> -<p>Further down the stream that runs through this meadow a couple of late arrivals are setting up their tents. The wind that has been blowing all afternoon has died down a bit, though it still gusts and will pick up again before night falls.</p> -<p><break></p> -<p>This place feels limitless. The high alpine country of Grand Teton seems to stretch forever in every direction, the sheer granite peaks reach up into the clear blue doom overhead. The wind begins to howl again, blasting at the gnarled Whitebark Pines to my left compounding the wild feeling of the backcountry.</p> -<p>Here in the meadow the wind is less severe, the pines block the full force of it and it slows to something more like a strong breeze. The lupines sway slightly, the light is retreating up the granite walls on the opposite side of the canyon. I eat dinner, watch the light retreat.</p> -<p><img alt="Smaller Lake near the exit of Holly Lake, Grand Teton National Park" class="postpicright" src="https://images.luxagraf.net//2010/tetonshollylakemouth.jpg"/> Just beyond the pines, over a small ridge where my tent is pitched in relative shelter from the wind, lies Holly Lake, a small, sapphire lake nestled at the base of Mount Woodring. Near the exit of Holly Lake is a smaller pond, cut off from the lake by a rocky moraine, the remnants left by retreating glaciers. To the west is Paintbrush Divide, some 2000 feet higher and still choked with snow. Beyond that lies the seemingly endless Teton Range — wild mountains stretching clear over into Idaho.</p> -<p>The Tetons are about as spectacular and dramatic a mountain range as you’ll find. These mountains are young (in geological timescales anyway) and jagged, with majestic peaks, pristine lakes and gorgeous meadows carpeted with wildflowers even in July. The meadow in front of me is littered with the purple of lupines, yellow Balsalmroot and the occasional red tuft of paintbrush flowers.</p> -<p>Part of the reason the Tetons are so striking is that they seem to arise from nowhere. Just a few miles east of my camp is a nearly flat sage-covered valley. There’s not much in the way of foothills, the mountains simply begin. That abruptness is part of what makes the Tetons feel so utterly wild — there is something raw and elemental about the Tetons that sets them apart from other mountains I have hiked through, only the Himalayas convey a similar sense of being in the real wild.</p> -<p>Of course you probably won’t get that sense of wildness if you stick to the paved roads. Grand Teton National Park gets very crowded in the summer. Still, as with most places on earth, if you get our of your vehicle and walk a few miles in any direction you’ll quickly find yourself alone in the remarkable wilderness and beauty that exists here. </p> -<p>That wilderness can bite though. Yesterday when I arrived a storm hung over the peaks raining hail, snow and lightening on a number of climbers trying to summit Grand Teton. All afternoon rescue helicopters flew back and forth, up and down the mountain plucking a total of 16 climbers off the peak, some of whom had been struck by lightening several times. It was the single largest rescue effort in the history of the park. Tragically, one person was killed. (For more details check out this <a href="http://www.jhnewsandguide.com/article.php?art_id=6281">harrowing account of the rescue on Grand Teton</a>).</p> -<p><img alt="Trail through Paintbrush Canyon, Grand Teton National Park" class="postpic" src="https://images.luxagraf.net//2010/tetonshollytrail.jpg"/> I used to climb, but these days I’m content to just walk. To get away from the crowded campgrounds clustered around the lake area at the base of the peaks I strapped on a pack and hiked up here, to Holly Lake, where I was, for the most part, totally alone.</p> -<p>I’m not one for covering long distance in short periods of time. I set out early and was at Holly Lake by noon. It’s only a six mile walk, though you do go up some 3000 feet. I felt no need to keep going. Part of letting the world slip away in the backcountry means you can let go of that endless need to keep pushing. The exercise is good, but so is the doing nothing. The relaxing.</p> -<p>I set up camp and walked over to the meadow where I watched the clouds roll by, sometimes finding images in them, sometimes not. Eventually I dozed off for a while and woke up feeling refreshed. I spent the afternoon walking around the lake, exploring the hillsides and the meadow. A few day hikers came up, ate their lunches and left.</p> -<p><img alt="Sunset over Holly Lake, Grand Teton National Park" class="postpicright" src="https://images.luxagraf.net//2010/tetonshollylakesunset.jpg"/>As evening fell — late at these latitudes, it did not get completely dark until nearly ten — I made a small dinner and sat in the meadow watching a pair of deer eat their own dinner. They watched me, perhaps a bit more warily than I them, but they did not run.</p> -<p>By the time the stars came out it was too cold for lounging in the meadow, I retreated to my tent, crawled in my sleeping bag and stared up through the mesh top at the stars above.</p> -<p>Hiking into the wilderness empties your mind. You fall into the silence of the mountains and you can relax in a way that’s very difficult to do in the midst of civilization. The white noise that surrounds us in our everyday lives, that noise we don’t even notice as it adds thin layers of stress that build up over days, weeks, years, does not seem capable of following us into the mountains. </p> -<p>Perhaps something about the quiet of the land, the stillness of the evening, the silence of the night, something out here that makes all of that back there fade away for a time. The wilderness is a reviver, a giver of perspective, all you have to do is step out into it. </p> -<p>[Note: this story is park of my quest to visit every National Park in the U.S. You can check out the rest on the <a href="http://luxagraf.net/projects/national-parks/" title="National Parks Project">National Parks Project</a> page.]</p> - </div> - - </article> - - - <div class="nav-wrapper"> - <nav id="page-navigation" class="page-border-top"> - <ul> - <li id="prev"><span class="bl">Previous:</span> - <a href="/jrnl/2010/07/great-sand-dunes-national-park" rel="prev" title=" Great Sand Dunes National Park">Great Sand Dunes National Park</a> - </li> - <li id="next"><span class="bl">Next:</span> - <a href="/jrnl/2010/07/endless-crowds-yellowstone" rel="next" title=" The Endless Crowds of Yellowstone">The Endless Crowds of Yellowstone</a> - </li> - </ul> - </nav> - </div> - - - - - - -<div class="comment--form--wrapper "> - -<div class="comment--form--header"> - <p class="hed">Thoughts?</p> - <p class="subhed">Please leave a reply:</p> -</div> -<form action="/comments/post/" method="post" class="comment--form"> - -<input type="hidden" name="rder" value="" /> - - - <input type="hidden" name="content_type" value="jrnl.entry" id="id_content_type"> - - - - <input type="hidden" name="object_pk" value="111" id="id_object_pk"> - - - - <input type="hidden" name="timestamp" value="1596833464" id="id_timestamp"> - - - - <input type="hidden" name="security_hash" value="8f0569b13627901ef4a2d5d4fc52cba9d8ce4097" id="id_security_hash"> - - - - <fieldset > - <label for="id_name">Name:</label> - <input type="text" name="name" maxlength="50" required id="id_name"> - </fieldset> - - - - <fieldset > - <label for="id_email">Email address:</label> - <input type="email" name="email" required id="id_email"> - </fieldset> - - - - <fieldset > - <label for="id_url">URL:</label> - <input type="url" name="url" id="id_url"> - </fieldset> - - - - <fieldset > - <label for="id_comment">Comment:</label> - <div class="textarea-rounded"><textarea name="comment" cols="40" rows="10" maxlength="3000" required id="id_comment"> -</textarea></div> - </fieldset> - - - - <fieldset style="display:none;"> - <label for="id_honeypot">If you enter anything in this field your comment will be treated as spam:</label> - <input type="text" name="honeypot" id="id_honeypot"> - </fieldset> - - - <div class="submit"> - <input type="submit" name="post" class="submit-post btn" value="Post" /> - <input type="submit" name="preview" class="submit-preview btn" value="Preview" /> - </div> -</form> -<p style="font-size: 95%;"><strong>All comments are moderated</strong>, so you won’t see it right away. 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In the distance the light begins to retreat up the jagged, snow-patched granite walls. A soft twilight falls over the rocky meadow in front of me where a marmot is rooting through the grasses and purple lupines. Some where farther up the hillside from the granite boulder I am leaning against a pair of deer are grazing. Everything seems hushed and perfect.
-
-<img src="[[base_url]]/2010/tetonshollymeadow.jpg" alt="Meadow near Holly Lake, Grand Teton National Park" class="picfull" />
-
-Further down the stream that runs through this meadow a couple of late arrivals are setting up their tents. The wind that has been blowing all afternoon has died down a bit, though it still gusts and will pick up again before night falls.
-
-<break>
-
-This place feels limitless. The high alpine country of Grand Teton seems to stretch forever in every direction, the sheer granite peaks reach up into the clear blue doom overhead. The wind begins to howl again, blasting at the gnarled Whitebark Pines to my left compounding the wild feeling of the backcountry.
-
-Here in the meadow the wind is less severe, the pines block the full force of it and it slows to something more like a strong breeze. The lupines sway slightly, the light is retreating up the granite walls on the opposite side of the canyon. I eat dinner, watch the light retreat.
-
-
-<img src="[[base_url]]/2010/tetonshollylakemouth.jpg" alt="Smaller Lake near the exit of Holly Lake, Grand Teton National Park" class="postpicright" /> Just beyond the pines, over a small ridge where my tent is pitched in relative shelter from the wind, lies Holly Lake, a small, sapphire lake nestled at the base of Mount Woodring. Near the exit of Holly Lake is a smaller pond, cut off from the lake by a rocky moraine, the remnants left by retreating glaciers. To the west is Paintbrush Divide, some 2000 feet higher and still choked with snow. Beyond that lies the seemingly endless Teton Range -- wild mountains stretching clear over into Idaho.
-
-The Tetons are about as spectacular and dramatic a mountain range as you'll find. These mountains are young (in geological timescales anyway) and jagged, with majestic peaks, pristine lakes and gorgeous meadows carpeted with wildflowers even in July. The meadow in front of me is littered with the purple of lupines, yellow Balsalmroot and the occasional red tuft of paintbrush flowers.
-
-Part of the reason the Tetons are so striking is that they seem to arise from nowhere. Just a few miles east of my camp is a nearly flat sage-covered valley. There's not much in the way of foothills, the mountains simply begin. That abruptness is part of what makes the Tetons feel so utterly wild -- there is something raw and elemental about the Tetons that sets them apart from other mountains I have hiked through, only the Himalayas convey a similar sense of being in the real wild.
-
-Of course you probably won't get that sense of wildness if you stick to the paved roads. Grand Teton National Park gets very crowded in the summer. Still, as with most places on earth, if you get our of your vehicle and walk a few miles in any direction you'll quickly find yourself alone in the remarkable wilderness and beauty that exists here.
-
-That wilderness can bite though. Yesterday when I arrived a storm hung over the peaks raining hail, snow and lightening on a number of climbers trying to summit Grand Teton. All afternoon rescue helicopters flew back and forth, up and down the mountain plucking a total of 16 climbers off the peak, some of whom had been struck by lightening several times. It was the single largest rescue effort in the history of the park. Tragically, one person was killed. (For more details check out this [harrowing account of the rescue on Grand Teton][1]).
-
-<img src="[[base_url]]/2010/tetonshollytrail.jpg" alt="Trail through Paintbrush Canyon, Grand Teton National Park" class="postpic" /> I used to climb, but these days I'm content to just walk. To get away from the crowded campgrounds clustered around the lake area at the base of the peaks I strapped on a pack and hiked up here, to Holly Lake, where I was, for the most part, totally alone.
-
-I'm not one for covering long distance in short periods of time. I set out early and was at Holly Lake by noon. It's only a six mile walk, though you do go up some 3000 feet. I felt no need to keep going. Part of letting the world slip away in the backcountry means you can let go of that endless need to keep pushing. The exercise is good, but so is the doing nothing. The relaxing.
-
-I set up camp and walked over to the meadow where I watched the clouds roll by, sometimes finding images in them, sometimes not. Eventually I dozed off for a while and woke up feeling refreshed. I spent the afternoon walking around the lake, exploring the hillsides and the meadow. A few day hikers came up, ate their lunches and left.
-
-<img src="[[base_url]]/2010/tetonshollylakesunset.jpg" alt="Sunset over Holly Lake, Grand Teton National Park" class="postpicright" />As evening fell -- late at these latitudes, it did not get completely dark until nearly ten -- I made a small dinner and sat in the meadow watching a pair of deer eat their own dinner. They watched me, perhaps a bit more warily than I them, but they did not run.
-
-By the time the stars came out it was too cold for lounging in the meadow, I retreated to my tent, crawled in my sleeping bag and stared up through the mesh top at the stars above.
-
-Hiking into the wilderness empties your mind. You fall into the silence of the mountains and you can relax in a way that's very difficult to do in the midst of civilization. The white noise that surrounds us in our everyday lives, that noise we don't even notice as it adds thin layers of stress that build up over days, weeks, years, does not seem capable of following us into the mountains.
-
-Perhaps something about the quiet of the land, the stillness of the evening, the silence of the night, something out here that makes all of that back there fade away for a time. The wilderness is a reviver, a giver of perspective, all you have to do is step out into it.
-
-
-[1]: http://www.jhnewsandguide.com/article.php?art_id=6281
-
-
-[Note: this story is park of my quest to visit every National Park in the U.S. You can check out the rest on the <a href="http://luxagraf.net/projects/national-parks/" title="National Parks Project">National Parks Project</a> page.] diff --git a/bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2010/07/begin-the-begin.amp b/bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2010/07/begin-the-begin.amp deleted file mode 100644 index 4e1ad05..0000000 --- a/bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2010/07/begin-the-begin.amp +++ /dev/null @@ -1,189 +0,0 @@ - - -<!doctype html> -<html amp lang="en"> -<head> -<meta charset="utf-8"> -<title>Begin the Begin</title> -<link rel="canonical" href="https://luxagraf.net/jrnl/2010/07/begin-the-begin"> - <meta name="viewport" content="width=device-width,initial-scale=1,minimum-scale=1"> - <meta name="twitter:card" content="summary_large_image"/> - <meta name="twitter:url" content="/jrnl/2010/07/begin-the-begin"> - <meta name="twitter:description" content="My trip around the United States starts with rainbows and darkness, as the BP oil spill looms off the coast of Gulf Port. 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The first night of this trip I found myself in Spanish Fort, Alabama. Unfortunately, while both may have been erected by the Spanish (lovers of forts the Spanish), there the similarities end.</p> -<p><amp-img alt="Rainbow in Gulf Shores Mississippi" height="356" src="https://images.luxagraf.net//2010/gulf_shores_raibow.jpg" width="260"></amp-img>Where Fort Cochin India had <a href="/2005/nov/10/vasco-de-gama-exhumed/" title="Read the luxagraf entry about Fort Cochin, India">cantilevered Chinese fishing nets, massive, ancient trees and endless thalis of fish and sauces</a>, Spanish Fort Alabama can only claim corporate chain restaurants and shoddy, overpriced motels. </p> -<p>About the only real upside to the southern Alabama I've seen is the plethora of rainbows -- double rainbows, single rainbows, rainbows where the beginning and the end are visible, rainbows that came down and ended right in front of my truck. Sadly, not a pot of gold to be found.</p> -<p><break></break></p> -<p>We left town on the fourth of July -- what better day to start a road trip around the United States? </p> -<p>I'm not an especially patriotic person, but, were I patriotic about anything in the United States, it would be the land. There are few, if any, other places on the earth with the diversity and beauty you'll find in America. That is, I suppose, what we are all looking for when we travel -- beauty. Beauty in places, beauty in people, perhaps even beauty in ourselves.</p> -<p><amp-img alt="Union Station Subway Stop, Los Angeles" height="309" src="https://images.luxagraf.net//2010/gulf_shores_morning_light.jpg" width="550"></amp-img></p> -<p>The first day we drove as far as Spanish Fort, near Mobile on the Alabama coast. The next morning we started out early, cutting off the interstate in favor of the coast road, down to Gulf Shores to have a last look at the beach before BP's oil spill washes ashore. </p> -<p>Gulf Port already feels like a ghost town. Hardly anyone seemed to have spent their fourth on the coast, hotel parking lots were empty, the roads virtually deserted and we had the white sands of the beach to ourselves. At the actual port the shrimp and fishing boats sat idle, some already being pulled into dry docks, avoiding the coming oil. </p> -<p>Further down the coast we saw the first cluster of what would be turn out to be hundreds of orange-vested people wandering the beaches, some with plastic garbage bags fluttering in the wind, others with rakes thrown over their shoulders, all waiting. There is nothing to do just yet. For now the oil is still at sea. But the weather forecasts put the oil onshore either tomorrow or the next day. </p> -<p>Across the street from the beach are the remnants of another disaster that arrived from the sea -- hurricane Katrina. </p> -<p>It's been nearly five years, but Gulf Port is still littered with empty lots that look like scars amidst houses that remain. Empty foundations are half-obscured in weeds, brick porches lead to nothing, empty swimming pools are cracked, plants growing out their drains. Here and there a tire swing hangs from an Oak tree, still waiting for someone no longer thinking about returning.</p> -<p>And somewhere out at sea the next disaster is getting ready to arrive.</p> -<p>I wander the beach for a while, watching the morning sun stream through the dark, sullen clouds that cover the horizon in every direction. I've never seen an oil spill, just pictures and video. It's hard to imagine all the what this beach will will look like when the oil and dead animals begin to wash up. </p> -<p>For now it is just sugary white sand that squeaks under your bare feet. Small waves lap at the shore, then hiss softly as they retract back to the ocean. </p> -<p>I return to the truck and head off again, west -- always west, into the future as it were. The road winds along the shoreline. Buses and volunteers are stationed every few miles. The shoreline will be temporarily destroyed, it is a tragedy, all the moreso because it need not have happened, but there are people here who do their best to right the wrongs. </p> -<p>The land may be beautiful, but it's always in peril. Fortunately, there are people trying to protect it, to restore it, to preserve it. The light turns green and beach begins to fade in the rearview mirror. It's a somber, but perhaps not inappropriate, beginning for a trip around the United States. </p> - </div> - </article> -</main> - -</body> -</html> diff --git a/bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2010/07/begin-the-begin.html b/bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2010/07/begin-the-begin.html deleted file mode 100644 index ecde075..0000000 --- a/bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2010/07/begin-the-begin.html +++ /dev/null @@ -1,344 +0,0 @@ -<!DOCTYPE html> -<html -class="detail single" dir="ltr" lang="en-US"> - -<head> - <title>Begin The Begin - by Scott Gilbertson</title> - <meta charset="utf-8"> - <meta http-equiv="x-ua-compatible" content="ie=edge"> - <meta name="viewport" content="width=device-width, initial-scale=1"> - <meta name="description" - content="My trip around the United States starts with rainbows and darkness, as the BP oil spill looms off the coast of Gulf Port. 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The first night of this trip I found myself in Spanish Fort, Alabama. Unfortunately, while both may have been erected by the Spanish (lovers of forts the Spanish), there the similarities end.</p> -<p><img alt="Rainbow in Gulf Shores Mississippi" class="postpic" src="https://images.luxagraf.net//2010/gulf_shores_raibow.jpg"/>Where Fort Cochin India had <a href="/2005/nov/10/vasco-de-gama-exhumed/" title="Read the luxagraf entry about Fort Cochin, India">cantilevered Chinese fishing nets, massive, ancient trees and endless thalis of fish and sauces</a>, Spanish Fort Alabama can only claim corporate chain restaurants and shoddy, overpriced motels. </p> -<p>About the only real upside to the southern Alabama I’ve seen is the plethora of rainbows — double rainbows, single rainbows, rainbows where the beginning and the end are visible, rainbows that came down and ended right in front of my truck. Sadly, not a pot of gold to be found.</p> -<p><break></p> -<p>We left town on the fourth of July — what better day to start a road trip around the United States? </p> -<p>I’m not an especially patriotic person, but, were I patriotic about anything in the United States, it would be the land. There are few, if any, other places on the earth with the diversity and beauty you’ll find in America. That is, I suppose, what we are all looking for when we travel — beauty. Beauty in places, beauty in people, perhaps even beauty in ourselves.</p> -<p><img alt="Union Station Subway Stop, Los Angeles" class="picfull" src="https://images.luxagraf.net//2010/gulf_shores_morning_light.jpg"/></p> -<p>The first day we drove as far as Spanish Fort, near Mobile on the Alabama coast. The next morning we started out early, cutting off the interstate in favor of the coast road, down to Gulf Shores to have a last look at the beach before BP’s oil spill washes ashore. </p> -<p>Gulf Port already feels like a ghost town. Hardly anyone seemed to have spent their fourth on the coast, hotel parking lots were empty, the roads virtually deserted and we had the white sands of the beach to ourselves. At the actual port the shrimp and fishing boats sat idle, some already being pulled into dry docks, avoiding the coming oil. </p> -<p>Further down the coast we saw the first cluster of what would be turn out to be hundreds of orange-vested people wandering the beaches, some with plastic garbage bags fluttering in the wind, others with rakes thrown over their shoulders, all waiting. There is nothing to do just yet. For now the oil is still at sea. But the weather forecasts put the oil onshore either tomorrow or the next day. </p> -<p>Across the street from the beach are the remnants of another disaster that arrived from the sea — hurricane Katrina. </p> -<p>It’s been nearly five years, but Gulf Port is still littered with empty lots that look like scars amidst houses that remain. Empty foundations are half-obscured in weeds, brick porches lead to nothing, empty swimming pools are cracked, plants growing out their drains. Here and there a tire swing hangs from an Oak tree, still waiting for someone no longer thinking about returning.</p> -<p>And somewhere out at sea the next disaster is getting ready to arrive.</p> -<p>I wander the beach for a while, watching the morning sun stream through the dark, sullen clouds that cover the horizon in every direction. I’ve never seen an oil spill, just pictures and video. It’s hard to imagine all the what this beach will will look like when the oil and dead animals begin to wash up. </p> -<p>For now it is just sugary white sand that squeaks under your bare feet. Small waves lap at the shore, then hiss softly as they retract back to the ocean. </p> -<p>I return to the truck and head off again, west — always west, into the future as it were. The road winds along the shoreline. Buses and volunteers are stationed every few miles. The shoreline will be temporarily destroyed, it is a tragedy, all the moreso because it need not have happened, but there are people here who do their best to right the wrongs. </p> -<p>The land may be beautiful, but it’s always in peril. Fortunately, there are people trying to protect it, to restore it, to preserve it. The light turns green and beach begins to fade in the rearview mirror. It’s a somber, but perhaps not inappropriate, beginning for a trip around the United States. </p> - </div> - - </article> - - - <div class="nav-wrapper"> - <nav id="page-navigation" class="page-border-top"> - <ul> - <li id="prev"><span class="bl">Previous:</span> - <a href="/jrnl/2010/05/los-angeles-im-yours" rel="prev" title=" Los Angeles, I'm Yours">Los Angeles, I'm Yours</a> - </li> - <li id="next"><span class="bl">Next:</span> - <a href="/jrnl/2010/07/dixie-drug-store" rel="next" title=" The Dixie Drug Store">The Dixie Drug Store</a> - </li> - </ul> - </nav> - </div> - - - - - - -<div class="comment--form--wrapper "> - -<div class="comment--form--header"> - <p class="hed">Thoughts?</p> - <p class="subhed">Please leave a reply:</p> -</div> -<form action="/comments/post/" method="post" class="comment--form"> - -<input type="hidden" name="rder" value="" /> - - - <input type="hidden" name="content_type" value="jrnl.entry" id="id_content_type"> - - - - <input type="hidden" name="object_pk" value="101" id="id_object_pk"> - - - - <input type="hidden" name="timestamp" value="1596833465" id="id_timestamp"> - - - - <input type="hidden" name="security_hash" value="eb133c53fa81317081f87ca04454b716e865787f" id="id_security_hash"> - - - - <fieldset > - <label for="id_name">Name:</label> - <input type="text" name="name" maxlength="50" required id="id_name"> - </fieldset> - - - - <fieldset > - <label for="id_email">Email address:</label> - <input type="email" name="email" required id="id_email"> - </fieldset> - - - - <fieldset > - <label for="id_url">URL:</label> - <input type="url" name="url" id="id_url"> - </fieldset> - - - - <fieldset > - <label for="id_comment">Comment:</label> - <div class="textarea-rounded"><textarea name="comment" cols="40" rows="10" maxlength="3000" required id="id_comment"> -</textarea></div> - </fieldset> - - - - <fieldset style="display:none;"> - <label for="id_honeypot">If you enter anything in this field your comment will be treated as spam:</label> - <input type="text" name="honeypot" id="id_honeypot"> - </fieldset> - - - <div class="submit"> - <input type="submit" name="post" class="submit-post btn" value="Post" /> - <input type="submit" name="preview" class="submit-preview btn" value="Preview" /> - </div> -</form> -<p style="font-size: 95%;"><strong>All comments are moderated</strong>, so you won’t see it right away. 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The first night of this trip I found myself in Spanish Fort, Alabama. Unfortunately, while both may have been erected by the Spanish (lovers of forts the Spanish), there the similarities end.
-
-<img class="postpic" src="[[base_url]]/2010/gulf_shores_raibow.jpg" alt="Rainbow in Gulf Shores Mississippi" />Where Fort Cochin India had <a href="/2005/nov/10/vasco-de-gama-exhumed/" title="Read the luxagraf entry about Fort Cochin, India">cantilevered Chinese fishing nets, massive, ancient trees and endless thalis of fish and sauces</a>, Spanish Fort Alabama can only claim corporate chain restaurants and shoddy, overpriced motels.
-
-About the only real upside to the southern Alabama I've seen is the plethora of rainbows -- double rainbows, single rainbows, rainbows where the beginning and the end are visible, rainbows that came down and ended right in front of my truck. Sadly, not a pot of gold to be found.
-
-<break>
-
-We left town on the fourth of July -- what better day to start a road trip around the United States?
-
-I'm not an especially patriotic person, but, were I patriotic about anything in the United States, it would be the land. There are few, if any, other places on the earth with the diversity and beauty you'll find in America. That is, I suppose, what we are all looking for when we travel -- beauty. Beauty in places, beauty in people, perhaps even beauty in ourselves.
-
-<img class="picfull" src="[[base_url]]/2010/gulf_shores_morning_light.jpg" alt="Union Station Subway Stop, Los Angeles" />
-
-
-The first day we drove as far as Spanish Fort, near Mobile on the Alabama coast. The next morning we started out early, cutting off the interstate in favor of the coast road, down to Gulf Shores to have a last look at the beach before BP's oil spill washes ashore.
-
-Gulf Port already feels like a ghost town. Hardly anyone seemed to have spent their fourth on the coast, hotel parking lots were empty, the roads virtually deserted and we had the white sands of the beach to ourselves. At the actual port the shrimp and fishing boats sat idle, some already being pulled into dry docks, avoiding the coming oil.
-
-Further down the coast we saw the first cluster of what would be turn out to be hundreds of orange-vested people wandering the beaches, some with plastic garbage bags fluttering in the wind, others with rakes thrown over their shoulders, all waiting. There is nothing to do just yet. For now the oil is still at sea. But the weather forecasts put the oil onshore either tomorrow or the next day.
-
-Across the street from the beach are the remnants of another disaster that arrived from the sea -- hurricane Katrina.
-
-It's been nearly five years, but Gulf Port is still littered with empty lots that look like scars amidst houses that remain. Empty foundations are half-obscured in weeds, brick porches lead to nothing, empty swimming pools are cracked, plants growing out their drains. Here and there a tire swing hangs from an Oak tree, still waiting for someone no longer thinking about returning.
-
-And somewhere out at sea the next disaster is getting ready to arrive.
-
-I wander the beach for a while, watching the morning sun stream through the dark, sullen clouds that cover the horizon in every direction. I've never seen an oil spill, just pictures and video. It's hard to imagine all the what this beach will will look like when the oil and dead animals begin to wash up.
-
-For now it is just sugary white sand that squeaks under your bare feet. Small waves lap at the shore, then hiss softly as they retract back to the ocean.
-
-I return to the truck and head off again, west -- always west, into the future as it were. The road winds along the shoreline. Buses and volunteers are stationed every few miles. The shoreline will be temporarily destroyed, it is a tragedy, all the moreso because it need not have happened, but there are people here who do their best to right the wrongs.
-
-The land may be beautiful, but it's always in peril. Fortunately, there are people trying to protect it, to restore it, to preserve it. The light turns green and beach begins to fade in the rearview mirror. It's a somber, but perhaps not inappropriate, beginning for a trip around the United States. diff --git a/bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2010/07/comanche-national-grasslands.amp b/bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2010/07/comanche-national-grasslands.amp deleted file mode 100644 index 38bb8b0..0000000 --- a/bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2010/07/comanche-national-grasslands.amp +++ /dev/null @@ -1,193 +0,0 @@ - - -<!doctype html> -<html amp lang="en"> -<head> -<meta charset="utf-8"> -<title>Comanche National Grasslands</title> -<link rel="canonical" href="https://luxagraf.net/jrnl/2010/07/comanche-national-grasslands"> - <meta name="viewport" content="width=device-width,initial-scale=1,minimum-scale=1"> - <meta name="twitter:card" content="summary_large_image"/> - <meta name="twitter:url" content="/jrnl/2010/07/comanche-national-grasslands"> - <meta name="twitter:description" content="Driving through the Comanche National Grasslands - no signs, no road names, just dirt paths crisscrossing a perfectly flat expanses of grass. 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With the exception of Highway 50 in Nevada, I've never driven through such isolation and vast openness anywhere in the world. And it's easy to get lost. There are no signs, no road names even, just dirt paths crisscrossing a wide, perfectly flat expanses of grass. </p> -<p><break></break></p> -<p>I followed what I thought was the main dirt road through some ranch lands, wheat fields and open grasslands to a cattle grate and a fork in the road where a small sign noted that the Grasslands preserve had begun. </p> -<p>I had not seen another car since I turned off the main road. Nor would I for the rest of my time in the Comanche National Grasslands. </p> -<p>Instead there was simply immense, wide open space. Space so big it begins to close in on you, the sky seems so endlessly massive and close that it's disconcerting. The only real limits to your field of vision are the curvature of the earth. You begin to get some sense of how small a thing you really are. If you spend too much time thinking about infinity, you can't help but feel incredibly finite.</p> -<p>Few of the early settlers who wrote about crossing the plains failed to note the epic proportions of open space. While that space, and the original scale, are long gone, you can get some sense of what it must have been like in the Comanche National Grasslands. If you spend too much time out here, you can still get lost in the vastness of infinity.</p> -<p><amp-img alt="ferruginous hawk, Comanche National Grasslands" height="400" src="https://images.luxagraf.net//2010/comanche_grasslands_ferruginoushawk.jpg" width="259"></amp-img> I distracted myself by watching the birds. There were birds everywhere -- red-tailed hawks on a telephone pole, doves lurking in the sunflower plants that lined the road and meadowlarks that took flight at the first sound of the truck, their cream-colored bellies streaking by my window as they peeled off into the open. At one point I even saw a relatively uncommon pigmy burrowing owl.</p> -<p>Eventually the road began to drop into some lowlands, small rolling depressions cut by the now dry streams that pass though the area. Eventually I came to the head of Chisolm Canyon (which is actually labeled with a small sign), a much larger gash carved by a still flowing river. On a crest just before the road dropped into the canyon proper I stopped and ate lunch.</p> -<p>As soon as I turned off the truck engine I was engulfed in silence. It was as utter quiet as anywhere I've been. Only the occasional chirping click of grasshoppers and the eerie moaning of the wind sweeping through the juniper bushes broke the stillness. The only other time I've been somewhere as quiet was in the backcountry of the Sierra Nevada during a snowstorm. </p> -<p>It was quiet enough that every footstep I took seemed like thunder, the crunch of the gravel giving me away to every other living thing. I could even hear myself chewing as I ate. But the silence was peaceful too, so, not having anywhere particular to be, I climbed on the hood of the truck, leaned back against the windshield and took a nap.</p> -<p><amp-img alt="My 1969 Ford truck, Comanche National Grasslands" height="309" src="https://images.luxagraf.net//2010/comanche_grasslands_truck.jpg" width="550"></amp-img> </p> -<p>Later, rested and refreshed, I descended out of the limitless plain into Chisolm Canyon where a river has carved down some four or five hundred feet of red rock that is slowly crumbling into mesas and bluffs. Come back in a few million years and there may well be a Grand Canyon here. </p> -<p>I pulled off near the river and went down to have a swim and sit in the shade of the Cottonwood trees. The river proved too shallow for swimming, though I dipped my shirt in it to cool off. I sat in the shade for bit, letting the truck rest and watching the Cottonwood trees' seeds drift by, little tufts of white seed casing -- the Cottonwood's namesake -- floating in the air.</p> -<p>I continued down the canyon until it opened up into another flatland and the road began to loop back around and head east again. Eventually I came to the same spot I had started at, but since I was half lost when I got there it wasn't much help. I hadn't intended to spend much time in the grasslands, but sometimes a place just grabs you and you have to stay a while.</p> -<p><amp-img alt="Endless Road, Comanche National Grasslands" height="361" src="https://images.luxagraf.net//2010/comanche_grasslands_endlessroad.jpg" width="250"></amp-img>Unfortunately I still had a good bit of ground to cover before I got to Great Sand Dunes National Park, where I was planning to stay for the night. The dirt roads around me were far too small to be on my atlas. With no cell signal I couldn't consult Google, and there were no signs to rely on. </p> -<p>In the end I decided that, since Comanche National Grasslands is more or less a square block of land on the map, if I went in any one direction eventually I'd hit some tarmac. I picked north since that would most likely lead to highway 160, which eventually takes you to Great Sand Dunes.</p> -<p>It proved a sound strategy. After half and hour or so I was back to a paved road, though there were still no signs indicating which way to go. Great Sand Dunes National Park was west, so I just pointed to truck toward the sun and started driving, figuring eventually I'd get somewhere.</p> - </div> - </article> -</main> - -</body> -</html> diff --git a/bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2010/07/comanche-national-grasslands.html b/bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2010/07/comanche-national-grasslands.html deleted file mode 100644 index 1b15db2..0000000 --- a/bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2010/07/comanche-national-grasslands.html +++ /dev/null @@ -1,385 +0,0 @@ -<!DOCTYPE html> -<html -class="detail single" dir="ltr" lang="en-US"> - -<head> - <title>Comanche National Grasslands - by Scott Gilbertson</title> - <meta charset="utf-8"> - <meta http-equiv="x-ua-compatible" content="ie=edge"> - <meta name="viewport" content="width=device-width, initial-scale=1"> - <meta name="description" - content="Driving through the Comanche National Grasslands - no signs, no road names, just dirt paths crisscrossing a perfectly flat expanses of grass."> - <meta name="author" content="Scott Gilbertson"> - <link rel="alternate" - type="application/rss+xml" - title="Luxagraf RSS feed" - href="https://luxagraf.net/rss/"> - <link rel="stylesheet" - href="/media/screenv9.css" - media="screen"> - <link rel="stylesheet" href="/media/print.css" media="print" title="print" /> - <link rel="shortcut icon" href="/favicon.ico" type="image/x-icon"> - <link rel="manifest" href="/manifest.json" /> - <link rel="dns-prefetch" href="https://stats.luxagraf.net"> - - <link rel="canonical" href="https://luxagraf.net/jrnl/2010/07/comanche-national-grasslands" /> - <meta name="ICBM" content="37.14748995999047, -103.0095720147768" /> - <meta name="geo.position" content="37.14748995999047; 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return false;" title="see a map">Map</a> - </div> - <time class="dt-published published dt-updated post-date" datetime="2010-07-16T13:00:00" itemprop="datePublished">July <span>16, 2010</span></time> - <span class="hide" itemprop="author" itemscope itemtype="http://schema.org/Person">by <a class="p-author h-card" href="/about"><span itemprop="name">Scott Gilbertson</span></a></span> - </div> - </header> - <div id="article" class="e-content entry-content post--body post--body--single" itemprop="articleBody"> - <p>From Amarillo I headed north, taking small county roads through the northern section of the Texas panhandle, into Oklahoma and on to Colorado, where I turned off on a dirt road that claimed it would take me to the Comanche National Grasslands. </p> -<div class="picwide"> - <a itemscope itemtype="http://schema.org/ImageObject" href="https://images.luxagraf.net/original/2019/comanche_grasslands_Jul1610_27.jpg " title="view larger image"> - <img class="u-photo" itemprop="contentUrl" sizes="(max-width: 1439px) 100vw, (min-width: 1440px) 1440px" srcset="https://images.luxagraf.net/2019/comanche_grasslands_Jul1610_27_picwide-sm.jpg 720w, https://images.luxagraf.net/2019/comanche_grasslands_Jul1610_27_picwide-med.jpg 1170w, https://images.luxagraf.net/2019/comanche_grasslands_Jul1610_27_picwide.jpg 2880w" src="https://images.luxagraf.net/2019/comanche_grasslands_Jul1610_27_picwide-med.jpg" alt="Comanche National grassland photographed by luxagraf" data-jslghtbx="https://images.luxagraf.net/original/2019/comanche_grasslands_Jul1610_27.jpg" data-jslghtbx-group="group" > - </a> -</div> - -<p>To say the Comanche National Grasslands is off the grid would be an understatement. With the exception of Highway 50 in Nevada, I’ve never driven through such isolation and vast openness anywhere in the world. And it’s easy to get lost. There are no signs, no road names even, just dirt paths crisscrossing a wide, perfectly flat expanses of grass. </p> -<p>I followed what I thought was the main dirt road through some ranch land. Endless wheat fields stretching to the horizon eventually gave way to open grasslands. </p> -<div class="picwide"> - <a itemscope itemtype="http://schema.org/ImageObject" href="https://images.luxagraf.net/original/2019/comanche_grasslands_Jul1610_15.jpg " title="view larger image"> - <img class="u-photo" itemprop="contentUrl" sizes="(max-width: 1439px) 100vw, (min-width: 1440px) 1440px" srcset="https://images.luxagraf.net/2019/comanche_grasslands_Jul1610_15_picwide-sm.jpg 720w, https://images.luxagraf.net/2019/comanche_grasslands_Jul1610_15_picwide-med.jpg 1170w, https://images.luxagraf.net/2019/comanche_grasslands_Jul1610_15_picwide.jpg 2880w" src="https://images.luxagraf.net/2019/comanche_grasslands_Jul1610_15_picwide-med.jpg" alt="wheat fields, comanche national grassland, colorado photographed by luxagraf" data-jslghtbx="https://images.luxagraf.net/original/2019/comanche_grasslands_Jul1610_15.jpg" data-jslghtbx-group="group" > - </a> -</div> - -<p>I crossed cattle grate and came to a fork in the road where a small sign noted that the Grasslands preserve had begun. I had not seen another car since I turned off the main road. Nor would I for the rest of my time in the Comanche National Grasslands. </p> -<div class="picwide"> - <a itemscope itemtype="http://schema.org/ImageObject" href="https://images.luxagraf.net/original/2019/comanche_grasslands_Jul1610_08.jpg " title="view larger image"> - <img class="u-photo" itemprop="contentUrl" sizes="(max-width: 1439px) 100vw, (min-width: 1440px) 1440px" srcset="https://images.luxagraf.net/2019/comanche_grasslands_Jul1610_08_picwide-sm.jpg 720w, https://images.luxagraf.net/2019/comanche_grasslands_Jul1610_08_picwide-med.jpg 1170w, https://images.luxagraf.net/2019/comanche_grasslands_Jul1610_08_picwide.jpg 2880w" src="https://images.luxagraf.net/2019/comanche_grasslands_Jul1610_08_picwide-med.jpg" alt="Comanche National Grasslands, Colorado photographed by luxagraf" data-jslghtbx="https://images.luxagraf.net/original/2019/comanche_grasslands_Jul1610_08.jpg" data-jslghtbx-group="group" > - </a> -</div> - -<p>Instead there was simply immense, wide open space. Space so big it begins to close in on you, the sky seems so endlessly massive and close that it’s disconcerting. The only real limits to your field of vision are the curvature of the earth. You begin to get some sense of how small a thing you really are. If you spend too much time thinking about infinity, you can’t help but feel incredibly finite.</p> -<p>Few of the early settlers who wrote about crossing the plains failed to note the epic proportions of open space. While that space, and the original scale, are long gone, you can get some sense of what it must have been like in the Comanche National Grasslands. If you spend too much time out here, you can still get lost in the vastness of infinity.</p> -<p>I distracted myself by watching the birds. There were birds everywhere — red-tailed hawks on a telephone pole, doves lurking in the sunflower plants that lined the road and meadowlarks that took flight at the first sound of the truck, their cream-colored bellies streaking by my window as they peeled off into the open. At one point I even saw a relatively uncommon pigmy burrowing owl.</p> -<div class="picwide"> - <a itemscope itemtype="http://schema.org/ImageObject" href="https://images.luxagraf.net/original/2019/comanche_grasslands_Jul1610_20.jpg " title="view larger image"> - <img class="u-photo" itemprop="contentUrl" sizes="(max-width: 1439px) 100vw, (min-width: 1440px) 1440px" srcset="https://images.luxagraf.net/2019/comanche_grasslands_Jul1610_20_picwide-sm.jpg 720w, https://images.luxagraf.net/2019/comanche_grasslands_Jul1610_20_picwide-med.jpg 1170w, https://images.luxagraf.net/2019/comanche_grasslands_Jul1610_20_picwide.jpg 2880w" src="https://images.luxagraf.net/2019/comanche_grasslands_Jul1610_20_picwide-med.jpg" alt="Red tailed hawk, comanche national grassland, colorado photographed by luxagraf" data-jslghtbx="https://images.luxagraf.net/original/2019/comanche_grasslands_Jul1610_20.jpg" data-jslghtbx-group="group" > - </a> -</div> - -<p>Eventually the road began to drop into some lowlands, small rolling depressions cut by the now dry streams that pass though the area. Eventually I came to the head of Chisolm Canyon (which is actually labeled with a small sign), a much larger gash carved by a still flowing river. On a crest just before the road dropped into the canyon proper I stopped and ate lunch.</p> -<p>As soon as I turned off the truck engine I was engulfed in silence. It was as utter quiet as anywhere I’ve been. Only the occasional chirping click of grasshoppers and the eerie moaning of the wind sweeping through the juniper bushes broke the stillness. The only other time I’ve been somewhere as quiet was in the backcountry of the Sierra Nevada during a snowstorm. </p> -<p>It was quiet enough that every footstep I took seemed like thunder, the crunch of the gravel giving me away to every other living thing. I could even hear myself chewing as I ate. But the silence was peaceful too, so, not having anywhere particular to be, I climbed on the hood of the truck, leaned back against the windshield and took a nap.</p> -<div class="picwide"> - <a itemscope itemtype="http://schema.org/ImageObject" href="https://images.luxagraf.net/original/2019/comanche_grasslands_Jul1610_25.jpg " title="view larger image"> - <img class="u-photo" itemprop="contentUrl" sizes="(max-width: 1439px) 100vw, (min-width: 1440px) 1440px" srcset="https://images.luxagraf.net/2019/comanche_grasslands_Jul1610_25_picwide-sm.jpg 720w, https://images.luxagraf.net/2019/comanche_grasslands_Jul1610_25_picwide-med.jpg 1170w, https://images.luxagraf.net/2019/comanche_grasslands_Jul1610_25_picwide.jpg 2880w" src="https://images.luxagraf.net/2019/comanche_grasslands_Jul1610_25_picwide-med.jpg" alt="1969 Ford f150, Comanche National Grasslands, Colorado photographed by luxagraf" data-jslghtbx="https://images.luxagraf.net/original/2019/comanche_grasslands_Jul1610_25.jpg" data-jslghtbx-group="group" > - </a> -</div> - -<p>Later, rested and refreshed, I descended out of the limitless plain into Chisolm Canyon where a river has carved down some four or five hundred feet of red rock that is slowly crumbling into mesas and bluffs. Come back in a few million years and there may well be a Grand Canyon here. </p> -<div class="picwide"> - <a itemscope itemtype="http://schema.org/ImageObject" href="https://images.luxagraf.net/original/2019/comanche_grasslands_Jul1610_28.jpg " title="view larger image"> - <img class="u-photo" itemprop="contentUrl" sizes="(max-width: 1439px) 100vw, (min-width: 1440px) 1440px" srcset="https://images.luxagraf.net/2019/comanche_grasslands_Jul1610_28_picwide-sm.jpg 720w, https://images.luxagraf.net/2019/comanche_grasslands_Jul1610_28_picwide-med.jpg 1170w, https://images.luxagraf.net/2019/comanche_grasslands_Jul1610_28_picwide.jpg 2880w" src="https://images.luxagraf.net/2019/comanche_grasslands_Jul1610_28_picwide-med.jpg" alt="Chisom canyone area, comanche national grasslands photographed by luxagraf" data-jslghtbx="https://images.luxagraf.net/original/2019/comanche_grasslands_Jul1610_28.jpg" data-jslghtbx-group="group" > - </a> -</div> - -<p>I pulled off near the river and went down to have a swim and sit in the shade of the Cottonwood trees. The river proved too shallow for swimming, though I dipped my shirt in it to cool off. I sat in the shade for bit, letting the truck rest and watching the Cottonwood trees’ seeds drift by, little tufts of white seed casing — the Cottonwood’s namesake — floating in the air.</p> -<p>I continued down the canyon until it opened up into another flatland and the road began to loop back around and head east again. Eventually I came to the same spot I had started at, but since I was half lost when I got there it wasn’t much help. I hadn’t intended to spend much time in the grasslands, but sometimes a place just grabs you and you have to stay a while.</p> -<p>Unfortunately I still had a good bit of ground to cover before I got to Great Sand Dunes National Park, where I was planning to stay for the night. The dirt roads around me were far too small to be on my atlas. With no cell signal I couldn’t consult Google, and there were no signs to rely on. </p> -<div class="picwide"> - <a itemscope itemtype="http://schema.org/ImageObject" href="https://images.luxagraf.net/original/2019/comanche_grasslands_Jul1510_04.jpg " title="view larger image"> - <img class="u-photo" itemprop="contentUrl" sizes="(max-width: 1439px) 100vw, (min-width: 1440px) 1440px" srcset="https://images.luxagraf.net/2019/comanche_grasslands_Jul1510_04_picwide-sm.jpg 720w, https://images.luxagraf.net/2019/comanche_grasslands_Jul1510_04_picwide-med.jpg 1170w" alt="Road stretching to horizon, Comanche National grasslands, Colorado photographed by luxagraf" data-jslghtbx="https://images.luxagraf.net/original/2019/comanche_grasslands_Jul1510_04.jpg" data-jslghtbx-group="group" > - </a> -</div> - -<p>In the end I decided that, since Comanche National Grasslands is more or less a square block of land on the map, if I went in any one direction eventually I’d hit some tarmac. I picked north since that would most likely lead to highway 160, which eventually takes you to Great Sand Dunes.</p> -<p>It proved a sound strategy. After half and hour or so I was back to a paved road, though there were still no signs indicating which way to go. Great Sand Dunes National Park was west, so I just pointed to truck toward the sun and started driving, figuring eventually I’d get somewhere.</p> - </div> - - </article> - - - <div class="nav-wrapper"> - <nav id="page-navigation" class="page-border-top"> - <ul> - <li id="prev"><span class="bl">Previous:</span> - <a href="/jrnl/2010/07/why-national-parks-are-better-state-parks" rel="prev" title=" Why National Parks Are Better Than State Parks">Why National Parks Are Better Than State Parks</a> - </li> - <li id="next"><span class="bl">Next:</span> - <a href="/jrnl/2010/07/great-sand-dunes-national-park" rel="next" title=" Great Sand Dunes National Park">Great Sand Dunes National Park</a> - </li> - </ul> - </nav> - </div> - - - - - - -<div class="comment--form--wrapper "> - -<div class="comment--form--header"> - <p class="hed">Thoughts?</p> - <p class="subhed">Please leave a reply:</p> -</div> -<form action="/comments/post/" method="post" class="comment--form"> - -<input type="hidden" name="rder" value="" /> - - - <input type="hidden" name="content_type" value="jrnl.entry" id="id_content_type"> - - - - <input type="hidden" name="object_pk" value="105" id="id_object_pk"> - - - - <input type="hidden" name="timestamp" value="1596833464" id="id_timestamp"> - - - - <input type="hidden" name="security_hash" value="713e83f64382b0d8a33f4194d9d91e703054e0d2" id="id_security_hash"> - - - - <fieldset > - <label for="id_name">Name:</label> - <input type="text" name="name" maxlength="50" required id="id_name"> - </fieldset> - - - - <fieldset > - <label for="id_email">Email address:</label> - <input type="email" name="email" required id="id_email"> - </fieldset> - - - - <fieldset > - <label for="id_url">URL:</label> - <input type="url" name="url" id="id_url"> - </fieldset> - - - - <fieldset > - <label for="id_comment">Comment:</label> - <div class="textarea-rounded"><textarea name="comment" cols="40" rows="10" maxlength="3000" required id="id_comment"> -</textarea></div> - </fieldset> - - - - <fieldset style="display:none;"> - <label for="id_honeypot">If you enter anything in this field your comment will be treated as spam:</label> - <input type="text" name="honeypot" id="id_honeypot"> - </fieldset> - - - <div class="submit"> - <input type="submit" name="post" class="submit-post btn" value="Post" /> - <input type="submit" name="preview" class="submit-preview btn" value="Preview" /> - </div> -</form> -<p style="font-size: 95%;"><strong>All comments are moderated</strong>, so you won’t see it right away. 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-
-<img src="images/2019/comanche_grasslands_Jul1610_27.jpg" id="image-1921" class="picwide" />
-
-To say the Comanche National Grasslands is off the grid would be an understatement. With the exception of Highway 50 in Nevada, I've never driven through such isolation and vast openness anywhere in the world. And it's easy to get lost. There are no signs, no road names even, just dirt paths crisscrossing a wide, perfectly flat expanses of grass.
-
-I followed what I thought was the main dirt road through some ranch land. Endless wheat fields stretching to the horizon eventually gave way to open grasslands.
-
-<img src="images/2019/comanche_grasslands_Jul1610_15.jpg" id="image-1924" class="picwide" />
-
-I crossed cattle grate and came to a fork in the road where a small sign noted that the Grasslands preserve had begun. I had not seen another car since I turned off the main road. Nor would I for the rest of my time in the Comanche National Grasslands.
-
-<img src="images/2019/comanche_grasslands_Jul1610_08.jpg" id="image-1926" class="picwide" />
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-Instead there was simply immense, wide open space. Space so big it begins to close in on you, the sky seems so endlessly massive and close that it's disconcerting. The only real limits to your field of vision are the curvature of the earth. You begin to get some sense of how small a thing you really are. If you spend too much time thinking about infinity, you can't help but feel incredibly finite.
-
-Few of the early settlers who wrote about crossing the plains failed to note the epic proportions of open space. While that space, and the original scale, are long gone, you can get some sense of what it must have been like in the Comanche National Grasslands. If you spend too much time out here, you can still get lost in the vastness of infinity.
-
-I distracted myself by watching the birds. There were birds everywhere -- red-tailed hawks on a telephone pole, doves lurking in the sunflower plants that lined the road and meadowlarks that took flight at the first sound of the truck, their cream-colored bellies streaking by my window as they peeled off into the open. At one point I even saw a relatively uncommon pigmy burrowing owl.
-
-<img src="images/2019/comanche_grasslands_Jul1610_20.jpg" id="image-1922" class="picwide" />
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-Eventually the road began to drop into some lowlands, small rolling depressions cut by the now dry streams that pass though the area. Eventually I came to the head of Chisolm Canyon (which is actually labeled with a small sign), a much larger gash carved by a still flowing river. On a crest just before the road dropped into the canyon proper I stopped and ate lunch.
-
-As soon as I turned off the truck engine I was engulfed in silence. It was as utter quiet as anywhere I've been. Only the occasional chirping click of grasshoppers and the eerie moaning of the wind sweeping through the juniper bushes broke the stillness. The only other time I've been somewhere as quiet was in the backcountry of the Sierra Nevada during a snowstorm.
-
-It was quiet enough that every footstep I took seemed like thunder, the crunch of the gravel giving me away to every other living thing. I could even hear myself chewing as I ate. But the silence was peaceful too, so, not having anywhere particular to be, I climbed on the hood of the truck, leaned back against the windshield and took a nap.
-
-<img src="images/2019/comanche_grasslands_Jul1610_25.jpg" id="image-1923" class="picwide" />
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-Later, rested and refreshed, I descended out of the limitless plain into Chisolm Canyon where a river has carved down some four or five hundred feet of red rock that is slowly crumbling into mesas and bluffs. Come back in a few million years and there may well be a Grand Canyon here.
-
-<img src="images/2019/comanche_grasslands_Jul1610_28.jpg" id="image-1925" class="picwide" />
-
-I pulled off near the river and went down to have a swim and sit in the shade of the Cottonwood trees. The river proved too shallow for swimming, though I dipped my shirt in it to cool off. I sat in the shade for bit, letting the truck rest and watching the Cottonwood trees' seeds drift by, little tufts of white seed casing -- the Cottonwood's namesake -- floating in the air.
-
-I continued down the canyon until it opened up into another flatland and the road began to loop back around and head east again. Eventually I came to the same spot I had started at, but since I was half lost when I got there it wasn't much help. I hadn't intended to spend much time in the grasslands, but sometimes a place just grabs you and you have to stay a while.
-
-Unfortunately I still had a good bit of ground to cover before I got to Great Sand Dunes National Park, where I was planning to stay for the night. The dirt roads around me were far too small to be on my atlas. With no cell signal I couldn't consult Google, and there were no signs to rely on.
-
-<img src="images/2019/comanche_grasslands_Jul1510_04.jpg" id="image-1927" class="picwide" />
-
-In the end I decided that, since Comanche National Grasslands is more or less a square block of land on the map, if I went in any one direction eventually I'd hit some tarmac. I picked north since that would most likely lead to highway 160, which eventually takes you to Great Sand Dunes.
-
-It proved a sound strategy. After half and hour or so I was back to a paved road, though there were still no signs indicating which way to go. Great Sand Dunes National Park was west, so I just pointed to truck toward the sun and started driving, figuring eventually I'd get somewhere. diff --git a/bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2010/07/dinosaur-national-monument-part-one-echo-park.amp b/bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2010/07/dinosaur-national-monument-part-one-echo-park.amp deleted file mode 100644 index f86c93c..0000000 --- a/bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2010/07/dinosaur-national-monument-part-one-echo-park.amp +++ /dev/null @@ -1,205 +0,0 @@ - - -<!doctype html> -<html amp lang="en"> -<head> -<meta charset="utf-8"> -<title>Dinosaur National Monument, Part One: Echo Park</title> -<link rel="canonical" href="https://luxagraf.net/jrnl/2010/07/dinosaur-national-monument-part-one-echo-park"> - <meta name="viewport" content="width=device-width,initial-scale=1,minimum-scale=1"> - <meta name="twitter:card" content="summary_large_image"/> - <meta name="twitter:url" content="/jrnl/2010/07/dinosaur-national-monument-part-one-echo-park"> - <meta name="twitter:description" content="Dinosaur National Monument was poorly named. 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The steak was half-cooked before I realized I didn't have any salt and pepper. I was not at the sort of campground where there's a general store just up the road. In fact, it was twelve miles to the nearest paved road, twenty-five more until you hit something that actually had a highway number and some forty miles beyond that before you'd find anything resembling a store.</p> -<p>While I weighed my options -- none really -- the corn fell off the grill and landed right on the coals. Damn.</p> -<p>You make do I suppose. I pulled the corn out of the fire, gave it a quick rinse and called it done. I ate the steak straight off the grill, pioneer style -- no seasoning at all. Well, maybe not true pioneer-style. Maybe the style of pioneers with piss-poor planning skills. The sort of pioneers that probably busted on the whole "Oregon or bust" thing. </p> -<p>Whatever the case, the steak wasn't half bad, even without salt. I was just happy enough to have found some peace and quiet. I didn't much care what I was eating.</p> -</div> -<p><amp-img alt="Evening in Echo Park, Dinosaur National Monument, Co" height="173" src="https://images.luxagraf.net//2010/dinoechopark.jpg" width="960"></amp-img></p> -<p><span class="drop-small">A</span>fter days of <a href="http://luxagraf.net/2010/jul/25/endless-crowds-yellowstone/" title="Read about Yellowstone National Park">wading through the crowds in Yellowstone</a> I was finally in a place where the loudest sounds were the birds and the rush of the wind through the canyon, somewhere without SUVs and obnoxious children screaming from the doorway of their parents' motorhome about the lack of stuffed bears.</p> -<p>I ended up here in Dinosaur National Monument on a whim. I was planning to drive straight through to Grand Junction, but then I thought, what the heck, it's right there. I detoured off the road up to the rather ramshackle Ranger Station. It turned out the double-wide ranger station is a temporary thing. I went inside and listened to the ranger patiently explain to a very disappointed French couple, that the fossil quarry -- the namesake and main draw of Dinosaur National Monument -- was in fact closed to the public.</p> -<p>That's when I decided to stay. I've never really been interested in fossils. They're pretty much just rocks at this point. There's plenty of data to be gleaned from them, I get that, but I leave it to paleontologists and geologists to put that in story form for me. Close encounters with the raw materials leave me feeling like I'm missing something -- sort of like looking at a Warhol.</p> -<p>The truth is, if you really want to see dinosaur bones, you're better off heading to the Smithsonian. All the best fossils have long since been carted off to museums.</p> -<p>So, in short, this is the perfect time for someone like me to visit Dinosaur National Monument, because, as it turns out, this place was poorly named. The best parts of it are not the fossils but the canyon country -- some of the best, most remote canyon country you'll find in this part of the world.</p> -<p><amp-img alt="" height="281" src="https://images.luxagraf.net//2010/dinomesa.jpg" width="500"></amp-img> </p> -<p>Whether it was the the closed quarry or just the out-of-the-way nature of Dinosaur I don't know, but Dinosaur National Monument is almost completely deserted. On the drive in to Echo Park I saw only one other car in nearly fifty miles. The campground was similarly deserted, five or six other cars had staked out spots.</p> -<p><amp-img alt="Cliff Walls, Echo Park, Dinosaur National Monument" height="387" src="https://images.luxagraf.net//2010/dinocliffs.jpg" width="225"></amp-img> Aside from the tributary canyon that provides vehicle access to Echo Park, the area -- maybe five acres -- is completely ringed in sheer sandstone cliffs. As dusk settles in somewhere on top of the mesas above us, Swallows and bats emerge from the cliffs to prey on the insects.</p> -<p>The wind dies down and mosquitos come out. They are annoying, the most annoying I've encountered on this trip. But world travel gives you different perspective on mosquitos. Here is the U.S. mosquitos are just annoying, they do not carry malaria or dengue fever or yellow fever or any other horrifying diseases (at least for now). The worst thing that happens is you itch a little.</p> -<p>A small price to pay for peace and quiet and beauty.</p> -<p>Echo Park<sup id="fnref:1"><a class="footnote-ref" href="#fn:1" rel="footnote">1</a></sup> is really a sand bar that got out of hand. Just a stone's throw from here the Green and Yampa rivers meet. The confluence happens at the start of a very sharp horseshoe bend which means the excess sand and silt of both rivers ends up here, on the far side of the horseshoe.</p> -<p><amp-img alt="River Entrance to Echo Park, Dinosaur National Monument" height="354" src="https://images.luxagraf.net//2010/dinoechoparkriver.jpg" width="257"></amp-img>At some point in the geologic past the sand deposit got to be too much for the river to carry away, even in floods. Then the grasses took hold, anchoring the sand and sediment. Over time the ground solidified and trees sprung up. That part of nature that needs solidity formed a semi-permanent beachhead -- Echo Park. And yes, it does echo, more on that in <a href="http://luxagraf.net/2010/aug/02/dinosaur-national-monument-part-two-down-river/" title="Read about whitewater rafting in Lodore Canyon, Dinosaur National Park">part two</a>.</p> -<p>Of course there's no guarantee Echo Park will be here forever. Look at what the river did to the sandstone that surrounds Echo Park -- it's cut through thousands of feet of sandstone. If the wants its overgrown sandbar back, the river will have it. Rivers always win in the end, but for this geologic moment it's here and it's quite spectacular.</p> -<p>It's also incredibly quiet and peaceful. As I write this my fingers clicking on the keys are the loudest sound in Echo Park. The songbirds have settled down for the night, the fire crackles softly. </p> -<p>The people who lived here called Echo Park "The Center of the Universe." It's not hard to see why, the huge, silent ring of cliff walls seem knowing, having watched over this river since the world was made. The rock walls remain whether the swallows come or go, whether the mosquitoes bite or not, whether the river floods or doesn't, whether I keep typing or stop. They simply exist as they have for millions of years -- massive and silent, watching as we, mere blips on the geologic radar, come and go, looking up at them, admiring their near eternity in our momentary passing.</p> -<p>[Note: this story is part of my quest to visit every National Park in the U.S. You can check out the rest on the <a href="http://luxagraf.net/projects/national-parks/" title="National Parks Project">National Parks Project</a> page.]</p> -<div class="footnote"> -<hr/> -<ol> -<li id="fn:1"> -<p>Why is every flat piece of land in Colorado called a park? (Estes Park, Echo Park, Island Park, etc) Is that a tourism board thing? Or just a quirk of naming conventions? Cause we have the same sort of things back east, we just call them meadows or valleys or canyons or whatever. But now I think we might be missing out on something... <a class="footnote-backref" href="#fnref:1" rev="footnote" title="Jump back to footnote 1 in the text">↩</a></p> -</li> -</ol> -</div> - </div> - </article> -</main> - -</body> -</html> diff --git a/bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2010/07/dinosaur-national-monument-part-one-echo-park.html b/bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2010/07/dinosaur-national-monument-part-one-echo-park.html deleted file mode 100644 index 566cbdd..0000000 --- a/bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2010/07/dinosaur-national-monument-part-one-echo-park.html +++ /dev/null @@ -1,372 +0,0 @@ -<!DOCTYPE html> -<html -class="detail double" dir="ltr" lang="en-US"> - -<head> - <title>Dinosaur National Monument, Part One: Echo Park - by Scott Gilbertson</title> - <meta charset="utf-8"> - <meta http-equiv="x-ua-compatible" content="ie=edge"> - <meta name="viewport" content="width=device-width, initial-scale=1"> - <meta name="description" - content="Dinosaur National Monument was poorly named. 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The steak was half-cooked before I realized I didn’t have any salt and pepper. I was not at the sort of campground where there’s a general store just up the road. In fact, it was twelve miles to the nearest paved road, twenty-five more until you hit something that actually had a highway number and some forty miles beyond that before you’d find anything resembling a store.</p> - -<p>While I weighed my options — none really — the corn fell off the grill and landed right on the coals. Damn.</p> - -<p>You make do I suppose. I pulled the corn out of the fire, gave it a quick rinse and called it done. I ate the steak straight off the grill, pioneer style — no seasoning at all. Well, maybe not true pioneer-style. Maybe the style of pioneers with piss-poor planning skills. The sort of pioneers that probably busted on the whole “Oregon or bust” thing. </p> - -<p>Whatever the case, the steak wasn’t half bad, even without salt. I was just happy enough to have found some peace and quiet. I didn’t much care what I was eating.</p> -</div> - -<p><img alt="Evening in Echo Park, Dinosaur National Monument, Co" class="picwide" src="https://images.luxagraf.net//2010/dinoechopark.jpg"/></p> -<p><span class="drop-small">A</span>fter days of <a href="http://luxagraf.net/2010/jul/25/endless-crowds-yellowstone/" title="Read about Yellowstone National Park">wading through the crowds in Yellowstone</a> I was finally in a place where the loudest sounds were the birds and the rush of the wind through the canyon, somewhere without SUVs and obnoxious children screaming from the doorway of their parents’ motorhome about the lack of stuffed bears.</p> - -<p>I ended up here in Dinosaur National Monument on a whim. I was planning to drive straight through to Grand Junction, but then I thought, what the heck, it’s right there. I detoured off the road up to the rather ramshackle Ranger Station. It turned out the double-wide ranger station is a temporary thing. I went inside and listened to the ranger patiently explain to a very disappointed French couple, that the fossil quarry — the namesake and main draw of Dinosaur National Monument — was in fact closed to the public.</p> - -<p>That’s when I decided to stay. I’ve never really been interested in fossils. They’re pretty much just rocks at this point. There’s plenty of data to be gleaned from them, I get that, but I leave it to paleontologists and geologists to put that in story form for me. Close encounters with the raw materials leave me feeling like I’m missing something — sort of like looking at a Warhol.</p> - -<p>The truth is, if you really want to see dinosaur bones, you’re better off heading to the Smithsonian. All the best fossils have long since been carted off to museums.</p> - -<p>So, in short, this is the perfect time for someone like me to visit Dinosaur National Monument, because, as it turns out, this place was poorly named. The best parts of it are not the fossils but the canyon country — some of the best, most remote canyon country you’ll find in this part of the world.</p> - -<p><img alt="" class="picfull" src="https://images.luxagraf.net//2010/dinomesa.jpg"/> </p> -<p>Whether it was the the closed quarry or just the out-of-the-way nature of Dinosaur I don’t know, but Dinosaur National Monument is almost completely deserted. On the drive in to Echo Park I saw only one other car in nearly fifty miles. The campground was similarly deserted, five or six other cars had staked out spots.</p> - -<p><img alt="Cliff Walls, Echo Park, Dinosaur National Monument" class="postpic" src="https://images.luxagraf.net//2010/dinocliffs.jpg"/> Aside from the tributary canyon that provides vehicle access to Echo Park, the area — maybe five acres — is completely ringed in sheer sandstone cliffs. As dusk settles in somewhere on top of the mesas above us, Swallows and bats emerge from the cliffs to prey on the insects.</p> - -<p>The wind dies down and mosquitos come out. They are annoying, the most annoying I’ve encountered on this trip. But world travel gives you different perspective on mosquitos. Here is the U.S. mosquitos are just annoying, they do not carry malaria or dengue fever or yellow fever or any other horrifying diseases (at least for now). The worst thing that happens is you itch a little.</p> - -<p>A small price to pay for peace and quiet and beauty.</p> - -<p>Echo Park<sup id="fnref:1"><a class="footnote-ref" href="#fn:1" rel="footnote">1</a></sup> is really a sand bar that got out of hand. Just a stone’s throw from here the Green and Yampa rivers meet. The confluence happens at the start of a very sharp horseshoe bend which means the excess sand and silt of both rivers ends up here, on the far side of the horseshoe.</p> - -<p><img alt="River Entrance to Echo Park, Dinosaur National Monument" class="postpicright" src="https://images.luxagraf.net//2010/dinoechoparkriver.jpg"/>At some point in the geologic past the sand deposit got to be too much for the river to carry away, even in floods. Then the grasses took hold, anchoring the sand and sediment. Over time the ground solidified and trees sprung up. That part of nature that needs solidity formed a semi-permanent beachhead — Echo Park. And yes, it does echo, more on that in <a href="http://luxagraf.net/2010/aug/02/dinosaur-national-monument-part-two-down-river/" title="Read about whitewater rafting in Lodore Canyon, Dinosaur National Park">part two</a>.</p> - -<p>Of course there’s no guarantee Echo Park will be here forever. Look at what the river did to the sandstone that surrounds Echo Park — it’s cut through thousands of feet of sandstone. If the wants its overgrown sandbar back, the river will have it. Rivers always win in the end, but for this geologic moment it’s here and it’s quite spectacular.</p> - -<p>It’s also incredibly quiet and peaceful. As I write this my fingers clicking on the keys are the loudest sound in Echo Park. The songbirds have settled down for the night, the fire crackles softly. </p> - -<p>The people who lived here called Echo Park “The Center of the Universe.” It’s not hard to see why, the huge, silent ring of cliff walls seem knowing, having watched over this river since the world was made. The rock walls remain whether the swallows come or go, whether the mosquitoes bite or not, whether the river floods or doesn’t, whether I keep typing or stop. They simply exist as they have for millions of years — massive and silent, watching as we, mere blips on the geologic radar, come and go, looking up at them, admiring their near eternity in our momentary passing.</p> - -<p>[Note: this story is part of my quest to visit every National Park in the U.S. You can check out the rest on the <a href="http://luxagraf.net/projects/national-parks/" title="National Parks Project">National Parks Project</a> page.]</p> - -<div class="footnote"> -<hr> -<ol> -<li id="fn:1"> -<p>Why is every flat piece of land in Colorado called a park? (Estes Park, Echo Park, Island Park, etc) Is that a tourism board thing? Or just a quirk of naming conventions? Cause we have the same sort of things back east, we just call them meadows or valleys or canyons or whatever. But now I think we might be missing out on something… <a class="footnote-backref" href="#fnref:1" rev="footnote" title="Jump back to footnote 1 in the text">↩</a></p> -</li> -</ol> -</div> - </div> - - </article> - - - <div class="nav-wrapper"> - <nav id="page-navigation" class="page-border-top"> - <ul> - <li id="prev"><span class="bl">Previous:</span> - <a href="/jrnl/2010/07/endless-crowds-yellowstone" rel="prev" title=" The Endless Crowds of Yellowstone">The Endless Crowds of Yellowstone</a> - </li> - <li id="next"><span class="bl">Next:</span> - <a href="/jrnl/2010/08/dinosaur-national-monument-part-two-down-river" rel="next" title=" Dinosaur National Monument, Part Two: Down the River">Dinosaur National Monument, Part Two: Down the River</a> - </li> - </ul> - </nav> - </div> - - - - - - -<div class="comment--form--wrapper "> - -<div class="comment--form--header"> - <p class="hed">Thoughts?</p> - <p class="subhed">Please leave a reply:</p> -</div> -<form action="/comments/post/" method="post" class="comment--form"> - -<input type="hidden" name="rder" value="" /> - - - <input type="hidden" name="content_type" value="jrnl.entry" id="id_content_type"> - - - - <input type="hidden" name="object_pk" value="113" id="id_object_pk"> - - - - <input type="hidden" name="timestamp" value="1596833463" id="id_timestamp"> - - - - <input type="hidden" name="security_hash" value="2206117db489fee30471459164a385b2017a6b9b" id="id_security_hash"> - - - - <fieldset > - <label for="id_name">Name:</label> - <input type="text" name="name" maxlength="50" required id="id_name"> - </fieldset> - - - - <fieldset > - <label for="id_email">Email address:</label> - <input type="email" name="email" required id="id_email"> - </fieldset> - - - - <fieldset > - <label for="id_url">URL:</label> - <input type="url" name="url" id="id_url"> - </fieldset> - - - - <fieldset > - <label for="id_comment">Comment:</label> - <div class="textarea-rounded"><textarea name="comment" cols="40" rows="10" maxlength="3000" required id="id_comment"> -</textarea></div> - </fieldset> - - - - <fieldset style="display:none;"> - <label for="id_honeypot">If you enter anything in this field your comment will be treated as spam:</label> - <input type="text" name="honeypot" id="id_honeypot"> - </fieldset> - - - <div class="submit"> - <input type="submit" name="post" class="submit-post btn" value="Post" /> - <input type="submit" name="preview" class="submit-preview btn" value="Preview" /> - </div> -</form> -<p style="font-size: 95%;"><strong>All comments are moderated</strong>, so you won’t see it right away. 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-<p>Damn. The steak was half-cooked before I realized I didn't have any salt and pepper. I was not at the sort of campground where there's a general store just up the road. In fact, it was twelve miles to the nearest paved road, twenty-five more until you hit something that actually had a highway number and some forty miles beyond that before you'd find anything resembling a store.</p>
-
-<p>While I weighed my options -- none really -- the corn fell off the grill and landed right on the coals. Damn.</p>
-
-<p>You make do I suppose. I pulled the corn out of the fire, gave it a quick rinse and called it done. I ate the steak straight off the grill, pioneer style -- no seasoning at all. Well, maybe not true pioneer-style. Maybe the style of pioneers with piss-poor planning skills. The sort of pioneers that probably busted on the whole "Oregon or bust" thing. </p>
-
-<p>Whatever the case, the steak wasn't half bad, even without salt. I was just happy enough to have found some peace and quiet. I didn't much care what I was eating.</p>
-</div>
-
-<img class="picwide" src="[[base_url]]/2010/dinoechopark.jpg" alt="Evening in Echo Park, Dinosaur National Monument, Co" />
-
-<p><span class="drop-small">A</span>fter days of <a href="http://luxagraf.net/2010/jul/25/endless-crowds-yellowstone/" title="Read about Yellowstone National Park">wading through the crowds in Yellowstone</a> I was finally in a place where the loudest sounds were the birds and the rush of the wind through the canyon, somewhere without SUVs and obnoxious children screaming from the doorway of their parents' motorhome about the lack of stuffed bears.</p>
-
-<p>I ended up here in Dinosaur National Monument on a whim. I was planning to drive straight through to Grand Junction, but then I thought, what the heck, it's right there. I detoured off the road up to the rather ramshackle Ranger Station. It turned out the double-wide ranger station is a temporary thing. I went inside and listened to the ranger patiently explain to a very disappointed French couple, that the fossil quarry -- the namesake and main draw of Dinosaur National Monument -- was in fact closed to the public.</p>
-
-<p>That's when I decided to stay. I've never really been interested in fossils. They're pretty much just rocks at this point. There's plenty of data to be gleaned from them, I get that, but I leave it to paleontologists and geologists to put that in story form for me. Close encounters with the raw materials leave me feeling like I'm missing something -- sort of like looking at a Warhol.</p>
-
-<p>The truth is, if you really want to see dinosaur bones, you're better off heading to the Smithsonian. All the best fossils have long since been carted off to museums.</p>
-
-<p>So, in short, this is the perfect time for someone like me to visit Dinosaur National Monument, because, as it turns out, this place was poorly named. The best parts of it are not the fossils but the canyon country -- some of the best, most remote canyon country you'll find in this part of the world.</p>
-
-<img src="[[base_url]]/2010/dinomesa.jpg" alt="" class="picfull" alt="the road to Echo Park, Dinosaur National Monument" />
-
-<p>Whether it was the the closed quarry or just the out-of-the-way nature of Dinosaur I don't know, but Dinosaur National Monument is almost completely deserted. On the drive in to Echo Park I saw only one other car in nearly fifty miles. The campground was similarly deserted, five or six other cars had staked out spots.</p>
-
-<p><img src="[[base_url]]/2010/dinocliffs.jpg" alt="Cliff Walls, Echo Park, Dinosaur National Monument" class="postpic" /> Aside from the tributary canyon that provides vehicle access to Echo Park, the area -- maybe five acres -- is completely ringed in sheer sandstone cliffs. As dusk settles in somewhere on top of the mesas above us, Swallows and bats emerge from the cliffs to prey on the insects.</p>
-
-<p>The wind dies down and mosquitos come out. They are annoying, the most annoying I've encountered on this trip. But world travel gives you different perspective on mosquitos. Here is the U.S. mosquitos are just annoying, they do not carry malaria or dengue fever or yellow fever or any other horrifying diseases (at least for now). The worst thing that happens is you itch a little.</p>
-
-<p>A small price to pay for peace and quiet and beauty.</p>
-
-<p>Echo Park<sup id="fnref:1"><a class="footnote-ref" href="#fn:1" rel="footnote">1</a></sup> is really a sand bar that got out of hand. Just a stone's throw from here the Green and Yampa rivers meet. The confluence happens at the start of a very sharp horseshoe bend which means the excess sand and silt of both rivers ends up here, on the far side of the horseshoe.</p>
-
-<p><img src="[[base_url]]/2010/dinoechoparkriver.jpg" alt="River Entrance to Echo Park, Dinosaur National Monument" class="postpicright" />At some point in the geologic past the sand deposit got to be too much for the river to carry away, even in floods. Then the grasses took hold, anchoring the sand and sediment. Over time the ground solidified and trees sprung up. That part of nature that needs solidity formed a semi-permanent beachhead -- Echo Park. And yes, it does echo, more on that in <a href="http://luxagraf.net/2010/aug/02/dinosaur-national-monument-part-two-down-river/" title="Read about whitewater rafting in Lodore Canyon, Dinosaur National Park">part two</a>.</p>
-
-<p>Of course there's no guarantee Echo Park will be here forever. Look at what the river did to the sandstone that surrounds Echo Park -- it's cut through thousands of feet of sandstone. If the wants its overgrown sandbar back, the river will have it. Rivers always win in the end, but for this geologic moment it's here and it's quite spectacular.</p>
-
-<p>It's also incredibly quiet and peaceful. As I write this my fingers clicking on the keys are the loudest sound in Echo Park. The songbirds have settled down for the night, the fire crackles softly. </p>
-
-<p>The people who lived here called Echo Park "The Center of the Universe." It's not hard to see why, the huge, silent ring of cliff walls seem knowing, having watched over this river since the world was made. The rock walls remain whether the swallows come or go, whether the mosquitoes bite or not, whether the river floods or doesn't, whether I keep typing or stop. They simply exist as they have for millions of years -- massive and silent, watching as we, mere blips on the geologic radar, come and go, looking up at them, admiring their near eternity in our momentary passing.</p>
-
-<p>[Note: this story is part of my quest to visit every National Park in the U.S. You can check out the rest on the <a href="http://luxagraf.net/projects/national-parks/" title="National Parks Project">National Parks Project</a> page.]</p>
-
-<div class="footnote">
-<hr>
-<ol>
-<li id="fn:1">
-<p>Why is every flat piece of land in Colorado called a park? (Estes Park, Echo Park, Island Park, etc) Is that a tourism board thing? Or just a quirk of naming conventions? Cause we have the same sort of things back east, we just call them meadows or valleys or canyons or whatever. But now I think we might be missing out on something... <a class="footnote-backref" href="#fnref:1" rev="footnote" title="Jump back to footnote 1 in the text">↩</a></p>
-</li>
-</ol>
-</div>
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It started with a pint over lunch just after we arrived and then there were a few more pints at the coffeeshop down the street from our hotel, where an obnoxious group of people scouting locations for a movie eventually drove us on, to the statue of Ignatius Reilly, then a casino, a slightly lighter wallet, the best muffaletta I've ever had, some very old graves, an unlikely amount of pork, a transvestite beauty pageant and then we hit the road again.</p> -<p><amp-img alt="The corner of Decatur and Barracks, New Orleans, LA" height="423" src="https://images.luxagraf.net//2010/neworleansstreet.jpg" width="260"></amp-img> Which is not to say I was drunk the whole time, just that somewhere between the beer and the stifling humidity and wholly unique character of New Orleans, everything becomes less distinct.</p> -<p>New Orleans is only technically part of the United States, a act of map making more than anything else. For me, New Orleans has always been the one foreign country I can visit without a passport. </p> -<p><break></break></p> -<p>New Orleans is it's own world. So much so that's it's impossible to put your finger on what it is that makes it different. New Orleans is a place where the line between consensus reality and private dream seems to have never fully developed. And a wonderful world it is.</p> -<p>The New Orleans Pharmacy museum sticks out amidst the blurry series of events, perhaps because it was air conditioned, perhaps because of the Grant Lee Buffalo song from which the title of this entry is taken, or perhaps because pharmacology is simply fascinating no matter where you are, New Orleans just happens to have the perfect shrine to it.</p> -<p>Whatever the case, the museum is a brilliant glimpse of the halcyon days of early chemical experimenters -- that early world where chemicals were understood well enough to be occasionally useful and not well enough to be occasionally dangerous. A time of self-taught chemists, enthusiastic, evangelical drug fiends, pioneers and yes, outright quacks.</p> -<p>It seems everyone used to be mixing up some sort of medicine in the basement.</p> -<p><amp-img alt="Pharmacy Museum shelves, New Orleans, LA" height="349" src="https://images.luxagraf.net//2010/neworleanspharmashelves.jpg" width="560"></amp-img></p> -<p>In New Orleans there's also a strong connection between the old Vodun religious practices and the potions, cure-alls, medicines and straight quackery that used to be the local drugstore. </p> -<p>If, like me, you've ever wondered what happened to the days when Coke actually contained cocaine, every woman kept a laudanum tin by the bedside and anyone was generally free to put whatever they liked -- for good or bad -- in their body, then you are no doubt aware of the Harrison Narcotic Act of 1914.</p> -<p>The bill, which overnight made a series of plants and their by-products illegal, is one of those lines in the sand, a marker where, on one side, is total anarchistic freedom (that would be prior to the Harrison Act) and on the other side restrictions, regulations and a government that is suddenly in charge of what you can and cannot do with your body and mind.</p> -<p><amp-img alt="Sarsaparilla, for what ails ya, Pharmacy Museum, New Orleans, LA" height="378" src="https://images.luxagraf.net//2010/neworleanssarsaparilla.jpg" width="254"></amp-img>I don't have any strong opinions on the Harrison Act -- it is what it is, and it's far too late to change it. But I do think that time before it sounds like more fun. Sure, there were some wacky chemicals for sale, things that would poison and kill you, but there are still hundreds of lawsuits every year against so-called medicines that have caused people harm. </p> -<p>The difference is that now we have a huge multi-billion dollar pharmaceutical industry that gets to crank out the drugs that kill us. At the end of the day the pharmaceutical industry is about as interested in your health as the smiling shysters hawking jars of god-knows-what out the back of a gaudily painted wagon.</p> -<p>Walking the rooms of the New Orleans Pharmacy Museum with their seemingly endless shelves full of oils and sprays and pipes and potions proudly proclaiming to cure everything from hiccups to money, luck and love, was a beautiful trip back to time when people did things for themselves; when things were not simpler, they were more complicated and risky in fact, but you were in charge. It was your job to educate yourself, to make decisions, to experiment if you wished, abstain if you did not.</p> -<p>Stepping back out into the humid heat of Rue de Chartres was like being rudely sucked back to the present world. Fortunately New Orleans is there to cushion your abrupt arrival in the present, more strangeness is right around the corner, you just have to keep walking.</p> -<p>We walked up to the St. Louis Cemetery, not because it's especially strange, but because I had not been there for sixteen years. So much has changed between then and now it boggled my mind and I mostly walked in silence thinking about the road trip I took sixteen years ago. We had no cellphones then, we wrote on paper with pens, we used paper maps to get around. We were nineteen. The world was utterly different.</p> -<p>Except for the graveyard. Not much changes in graveyards. The neighborhood around St. Louis Cemetery No. 1 has improved somewhat. There was a giant pyramid crypt that I don't remember from the last trip, but otherwise the graveyard looked just as it did when I was nineteen years old.</p> -<p>I even managed to take the same picture:</p> -<div class="figure"> -<amp-img alt="Angel in 1995" height="372" src="https://images.luxagraf.net//2010/neworleansangel1995.jpg" width="560"></amp-img> -<span class="legend">Angel on a crypt, St. Louis Cemetery No. 1, New Orleans 1995</span> -</div> -<div class="figure"> -<amp-img alt="Angel in 2010" height="356" src="https://images.luxagraf.net//2010/neworleansangel2010.jpg" width="560"></amp-img> -<span class="legend">Angel on a crypt, St. Louis Cemetery No. 1, New Orleans 2010</span> -</div> -<p>The 2010 version needed to be carefully framed to avoid some new buildings to the south and a bit of Photoshop was necessary to get rid of a stoplight that didn't use to be there, but I do find it remarkable, given how much the world around us has changed in fifteen years, that this scene is still there.</p> -<p>No one wants to live in a world that never changes, but sometimes it's nice to know that bits of the world remain as they ever are.</p> - </div> - </article> -</main> - -</body> -</html> diff --git a/bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2010/07/dixie-drug-store.html b/bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2010/07/dixie-drug-store.html deleted file mode 100644 index 31f9f20..0000000 --- a/bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2010/07/dixie-drug-store.html +++ /dev/null @@ -1,388 +0,0 @@ -<!DOCTYPE html> -<html -class="detail single dark" dir="ltr" lang="en-US"> - -<head> - <title>The Dixie Drug Store - by Scott Gilbertson</title> - <meta charset="utf-8"> - <meta http-equiv="x-ua-compatible" content="ie=edge"> - <meta name="viewport" content="width=device-width, initial-scale=1"> - <meta name="description" - content="New Orleans is it's own world; one where nothing and everything is always changing. 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It started with a pint over lunch just after we arrived and then there were a few more pints at the coffeeshop down the street from our hotel, where an obnoxious group of people scouting locations for a movie eventually drove us on, to the statue of Ignatius Reilly, then a casino, a slightly lighter wallet, the best muffaletta I’ve ever had, some very old graves, an unlikely amount of pork, a transvestite beauty pageant and then we hit the road again.</p> -<p><img alt="The corner of Decatur and Barracks, New Orleans, LA" class="postpic" src="https://images.luxagraf.net//2010/neworleansstreet.jpg"/> Which is not to say I was drunk the whole time, just that somewhere between the beer and the stifling humidity and wholly unique character of New Orleans, everything becomes less distinct.</p> -<p>New Orleans is only technically part of the United States, a act of map making more than anything else. For me, New Orleans has always been the one foreign country I can visit without a passport. </p> -<p><break></p> -<p>New Orleans is it’s own world. So much so that’s it’s impossible to put your finger on what it is that makes it different. New Orleans is a place where the line between consensus reality and private dream seems to have never fully developed. And a wonderful world it is.</p> -<p>The New Orleans Pharmacy museum sticks out amidst the blurry series of events, perhaps because it was air conditioned, perhaps because of the Grant Lee Buffalo song from which the title of this entry is taken, or perhaps because pharmacology is simply fascinating no matter where you are, New Orleans just happens to have the perfect shrine to it.</p> -<p>Whatever the case, the museum is a brilliant glimpse of the halcyon days of early chemical experimenters — that early world where chemicals were understood well enough to be occasionally useful and not well enough to be occasionally dangerous. A time of self-taught chemists, enthusiastic, evangelical drug fiends, pioneers and yes, outright quacks.</p> -<p>It seems everyone used to be mixing up some sort of medicine in the basement.</p> -<p><img alt="Pharmacy Museum shelves, New Orleans, LA" class="postpicfull" src="https://images.luxagraf.net//2010/neworleanspharmashelves.jpg"/></p> -<p>In New Orleans there’s also a strong connection between the old Vodun religious practices and the potions, cure-alls, medicines and straight quackery that used to be the local drugstore. </p> -<p>If, like me, you’ve ever wondered what happened to the days when Coke actually contained cocaine, every woman kept a laudanum tin by the bedside and anyone was generally free to put whatever they liked — for good or bad — in their body, then you are no doubt aware of the Harrison Narcotic Act of 1914.</p> -<p>The bill, which overnight made a series of plants and their by-products illegal, is one of those lines in the sand, a marker where, on one side, is total anarchistic freedom (that would be prior to the Harrison Act) and on the other side restrictions, regulations and a government that is suddenly in charge of what you can and cannot do with your body and mind.</p> -<p><img alt="Sarsaparilla, for what ails ya, Pharmacy Museum, New Orleans, LA" class="postpicright" src="https://images.luxagraf.net//2010/neworleanssarsaparilla.jpg"/>I don’t have any strong opinions on the Harrison Act — it is what it is, and it’s far too late to change it. But I do think that time before it sounds like more fun. Sure, there were some wacky chemicals for sale, things that would poison and kill you, but there are still hundreds of lawsuits every year against so-called medicines that have caused people harm. </p> -<p>The difference is that now we have a huge multi-billion dollar pharmaceutical industry that gets to crank out the drugs that kill us. At the end of the day the pharmaceutical industry is about as interested in your health as the smiling shysters hawking jars of god-knows-what out the back of a gaudily painted wagon.</p> -<p>Walking the rooms of the New Orleans Pharmacy Museum with their seemingly endless shelves full of oils and sprays and pipes and potions proudly proclaiming to cure everything from hiccups to money, luck and love, was a beautiful trip back to time when people did things for themselves; when things were not simpler, they were more complicated and risky in fact, but you were in charge. It was your job to educate yourself, to make decisions, to experiment if you wished, abstain if you did not.</p> -<p>Stepping back out into the humid heat of Rue de Chartres was like being rudely sucked back to the present world. Fortunately New Orleans is there to cushion your abrupt arrival in the present, more strangeness is right around the corner, you just have to keep walking.</p> -<p>We walked up to the St. Louis Cemetery, not because it’s especially strange, but because I had not been there for sixteen years. So much has changed between then and now it boggled my mind and I mostly walked in silence thinking about the road trip I took sixteen years ago. We had no cellphones then, we wrote on paper with pens, we used paper maps to get around. We were nineteen. The world was utterly different.</p> -<p>Except for the graveyard. Not much changes in graveyards. The neighborhood around St. Louis Cemetery No. 1 has improved somewhat. There was a giant pyramid crypt that I don’t remember from the last trip, but otherwise the graveyard looked just as it did when I was nineteen years old.</p> -<p>I even managed to take the same picture:</p> -<div class="figure"> - <img src="[[base_url]]/2010/neworleansangel1995.jpg" alt="Angel in 1995"> - <span class="legend">Angel on a crypt, St. Louis Cemetery No. 1, New Orleans 1995</span> -</div> - -<div class="figure"> - <img src="[[base_url]]/2010/neworleansangel2010.jpg" alt="Angel in 2010"> - <span class="legend">Angel on a crypt, St. Louis Cemetery No. 1, New Orleans 2010</span> -</div> - -<p>The 2010 version needed to be carefully framed to avoid some new buildings to the south and a bit of Photoshop was necessary to get rid of a stoplight that didn’t use to be there, but I do find it remarkable, given how much the world around us has changed in fifteen years, that this scene is still there.</p> -<p>No one wants to live in a world that never changes, but sometimes it’s nice to know that bits of the world remain as they ever are.</p> - </div> - <div class="entry-footer"> - <aside id="wildlife"> - <h3>Fauna and Flora</h3> - - <ul> - - <li class="grouper">Birds<ul> - - <li>Downy Woodpecker </li> - - <li>Fish Crow </li> - - <li>Great Blue Heron </li> - - <li>Inca Dove </li> - - <li><a href="/dialogues/northern-cardinal">Northern Cardinal</a> </li> - - <li><a href="/dialogues/northern-mockingbird">Northern Mockingbird</a> </li> - - <li>Red-winged Blackbird </li> - - <li>White Ibis </li> - - <li>Yellow-rumped Warbler </li> - </ul> - </ul> - </aside> - - - </div> - </article> - - - <div class="nav-wrapper"> - <nav id="page-navigation" > - <ul> - <li id="prev"><span class="bl">Previous:</span> - <a href="/jrnl/2010/07/begin-the-begin" rel="prev" title=" Begin the Begin">Begin the Begin</a> - </li> - <li id="next"><span class="bl">Next:</span> - <a href="/jrnl/2010/07/legend-billy-the-kid" rel="next" title=" The Legend of Billy the Kid">The Legend of Billy the Kid</a> - </li> - </ul> - </nav> - </div> - - - - - - -<div class="comment--form--wrapper "> - -<div class="comment--form--header"> - <p class="hed">Thoughts?</p> - <p class="subhed">Please leave a reply:</p> -</div> -<form action="/comments/post/" method="post" class="comment--form"> - -<input type="hidden" name="rder" value="" /> - - - <input type="hidden" name="content_type" value="jrnl.entry" id="id_content_type"> - - - - <input type="hidden" name="object_pk" value="102" id="id_object_pk"> - - - - <input type="hidden" name="timestamp" value="1596833465" id="id_timestamp"> - - - - <input type="hidden" name="security_hash" value="aaa31c92cc39f0fcf500e38570bb3dd7c0b93ce6" id="id_security_hash"> - - - - <fieldset > - <label for="id_name">Name:</label> - <input type="text" name="name" maxlength="50" required id="id_name"> - </fieldset> - - - - <fieldset > - <label for="id_email">Email address:</label> - <input type="email" name="email" required id="id_email"> - </fieldset> - - - - <fieldset > - <label for="id_url">URL:</label> - <input type="url" name="url" id="id_url"> - </fieldset> - - - - <fieldset > - <label for="id_comment">Comment:</label> - <div class="textarea-rounded"><textarea name="comment" cols="40" rows="10" maxlength="3000" required id="id_comment"> -</textarea></div> - </fieldset> - - - - <fieldset style="display:none;"> - <label for="id_honeypot">If you enter anything in this field your comment will be treated as spam:</label> - <input type="text" name="honeypot" id="id_honeypot"> - </fieldset> - - - <div class="submit"> - <input type="submit" name="post" class="submit-post btn" value="Post" /> - <input type="submit" name="preview" class="submit-preview btn" value="Preview" /> - </div> -</form> -<p style="font-size: 95%;"><strong>All comments are moderated</strong>, so you won’t see it right away. 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It started with a pint over lunch just after we arrived and then there were a few more pints at the coffeeshop down the street from our hotel, where an obnoxious group of people scouting locations for a movie eventually drove us on, to the statue of Ignatius Reilly, then a casino, a slightly lighter wallet, the best muffaletta I've ever had, some very old graves, an unlikely amount of pork, a transvestite beauty pageant and then we hit the road again.
-
-<img src="[[base_url]]/2010/neworleansstreet.jpg" alt="The corner of Decatur and Barracks, New Orleans, LA" class="postpic" /> Which is not to say I was drunk the whole time, just that somewhere between the beer and the stifling humidity and wholly unique character of New Orleans, everything becomes less distinct.
-
-New Orleans is only technically part of the United States, a act of map making more than anything else. For me, New Orleans has always been the one foreign country I can visit without a passport.
-
-<break>
-
-New Orleans is it's own world. So much so that's it's impossible to put your finger on what it is that makes it different. New Orleans is a place where the line between consensus reality and private dream seems to have never fully developed. And a wonderful world it is.
-
-The New Orleans Pharmacy museum sticks out amidst the blurry series of events, perhaps because it was air conditioned, perhaps because of the Grant Lee Buffalo song from which the title of this entry is taken, or perhaps because pharmacology is simply fascinating no matter where you are, New Orleans just happens to have the perfect shrine to it.
-
-Whatever the case, the museum is a brilliant glimpse of the halcyon days of early chemical experimenters -- that early world where chemicals were understood well enough to be occasionally useful and not well enough to be occasionally dangerous. A time of self-taught chemists, enthusiastic, evangelical drug fiends, pioneers and yes, outright quacks.
-
-It seems everyone used to be mixing up some sort of medicine in the basement.
-
-<img src="[[base_url]]/2010/neworleanspharmashelves.jpg" alt="Pharmacy Museum shelves, New Orleans, LA" class="postpicfull" />
-
-In New Orleans there's also a strong connection between the old Vodun religious practices and the potions, cure-alls, medicines and straight quackery that used to be the local drugstore.
-
-If, like me, you've ever wondered what happened to the days when Coke actually contained cocaine, every woman kept a laudanum tin by the bedside and anyone was generally free to put whatever they liked -- for good or bad -- in their body, then you are no doubt aware of the Harrison Narcotic Act of 1914.
-
-The bill, which overnight made a series of plants and their by-products illegal, is one of those lines in the sand, a marker where, on one side, is total anarchistic freedom (that would be prior to the Harrison Act) and on the other side restrictions, regulations and a government that is suddenly in charge of what you can and cannot do with your body and mind.
-
-<img src="[[base_url]]/2010/neworleanssarsaparilla.jpg" alt="Sarsaparilla, for what ails ya, Pharmacy Museum, New Orleans, LA" class="postpicright" />I don't have any strong opinions on the Harrison Act -- it is what it is, and it's far too late to change it. But I do think that time before it sounds like more fun. Sure, there were some wacky chemicals for sale, things that would poison and kill you, but there are still hundreds of lawsuits every year against so-called medicines that have caused people harm.
-
-The difference is that now we have a huge multi-billion dollar pharmaceutical industry that gets to crank out the drugs that kill us. At the end of the day the pharmaceutical industry is about as interested in your health as the smiling shysters hawking jars of god-knows-what out the back of a gaudily painted wagon.
-
-Walking the rooms of the New Orleans Pharmacy Museum with their seemingly endless shelves full of oils and sprays and pipes and potions proudly proclaiming to cure everything from hiccups to money, luck and love, was a beautiful trip back to time when people did things for themselves; when things were not simpler, they were more complicated and risky in fact, but you were in charge. It was your job to educate yourself, to make decisions, to experiment if you wished, abstain if you did not.
-
-Stepping back out into the humid heat of Rue de Chartres was like being rudely sucked back to the present world. Fortunately New Orleans is there to cushion your abrupt arrival in the present, more strangeness is right around the corner, you just have to keep walking.
-
-We walked up to the St. Louis Cemetery, not because it's especially strange, but because I had not been there for sixteen years. So much has changed between then and now it boggled my mind and I mostly walked in silence thinking about the road trip I took sixteen years ago. We had no cellphones then, we wrote on paper with pens, we used paper maps to get around. We were nineteen. The world was utterly different.
-
-Except for the graveyard. Not much changes in graveyards. The neighborhood around St. Louis Cemetery No. 1 has improved somewhat. There was a giant pyramid crypt that I don't remember from the last trip, but otherwise the graveyard looked just as it did when I was nineteen years old.
-
-I even managed to take the same picture:
-
-<div class="figure">
- <img src="[[base_url]]/2010/neworleansangel1995.jpg" alt="Angel in 1995">
- <span class="legend">Angel on a crypt, St. Louis Cemetery No. 1, New Orleans 1995</span>
-</div>
-
-<div class="figure">
- <img src="[[base_url]]/2010/neworleansangel2010.jpg" alt="Angel in 2010">
- <span class="legend">Angel on a crypt, St. Louis Cemetery No. 1, New Orleans 2010</span>
-</div>
-
-The 2010 version needed to be carefully framed to avoid some new buildings to the south and a bit of Photoshop was necessary to get rid of a stoplight that didn't use to be there, but I do find it remarkable, given how much the world around us has changed in fifteen years, that this scene is still there.
-
-No one wants to live in a world that never changes, but sometimes it's nice to know that bits of the world remain as they ever are.
-
- diff --git a/bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2010/07/endless-crowds-yellowstone.amp b/bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2010/07/endless-crowds-yellowstone.amp deleted file mode 100644 index 133901d..0000000 --- a/bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2010/07/endless-crowds-yellowstone.amp +++ /dev/null @@ -1,202 +0,0 @@ - - -<!doctype html> -<html amp lang="en"> -<head> -<meta charset="utf-8"> -<title>The Endless Crowds of Yellowstone</title> -<link rel="canonical" href="https://luxagraf.net/jrnl/2010/07/endless-crowds-yellowstone"> - <meta name="viewport" content="width=device-width,initial-scale=1,minimum-scale=1"> - <meta name="twitter:card" content="summary_large_image"/> - <meta name="twitter:url" content="/jrnl/2010/07/endless-crowds-yellowstone"> - <meta name="twitter:description" content="There is wilderness in Yellowstone, even if it's just inches from the boardwalks that transport thousands around the geothermal pools."/> - <meta name="twitter:title" content="The Endless Crowds of Yellowstone"/> - <meta name="twitter:site" content="@luxagraf"/> - <meta name="twitter:domain" content="luxagraf"/> - <meta name="twitter:image:src" content="https://images.luxagraf.net/post-images/2010/yellowstoneh.jpg"/> - <meta name="twitter:creator" content="@luxagraf"/> - <meta name="twitter:site:id" content="9469062"> - <meta name="twitter:creator:id" content="9469062"> - <meta name="twitter:description" content=""/> - - <meta name="geo.placename" content="Yellowstone National Park, Wyoming"> - <meta name="geo.region" content="US-WY"> - <meta property="og:type" content="article" /> - <meta property="og:title" content="The Endless Crowds of Yellowstone" /> - <meta property="og:url" content="https://luxagraf.net/jrnl/2010/07/endless-crowds-yellowstone" /> - <meta property="og:description" content="There is wilderness in Yellowstone, even if it's just inches from the boardwalks that transport thousands around the geothermal pools." /> - <meta property="article:published_time" content="2010-07-25T14:00:00" /> - <meta property="article:author" content="Luxagraf" /> - <meta property="og:site_name" content="Luxagraf" /> - <meta property="og:image" content="https://images.luxagraf.net/post-images/2010/yellowstoneh.jpg" /> - <meta property="og:image" content="https://images.luxagraf.net//2010/yellowstoneoldfaithful.jpg" /> - <meta property="og:image" content="https://images.luxagraf.net//2010/yellowstonetrafficjam.jpg" /> - <meta property="og:image" content="https://images.luxagraf.net//2010/yellowstonegrandprismatic.jpg" /> - <meta property="og:image" content="https://images.luxagraf.net//2010/yellowstoneripples.jpg" /> - <meta property="og:image" content="https://images.luxagraf.net//2010/yellowstonefireholeriver.jpg" /> - <meta property="og:image" content="https://images.luxagraf.net//2010/yellowstonefireholeriveralgae.jpg" /> - <meta property="og:locale" content="en_US" /> - - -<script type="application/ld+json"> -{ - "@context": "http://schema.org", - "@type": "BlogPosting", - "headline": "The Endless Crowds of Yellowstone", - "description": "There is wilderness in Yellowstone, even if it's just inches from the boardwalks that transport thousands around the geothermal pools.", - "datePublished": "2010-07-25T14:00:00", - "author": { - "@type": "Person", - "name": "Scott Gilbertson" - }, - "publisher": { - "@type": "Person", - "name": "Scott Gilbertson" - "logo": { - "@type": "ImageObject", - "url": "", - "width": 240, - "height": 53 - } - } -} -</script> -<style amp-custom> -body { - font-size: 1rem; 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Thankfully it's nowhere near as hot and humid as Siem Reap. And here in Yellowstone National Park it's geothermal weirdness, not ancient temples, that are the main draw, but the draw is similar and like few places I've ever been.</p> -<p><amp-img alt="Old Faithful" height="301" src="https://images.luxagraf.net//2010/yellowstoneoldfaithful.jpg" width="247"></amp-img>People. People everywhere. </p> -<p>The crowds are a testament to the beauty of Yellowstone, but it can be overwhelming, especially if you happen to arrive fresh from <a href="http://luxagraf.net//2010/jul/22/backpacking-grand-tetons/">the wilds of Grand Teton National Park</a>.</p> -<p>Crowds can be fun though. Like Angkor Wat, every fashion faux pas you've ever dreamed of is represented somewhere in the Old Faithful vicinity. I'm partial to the plaid bermuda shorts with collared short-sleeved shirt look, but that's just because I can't figure out where people buy plaid bermuda shorts in this day and age.</p> -<p><break></break></p> -<p>One of the things that is repeated over and over again in Ken Burns' The National Parks series is that the early park advocates wanted to ensure that Yellowstone and Yosemite (the first two parks) did not "become another Niagara Falls." The over-commercialization of Niagara Falls had made America the laughing stock of Europe's late 19th century elite. </p> -<p>One of the goals of those early parks was to make sure that didn't happen everywhere.</p> -<p>My first thought on arriving at Old Faithful in Yellowstone National Park was, well, guess we screwed that one up.</p> -<p>There may not be the neon banners and giant lighted arrows you'll find at Niagara Falls (now itself a "National Heritage Area"), but it's pretty much the same idea. There's a service station, several giant hotels, half a dozen restaurants and a colossal new Visitor Center (opening August 25, 2010).</p> -<p><amp-img alt="Traffic jam in Yellowstone National Park" height="200" src="https://images.luxagraf.net//2010/yellowstonetrafficjam.jpg" width="300"></amp-img>Old Faithful is about as commercialized as it gets in the National Park system and it's a shame. But it could be worse. Before Yellowstone was protected visitors used to take an axe to Old Faithful and break off a chunk to take home as a souvenir. Stay classy America.</p> -<p>On the plus side, you always know where the wildlife is because there will be a giant traffic jam for every buffalo, moose, elk or grizzly bear that's within visible range of the road. </p> -<p>As it stands, at least that no longer happens, but Yellowstone is very much a "park" as opposed to any sort of wilderness. </p> -<p>If you get out in the backcountry you'll find plenty of wilderness, but the geothermal pools and fountains are, for the most part, not in the backcountry. If you arrive in peak season like I did, expect crowds. Disneyland-size crowds.</p> -<p>The key to any overly-crowded place is either give up and leave or slow down and force yourself to relax. I considered the former, but ended up doing the latter, though not necessarily by choice in the beginning. </p> -<p>Thanks to some sort of knee strain I acquired up in the Teton backcountry, I spent most of my time in Yellowstone hobbling, limping around the pools at about half-speed. It hurt, as did the blister on my foot, but if I stopped frequently enough and walked slow enough on the downhill stretches it wasn't to bad. And it had an auxiliary benefit -- I saw more.</p> -<p><amp-img alt="Grand Prismatic Spring, Yellowstone National Park" height="309" src="https://images.luxagraf.net//2010/yellowstonegrandprismatic.jpg" width="550"></amp-img> </p> -<p>I saw considerably more than I might have if I had just strolled around. After all, at first glance if you've seen one geothermal pool you've essentially seen them all. But if you spend some time with them (sitting on the benches, rubbing your knee or reading the signs while standing on one leg) you start to notice the little differences -- the way the water changes the limestone structure of the pools right before your eyes or the way the colors are subtly different shades in each pool (the product of slight temperature differences or different solar exposures or the amount of sulfur in the water).</p> -<p>The famous colors of Yellowstone's thermal pools are the result of bacteria, which, like plants, respond to changes in environment. The water color in the larger pools varies as well -- from a deep sapphire blue to bright teal. The more interesting ones are surrounded by a kaleidoscope of colors created by the bacteria. </p> -<p><amp-img alt="Patterns, Yellowstone National Park" height="362" src="https://images.luxagraf.net//2010/yellowstoneripples.jpg" width="250"></amp-img>Beyond the colors, Yellowstone is a land of textures -- the bacterial mats form intricate patterns and the movement of the water sculpts them into miniature scenes that look like something from another world. </p> -<p>In the end there is wilderness here, even if it's just inches from the boardwalks that transport thousands around the geothermal pools. It may not be wildness on a grand scale -- the sweeping mountain peaks or wild rivers of other parks -- but in some ways that makes it more enticing. As one Ranger told me, Yellowstone isn't about the big picture, the grand scenery, it's about the tiny details within each pool. To really see Yellowstone, he said, you have to take your time, move slowly and look closely. </p> -<p><amp-img alt="The Firehole River, Yellowstone National Park" height="270" src="https://images.luxagraf.net//2010/yellowstonefireholeriver.jpg" width="204"></amp-img>Yellowstone may be about the tiny details within the surreal world of it's geothermal pools, but for me the most surreal experience in Yellowstone is not the wild colors, but the Firehole River.</p> -<p>To all appearances the Firehole River looks like an icy cold mountain stream cutting its way through the mountain meadows and pine forests of Yellowstone. But thanks to all the heat just below the surface, and the runoff from the fountains and pools that it flows by, when you stick your foot in the river it feels like the Gulf of Thailand -- crystal clear, lukewarm and inviting. The sensation is disconcerting, a disconnect between expectation and reality, but it's great for swimming on an otherwise mild day.</p> -<p><amp-img alt="Algae fans in the Firehole River, Yellowstone National Park" height="287" src="https://images.luxagraf.net//2010/yellowstonefireholeriveralgae.jpg" width="250"></amp-img>The river betrays it's strangeness in other ways too -- look a bit closer and you'll find giant fans of algae, something you'd never expect in a typical, chilly, mountain stream. In fact the river is more like a tropical sea than something running through the mountains.</p> -<p>Another of my favorite moments in Ken Burns' National Parks series is something the famously whimsical John Muir used to do: Muir liked to put his head down between his knees and look at the world upside down, to see what he called its "upness." It's a great reminder that the world is always what you see, nothing more, nothing less. But that vision is not something static, it is something you are always taking in, always making new. That even something as simple as looking at it upside down can reveal everything all over again is remarkable when you stop and think about it.</p> -<p>Yes, Yellowstone is crowded, so is Angkor Wat, but both are still what they are -- beautiful, fantastic, extraordinary. If you take a bit of time, slow down, ignore the bermuda shorts and just look in your own way there is always something out there that no crowds can take away from you, there is always something out there that is you. There is always something out there.</p> -<p>[Note: this story is park of my quest to visit every National Park in the U.S. You can check out the rest on the <a href="http://luxagraf.net/projects/national-parks/" title="National Parks Project">National Parks Project</a> page.]</p> - </div> - </article> -</main> - -</body> -</html> diff --git a/bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2010/07/endless-crowds-yellowstone.html b/bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2010/07/endless-crowds-yellowstone.html deleted file mode 100644 index d8888e8..0000000 --- a/bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2010/07/endless-crowds-yellowstone.html +++ /dev/null @@ -1,353 +0,0 @@ -<!DOCTYPE html> -<html -class="detail single" dir="ltr" lang="en-US"> - -<head> - <title>The Endless Crowds Of Yellowstone - by Scott Gilbertson</title> - <meta charset="utf-8"> - <meta http-equiv="x-ua-compatible" content="ie=edge"> - <meta name="viewport" content="width=device-width, initial-scale=1"> - <meta name="description" - content="There is wilderness in Yellowstone, even if it's just inches from the boardwalks that transport thousands around the geothermal pools."> - <meta name="author" content="Scott Gilbertson"> - <link rel="alternate" - type="application/rss+xml" - title="Luxagraf RSS feed" - href="https://luxagraf.net/rss/"> - <link rel="stylesheet" - href="/media/screenv9.css" - media="screen"> - <link rel="stylesheet" href="/media/print.css" media="print" title="print" /> - <link rel="shortcut icon" href="/favicon.ico" type="image/x-icon"> - <link rel="manifest" href="/manifest.json" /> - <link rel="dns-prefetch" href="https://stats.luxagraf.net"> - - <link rel="canonical" href="https://luxagraf.net/jrnl/2010/07/endless-crowds-yellowstone" /> - <meta name="ICBM" content="44.46180292448713, -110.82196979172171" /> - <meta name="geo.position" content="44.46180292448713; 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return false;" title="see a map">Map</a> - </div> - <time class="dt-published published dt-updated post-date" datetime="2010-07-25T14:00:00" itemprop="datePublished">July <span>25, 2010</span></time> - <span class="hide" itemprop="author" itemscope itemtype="http://schema.org/Person">by <a class="p-author h-card" href="/about"><span itemprop="name">Scott Gilbertson</span></a></span> - </div> - </header> - <div id="article" class="e-content entry-content post--body post--body--single" itemprop="articleBody"> - <p><span class="drop">I</span>t’s four o’clock by the time I reach Old Faithful and, strange as it may seem, I can’t help feeling like I’m back in <a href="http://luxagraf.net/2006/mar/21/angkor-wat/">Angkor Wat</a>. Thankfully it’s nowhere near as hot and humid as Siem Reap. And here in Yellowstone National Park it’s geothermal weirdness, not ancient temples, that are the main draw, but the draw is similar and like few places I’ve ever been.</p> -<p><img alt="Old Faithful" class="postpic" src="https://images.luxagraf.net//2010/yellowstoneoldfaithful.jpg"/>People. People everywhere. </p> -<p>The crowds are a testament to the beauty of Yellowstone, but it can be overwhelming, especially if you happen to arrive fresh from <a href="http://luxagraf.net//2010/jul/22/backpacking-grand-tetons/">the wilds of Grand Teton National Park</a>.</p> -<p>Crowds can be fun though. Like Angkor Wat, every fashion faux pas you’ve ever dreamed of is represented somewhere in the Old Faithful vicinity. I’m partial to the plaid bermuda shorts with collared short-sleeved shirt look, but that’s just because I can’t figure out where people buy plaid bermuda shorts in this day and age.</p> -<p><break></p> -<p>One of the things that is repeated over and over again in Ken Burns’ The National Parks series is that the early park advocates wanted to ensure that Yellowstone and Yosemite (the first two parks) did not “become another Niagara Falls.” The over-commercialization of Niagara Falls had made America the laughing stock of Europe’s late 19th century elite. </p> -<p>One of the goals of those early parks was to make sure that didn’t happen everywhere.</p> -<p>My first thought on arriving at Old Faithful in Yellowstone National Park was, well, guess we screwed that one up.</p> -<p>There may not be the neon banners and giant lighted arrows you’ll find at Niagara Falls (now itself a “National Heritage Area”), but it’s pretty much the same idea. There’s a service station, several giant hotels, half a dozen restaurants and a colossal new Visitor Center (opening August 25, 2010).</p> -<p><img alt="Traffic jam in Yellowstone National Park" class="postpicright" src="https://images.luxagraf.net//2010/yellowstonetrafficjam.jpg"/>Old Faithful is about as commercialized as it gets in the National Park system and it’s a shame. But it could be worse. Before Yellowstone was protected visitors used to take an axe to Old Faithful and break off a chunk to take home as a souvenir. Stay classy America.</p> -<p>On the plus side, you always know where the wildlife is because there will be a giant traffic jam for every buffalo, moose, elk or grizzly bear that’s within visible range of the road. </p> -<p>As it stands, at least that no longer happens, but Yellowstone is very much a “park” as opposed to any sort of wilderness. </p> -<p>If you get out in the backcountry you’ll find plenty of wilderness, but the geothermal pools and fountains are, for the most part, not in the backcountry. If you arrive in peak season like I did, expect crowds. Disneyland-size crowds.</p> -<p>The key to any overly-crowded place is either give up and leave or slow down and force yourself to relax. I considered the former, but ended up doing the latter, though not necessarily by choice in the beginning. </p> -<p>Thanks to some sort of knee strain I acquired up in the Teton backcountry, I spent most of my time in Yellowstone hobbling, limping around the pools at about half-speed. It hurt, as did the blister on my foot, but if I stopped frequently enough and walked slow enough on the downhill stretches it wasn’t to bad. And it had an auxiliary benefit — I saw more.</p> -<p><img alt="Grand Prismatic Spring, Yellowstone National Park" class="picfull" src="https://images.luxagraf.net//2010/yellowstonegrandprismatic.jpg"/> </p> -<p>I saw considerably more than I might have if I had just strolled around. After all, at first glance if you’ve seen one geothermal pool you’ve essentially seen them all. But if you spend some time with them (sitting on the benches, rubbing your knee or reading the signs while standing on one leg) you start to notice the little differences — the way the water changes the limestone structure of the pools right before your eyes or the way the colors are subtly different shades in each pool (the product of slight temperature differences or different solar exposures or the amount of sulfur in the water).</p> -<p>The famous colors of Yellowstone’s thermal pools are the result of bacteria, which, like plants, respond to changes in environment. The water color in the larger pools varies as well — from a deep sapphire blue to bright teal. The more interesting ones are surrounded by a kaleidoscope of colors created by the bacteria. </p> -<p><img alt="Patterns, Yellowstone National Park" class="postpicright" src="https://images.luxagraf.net//2010/yellowstoneripples.jpg"/>Beyond the colors, Yellowstone is a land of textures — the bacterial mats form intricate patterns and the movement of the water sculpts them into miniature scenes that look like something from another world. </p> -<p>In the end there is wilderness here, even if it’s just inches from the boardwalks that transport thousands around the geothermal pools. It may not be wildness on a grand scale — the sweeping mountain peaks or wild rivers of other parks — but in some ways that makes it more enticing. As one Ranger told me, Yellowstone isn’t about the big picture, the grand scenery, it’s about the tiny details within each pool. To really see Yellowstone, he said, you have to take your time, move slowly and look closely. </p> -<p><img alt="The Firehole River, Yellowstone National Park" class="postpic" src="https://images.luxagraf.net//2010/yellowstonefireholeriver.jpg"/>Yellowstone may be about the tiny details within the surreal world of it’s geothermal pools, but for me the most surreal experience in Yellowstone is not the wild colors, but the Firehole River.</p> -<p>To all appearances the Firehole River looks like an icy cold mountain stream cutting its way through the mountain meadows and pine forests of Yellowstone. But thanks to all the heat just below the surface, and the runoff from the fountains and pools that it flows by, when you stick your foot in the river it feels like the Gulf of Thailand — crystal clear, lukewarm and inviting. The sensation is disconcerting, a disconnect between expectation and reality, but it’s great for swimming on an otherwise mild day.</p> -<p><img alt="Algae fans in the Firehole River, Yellowstone National Park" class="postpicright" src="https://images.luxagraf.net//2010/yellowstonefireholeriveralgae.jpg"/>The river betrays it’s strangeness in other ways too — look a bit closer and you’ll find giant fans of algae, something you’d never expect in a typical, chilly, mountain stream. In fact the river is more like a tropical sea than something running through the mountains.</p> -<p>Another of my favorite moments in Ken Burns’ National Parks series is something the famously whimsical John Muir used to do: Muir liked to put his head down between his knees and look at the world upside down, to see what he called its “upness.” It’s a great reminder that the world is always what you see, nothing more, nothing less. But that vision is not something static, it is something you are always taking in, always making new. That even something as simple as looking at it upside down can reveal everything all over again is remarkable when you stop and think about it.</p> -<p>Yes, Yellowstone is crowded, so is Angkor Wat, but both are still what they are — beautiful, fantastic, extraordinary. If you take a bit of time, slow down, ignore the bermuda shorts and just look in your own way there is always something out there that no crowds can take away from you, there is always something out there that is you. There is always something out there.</p> -<p>[Note: this story is park of my quest to visit every National Park in the U.S. You can check out the rest on the <a href="http://luxagraf.net/projects/national-parks/" title="National Parks Project">National Parks Project</a> page.]</p> - </div> - - </article> - - - <div class="nav-wrapper"> - <nav id="page-navigation" class="page-border-top"> - <ul> - <li id="prev"><span class="bl">Previous:</span> - <a href="/jrnl/2010/07/backpacking-grand-tetons" rel="prev" title=" Backpacking in the Grand Tetons">Backpacking in the Grand Tetons</a> - </li> - <li id="next"><span class="bl">Next:</span> - <a href="/jrnl/2010/07/dinosaur-national-monument-part-one-echo-park" rel="next" title=" Dinosaur National Monument, Part One: Echo Park">Dinosaur National Monument, Part One: Echo Park</a> - </li> - </ul> - </nav> - </div> - - - - - - -<div class="comment--form--wrapper "> - -<div class="comment--form--header"> - <p class="hed">Thoughts?</p> - <p class="subhed">Please leave a reply:</p> -</div> -<form action="/comments/post/" method="post" class="comment--form"> - -<input type="hidden" name="rder" value="" /> - - - <input type="hidden" name="content_type" value="jrnl.entry" id="id_content_type"> - - - - <input type="hidden" name="object_pk" value="112" id="id_object_pk"> - - - - <input type="hidden" name="timestamp" value="1596833464" id="id_timestamp"> - - - - <input type="hidden" name="security_hash" value="eb69a9cd2b8e98fc0a4e504c153d73aa48e565fc" id="id_security_hash"> - - - - <fieldset > - <label for="id_name">Name:</label> - <input type="text" name="name" maxlength="50" required id="id_name"> - </fieldset> - - - - <fieldset > - <label for="id_email">Email address:</label> - <input type="email" name="email" required id="id_email"> - </fieldset> - - - - <fieldset > - <label for="id_url">URL:</label> - <input type="url" name="url" id="id_url"> - </fieldset> - - - - <fieldset > - <label for="id_comment">Comment:</label> - <div class="textarea-rounded"><textarea name="comment" cols="40" rows="10" maxlength="3000" required id="id_comment"> -</textarea></div> - </fieldset> - - - - <fieldset style="display:none;"> - <label for="id_honeypot">If you enter anything in this field your comment will be treated as spam:</label> - <input type="text" name="honeypot" id="id_honeypot"> - </fieldset> - - - <div class="submit"> - <input type="submit" name="post" class="submit-post btn" value="Post" /> - <input type="submit" name="preview" class="submit-preview btn" value="Preview" /> - </div> -</form> -<p style="font-size: 95%;"><strong>All comments are moderated</strong>, so you won’t see it right away. 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Thankfully it's nowhere near as hot and humid as Siem Reap. And here in Yellowstone National Park it's geothermal weirdness, not ancient temples, that are the main draw, but the draw is similar and like few places I've ever been.
-
-
-<img src="[[base_url]]/2010/yellowstoneoldfaithful.jpg" alt="Old Faithful" class="postpic" />People. People everywhere.
-
-The crowds are a testament to the beauty of Yellowstone, but it can be overwhelming, especially if you happen to arrive fresh from [the wilds of Grand Teton National Park][2].
-
-Crowds can be fun though. Like Angkor Wat, every fashion faux pas you've ever dreamed of is represented somewhere in the Old Faithful vicinity. I'm partial to the plaid bermuda shorts with collared short-sleeved shirt look, but that's just because I can't figure out where people buy plaid bermuda shorts in this day and age.
-
-<break>
-
-One of the things that is repeated over and over again in Ken Burns' The National Parks series is that the early park advocates wanted to ensure that Yellowstone and Yosemite (the first two parks) did not "become another Niagara Falls." The over-commercialization of Niagara Falls had made America the laughing stock of Europe's late 19th century elite.
-
-One of the goals of those early parks was to make sure that didn't happen everywhere.
-
-My first thought on arriving at Old Faithful in Yellowstone National Park was, well, guess we screwed that one up.
-
-There may not be the neon banners and giant lighted arrows you'll find at Niagara Falls (now itself a "National Heritage Area"), but it's pretty much the same idea. There's a service station, several giant hotels, half a dozen restaurants and a colossal new Visitor Center (opening August 25, 2010).
-
-<img src="[[base_url]]/2010/yellowstonetrafficjam.jpg" alt="Traffic jam in Yellowstone National Park" class="postpicright" />Old Faithful is about as commercialized as it gets in the National Park system and it's a shame. But it could be worse. Before Yellowstone was protected visitors used to take an axe to Old Faithful and break off a chunk to take home as a souvenir. Stay classy America.
-
-On the plus side, you always know where the wildlife is because there will be a giant traffic jam for every buffalo, moose, elk or grizzly bear that's within visible range of the road.
-
-As it stands, at least that no longer happens, but Yellowstone is very much a "park" as opposed to any sort of wilderness.
-
-If you get out in the backcountry you'll find plenty of wilderness, but the geothermal pools and fountains are, for the most part, not in the backcountry. If you arrive in peak season like I did, expect crowds. Disneyland-size crowds.
-
-The key to any overly-crowded place is either give up and leave or slow down and force yourself to relax. I considered the former, but ended up doing the latter, though not necessarily by choice in the beginning.
-
-Thanks to some sort of knee strain I acquired up in the Teton backcountry, I spent most of my time in Yellowstone hobbling, limping around the pools at about half-speed. It hurt, as did the blister on my foot, but if I stopped frequently enough and walked slow enough on the downhill stretches it wasn't to bad. And it had an auxiliary benefit -- I saw more.
-
-<img src="[[base_url]]/2010/yellowstonegrandprismatic.jpg" alt="Grand Prismatic Spring, Yellowstone National Park" class="picfull" />
-
-I saw considerably more than I might have if I had just strolled around. After all, at first glance if you've seen one geothermal pool you've essentially seen them all. But if you spend some time with them (sitting on the benches, rubbing your knee or reading the signs while standing on one leg) you start to notice the little differences -- the way the water changes the limestone structure of the pools right before your eyes or the way the colors are subtly different shades in each pool (the product of slight temperature differences or different solar exposures or the amount of sulfur in the water).
-
-The famous colors of Yellowstone's thermal pools are the result of bacteria, which, like plants, respond to changes in environment. The water color in the larger pools varies as well -- from a deep sapphire blue to bright teal. The more interesting ones are surrounded by a kaleidoscope of colors created by the bacteria.
-
-<img src="[[base_url]]/2010/yellowstoneripples.jpg" alt="Patterns, Yellowstone National Park" class="postpicright" />Beyond the colors, Yellowstone is a land of textures -- the bacterial mats form intricate patterns and the movement of the water sculpts them into miniature scenes that look like something from another world.
-
-In the end there is wilderness here, even if it's just inches from the boardwalks that transport thousands around the geothermal pools. It may not be wildness on a grand scale -- the sweeping mountain peaks or wild rivers of other parks -- but in some ways that makes it more enticing. As one Ranger told me, Yellowstone isn't about the big picture, the grand scenery, it's about the tiny details within each pool. To really see Yellowstone, he said, you have to take your time, move slowly and look closely.
-
-<img src="[[base_url]]/2010/yellowstonefireholeriver.jpg" alt="The Firehole River, Yellowstone National Park" class="postpic" />Yellowstone may be about the tiny details within the surreal world of it's geothermal pools, but for me the most surreal experience in Yellowstone is not the wild colors, but the Firehole River.
-
-To all appearances the Firehole River looks like an icy cold mountain stream cutting its way through the mountain meadows and pine forests of Yellowstone. But thanks to all the heat just below the surface, and the runoff from the fountains and pools that it flows by, when you stick your foot in the river it feels like the Gulf of Thailand -- crystal clear, lukewarm and inviting. The sensation is disconcerting, a disconnect between expectation and reality, but it's great for swimming on an otherwise mild day.
-
-<img src="[[base_url]]/2010/yellowstonefireholeriveralgae.jpg" alt="Algae fans in the Firehole River, Yellowstone National Park" class="postpicright" />The river betrays it's strangeness in other ways too -- look a bit closer and you'll find giant fans of algae, something you'd never expect in a typical, chilly, mountain stream. In fact the river is more like a tropical sea than something running through the mountains.
-
-Another of my favorite moments in Ken Burns' National Parks series is something the famously whimsical John Muir used to do: Muir liked to put his head down between his knees and look at the world upside down, to see what he called its "upness." It's a great reminder that the world is always what you see, nothing more, nothing less. But that vision is not something static, it is something you are always taking in, always making new. That even something as simple as looking at it upside down can reveal everything all over again is remarkable when you stop and think about it.
-
-Yes, Yellowstone is crowded, so is Angkor Wat, but both are still what they are -- beautiful, fantastic, extraordinary. If you take a bit of time, slow down, ignore the bermuda shorts and just look in your own way there is always something out there that no crowds can take away from you, there is always something out there that is you. There is always something out there.
-
-[Note: this story is park of my quest to visit every National Park in the U.S. You can check out the rest on the <a href="http://luxagraf.net/projects/national-parks/" title="National Parks Project">National Parks Project</a> page.]
-
-
-[1]: http://luxagraf.net/2006/mar/21/angkor-wat/
-[2]: http://luxagraf.net//2010/jul/22/backpacking-grand-tetons/ diff --git a/bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2010/07/great-sand-dunes-national-park.amp b/bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2010/07/great-sand-dunes-national-park.amp deleted file mode 100644 index 8b8307b..0000000 --- a/bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2010/07/great-sand-dunes-national-park.amp +++ /dev/null @@ -1,191 +0,0 @@ - - -<!doctype html> -<html amp lang="en"> -<head> -<meta charset="utf-8"> -<title>Great Sand Dunes National Park</title> -<link rel="canonical" href="https://luxagraf.net/jrnl/2010/07/great-sand-dunes-national-park"> - <meta name="viewport" content="width=device-width,initial-scale=1,minimum-scale=1"> - <meta name="twitter:card" content="summary_large_image"/> - <meta name="twitter:url" content="/jrnl/2010/07/great-sand-dunes-national-park"> - <meta name="twitter:description" content="Wandering the namesake dunes at Great Sands Dunes National Park. 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I give up on making the top and sit down to watch the first rays of light slowly crest over the peaks of the Sangre de Christo Mountains and fall on the cool sand beneath my feet.</p> -<p><amp-img alt="Mountains and Clouds Behind the Great Sand Dunes, Great Sand Dunes National Park" height="309" src="https://images.luxagraf.net//2010/greatsanddunesclouds.jpg" width="550"></amp-img></p> -<p>It doesn't take long for the sun to get rid of the morning chill. In half an hour's time the sand will be warm on my bare feet and by the time I make it all the way back to the truck it's too hot to hike barefoot anymore.</p> -<p>But just as the sun comes up, most of us on the dunes, and there aren't many, are still wearing fleece jackets and wrapping our arms around our legs for warmth. I consider heading back after the sun is up, but that highest ridge of dunes is taunting me, some five hundred vertical feet of sand -- and no telling what lies beyond it, just another, higher ridge? -- that eventually gets the best of me.</p> -<p><break></break></p> -<p>I climb it.</p> -<p>Looking back where I came from is impressive, people look like ants scurrying over the dunes. </p> -<p><amp-img alt="Dunes ridgeline, Great Sand Dunes National Park" height="340" src="https://images.luxagraf.net//2010/greatsanddunesridge.jpg" width="239"></amp-img>The dunes themselves are also different up here, the sand is looser, your feet sink deeper and the patterns in the sand, the ridges and ripples shaped by the wind and avalanches are completely different here than they were down below. There are no signs of grass or any other plants up on the top of the larger dunes, just a few track marks from beetles and other creatures that somehow eek out an existence here. </p> -<p>The view over the ridge is not what I had hoped for. Instead of a vast vista of sand dunes there is simply another higher ridge of dunes -- maybe two hundred feet up from the summit I've already reached. I sit down and enjoy the view, panting, trying to catch my breath. I'm tired, my legs are burning. Climbing in sand is not like hiking through the mountains. For every step you take up, you sink back half the distance, sometimes all of it.</p> -<p>I rest too long. My legs seem capable of only one direction -- down. I can see the truck from here and even if I head down now I will have nearly an hour of walking before I get back.</p> -<p>I give up.</p> -<p>I'm tired and I've hiked through enough mountains in my life to know that there is always another ridge beyond the one you're on. There is only one true exception to this rule -- Mount Everest. As you approach the final ridge of Everest you can have the distinct and completely assured satisfaction of knowing that there is no ridge beyond it. Actually there are other exceptions as well, but they are few and far between. Usually ridges lead to more ridges.</p> -<p><amp-img alt="Dunes, Great Sand Dunes National Park" height="400" src="https://images.luxagraf.net//2010/greatsandduneshighpoint.jpg" width="252"></amp-img>However, if you were the sort of person that reads signs, you would know that that slightly higher ridge I stared at before giving up on the idea of climbing is in fact the highest ridge on the dunes. </p> -<p>If you're more like me you wouldn't read the sign until after your hike, when you're back in the parking lot again.</p> -<p>Yes, it turns out there is no ridge beyond the one I saw, just thirty miles of endless -- lower -- dunes. It's quiet a view I am told. I wouldn't know.</p> -<p>Some times you win. Some times the mountain wins. </p> -<p>For minute I consider going back up, but my legs already feel like small fires have been lit inside each of my calves and I've got miles to go before I sleep.</p> -<p>[Note: this story is park of my quest to visit every National Park in the U.S. You can check out the rest on the <a href="http://luxagraf.net/projects/national-parks/" title="National Parks Project">National Parks Project</a> page.]</p> - </div> - </article> -</main> - -</body> -</html> diff --git a/bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2010/07/great-sand-dunes-national-park.html b/bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2010/07/great-sand-dunes-national-park.html deleted file mode 100644 index e2314fe..0000000 --- a/bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2010/07/great-sand-dunes-national-park.html +++ /dev/null @@ -1,345 +0,0 @@ -<!DOCTYPE html> -<html -class="detail single" dir="ltr" lang="en-US"> - -<head> - <title>Great Sand Dunes National Park - by Scott Gilbertson</title> - <meta charset="utf-8"> - <meta http-equiv="x-ua-compatible" content="ie=edge"> - <meta name="viewport" content="width=device-width, initial-scale=1"> - <meta name="description" - content="Wandering the namesake dunes at Great Sands Dunes National Park. 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I give up on making the top and sit down to watch the first rays of light slowly crest over the peaks of the Sangre de Christo Mountains and fall on the cool sand beneath my feet.</p> -<p><img alt="Mountains and Clouds Behind the Great Sand Dunes, Great Sand Dunes National Park" class="picfull" src="https://images.luxagraf.net//2010/greatsanddunesclouds.jpg"/></p> -<p>It doesn’t take long for the sun to get rid of the morning chill. In half an hour’s time the sand will be warm on my bare feet and by the time I make it all the way back to the truck it’s too hot to hike barefoot anymore.</p> -<p>But just as the sun comes up, most of us on the dunes, and there aren’t many, are still wearing fleece jackets and wrapping our arms around our legs for warmth. I consider heading back after the sun is up, but that highest ridge of dunes is taunting me, some five hundred vertical feet of sand — and no telling what lies beyond it, just another, higher ridge? — that eventually gets the best of me.</p> -<p><break></p> -<p>I climb it.</p> -<p>Looking back where I came from is impressive, people look like ants scurrying over the dunes. </p> -<p><img alt="Dunes ridgeline, Great Sand Dunes National Park" class="postpic" src="https://images.luxagraf.net//2010/greatsanddunesridge.jpg"/>The dunes themselves are also different up here, the sand is looser, your feet sink deeper and the patterns in the sand, the ridges and ripples shaped by the wind and avalanches are completely different here than they were down below. There are no signs of grass or any other plants up on the top of the larger dunes, just a few track marks from beetles and other creatures that somehow eek out an existence here. </p> -<p>The view over the ridge is not what I had hoped for. Instead of a vast vista of sand dunes there is simply another higher ridge of dunes — maybe two hundred feet up from the summit I’ve already reached. I sit down and enjoy the view, panting, trying to catch my breath. I’m tired, my legs are burning. Climbing in sand is not like hiking through the mountains. For every step you take up, you sink back half the distance, sometimes all of it.</p> -<p>I rest too long. My legs seem capable of only one direction — down. I can see the truck from here and even if I head down now I will have nearly an hour of walking before I get back.</p> -<p>I give up.</p> -<p>I’m tired and I’ve hiked through enough mountains in my life to know that there is always another ridge beyond the one you’re on. There is only one true exception to this rule — Mount Everest. As you approach the final ridge of Everest you can have the distinct and completely assured satisfaction of knowing that there is no ridge beyond it. Actually there are other exceptions as well, but they are few and far between. Usually ridges lead to more ridges.</p> -<p><img alt="Dunes, Great Sand Dunes National Park" class="postpicright" src="https://images.luxagraf.net//2010/greatsandduneshighpoint.jpg"/>However, if you were the sort of person that reads signs, you would know that that slightly higher ridge I stared at before giving up on the idea of climbing is in fact the highest ridge on the dunes. </p> -<p>If you’re more like me you wouldn’t read the sign until after your hike, when you’re back in the parking lot again.</p> -<p>Yes, it turns out there is no ridge beyond the one I saw, just thirty miles of endless — lower — dunes. It’s quiet a view I am told. I wouldn’t know.</p> -<p>Some times you win. Some times the mountain wins. </p> -<p>For minute I consider going back up, but my legs already feel like small fires have been lit inside each of my calves and I’ve got miles to go before I sleep.</p> -<p>[Note: this story is park of my quest to visit every National Park in the U.S. You can check out the rest on the <a href="http://luxagraf.net/projects/national-parks/" title="National Parks Project">National Parks Project</a> page.]</p> - </div> - - </article> - - - <div class="nav-wrapper"> - <nav id="page-navigation" class="page-border-top"> - <ul> - <li id="prev"><span class="bl">Previous:</span> - <a href="/jrnl/2010/07/comanche-national-grasslands" rel="prev" title=" Comanche National Grasslands">Comanche National Grasslands</a> - </li> - <li id="next"><span class="bl">Next:</span> - <a href="/jrnl/2010/07/backpacking-grand-tetons" rel="next" title=" Backpacking in the Grand Tetons">Backpacking in the Grand Tetons</a> - </li> - </ul> - </nav> - </div> - - - - - - -<div class="comment--form--wrapper "> - -<div class="comment--form--header"> - <p class="hed">Thoughts?</p> - <p class="subhed">Please leave a reply:</p> -</div> -<form action="/comments/post/" method="post" class="comment--form"> - -<input type="hidden" name="rder" value="" /> - - - <input type="hidden" name="content_type" value="jrnl.entry" id="id_content_type"> - - - - <input type="hidden" name="object_pk" value="110" id="id_object_pk"> - - - - <input type="hidden" name="timestamp" value="1596833464" id="id_timestamp"> - - - - <input type="hidden" name="security_hash" value="87f77fee005ed845a03e11a9de16565208c539e1" id="id_security_hash"> - - - - <fieldset > - <label for="id_name">Name:</label> - <input type="text" name="name" maxlength="50" required id="id_name"> - </fieldset> - - - - <fieldset > - <label for="id_email">Email address:</label> - <input type="email" name="email" required id="id_email"> - </fieldset> - - - - <fieldset > - <label for="id_url">URL:</label> - <input type="url" name="url" id="id_url"> - </fieldset> - - - - <fieldset > - <label for="id_comment">Comment:</label> - <div class="textarea-rounded"><textarea name="comment" cols="40" rows="10" maxlength="3000" required id="id_comment"> -</textarea></div> - </fieldset> - - - - <fieldset style="display:none;"> - <label for="id_honeypot">If you enter anything in this field your comment will be treated as spam:</label> - <input type="text" name="honeypot" id="id_honeypot"> - </fieldset> - - - <div class="submit"> - <input type="submit" name="post" class="submit-post btn" value="Post" /> - <input type="submit" name="preview" class="submit-preview btn" value="Preview" /> - </div> -</form> -<p style="font-size: 95%;"><strong>All comments are moderated</strong>, so you won’t see it right away. 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I give up on making the top and sit down to watch the first rays of light slowly crest over the peaks of the Sangre de Christo Mountains and fall on the cool sand beneath my feet.
-
-<img src="[[base_url]]/2010/greatsanddunesclouds.jpg" alt="Mountains and Clouds Behind the Great Sand Dunes, Great Sand Dunes National Park" class="picfull" />
-
-It doesn't take long for the sun to get rid of the morning chill. In half an hour's time the sand will be warm on my bare feet and by the time I make it all the way back to the truck it's too hot to hike barefoot anymore.
-
-But just as the sun comes up, most of us on the dunes, and there aren't many, are still wearing fleece jackets and wrapping our arms around our legs for warmth. I consider heading back after the sun is up, but that highest ridge of dunes is taunting me, some five hundred vertical feet of sand -- and no telling what lies beyond it, just another, higher ridge? -- that eventually gets the best of me.
-
-<break>
-
-I climb it.
-
-Looking back where I came from is impressive, people look like ants scurrying over the dunes.
-
-<img src="[[base_url]]/2010/greatsanddunesridge.jpg" alt="Dunes ridgeline, Great Sand Dunes National Park" class="postpic" />The dunes themselves are also different up here, the sand is looser, your feet sink deeper and the patterns in the sand, the ridges and ripples shaped by the wind and avalanches are completely different here than they were down below. There are no signs of grass or any other plants up on the top of the larger dunes, just a few track marks from beetles and other creatures that somehow eek out an existence here.
-
-The view over the ridge is not what I had hoped for. Instead of a vast vista of sand dunes there is simply another higher ridge of dunes -- maybe two hundred feet up from the summit I've already reached. I sit down and enjoy the view, panting, trying to catch my breath. I'm tired, my legs are burning. Climbing in sand is not like hiking through the mountains. For every step you take up, you sink back half the distance, sometimes all of it.
-
-I rest too long. My legs seem capable of only one direction -- down. I can see the truck from here and even if I head down now I will have nearly an hour of walking before I get back.
-
-I give up.
-
-I'm tired and I've hiked through enough mountains in my life to know that there is always another ridge beyond the one you're on. There is only one true exception to this rule -- Mount Everest. As you approach the final ridge of Everest you can have the distinct and completely assured satisfaction of knowing that there is no ridge beyond it. Actually there are other exceptions as well, but they are few and far between. Usually ridges lead to more ridges.
-
-<img src="[[base_url]]/2010/greatsandduneshighpoint.jpg" alt="Dunes, Great Sand Dunes National Park" class="postpicright" />However, if you were the sort of person that reads signs, you would know that that slightly higher ridge I stared at before giving up on the idea of climbing is in fact the highest ridge on the dunes.
-
-If you're more like me you wouldn't read the sign until after your hike, when you're back in the parking lot again.
-
-Yes, it turns out there is no ridge beyond the one I saw, just thirty miles of endless -- lower -- dunes. It's quiet a view I am told. I wouldn't know.
-
-Some times you win. Some times the mountain wins.
-
-For minute I consider going back up, but my legs already feel like small fires have been lit inside each of my calves and I've got miles to go before I sleep.
-
-[Note: this story is park of my quest to visit every National Park in the U.S. You can check out the rest on the <a href="http://luxagraf.net/projects/national-parks/" title="National Parks Project">National Parks Project</a> page.] diff --git a/bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2010/07/index.html b/bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2010/07/index.html deleted file mode 100644 index 68a206e..0000000 --- a/bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2010/07/index.html +++ /dev/null @@ -1,128 +0,0 @@ -<!DOCTYPE html> -<html dir="ltr" lang="en-US"> - -<head> - <title>Luxagraf - Topografical Writings: Archive</title> - <meta charset="utf-8"> - <meta http-equiv="x-ua-compatible" content="ie=edge"> - <meta name="viewport" content="width=device-width, initial-scale=1"> - <meta name="description" - content="Luxagraf: recording journeys around the world and just next door."> - <meta name="author" content="Scott Gilbertson"> - <!--[if IE]> - <script src="/js/html5css3ie.min.js"></script> - <![endif]--> - <link rel="alternate" - type="application/rss+xml" - 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<time datetime="2010-07-25T14:00:00-04:00">Jul 25, 2010</time> - </li> - <li class="arc-item"><a href="/jrnl/2010/07/backpacking-grand-tetons" title="Backpacking in the Grand Tetons">Backpacking in the Grand Tetons</a> - <time datetime="2010-07-22T17:00:00-04:00">Jul 22, 2010</time> - </li> - <li class="arc-item"><a href="/jrnl/2010/07/great-sand-dunes-national-park" title="Great Sand Dunes National Park">Great Sand Dunes National Park</a> - <time datetime="2010-07-17T09:00:00-04:00">Jul 17, 2010</time> - </li> - <li class="arc-item"><a href="/jrnl/2010/07/comanche-national-grasslands" title="Comanche National Grasslands">Comanche National Grasslands</a> - <time datetime="2010-07-16T13:00:00-04:00">Jul 16, 2010</time> - </li> - <li class="arc-item"><a href="/jrnl/2010/07/why-national-parks-are-better-state-parks" title="Why National Parks Are Better Than State Parks">Why National Parks Are Better Than State Parks</a> - <time datetime="2010-07-15T10:00:00-04:00">Jul 15, 2010</time> - </li> - <li class="arc-item"><a href="/jrnl/2010/07/legend-billy-the-kid" title="The Legend of Billy the Kid">The Legend of Billy the Kid</a> - <time datetime="2010-07-11T18:00:00-04:00">Jul 11, 2010</time> - </li> - <li class="arc-item"><a href="/jrnl/2010/07/dixie-drug-store" title="The Dixie Drug Store">The Dixie Drug Store</a> - <time datetime="2010-07-08T17:00:00-04:00">Jul 08, 2010</time> - </li> - <li class="arc-item"><a href="/jrnl/2010/07/begin-the-begin" title="Begin the Begin">Begin the Begin</a> - <time datetime="2010-07-05T22:00:00-04:00">Jul 05, 2010</time> - </li> - </ul> - - - - <footer role="contentinfo"> - <nav class="bl"> - <ul> - <li><a href="/blogroll" title="Sites that inspire us">Blogroll</a></li> - <li><a href="/jrnl/feed.xml" title="RSS feed">Subscribe</a></li> - <li><a href="/contact/" title="contact luxagraf">Contact</a></li> - <li><a href="https://twitter.com/luxagraf" rel="me" title="follow luxagraf on Twitter">Twitter</a></li> - <li><a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/luxagraf" rel="me" title="luxagraf on Flickr">Flickr</a></li> - 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Either Pat Garrett shot an unarmed Billy the Kid in the back to collect the $500 reward or Pat Garrett shot some other unarmed guy in the back and lied about it being Billy the Kid in order to collect the $500 reward.</p> -<p>In the end, the story is inconclusive with regards to the fate of Billy the Kid, but one thing is clear: Pat Garrett was an asshole.</p> -<p><break></break></p> -<p>Should you, after careful consideration of the evidence available for both possible stories, decide that you believe the former, then <a href="http://www.billythekidmuseumfortsumner.com/">head to Fort Sumner, New Mexico</a>. If you decide it's the latter, then you need to see the <a href="http://billythekidmuseum.com/">Billy the Kid Museum in Hico, Texas</a>. </p> -<p>Alternately you could do what I did -- just sort of stumble into Hico, Texas looking for something to do while your sore ass recovered from five hours in a 1969 Ford pickup that no longer has even the slightest hint of padding left in the seat cushions. The obvious time killer in Hico, should you take this approach, is the Billy the Kid Museum.</p> -<p>The museum in Hico is a testament to the survival of Billy the Kid, who, in this telling, later emerges as a man calling himself Ollie L. "Brushy Bill" Roberts. This scenario is particularly appealing to people who believe in redemption and the idea that, at heart, Billy the Kid was not a bad man, did not deserve to be gunned down for a reward (class act that Pat Garrett) and turned his life around.</p> -<p>For those more fond of doomsday, judgments and reaping what you sow, there is the New Mexico museum, which holds that Billy the Kid is buried there, at the Fort Sumner cemetery, dead and done at age twenty-one.</p> -<p><amp-img alt="" height="353" src="https://images.luxagraf.net//2010/billythekidmuseum01.jpg" width="550"></amp-img> </p> -<p>After half an hour or so at the Billy the Kid Museum in Hico, most of which of watching an old episode of Unsolved Mysteries which plays in the back room on a continuous loop, I decided that there is great evidence for both stories and, moreover, it really doesn't matter what happened to Billy the Kid. </p> -<p>Whoever and whatever Billy the Kid was and did, he has long since passed into legend. History does not catch every story that is slowly slipping through its cracks, some things get caught up in the floorboards and become legends.</p> -<p>Unlike novels, the stories and legends that never quite make it to anything as definitive as history don't always have neat endings. In fact, the messier, more confusing and more controversial the ending is the more of a legend it becomes. The legend of Billy the Kid is like that of Amelia Earhart or D.B. Cooper -- the less we know for sure, the more compelling the story becomes.</p> -<p>That the events actually took place in one particular way or another is largely incidental to anyone who is not Billy the Kid, and, one thing we know for sure, like me, you are not.</p> -<p>Eventually the Unsolved Mysteries tape came back around to the spot where I started watching. I got up and looked at the antique Winchester rifle and old Colt revolvers sitting under glass in the display case. Behind them was a tattered Civil War uniform draped over a wooden chair so old it was gray and looked like the slightest breeze would send it to splinters. </p> -<p>Along the opposite wall were a series of laminated broadsides telling the less controversial part of Billy the Kid's story in an antique font the purveyors of the museum no doubt believed would give it a more authentic look.</p> -<p>There wasn't much else in the room, a few other old west artifacts, an American flag, a Texas flag. I wandered back out the front room and chatted for a minute with the woman behind the counter. She was worried about the thunderstorms in Dallas. Whatever hits them ends up here eventually, she said. I agreed, though I have no idea if she was right. It was a good story anyway.</p> -<p>[The photo of Billy the Kid is from Wikipedia. The Museum photo is copyright Mark Lynch, (via the Billy the Kid Museum), used under the <a href="http://www.copyright.gov/fls/fl102.html">Fair Use provision of U.S. copyright law</a>]</p> - </div> - </article> -</main> - -</body> -</html> diff --git a/bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2010/07/legend-billy-the-kid.html b/bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2010/07/legend-billy-the-kid.html deleted file mode 100644 index 504402a..0000000 --- a/bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2010/07/legend-billy-the-kid.html +++ /dev/null @@ -1,343 +0,0 @@ -<!DOCTYPE html> -<html -class="detail single" dir="ltr" lang="en-US"> - -<head> - <title>The Legend Of Billy The Kid - by Scott Gilbertson</title> - <meta charset="utf-8"> - <meta http-equiv="x-ua-compatible" content="ie=edge"> - <meta name="viewport" content="width=device-width, initial-scale=1"> - <meta name="description" - content="The legend of Billy the Kid is like that of Amelia Earhart: the less we know, the more compelling the story becomes. 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Either Pat Garrett shot an unarmed Billy the Kid in the back to collect the $500 reward or Pat Garrett shot some other unarmed guy in the back and lied about it being Billy the Kid in order to collect the $500 reward.</p> -<p>In the end, the story is inconclusive with regards to the fate of Billy the Kid, but one thing is clear: Pat Garrett was an asshole.</p> -<p><break></p> -<p>Should you, after careful consideration of the evidence available for both possible stories, decide that you believe the former, then <a href="http://www.billythekidmuseumfortsumner.com/">head to Fort Sumner, New Mexico</a>. If you decide it’s the latter, then you need to see the <a href="http://billythekidmuseum.com/">Billy the Kid Museum in Hico, Texas</a>. </p> -<p>Alternately you could do what I did — just sort of stumble into Hico, Texas looking for something to do while your sore ass recovered from five hours in a 1969 Ford pickup that no longer has even the slightest hint of padding left in the seat cushions. The obvious time killer in Hico, should you take this approach, is the Billy the Kid Museum.</p> -<p>The museum in Hico is a testament to the survival of Billy the Kid, who, in this telling, later emerges as a man calling himself Ollie L. “Brushy Bill” Roberts. This scenario is particularly appealing to people who believe in redemption and the idea that, at heart, Billy the Kid was not a bad man, did not deserve to be gunned down for a reward (class act that Pat Garrett) and turned his life around.</p> -<p>For those more fond of doomsday, judgments and reaping what you sow, there is the New Mexico museum, which holds that Billy the Kid is buried there, at the Fort Sumner cemetery, dead and done at age twenty-one.</p> -<p><img alt="" class="picfull" src="https://images.luxagraf.net//2010/billythekidmuseum01.jpg"/> </p> -<p>After half an hour or so at the Billy the Kid Museum in Hico, most of which of watching an old episode of Unsolved Mysteries which plays in the back room on a continuous loop, I decided that there is great evidence for both stories and, moreover, it really doesn’t matter what happened to Billy the Kid. </p> -<p>Whoever and whatever Billy the Kid was and did, he has long since passed into legend. History does not catch every story that is slowly slipping through its cracks, some things get caught up in the floorboards and become legends.</p> -<p>Unlike novels, the stories and legends that never quite make it to anything as definitive as history don’t always have neat endings. In fact, the messier, more confusing and more controversial the ending is the more of a legend it becomes. The legend of Billy the Kid is like that of Amelia Earhart or D.B. Cooper — the less we know for sure, the more compelling the story becomes.</p> -<p>That the events actually took place in one particular way or another is largely incidental to anyone who is not Billy the Kid, and, one thing we know for sure, like me, you are not.</p> -<p>Eventually the Unsolved Mysteries tape came back around to the spot where I started watching. I got up and looked at the antique Winchester rifle and old Colt revolvers sitting under glass in the display case. Behind them was a tattered Civil War uniform draped over a wooden chair so old it was gray and looked like the slightest breeze would send it to splinters. </p> -<p>Along the opposite wall were a series of laminated broadsides telling the less controversial part of Billy the Kid’s story in an antique font the purveyors of the museum no doubt believed would give it a more authentic look.</p> -<p>There wasn’t much else in the room, a few other old west artifacts, an American flag, a Texas flag. I wandered back out the front room and chatted for a minute with the woman behind the counter. She was worried about the thunderstorms in Dallas. Whatever hits them ends up here eventually, she said. I agreed, though I have no idea if she was right. It was a good story anyway.</p> -<p>[The photo of Billy the Kid is from Wikipedia. The Museum photo is copyright Mark Lynch, (via the Billy the Kid Museum), used under the <a href="http://www.copyright.gov/fls/fl102.html">Fair Use provision of U.S. copyright law</a>]</p> - </div> - - </article> - - - <div class="nav-wrapper"> - <nav id="page-navigation" class="page-border-top"> - <ul> - <li id="prev"><span class="bl">Previous:</span> - <a href="/jrnl/2010/07/dixie-drug-store" rel="prev" title=" The Dixie Drug Store">The Dixie Drug Store</a> - </li> - <li id="next"><span class="bl">Next:</span> - <a href="/jrnl/2010/07/why-national-parks-are-better-state-parks" rel="next" title=" Why National Parks Are Better Than State Parks">Why National Parks Are Better Than State Parks</a> - </li> - </ul> - </nav> - </div> - - - - - - -<div class="comment--form--wrapper "> - -<div class="comment--form--header"> - <p class="hed">Thoughts?</p> - <p class="subhed">Please leave a reply:</p> -</div> -<form action="/comments/post/" method="post" class="comment--form"> - -<input type="hidden" name="rder" value="" /> - - - <input type="hidden" name="content_type" value="jrnl.entry" id="id_content_type"> - - - - <input type="hidden" name="object_pk" value="103" id="id_object_pk"> - - - - <input type="hidden" name="timestamp" value="1596833465" id="id_timestamp"> - - - - <input type="hidden" name="security_hash" value="866a1c62bd48d8b1a59d48cb1c6e769f3ceb4eac" id="id_security_hash"> - - - - <fieldset > - <label for="id_name">Name:</label> - <input type="text" name="name" maxlength="50" required id="id_name"> - </fieldset> - - - - <fieldset > - <label for="id_email">Email address:</label> - <input type="email" name="email" required id="id_email"> - </fieldset> - - - - <fieldset > - <label for="id_url">URL:</label> - <input type="url" name="url" id="id_url"> - </fieldset> - - - - <fieldset > - <label for="id_comment">Comment:</label> - <div class="textarea-rounded"><textarea name="comment" cols="40" rows="10" maxlength="3000" required id="id_comment"> -</textarea></div> - </fieldset> - - - - <fieldset style="display:none;"> - <label for="id_honeypot">If you enter anything in this field your comment will be treated as spam:</label> - <input type="text" name="honeypot" id="id_honeypot"> - </fieldset> - - - <div class="submit"> - <input type="submit" name="post" class="submit-post btn" value="Post" /> - <input type="submit" name="preview" class="submit-preview btn" value="Preview" /> - </div> -</form> -<p style="font-size: 95%;"><strong>All comments are moderated</strong>, so you won’t see it right away. 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Either Pat Garrett shot an unarmed Billy the Kid in the back to collect the $500 reward or Pat Garrett shot some other unarmed guy in the back and lied about it being Billy the Kid in order to collect the $500 reward.
-
-In the end, the story is inconclusive with regards to the fate of Billy the Kid, but one thing is clear: Pat Garrett was an asshole.
-
-<break>
-
-Should you, after careful consideration of the evidence available for both possible stories, decide that you believe the former, then [head to Fort Sumner, New Mexico][2]. If you decide it's the latter, then you need to see the [Billy the Kid Museum in Hico, Texas][1].
-
-Alternately you could do what I did -- just sort of stumble into Hico, Texas looking for something to do while your sore ass recovered from five hours in a 1969 Ford pickup that no longer has even the slightest hint of padding left in the seat cushions. The obvious time killer in Hico, should you take this approach, is the Billy the Kid Museum.
-
-The museum in Hico is a testament to the survival of Billy the Kid, who, in this telling, later emerges as a man calling himself Ollie L. "Brushy Bill" Roberts. This scenario is particularly appealing to people who believe in redemption and the idea that, at heart, Billy the Kid was not a bad man, did not deserve to be gunned down for a reward (class act that Pat Garrett) and turned his life around.
-
-For those more fond of doomsday, judgments and reaping what you sow, there is the New Mexico museum, which holds that Billy the Kid is buried there, at the Fort Sumner cemetery, dead and done at age twenty-one.
-
-<img src="[[base_url]]/2010/billythekidmuseum01.jpg" alt="" class="picfull" />
-
-After half an hour or so at the Billy the Kid Museum in Hico, most of which of watching an old episode of Unsolved Mysteries which plays in the back room on a continuous loop, I decided that there is great evidence for both stories and, moreover, it really doesn't matter what happened to Billy the Kid.
-
-Whoever and whatever Billy the Kid was and did, he has long since passed into legend. History does not catch every story that is slowly slipping through its cracks, some things get caught up in the floorboards and become legends.
-
-Unlike novels, the stories and legends that never quite make it to anything as definitive as history don't always have neat endings. In fact, the messier, more confusing and more controversial the ending is the more of a legend it becomes. The legend of Billy the Kid is like that of Amelia Earhart or D.B. Cooper -- the less we know for sure, the more compelling the story becomes.
-
-That the events actually took place in one particular way or another is largely incidental to anyone who is not Billy the Kid, and, one thing we know for sure, like me, you are not.
-
-Eventually the Unsolved Mysteries tape came back around to the spot where I started watching. I got up and looked at the antique Winchester rifle and old Colt revolvers sitting under glass in the display case. Behind them was a tattered Civil War uniform draped over a wooden chair so old it was gray and looked like the slightest breeze would send it to splinters.
-
-Along the opposite wall were a series of laminated broadsides telling the less controversial part of Billy the Kid's story in an antique font the purveyors of the museum no doubt believed would give it a more authentic look.
-
-There wasn't much else in the room, a few other old west artifacts, an American flag, a Texas flag. I wandered back out the front room and chatted for a minute with the woman behind the counter. She was worried about the thunderstorms in Dallas. Whatever hits them ends up here eventually, she said. I agreed, though I have no idea if she was right. It was a good story anyway.
-
-[The photo of Billy the Kid is from Wikipedia. The Museum photo is copyright Mark Lynch, (via the Billy the Kid Museum), used under the <a href="http://www.copyright.gov/fls/fl102.html">Fair Use provision of U.S. copyright law</a>]
-
-[1]: http://billythekidmuseum.com/
-[2]: http://www.billythekidmuseumfortsumner.com/ diff --git a/bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2010/07/why-national-parks-are-better-state-parks.amp b/bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2010/07/why-national-parks-are-better-state-parks.amp deleted file mode 100644 index 18e8df3..0000000 --- a/bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2010/07/why-national-parks-are-better-state-parks.amp +++ /dev/null @@ -1,180 +0,0 @@ - - -<!doctype html> -<html amp lang="en"> -<head> -<meta charset="utf-8"> -<title>Why National Parks Are Better Than State Parks</title> -<link rel="canonical" href="https://luxagraf.net/jrnl/2010/07/why-national-parks-are-better-state-parks"> - <meta name="viewport" content="width=device-width,initial-scale=1,minimum-scale=1"> - <meta name="twitter:card" content="summary_large_image"/> - <meta name="twitter:url" content="/jrnl/2010/07/why-national-parks-are-better-state-parks"> - <meta name="twitter:description" content="There are many reasons, but here's the one I currently consider most important: national parks, like the nature they protect, never close. 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Take Palo Dura State Park outside of Amarillo, Texas. Were it a National Park, I would be there right now. But it's not, it's a state park and so I'm sitting in a hotel room in Amarillo. </p> -<p>Of course everyone knows that nature shuts down at 10 PM, so it's not totally surprising that state parks close then. It's not just a Texas problem either, most Georgia parks close at the same time. </p> -<p>Palo Dura likes to call itself "The Grand Canyon of Texas." It may well be, but I'll never know. And neither will the five or so other cars that turned around and headed back to Amarillo because the park gates were shut.</p> -<p>The funny thing is, the highway is littered with billboards promoting the park. For 200 miles I was enticed to detour over to the park and not once did any of them mention that it closed at 10. Here's what Palo Dura canyon looks like, should you after 10PM:</p> -</div> -<p><amp-img alt="pure black image, since I never got into the park" height="205" src="https://images.luxagraf.net//2010/paloduraafterten.jpg" width="960"></amp-img></p> -<p>So I drove on to Amarillo, got a cheap motel room and crashed out for the night.</p> -<p>Now it's on to a national park that I know will be open no matter what time I arrive: Great Sand Dune National Park.</p> - </div> - </article> -</main> - -</body> -</html> diff --git a/bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2010/07/why-national-parks-are-better-state-parks.html b/bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2010/07/why-national-parks-are-better-state-parks.html deleted file mode 100644 index f3fe32a..0000000 --- a/bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2010/07/why-national-parks-are-better-state-parks.html +++ /dev/null @@ -1,336 +0,0 @@ -<!DOCTYPE html> -<html -class="detail double" dir="ltr" lang="en-US"> - -<head> - <title>Why National Parks Are Better Than State Parks - by Scott Gilbertson</title> - <meta charset="utf-8"> - <meta http-equiv="x-ua-compatible" content="ie=edge"> - <meta name="viewport" content="width=device-width, initial-scale=1"> - <meta name="description" - content="There are many reasons, but here's the one I currently consider most important: national parks, like the nature they protect, never close. 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Take Palo Dura State Park outside of Amarillo, Texas. Were it a National Park, I would be there right now. But it’s not, it’s a state park and so I’m sitting in a hotel room in Amarillo. </p> - -<p>Of course everyone knows that nature shuts down at 10 PM, so it’s not totally surprising that state parks close then. It’s not just a Texas problem either, most Georgia parks close at the same time. </p> - -<p>Palo Dura likes to call itself “The Grand Canyon of Texas.” It may well be, but I’ll never know. And neither will the five or so other cars that turned around and headed back to Amarillo because the park gates were shut.</p> - -<p>The funny thing is, the highway is littered with billboards promoting the park. For 200 miles I was enticed to detour over to the park and not once did any of them mention that it closed at 10. Here’s what Palo Dura canyon looks like, should you after 10PM:</p> - -</div> - -<p><img alt="pure black image, since I never got into the park" class="picwide" src="https://images.luxagraf.net//2010/paloduraafterten.jpg"/></p> -<p>So I drove on to Amarillo, got a cheap motel room and crashed out for the night.</p> -<p>Now it’s on to a national park that I know will be open no matter what time I arrive: Great Sand Dune National Park.</p> - </div> - - </article> - - - <div class="nav-wrapper"> - <nav id="page-navigation" class="page-border-top"> - <ul> - <li id="prev"><span class="bl">Previous:</span> - <a href="/jrnl/2010/07/legend-billy-the-kid" rel="prev" title=" The Legend of Billy the Kid">The Legend of Billy the Kid</a> - </li> - <li id="next"><span class="bl">Next:</span> - <a href="/jrnl/2010/07/comanche-national-grasslands" rel="next" title=" Comanche National Grasslands">Comanche National Grasslands</a> - </li> - </ul> - </nav> - </div> - - - - - - -<div class="comment--form--wrapper "> - -<div class="comment--form--header"> - <p class="hed">Thoughts?</p> - <p class="subhed">Please leave a reply:</p> -</div> -<form action="/comments/post/" method="post" class="comment--form"> - -<input type="hidden" name="rder" value="" /> - - - <input type="hidden" name="content_type" value="jrnl.entry" id="id_content_type"> - - - - <input type="hidden" name="object_pk" value="104" id="id_object_pk"> - - - - <input type="hidden" name="timestamp" value="1596833464" id="id_timestamp"> - - - - <input type="hidden" name="security_hash" value="342e0b40987c66f8aa7b18720f022d699ad7fcdb" id="id_security_hash"> - - - - <fieldset > - <label for="id_name">Name:</label> - <input type="text" name="name" maxlength="50" required id="id_name"> - </fieldset> - - - - <fieldset > - <label for="id_email">Email address:</label> - <input type="email" name="email" required id="id_email"> - </fieldset> - - - - <fieldset > - <label for="id_url">URL:</label> - <input type="url" name="url" id="id_url"> - </fieldset> - - - - <fieldset > - <label for="id_comment">Comment:</label> - <div class="textarea-rounded"><textarea name="comment" cols="40" rows="10" maxlength="3000" required id="id_comment"> -</textarea></div> - </fieldset> - - - - <fieldset style="display:none;"> - <label for="id_honeypot">If you enter anything in this field your comment will be treated as spam:</label> - <input type="text" name="honeypot" id="id_honeypot"> - </fieldset> - - - <div class="submit"> - <input type="submit" name="post" class="submit-post btn" value="Post" /> - <input type="submit" name="preview" class="submit-preview btn" value="Preview" /> - </div> -</form> -<p style="font-size: 95%;"><strong>All comments are moderated</strong>, so you won’t see it right away. 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-<p>There are many reasons actually, but here's the one I currently consider most important: National Parks never close. Take Palo Dura State Park outside of Amarillo, Texas. Were it a National Park, I would be there right now. But it's not, it's a state park and so I'm sitting in a hotel room in Amarillo. </p>
-
-<p>Of course everyone knows that nature shuts down at 10 PM, so it's not totally surprising that state parks close then. It's not just a Texas problem either, most Georgia parks close at the same time. </p>
-
-<p>Palo Dura likes to call itself "The Grand Canyon of Texas." It may well be, but I'll never know. And neither will the five or so other cars that turned around and headed back to Amarillo because the park gates were shut.</p>
-
-<p>The funny thing is, the highway is littered with billboards promoting the park. For 200 miles I was enticed to detour over to the park and not once did any of them mention that it closed at 10. Here's what Palo Dura canyon looks like, should you after 10PM:</p>
-
-</div>
-
-
-<img class="picwide" src="[[base_url]]/2010/paloduraafterten.jpg" alt="pure black image, since I never got into the park" />
-
-
-So I drove on to Amarillo, got a cheap motel room and crashed out for the night.
-
-Now it's on to a national park that I know will be open no matter what time I arrive: Great Sand Dune National Park. diff --git a/bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2010/08/dinosaur-national-monument-part-two-down-river.amp b/bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2010/08/dinosaur-national-monument-part-two-down-river.amp deleted file mode 100644 index 3ef4713..0000000 --- a/bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2010/08/dinosaur-national-monument-part-two-down-river.amp +++ /dev/null @@ -1,228 +0,0 @@ - - -<!doctype html> -<html amp lang="en"> -<head> -<meta charset="utf-8"> -<title>Dinosaur National Monument, Part Two: Down the River</title> -<link rel="canonical" href="https://luxagraf.net/jrnl/2010/08/dinosaur-national-monument-part-two-down-river"> - <meta name="viewport" content="width=device-width,initial-scale=1,minimum-scale=1"> - <meta name="twitter:card" content="summary_large_image"/> - <meta name="twitter:url" content="/jrnl/2010/08/dinosaur-national-monument-part-two-down-river"> - <meta name="twitter:description" content="The best way to experience Dinosaur National Monument is from the bottom - on the river, deep in the canyon country. 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The large boats are already loaded and waiting, we are inflating the smaller boats while Ranger Dave talks about the skunk problems down river. -\ -We're off by noon, a little over an hour after we arrived at the put in. This stretch of the Green River is calm, but moving fast enough that I don't need to paddle much to keep pace with the larger boats. After a half mile of open land, the river passes through the Gates and plunges into Lodore Canyon proper, carving its way through some 3000 vertical feet of dramatic red sandstone.</p> -<p><amp-img alt="" height="309" src="https://images.luxagraf.net//2010/lodoregates.jpg" width="550"></amp-img></p> -<p>This is the only real way to see Dinosaur National Monument. Part of what makes Dinosaur National Monument compelling is its remoteness. The nearest major city is over 100 miles away and once you get to the park there aren't many roads, nor even trails. To really see the park you've got to get down in the canyon and to see the canyons up close you must journey down the river.</p> -<p>There are two major rivers running through Dinosaur National Monument, the Yampa, which carves through Yampa Canyon, and the Green, which cuts through Lodore. Numerous rafting companies run trips of varying lengths through both canyons, though if you want to do the Yampa you'll need to arrive early in the season<sup id="fnref:1"><a class="footnote-ref" href="#fn:1" rel="footnote">1</a></sup>, by mid-July the dam-fed Green River is your only option in Dinosaur National Park.</p> -<p><amp-img alt="" height="355" src="https://images.luxagraf.net//2010/lodoregreenriver.jpg" width="250"></amp-img>The first day is largely devoid of rapids, a few rough spots where the river tumbles over a garden of rocks, but it does nothing more than splash a little water into the boat. Near the end we run Disaster Falls, which is not nearly as bad as its name might imply. Of course if you're <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/John_Wesley_Powell">John Wesley Powell</a> and you're running the Green River for the very first time, pre-dam, in 1869, in wooden boats, you might have a slightly different perspective. </p> -<p>In fact, Powell portaged most of the rapids he encountered. There is simply no way through them in wooden boats (though honestly, hauling huge wooden boats through the canyon almost sounds worse). However, one of his boats did not see Disaster Falls approaching and went through it with, well, disastrous results. Like most of the names Powell bestowed on the river, Disaster Falls stuck.</p> -<p>According to legend, after everyone from the smashed boat was safely ashore, the boatmen went back into the river to try to retrieve some of the lost equipment. Powell, thinking the were going to get his lost barometers encouraged them on, but the boatmen were after the barrel of whiskey, which they managed to find. Presumably the barometers are still there somewhere, buried under nearly 150 years of mud and silt.</p> -<p><amp-img alt="" height="400" src="https://images.luxagraf.net//2010/lodoresunset.jpg" width="257"></amp-img>We reach our camp, Pot 1, just downstream from Disaster, by mid-afternoon and, after a quick lesson in using a groover<sup id="fnref:2"><a class="footnote-ref" href="#fn:2" rel="footnote">2</a></sup>, we set up some horseshoes and whiled away the evening drinking beer and throwing horseshoes. Pot 1 and its downstream sibling, Pot 2, were also named by Powell who lost most of his pots and pans in the area. Powell was fearless (especially considering he only had one arm) and an incredible explorer, but he wasn't always creative with his names. So it goes.</p> -<p>The second day we start off by having to prove we could right the inflatable kayaks under the watchful eyes of our guides. We all managed to do it, though it was in nice calm water. I have my doubts about how well I would have done in a real rapid -- like the ominous-sounding Hell's Half Mile which was waiting for us just a few miles downstream.</p> -<p>Before we got to Hell's Half Mile, we had to make it through the much more benign-sounding Triplet. As the name implies there are three drops, but the real trick to Triplet is making a hard left turn away from the right bank at the end. The cut-away rocky alcove you're avoiding is like a yawning mouth waiting to suck you in and, most likely, pin you there.</p> -<div class="figure"> -<amp-img alt="Triplet Rapid, Lodore Canyon, Colorado" height="371" src="https://images.luxagraf.net//2010/lodoretripletrapid.jpg" width="660"></amp-img> -<span class="legend">The lower portion of Triplet Rapid.</span> -</div> -<div class="figure"> -<amp-img alt="Scouting Triplet Rapid, Lodore Canyon, Colorado" height="371" src="https://images.luxagraf.net//2010/lodorescouting.jpg" width="660"></amp-img> -<span class="legend">Everything looks easy from the banks.</span> -</div> -<p>All of us made it through Triplet without any issues. About a mile further downstream we stopped to scout Hell's Half Mile. It doesn't look like much from the shore, but few rapids do. Depending on the water level Hell's is somewhere between a class III and class IV rapid. Everything started off just fine, I was paddling with Jim, the other guide's father who was a very good kayaker and we made it through without issue.</p> -<p>Greg, one of the three paying customers on our little trip did not fare as well. He went directly over a boulder known as Lucifer (possibly Powell was reading Dante when he ran the river, or he just loved fire and brimstone names). The drop wasn't really the problem though. It was the landing and the whirlpool in front of Lucifer that did Greg in. I missed the actual flip, by the time I turned around I just saw a helmet and a pair of sandals bobbing through the lower portion of Hell's.</p> -<p>I don't have a waterproof camera, so I don't have any photos of Hell's Half Mile from the water, but I did find this video on YouTube. The water seems a bit higher than when we were there, but otherwise it's about the same:</p> -<div class="embed-wrapper"><div class="embed-container"><iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" src="https://www.youtube.com/v/SHroMqYoCSQ?hl=en_US"></iframe></div></div> -<p>After the whitewater fun we did a few miles of flat water and came back round down into <a href="http://luxagraf.net/2010/jul/28/dinosaur-national-monument-part-one-echo-park/">Echo Park</a>, where I had been a few days before. The view of Steamboat rock from the river is one of the more impressive mastiffs of sandstone I've seen. If you want something bigger you'll likely have to head all the way over to Zion.</p> -<p><amp-img alt="Steamboat Rock, Lodore Canyon, Dinosaur National Monument, Colorado" height="400" src="https://images.luxagraf.net//2010/lodoresteamboatrock.jpg" width="251"></amp-img>We ate lunch on a sandbar at the confluence of the Green and Yampa Rivers and discovered why it's called Echo Park -- if you yell into Steamboat Rock at just the right spot your echo will reverberate back up both Lodore and Yampa Canyons creating a weird strobe echo effect that's unlike anything you've heard before. Natural reverb on steroids -- if Radiohead had known they'd have recorded an album here.</p> -<p>While our guides were setting up lunch I waded across the Yampa and out into the confluence, which forms an almost perfect line in the water -- the muddy brown Yampa takes quite a while to fully merge with the much clearer Green River. The strangest thing is temperature difference between the two. Because the water in the Green is coming out of the bottom of a dam, it's much colder than the Yampa, like 10-20 degrees colder. Standing right in the middle of the two is bit like having one half of your body in the pool and the other half in a jacuzzi.</p> -<p><amp-img alt="Confluence of the Green and Yampa Rivers, Lodore Canyon, Dinosaur National Monument, Colorado" height="400" src="https://images.luxagraf.net//2010/lodoreconfluence.jpg" width="272"></amp-img>The river after the confluence was mainly flat. I rode on the lead raft for a while, just staring up at the canyon walls, watching the red rock shift to lighter sandstone as we went on. We made camp by four again and the paying customers set off on a short hike to what's known as Butt Plug Falls, because you can plug it up by sitting down in the narrow channel just above the falls (presumably Powell did not give it that name).</p> -<p>I skipped the hike and spent the evening lazing around the river, swimming, and watching the evening light fade across the canyon walls. True to Ranger Dave's word, come nightfall we were defending our camp from several very aggressive skunks that seemed totally unconcerned about humans being around. One was half way in the trash bag when we noticed him and others had no problem marching up to the fire. Luckily none of them felt the need to spray anything.</p> -<p>The final day we ran several rapids early -- Moonshine rapid and S.O.B. One of the paying customers got hung up on a rock for a few minutes, but otherwise we ran through them like we'd all been doing it for years. Then we slipped out of Lodore Canyon and into Island Park, a long, slow and rather hot stretch of flat water before you pass through Split Mountain.</p> -<p>Split Mountain is one of the most unusual examples of geology I've ever seen -- the Green River actually splits a mountain in half, rather than going around it as rivers generally do. Split Mountain is one of those strange quirks of the planet, though there is actually a logical explanation. It's all the Grand Canyon's fault. </p> -<p><amp-img alt="Split Mountain, Dinosaur National Monument, Colorado" height="309" src="https://images.luxagraf.net//2010/lodoresplitmountain.jpg" width="550"></amp-img></p> -<p>The flow of a river is largely determined by the terrain it crosses, but there are other factors, like the base level -- the elevation of the river's terminus.</p> -<p>As the Grand Canyon formed, the terminal elevation for the entire Colorado River basin -- and consequently the Green River -- was lowered. The Green River was, once upon a time, running well over the top of Split Mountain. When the base level changed -- the elevation where the Green runs into the Colorado -- the Green simply cut down through what we call Split Mountain.</p> -<p>The results are rather striking.</p> -<p>Just on the far side of Split Mountain was the end of our river journey. We took out near the Dinosaur Quarry (currently closed) and headed back to Grand Junction. Or rather our boats did. I went with the customers back to Steamboat Springs and from there, on to Rocky Mountain National Park.</p> -<p><strong>Notes</strong>: You may have noticed I referred to paying customers a couple of times above. It's true, I was free loading. Rafting trips aren't cheap. Luckily for me, my friend Mike (who also dragged me to the <a href="http://luxagraf.net/2010/mar/13/so-far-i-have-not-found-science/">Okefenokee Swamp</a>) happens to work for Adventure Bound Rafting out of Grand Junction, Colorado. </p> -<p>When I mentioned I'd be in the area, he insisted I come out on the river. I'm probably biased, but having seen a couple other commercial companies on the river, I wouldn't hesitate to say that <a href="http://www.adventureboundusa.com/">Adventure Bound runs the best whitewater rafting trips in Colorado</a>. I also, having now done a trip, and being aware of the costs, wouldn't hesitate to pay for another.</p> -<p>[Note: this story is part of my quest to visit every National Park in the U.S. You can check out the rest on the <a href="http://luxagraf.net/projects/national-parks/" title="National Parks Project">National Parks Project</a> page.]</p> -<div class="footnote"> -<hr/> -<ol> -<li id="fn:1"> -<p>The Yampa River is that last undammed major tributary in the Colorado River system. Because it isn't dammed, it's only runnable with big boats early in the year when the snowmelt is generating high enough water levels. Canoes and kayaks can do it year round (well, kayaks anyway, a canoe at high water might be a mistake), but if you want a guided trip you'll need to do it before mid-July. Water levels do vary each year, generally speaking the Yampa is runnable into mid-July. <a class="footnote-backref" href="#fnref:1" rev="footnote" title="Jump back to footnote 1 in the text">↩</a></p> -</li> -<li id="fn:2"> -<p>The groover is so named because once upon a time it was simply an old ammo can and thus, left grooves in your legs when you sat on it. Technology has improved over the years, groovers now have toilet seats. Sort of. <a class="footnote-backref" href="#fnref:2" rev="footnote" title="Jump back to footnote 2 in the text">↩</a></p> -</li> -</ol> -</div> - </div> - </article> -</main> - -</body> -</html> diff --git a/bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2010/08/dinosaur-national-monument-part-two-down-river.html b/bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2010/08/dinosaur-national-monument-part-two-down-river.html deleted file mode 100644 index b177438..0000000 --- a/bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2010/08/dinosaur-national-monument-part-two-down-river.html +++ /dev/null @@ -1,470 +0,0 @@ -<!DOCTYPE html> -<html -class="detail single" dir="ltr" lang="en-US"> - -<head> - <title>Dinosaur National Monument, Part Two: Down The River - by Scott Gilbertson</title> - <meta charset="utf-8"> - <meta http-equiv="x-ua-compatible" content="ie=edge"> - <meta name="viewport" content="width=device-width, initial-scale=1"> - <meta name="description" - content="The best way to experience Dinosaur National Monument is from the bottom - on the river, deep in the canyon country."> - <meta name="author" content="Scott Gilbertson"> - <link rel="alternate" - type="application/rss+xml" - title="Luxagraf RSS feed" - href="https://luxagraf.net/rss/"> - <link rel="stylesheet" - href="/media/screenv9.css" - media="screen"> - <link rel="stylesheet" href="/media/print.css" media="print" title="print" /> - <link rel="shortcut icon" href="/favicon.ico" type="image/x-icon"> - <link rel="manifest" href="/manifest.json" /> - <link rel="dns-prefetch" href="https://stats.luxagraf.net"> - - <link rel="canonical" href="https://luxagraf.net/jrnl/2010/08/dinosaur-national-monument-part-two-down-river" /> - <meta name="ICBM" content="40.457462390627036, -109.25843237269746" /> - <meta name="geo.position" content="40.457462390627036; 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return false;" title="see a map">Map</a> - </div> - <time class="dt-published published dt-updated post-date" datetime="2010-08-02T09:00:00" itemprop="datePublished">August <span>2, 2010</span></time> - <span class="hide" itemprop="author" itemscope itemtype="http://schema.org/Person">by <a class="p-author h-card" href="/about"><span itemprop="name">Scott Gilbertson</span></a></span> - </div> - </header> - <div id="article" class="e-content entry-content post--body post--body--single" itemprop="articleBody"> - <p>The Gates of Lodore rise up on either side of the river, the massive red sandstone cliffs reminiscent of something out of Tolkien, but less fantastical, more majestic. The large boats are already loaded and waiting, we are inflating the smaller boats while Ranger Dave talks about the skunk problems down river. </p> -<p>We’re off by noon, a little over an hour after we arrived at the put in. This stretch of the Green River is calm, but moving fast enough that I don’t need to paddle much to keep pace with the larger boats. After a half mile of open land, the river passes through the Gates and plunges into Lodore Canyon proper, carving its way through some 3000 vertical feet of dramatic red sandstone.</p> -<div class="picwide"> - <a itemscope itemtype="http://schema.org/ImageObject" href="https://images.luxagraf.net/original/2019/P1010439.jpg " title="view larger image"> - <img class="u-photo" itemprop="contentUrl" sizes="(max-width: 1439px) 100vw, (min-width: 1440px) 1440px" srcset="https://images.luxagraf.net/2019/P1010439_picwide-sm.jpg 720w, https://images.luxagraf.net/2019/P1010439_picwide-med.jpg 1170w, https://images.luxagraf.net/2019/P1010439_picwide.jpg 2880w" src="https://images.luxagraf.net/2019/P1010439_picwide-med.jpg" alt="gates of ladore, green river, co photographed by luxagraf" data-jslghtbx="https://images.luxagraf.net/original/2019/P1010439.jpg" data-jslghtbx-group="group" > - </a> -</div> - -<p>This is the only real way to see Dinosaur National Monument. Part of what makes Dinosaur National Monument compelling is its remoteness. The nearest major city is over 100 miles away and once you get to the park there aren’t many roads, nor even trails. To really see the park you’ve got to get down in the canyon and to see the canyons up close you must journey down the river.</p> -<p>There are two major rivers running through Dinosaur National Monument, the Yampa, which carves through Yampa Canyon, and the Green, which cuts through Lodore. Numerous rafting companies run trips of varying lengths through both canyons, though if you want to do the Yampa you’ll need to arrive early in the season<sup id="fnref:1"><a class="footnote-ref" href="#fn:1" rel="footnote">1</a></sup>, by mid-July the dam-fed Green River is your only option in Dinosaur National Park.</p> -<div class="picwide"> - <a itemscope itemtype="http://schema.org/ImageObject" href="https://images.luxagraf.net/original/2019/P1010441.jpg " title="view larger image"> - <img class="u-photo" itemprop="contentUrl" sizes="(max-width: 1439px) 100vw, (min-width: 1440px) 1440px" srcset="https://images.luxagraf.net/2019/P1010441_picwide-sm.jpg 720w, https://images.luxagraf.net/2019/P1010441_picwide-med.jpg 1170w, https://images.luxagraf.net/2019/P1010441_picwide.jpg 2880w" src="https://images.luxagraf.net/2019/P1010441_picwide-med.jpg" alt="lunch stop, green river, adventure bound rafting trip, colorado photographed by luxagraf" data-jslghtbx="https://images.luxagraf.net/original/2019/P1010441.jpg" data-jslghtbx-group="group" > - </a> -</div> - -<p>The first day is largely devoid of rapids, a few rough spots where the river tumbles over a garden of rocks, but it does nothing more than splash a little water into the boat. Near the end we run Disaster Falls, which is not nearly as bad as its name might imply. Of course if you’re <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/John_Wesley_Powell">John Wesley Powell</a> and you’re running the Green River for the very first time, pre-dam, in 1869, in wooden boats, you might have a slightly different perspective. </p> -<p>In fact, Powell portaged most of the rapids he encountered. There is simply no way through them in wooden boats (though honestly, hauling huge wooden boats through the canyon almost sounds worse). However, one of his boats did not see Disaster Falls approaching and went through it with, well, disastrous results. Like most of the names Powell bestowed on the river, Disaster Falls stuck.</p> -<p>According to legend, after everyone from the smashed boat was safely ashore, the boatmen went back into the river to try to retrieve some of the lost equipment. Powell, thinking the were going to get his lost barometers encouraged them on, but the boatmen were after the barrel of whiskey, which they managed to find. Presumably the barometers are still there somewhere, buried under nearly 150 years of mud and silt.</p> -<p>We reach our camp, Pot 1, just downstream from Disaster, by mid-afternoon and, after a quick lesson in using a groover<sup id="fnref:2"><a class="footnote-ref" href="#fn:2" rel="footnote">2</a></sup>, we set up some horseshoes and whiled away the evening drinking beer and throwing horseshoes. Pot 1 and its downstream sibling, Pot 2, were also named by Powell who lost most of his pots and pans in the area. Powell was fearless (especially considering he only had one arm) and an incredible explorer, but he wasn’t always creative with his names. So it goes.</p> -<div class="cluster"> -<span class="row-2"> - - <a href="https://images.luxagraf.net/original/2019/P1010446.jpg" title="view larger image "> - <img class="pic66 " src="https://images.luxagraf.net/2019/P1010446_pic66.jpg" alt="Sunset day 1, green river, adventure bound rafting trip, colorado photographed by luxagraf" data-jslghtbx="https://images.luxagraf.net/original/2019/P1010446.jpg" data-jslghtbx-group="group" ></a> - - - - - <a href="https://images.luxagraf.net/original/2019/P1010454.jpg" title="view larger image "> - <img class="pic66 " src="https://images.luxagraf.net/2019/P1010454_pic66.jpg" alt="evening in the meadow, green river, adventure bound rafting trip, colorado photographed by luxagraf" data-jslghtbx="https://images.luxagraf.net/original/2019/P1010454.jpg" data-jslghtbx-group="group" ></a> - - -</span> -</div> - -<p>The second day we start off by having to prove we could right the inflatable kayaks under the watchful eyes of our guides. We all managed to do it, though it was in nice calm water. I have my doubts about how well I would have done in a real rapid — like the ominous-sounding Hell’s Half Mile which was waiting for us just a few miles downstream.</p> -<p>Before we got to Hell’s Half Mile, we had to make it through the much more benign-sounding Triplet. As the name implies there are three drops, but the real trick to Triplet is making a hard left turn away from the right bank at the end. The cut-away rocky alcove you’re avoiding is like a yawning mouth waiting to suck you in and, most likely, pin you there.</p> -<figure class="picwide"> - <a itemscope itemtype="http://schema.org/ImageObject" href="https://images.luxagraf.net/original/2019/P1010464.jpg " title="view larger image"> - <img class="u-photo" itemprop="contentUrl" sizes="(max-width: 1439px) 100vw, (min-width: 1440px) 1440px" srcset="https://images.luxagraf.net/2019/P1010464_picwide-sm.jpg 720w, https://images.luxagraf.net/2019/P1010464_picwide-med.jpg 1170w, https://images.luxagraf.net/2019/P1010464_picwide.jpg 2880w" src="https://images.luxagraf.net/2019/P1010464_picwide-med.jpg" alt="The lower portion of Triplet Rapid, green river, adventure bound rafting trip, colorado photographed by luxagraf" data-jslghtbx="https://images.luxagraf.net/original/2019/P1010464.jpg" data-jslghtbx-group="group" data-jslghtbx-caption="The lower portion of Triplet Rapid."> - </a> -<figcaption>The lower portion of Triplet Rapid.</figcaption> -</figure> - -<figure class="picwide"> - <a itemscope itemtype="http://schema.org/ImageObject" href="https://images.luxagraf.net/original/2019/P1010465.jpg " title="view larger image"> - <img class="u-photo" itemprop="contentUrl" sizes="(max-width: 1439px) 100vw, (min-width: 1440px) 1440px" srcset="https://images.luxagraf.net/2019/P1010465_picwide-sm.jpg 720w, https://images.luxagraf.net/2019/P1010465_picwide-med.jpg 1170w, https://images.luxagraf.net/2019/P1010465_picwide.jpg 2880w" src="https://images.luxagraf.net/2019/P1010465_picwide-med.jpg" alt="scouting Triplet Rapid, green river, adventure bound rafting trip, colorado photographed by luxagraf" data-jslghtbx="https://images.luxagraf.net/original/2019/P1010465.jpg" data-jslghtbx-group="group" data-jslghtbx-caption="Everything looks easy from the shore."> - </a> -<figcaption>Everything looks easy from the shore.</figcaption> -</figure> - -<p>All of us made it through Triplet without any issues. About a mile further downstream we stopped to scout Hell’s Half Mile. It doesn’t look like much from the shore, but few rapids do. Depending on the water level Hell’s is somewhere between a class III and class IV rapid. Everything started off just fine, I was paddling with Jim, the other guide’s father who was a very good kayaker and we made it through without issue.</p> -<p>Greg, one of the three paying customers on our little trip did not fare as well. He went directly over a boulder known as Lucifer (possibly Powell was reading Dante when he ran the river, or he just loved fire and brimstone names). The drop wasn’t really the problem though. It was the landing and the whirlpool in front of Lucifer that did Greg in. I missed the actual flip, by the time I turned around I just saw a helmet and a pair of sandals bobbing through the lower portion of Hell’s.</p> -<p>I don’t have a waterproof camera, so I don’t have any photos of Hell’s Half Mile from the water, but I did find this video on YouTube. The water seems a bit higher than when we were there, but otherwise it’s about the same:</p> -<div class='embed-wrapper'> -<div class='embed-container'> -<iframe width="560" height="315" src="https://www.youtube-nocookie.com/embed/SHroMqYoCSQ" frameborder="0" allow="accelerometer; autoplay; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen></iframe> -</div></div> - -<p>After the whitewater fun we did a few miles of flat water and came back round down into <a href="http://luxagraf.net/2010/jul/28/dinosaur-national-monument-part-one-echo-park/">Echo Park</a>, where I had been a few days before. The view of Steamboat rock from the river is one of the more impressive mastiffs of sandstone I’ve seen. If you want something bigger you’ll likely have to head all the way over to Zion.</p> -<div class="cluster"> -<span class="row-2"> - - <a href="https://images.luxagraf.net/original/2019/P1010486.jpg" title="view larger image "> - <img class="pic66 " src="https://images.luxagraf.net/2019/P1010486_pic66.jpg" alt="Steamboat Rock, Lodore Canyon, Dinosaur National Monument, Colorado photographed by luxagraf" data-jslghtbx="https://images.luxagraf.net/original/2019/P1010486.jpg" data-jslghtbx-group="group" ></a> - - - - - <a href="https://images.luxagraf.net/original/2019/P1010499.jpg" title="view larger image "> - <img class="pic66 " src="https://images.luxagraf.net/2019/P1010499_pic66.jpg" alt="Steamboat Rock, Lodore Canyon, Dinosaur National Monument, Colorado photographed by luxagraf" data-jslghtbx="https://images.luxagraf.net/original/2019/P1010499.jpg" data-jslghtbx-group="group" ></a> - - -</span> -</div> - -<p>We ate lunch on a sandbar at the confluence of the Green and Yampa Rivers and discovered why it’s called Echo Park — if you yell into Steamboat Rock at just the right spot your echo will reverberate back up both Lodore and Yampa Canyons creating a weird strobe echo effect that’s unlike anything you’ve heard before. Natural reverb on steroids — if Radiohead had known they’d have recorded an album here.</p> -<figure class="picwide"> - <a itemscope itemtype="http://schema.org/ImageObject" href="https://images.luxagraf.net/original/2019/P1010504.jpg " title="view larger image"> - <img class="u-photo" itemprop="contentUrl" sizes="(max-width: 1439px) 100vw, (min-width: 1440px) 1440px" srcset="https://images.luxagraf.net/2019/P1010504_picwide-sm.jpg 720w, https://images.luxagraf.net/2019/P1010504_picwide-med.jpg 1170w, https://images.luxagraf.net/2019/P1010504_picwide.jpg 2880w" src="https://images.luxagraf.net/2019/P1010504_picwide-med.jpg" alt="Confluence of green and yampa rivers, Lodore Canyon, Dinosaur National Monument, Colorado photographed by luxagraf" data-jslghtbx="https://images.luxagraf.net/original/2019/P1010504.jpg" data-jslghtbx-group="group" data-jslghtbx-caption="The muddy brown (free-running) Yampa, meets the green (dam-fed) Green river."> - </a> -<figcaption>The muddy brown (free-running) Yampa, meets the green (dam-fed) Green river.</figcaption> -</figure> - -<p>While our guides were setting up lunch I waded across the Yampa and out into the confluence, which forms an almost perfect line in the water — the muddy brown Yampa takes quite a while to fully merge with the much clearer Green River. The strangest thing is temperature difference between the two. Because the water in the Green is coming out of the bottom of a dam, it’s much colder than the Yampa, like 10-20 degrees colder. Standing right in the middle of the two is bit like having one half of your body in the pool and the other half in a jacuzzi.</p> -<div class="cluster"> -<span class="row-2"> - - <a href="https://images.luxagraf.net/original/2019/P1010507.jpg" title="view larger image "> - <img class="pic66 " src="https://images.luxagraf.net/2019/P1010507_pic66.jpg" alt="confluence green and yampa, Lodore Canyon, Dinosaur National Monument, Colorado photographed by luxagraf" data-jslghtbx="https://images.luxagraf.net/original/2019/P1010507.jpg" data-jslghtbx-group="group" ></a> - - - - - <a href="https://images.luxagraf.net/original/2019/P1010510_KuMaqJE.jpg" title="view larger image "> - <img class="pic66 " src="https://images.luxagraf.net/2019/P1010510_KuMaqJE_pic66.jpg" alt="confluence green and yampa, Lodore Canyon, Dinosaur National Monument, Colorado photographed by luxagraf" data-jslghtbx="https://images.luxagraf.net/original/2019/P1010510_KuMaqJE.jpg" data-jslghtbx-group="group" ></a> - - - -</span> -</div> - -<p>The river after the confluence was mainly flat. I rode on the lead raft for a while, just staring up at the canyon walls, watching the red rock shift to lighter sandstone as we went on. </p> -<div class="picwide"> - <a itemscope itemtype="http://schema.org/ImageObject" href="https://images.luxagraf.net/original/2019/P1010503.jpg " title="view larger image"> - <img class="u-photo" itemprop="contentUrl" sizes="(max-width: 1439px) 100vw, (min-width: 1440px) 1440px" srcset="https://images.luxagraf.net/2019/P1010503_picwide-sm.jpg 720w, https://images.luxagraf.net/2019/P1010503_picwide-med.jpg 1170w, https://images.luxagraf.net/2019/P1010503_picwide.jpg 2880w" src="https://images.luxagraf.net/2019/P1010503_picwide-med.jpg" alt="red rock walls of Lodore Canyon, Dinosaur National Monument, Colorado photographed by luxagraf" data-jslghtbx="https://images.luxagraf.net/original/2019/P1010503.jpg" data-jslghtbx-group="group" > - </a> -</div> - -<p>We made camp by four again and the paying customers set off on a short hike to what’s known as Butt Plug Falls, because you can plug it up by sitting down in the narrow channel just above the falls (presumably Powell did not give it that name).</p> -<p>I skipped the hike and spent the evening lazing around the river, swimming, and watching the evening light fade across the canyon walls. True to Ranger Dave’s word, come nightfall we were defending our camp from several very aggressive skunks that seemed totally unconcerned about humans being around. One was half way in the trash bag when we noticed him and others had no problem marching up to the fire. Luckily none of them felt the need to spray anything.</p> -<div class="picwide"> - <a itemscope itemtype="http://schema.org/ImageObject" href="https://images.luxagraf.net/original/2019/P1010526.jpg " title="view larger image"> - <img class="u-photo" itemprop="contentUrl" sizes="(max-width: 1439px) 100vw, (min-width: 1440px) 1440px" srcset="https://images.luxagraf.net/2019/P1010526_picwide-sm.jpg 720w, https://images.luxagraf.net/2019/P1010526_picwide-med.jpg 1170w, https://images.luxagraf.net/2019/P1010526_picwide.jpg 2880w, https://images.luxagraf.net/2019/P1010526_featured_jrnl.jpg 520w" src="https://images.luxagraf.net/2019/P1010526_picwide-med.jpg" src="https://images.luxagraf.net/2019/P1010526_picwide.jpg" alt="Sunset on the Green River, Dinosaur National Monument, Colorado photographed by luxagraf" data-jslghtbx="https://images.luxagraf.net/original/2019/P1010526.jpg" data-jslghtbx-group="group" > - </a> -</div> - -<p>The final day we ran several rapids early — Moonshine rapid and S.O.B. One of the paying customers got hung up on a rock for a few minutes, but otherwise we ran through them like we’d all been doing it for years. Then we slipped out of Lodore Canyon and into Island Park, a long, slow and rather hot stretch of flat water before you pass through Split Mountain.</p> -<p>Split Mountain is one of the most unusual examples of geology I’ve ever seen — the Green River actually splits a mountain in half, rather than going around it as rivers generally do. Split Mountain is one of those strange quirks of the planet, though there is actually a logical explanation. It’s all the Grand Canyon’s fault. </p> -<div class="picwide"> - <a itemscope itemtype="http://schema.org/ImageObject" href="https://images.luxagraf.net/original/2019/P1010539.jpg " title="view larger image"> - <img class="u-photo" itemprop="contentUrl" sizes="(max-width: 1439px) 100vw, (min-width: 1440px) 1440px" srcset="https://images.luxagraf.net/2019/P1010539_picwide-sm.jpg 720w, https://images.luxagraf.net/2019/P1010539_picwide-med.jpg 1170w, https://images.luxagraf.net/2019/P1010539_picwide.jpg 2880w" src="https://images.luxagraf.net/2019/P1010539_picwide-med.jpg" alt="Split Mountain, Dinosaur National Monument, Colorado photographed by luxagraf" data-jslghtbx="https://images.luxagraf.net/original/2019/P1010539.jpg" data-jslghtbx-group="group" > - </a> -</div> - -<p>The flow of a river is largely determined by the terrain it crosses, but there are other factors, like the base level — the elevation of the river’s terminus.</p> -<p>As the Grand Canyon formed, the terminal elevation for the entire Colorado River basin — and consequently the Green River — was lowered. The Green River was, once upon a time, running well over the top of Split Mountain. When the base level changed — the elevation where the Green runs into the Colorado — the Green simply cut down through what we call Split Mountain.</p> -<p>The results are rather striking.</p> -<p>Just on the far side of Split Mountain was the end of our river journey. We took out near the Dinosaur Quarry (currently closed) and headed back to Grand Junction. Or rather our boats did. I went with the customers back to Steamboat Springs and from there, on to Rocky Mountain National Park.</p> -<p><strong>Notes</strong>: You may have noticed I referred to paying customers a couple of times above. It’s true, I was free loading. Rafting trips aren’t cheap. Luckily for me, my friend Mike (who also dragged me to the <a href="http://luxagraf.net/2010/mar/13/so-far-i-have-not-found-science/">Okefenokee Swamp</a>) happens to work for Adventure Bound Rafting out of Grand Junction, Colorado. </p> -<p>When I mentioned I’d be in the area, he insisted I come out on the river. I’m probably biased, but having seen a couple other commercial companies on the river, I wouldn’t hesitate to say that <a href="http://www.adventureboundusa.com/">Adventure Bound runs the best whitewater rafting trips in Colorado</a>. I also, having now done a trip, and being aware of the costs, wouldn’t hesitate to pay for another.</p> -<div class="footnote"> -<hr> -<ol> -<li id="fn:1"> -<p>The Yampa River is that last undammed major tributary in the Colorado River system. Because it isn’t dammed, it’s only runnable with big boats early in the year when the snowmelt is generating high enough water levels. Canoes and kayaks can do it year round (well, kayaks anyway, a canoe at high water might be a mistake), but if you want a guided trip you’ll need to do it before mid-July. Water levels do vary each year, generally speaking the Yampa is runnable into mid-July. <a class="footnote-backref" href="#fnref:1" rev="footnote" title="Jump back to footnote 1 in the text">↩</a></p> -</li> -<li id="fn:2"> -<p>The groover is so named because once upon a time it was simply an old ammo can and thus, left grooves in your legs when you sat on it. Technology has improved over the years, groovers now have toilet seats. Sort of. <a class="footnote-backref" href="#fnref:2" rev="footnote" title="Jump back to footnote 2 in the text">↩</a></p> -</li> -</ol> -</div> - </div> - - </article> - - - <div class="nav-wrapper"> - <nav id="page-navigation" class="page-border-top"> - <ul> - <li id="prev"><span class="bl">Previous:</span> - <a href="/jrnl/2010/07/dinosaur-national-monument-part-one-echo-park" rel="prev" title=" Dinosaur National Monument, Part One: Echo Park">Dinosaur National Monument, Part One: Echo Park</a> - </li> - <li id="next"><span class="bl">Next:</span> - <a href="/jrnl/2011/01/charleston-a-z" rel="next" title=" Charleston A-Z">Charleston A-Z</a> - </li> - </ul> - </nav> - </div> - - - - - - -<div class="comment--form--wrapper "> - -<div class="comment--form--header"> - <p class="hed">Thoughts?</p> - <p class="subhed">Please leave a reply:</p> -</div> -<form action="/comments/post/" method="post" class="comment--form"> - -<input type="hidden" name="rder" value="" /> - - - <input type="hidden" name="content_type" value="jrnl.entry" id="id_content_type"> - - - - <input type="hidden" name="object_pk" value="114" id="id_object_pk"> - - - - <input type="hidden" name="timestamp" value="1596833463" id="id_timestamp"> - - - - <input type="hidden" name="security_hash" value="5a48f3d7f38003845abbb8144d989a83c3f23115" id="id_security_hash"> - - - - <fieldset > - <label for="id_name">Name:</label> - <input type="text" name="name" maxlength="50" required id="id_name"> - </fieldset> - - - - <fieldset > - <label for="id_email">Email address:</label> - <input type="email" name="email" required id="id_email"> - </fieldset> - - - - <fieldset > - <label for="id_url">URL:</label> - <input type="url" name="url" id="id_url"> - </fieldset> - - - - <fieldset > - <label for="id_comment">Comment:</label> - <div class="textarea-rounded"><textarea name="comment" cols="40" rows="10" maxlength="3000" required id="id_comment"> -</textarea></div> - </fieldset> - - - - <fieldset style="display:none;"> - <label for="id_honeypot">If you enter anything in this field your comment will be treated as spam:</label> - <input type="text" name="honeypot" id="id_honeypot"> - </fieldset> - - - <div class="submit"> - <input type="submit" name="post" class="submit-post btn" value="Post" /> - <input type="submit" name="preview" class="submit-preview btn" value="Preview" /> - </div> -</form> -<p style="font-size: 95%;"><strong>All comments are moderated</strong>, so you won’t see it right away. 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The large boats are already loaded and waiting, we are inflating the smaller boats while Ranger Dave talks about the skunk problems down river.
-
-We're off by noon, a little over an hour after we arrived at the put in. This stretch of the Green River is calm, but moving fast enough that I don't need to paddle much to keep pace with the larger boats. After a half mile of open land, the river passes through the Gates and plunges into Lodore Canyon proper, carving its way through some 3000 vertical feet of dramatic red sandstone.
-
-<img src="images/2019/P1010439.jpg" id="image-1933" class="picwide" />
-
-This is the only real way to see Dinosaur National Monument. Part of what makes Dinosaur National Monument compelling is its remoteness. The nearest major city is over 100 miles away and once you get to the park there aren't many roads, nor even trails. To really see the park you've got to get down in the canyon and to see the canyons up close you must journey down the river.
-
-There are two major rivers running through Dinosaur National Monument, the Yampa, which carves through Yampa Canyon, and the Green, which cuts through Lodore. Numerous rafting companies run trips of varying lengths through both canyons, though if you want to do the Yampa you'll need to arrive early in the season[^1], by mid-July the dam-fed Green River is your only option in Dinosaur National Park.
-
-<img src="images/2019/P1010441.jpg" id="image-1934" class="picwide" />
-
-The first day is largely devoid of rapids, a few rough spots where the river tumbles over a garden of rocks, but it does nothing more than splash a little water into the boat. Near the end we run Disaster Falls, which is not nearly as bad as its name might imply. Of course if you're [John Wesley Powell][3] and you're running the Green River for the very first time, pre-dam, in 1869, in wooden boats, you might have a slightly different perspective.
-
-In fact, Powell portaged most of the rapids he encountered. There is simply no way through them in wooden boats (though honestly, hauling huge wooden boats through the canyon almost sounds worse). However, one of his boats did not see Disaster Falls approaching and went through it with, well, disastrous results. Like most of the names Powell bestowed on the river, Disaster Falls stuck.
-
-According to legend, after everyone from the smashed boat was safely ashore, the boatmen went back into the river to try to retrieve some of the lost equipment. Powell, thinking the were going to get his lost barometers encouraged them on, but the boatmen were after the barrel of whiskey, which they managed to find. Presumably the barometers are still there somewhere, buried under nearly 150 years of mud and silt.
-
-We reach our camp, Pot 1, just downstream from Disaster, by mid-afternoon and, after a quick lesson in using a groover[^2], we set up some horseshoes and whiled away the evening drinking beer and throwing horseshoes. Pot 1 and its downstream sibling, Pot 2, were also named by Powell who lost most of his pots and pans in the area. Powell was fearless (especially considering he only had one arm) and an incredible explorer, but he wasn't always creative with his names. So it goes.
-
-<div class="cluster">
-<span class="row-2">
-<img src="images/2019/P1010446.jpg" id="image-1935" class="cluster pic66" />
-<img src="images/2019/P1010454.jpg" id="image-1936" class="cluster pic66" />
-</span>
-</div>
-
-The second day we start off by having to prove we could right the inflatable kayaks under the watchful eyes of our guides. We all managed to do it, though it was in nice calm water. I have my doubts about how well I would have done in a real rapid -- like the ominous-sounding Hell's Half Mile which was waiting for us just a few miles downstream.
-
-Before we got to Hell's Half Mile, we had to make it through the much more benign-sounding Triplet. As the name implies there are three drops, but the real trick to Triplet is making a hard left turn away from the right bank at the end. The cut-away rocky alcove you're avoiding is like a yawning mouth waiting to suck you in and, most likely, pin you there.
-
-<img src="images/2019/P1010464.jpg" id="image-1937" class="picwide caption" />
-<img src="images/2019/P1010465.jpg" id="image-1938" class="picwide caption" />
-
-All of us made it through Triplet without any issues. About a mile further downstream we stopped to scout Hell's Half Mile. It doesn't look like much from the shore, but few rapids do. Depending on the water level Hell's is somewhere between a class III and class IV rapid. Everything started off just fine, I was paddling with Jim, the other guide's father who was a very good kayaker and we made it through without issue.
-
-Greg, one of the three paying customers on our little trip did not fare as well. He went directly over a boulder known as Lucifer (possibly Powell was reading Dante when he ran the river, or he just loved fire and brimstone names). The drop wasn't really the problem though. It was the landing and the whirlpool in front of Lucifer that did Greg in. I missed the actual flip, by the time I turned around I just saw a helmet and a pair of sandals bobbing through the lower portion of Hell's.
-
-I don't have a waterproof camera, so I don't have any photos of Hell's Half Mile from the water, but I did find this video on YouTube. The water seems a bit higher than when we were there, but otherwise it's about the same:
-
-
-<div class='embed-wrapper'>
-<div class='embed-container'>
-<iframe width="560" height="315" src="https://www.youtube-nocookie.com/embed/SHroMqYoCSQ" frameborder="0" allow="accelerometer; autoplay; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen></iframe>
-</div></div>
-
-After the whitewater fun we did a few miles of flat water and came back round down into [Echo Park][4], where I had been a few days before. The view of Steamboat rock from the river is one of the more impressive mastiffs of sandstone I've seen. If you want something bigger you'll likely have to head all the way over to Zion.
-
-<div class="cluster">
-<span class="row-2">
-<img src="images/2019/P1010486.jpg" id="image-1939" class="cluster pic66" />
-<img src="images/2019/P1010499.jpg" id="image-1940" class="cluster pic66" />
-</span>
-</div>
-
-We ate lunch on a sandbar at the confluence of the Green and Yampa Rivers and discovered why it's called Echo Park -- if you yell into Steamboat Rock at just the right spot your echo will reverberate back up both Lodore and Yampa Canyons creating a weird strobe echo effect that's unlike anything you've heard before. Natural reverb on steroids -- if Radiohead had known they'd have recorded an album here.
-
-<img src="images/2019/P1010504.jpg" id="image-1941" class="picwide caption" />
-
-While our guides were setting up lunch I waded across the Yampa and out into the confluence, which forms an almost perfect line in the water -- the muddy brown Yampa takes quite a while to fully merge with the much clearer Green River. The strangest thing is temperature difference between the two. Because the water in the Green is coming out of the bottom of a dam, it's much colder than the Yampa, like 10-20 degrees colder. Standing right in the middle of the two is bit like having one half of your body in the pool and the other half in a jacuzzi.
-
-<div class="cluster">
-<span class="row-2">
-<img src="images/2019/P1010507.jpg" id="image-1942" class="cluster pic66" />
-<img src="images/2019/P1010510_KuMaqJE.jpg" id="image-1944" class="cluster pic66" />
-
-</span>
-</div>
-
-The river after the confluence was mainly flat. I rode on the lead raft for a while, just staring up at the canyon walls, watching the red rock shift to lighter sandstone as we went on.
-
-<img src="images/2019/P1010503.jpg" id="image-1945" class="picwide" />
-
-We made camp by four again and the paying customers set off on a short hike to what's known as Butt Plug Falls, because you can plug it up by sitting down in the narrow channel just above the falls (presumably Powell did not give it that name).
-
-I skipped the hike and spent the evening lazing around the river, swimming, and watching the evening light fade across the canyon walls. True to Ranger Dave's word, come nightfall we were defending our camp from several very aggressive skunks that seemed totally unconcerned about humans being around. One was half way in the trash bag when we noticed him and others had no problem marching up to the fire. Luckily none of them felt the need to spray anything.
-
-<img src="images/2019/P1010526.jpg" id="image-1946" class="picwide" />
-
-The final day we ran several rapids early -- Moonshine rapid and S.O.B. One of the paying customers got hung up on a rock for a few minutes, but otherwise we ran through them like we'd all been doing it for years. Then we slipped out of Lodore Canyon and into Island Park, a long, slow and rather hot stretch of flat water before you pass through Split Mountain.
-
-Split Mountain is one of the most unusual examples of geology I've ever seen -- the Green River actually splits a mountain in half, rather than going around it as rivers generally do. Split Mountain is one of those strange quirks of the planet, though there is actually a logical explanation. It's all the Grand Canyon's fault.
-
-<img src="images/2019/P1010539.jpg" id="image-1947" class="picwide" />
-
-The flow of a river is largely determined by the terrain it crosses, but there are other factors, like the base level -- the elevation of the river's terminus.
-
-As the Grand Canyon formed, the terminal elevation for the entire Colorado River basin -- and consequently the Green River -- was lowered. The Green River was, once upon a time, running well over the top of Split Mountain. When the base level changed -- the elevation where the Green runs into the Colorado -- the Green simply cut down through what we call Split Mountain.
-
-The results are rather striking.
-
-Just on the far side of Split Mountain was the end of our river journey. We took out near the Dinosaur Quarry (currently closed) and headed back to Grand Junction. Or rather our boats did. I went with the customers back to Steamboat Springs and from there, on to Rocky Mountain National Park.
-
-<strong>Notes</strong>: You may have noticed I referred to paying customers a couple of times above. It's true, I was free loading. Rafting trips aren't cheap. Luckily for me, my friend Mike (who also dragged me to the [Okefenokee Swamp][2]) happens to work for Adventure Bound Rafting out of Grand Junction, Colorado.
-
-When I mentioned I'd be in the area, he insisted I come out on the river. I'm probably biased, but having seen a couple other commercial companies on the river, I wouldn't hesitate to say that [Adventure Bound runs the best whitewater rafting trips in Colorado][1]. I also, having now done a trip, and being aware of the costs, wouldn't hesitate to pay for another.
-
-[1]: http://www.adventureboundusa.com/
-[2]: http://luxagraf.net/2010/mar/13/so-far-i-have-not-found-science/
-[3]: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/John_Wesley_Powell
-[4]: http://luxagraf.net/2010/jul/28/dinosaur-national-monument-part-one-echo-park/
-
-
-[^1]: The Yampa River is that last undammed major tributary in the Colorado River system. Because it isn't dammed, it's only runnable with big boats early in the year when the snowmelt is generating high enough water levels. Canoes and kayaks can do it year round (well, kayaks anyway, a canoe at high water might be a mistake), but if you want a guided trip you'll need to do it before mid-July. Water levels do vary each year, generally speaking the Yampa is runnable into mid-July.
-[^2]: The groover is so named because once upon a time it was simply an old ammo can and thus, left grooves in your legs when you sat on it. Technology has improved over the years, groovers now have toilet seats. 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<h1>2010, on luxagraf</h1> - <ul class="date-archive"> - <li class="dater"><span>March 2010</span> - <ul> - <li class="arc-item"> - <a href="/jrnl/2010/03/so-far-i-have-not-found-science" title="So Far, I Have Not Found The Science">So Far, I Have Not Found The Science</a> - <time datetime="2010-03-13T12:50:48-05:00">Mar 13, 2010</time> - </li> - </ul> - </li> - <li class="dater"><span>April 2010</span> - <ul> - <li class="arc-item"> - <a href="/jrnl/2010/04/death-valley" title="(There'll Be) Peace in the Valley">(There’ll Be) Peace in the Valley</a> - <time datetime="2010-04-24T11:45:59-04:00">Apr 24, 2010</time> - </li> - </ul> - </li> - <li class="dater"><span>May 2010</span> - <ul> - <li class="arc-item"> - <a href="/jrnl/2010/05/los-angeles-im-yours" title="Los Angeles, I'm Yours">Los Angeles, I’m Yours</a> - <time datetime="2010-05-17T16:43:18-04:00">May 17, 2010</time> - </li> - </ul> - </li> - <li class="dater"><span>July 2010</span> - <ul> - <li class="arc-item"> - <a href="/jrnl/2010/07/dinosaur-national-monument-part-one-echo-park" title="Dinosaur National Monument, Part One: Echo Park">Dinosaur National Monument, Part One: Echo Park</a> - <time datetime="2010-07-28T17:00:00-04:00">Jul 28, 2010</time> - </li> - <li class="arc-item"> - <a href="/jrnl/2010/07/endless-crowds-yellowstone" title="The Endless Crowds of Yellowstone">The Endless Crowds of Yellowstone</a> - <time datetime="2010-07-25T14:00:00-04:00">Jul 25, 2010</time> - </li> - <li class="arc-item"> - <a href="/jrnl/2010/07/backpacking-grand-tetons" title="Backpacking in the Grand Tetons">Backpacking in the Grand Tetons</a> - <time datetime="2010-07-22T17:00:00-04:00">Jul 22, 2010</time> - </li> - <li class="arc-item"> - <a href="/jrnl/2010/07/great-sand-dunes-national-park" title="Great Sand Dunes National Park">Great Sand Dunes National Park</a> - <time datetime="2010-07-17T09:00:00-04:00">Jul 17, 2010</time> - </li> - <li class="arc-item"> - <a href="/jrnl/2010/07/comanche-national-grasslands" title="Comanche National Grasslands">Comanche National Grasslands</a> - <time datetime="2010-07-16T13:00:00-04:00">Jul 16, 2010</time> - </li> - <li class="arc-item"> - <a href="/jrnl/2010/07/why-national-parks-are-better-state-parks" title="Why National Parks Are Better Than State Parks">Why National Parks Are Better Than State Parks</a> - <time datetime="2010-07-15T10:00:00-04:00">Jul 15, 2010</time> - </li> - <li class="arc-item"> - <a href="/jrnl/2010/07/legend-billy-the-kid" title="The Legend of Billy the Kid">The Legend of Billy the Kid</a> - <time datetime="2010-07-11T18:00:00-04:00">Jul 11, 2010</time> - </li> - <li class="arc-item"> - <a href="/jrnl/2010/07/dixie-drug-store" title="The Dixie Drug Store">The Dixie Drug Store</a> - <time datetime="2010-07-08T17:00:00-04:00">Jul 08, 2010</time> - </li> - <li class="arc-item"> - <a href="/jrnl/2010/07/begin-the-begin" title="Begin the Begin">Begin the Begin</a> - <time datetime="2010-07-05T22:00:00-04:00">Jul 05, 2010</time> - </li> - </ul> - </li> - <li class="dater"><span>August 2010</span> - <ul> - <li class="arc-item"> - <a href="/jrnl/2010/08/dinosaur-national-monument-part-two-down-river" title="Dinosaur National Monument, Part Two: Down the River">Dinosaur National Monument, Part Two: Down the River</a> - <time datetime="2010-08-02T09:00:00-04:00">Aug 02, 2010</time> - </li> - </ul> - </li> - </ul> - - - <footer role="contentinfo"> - <nav class="bl"> - <ul> - <li><a href="/blogroll" title="Sites that inspire us">Blogroll</a></li> - <li><a href="/jrnl/feed.xml" title="RSS feed">Subscribe</a></li> - <li><a href="/contact/" title="contact luxagraf">Contact</a></li> - <li><a href="https://twitter.com/luxagraf" rel="me" title="follow luxagraf on Twitter">Twitter</a></li> - <li><a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/luxagraf" rel="me" title="luxagraf on Flickr">Flickr</a></li> - <li><a href="https://www.facebook.com/luxagraf" rel="me" title="luxagraf on Facebook">Facebook</a></li> - <li><a href="https://www.instagram.com/luxagraf/" rel="me" title="luxagraf on Instacrap">Instacrap</a></li> - </ul> - </nav> - <p id="license"> - © 2003-2018 - <span class="h-card"><a class="p-name u-url" href="https://luxagraf.net/">Scott Gilbertson</a><data class="p-nickname" value="luxagraf"></data><data class="p-locality" value="Athens"></data><data class="p-region" value="Georgia"></data><data class="p-country-name" value="United States"></data></span>, except photos, which are licensed under the Creative Commons (<a href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/" title="read the Attribution-Share Alike 3.0 deed">details</a>). - 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