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| -rw-r--r-- | chaco.txt | 16 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | escaping-texas.txt | 21 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | published/2017-06-12_escaping-texas.txt | 43 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | published/2017-06-18_the-high-country.txt | 67 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | published/2017-06-21_happy-solstice.txt | 18 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | published/2017-06-28_arc-of-time.txt | 125 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | trinidad-lake.txt | 33 |
7 files changed, 253 insertions, 70 deletions
diff --git a/chaco.txt b/chaco.txt deleted file mode 100644 index cc17863..0000000 --- a/chaco.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,16 +0,0 @@ -Chaco Canyon has been one of those places I've wanted to visit, but for whatever reason, I just never made it. While we were in Trinidad I noticed an interesting break in the weather in this region. For about three days the high was going to be in the high 80s to low 90s, which is just about perfect[^1]. Nice weather right when we were driving through made it a good stopping point between Santa Fe and Durango. - -After a rough dirt road -- thirteen miles took about an hour in the bus if that gives you some idea -- through the vast nothingness of New Mexico desert, you hit a welcome paved road that runs the length of Chaco Canyon in a loop. Off a tributary wash to the north is a small, open campground. There is no shade anywhere, save canyon overhangs most of which were built out millennia ago and hence roped off now. Shade stolen by the past. - -And you want shade here. It's hot, you can see it all around you all the time, even if it isn't hot when you're here you can see how obviously hot it gets. It wasn't bad during our time, the afternoon were best spent in the shade of the bus awning, but the effects of heat are everpresent. - - - - -Chaco is also the most tightly controlled national parkish area I've ever been in. In my experience National Parks typically have a tightly controlled area, generally around whatever the feature of the park is -- yosemite valley, Sequoia trees, the grand canyon, etc -- and then the backcountry is more or less unregulated, at least in terms of where you can go. Not enough people venture beyond the first mile of trail to bother regulating the backcountry too much. Not true here. - -It's still true that no ventures beyond that first mile, but here the backcountry is regulated just like the rest. There's not even overnight camping allowed in the backcountry. It's a little bit like being a kid again (not in a good way), you have to be home by sunset. - -[^1]: We've found those to be very livable temps in the bus, even without any air con. It's always a little hot around bed time, but the nights cool off quickly and we're all pulling on extra blankets before midnight. - - diff --git a/escaping-texas.txt b/escaping-texas.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 6950d25..0000000 --- a/escaping-texas.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,21 +0,0 @@ -By the time we left Denton we'd put in a new radiator core, new water pump, new thermostat and new power steering hose that had cracked when I made too tight of turn in the hotel parking lot. In Texas we had in fact pretty much redone the entire cooling system of the bus. Ideally that would have solved the overheating issues, but it did not. I left ahead of Corrinne and kids, hitting the road by 6AM to avoid the forecasted 105 degree midday temps. - -The night before I purchased one of those nice digital thermometer guns in hopes that perhaps the problem was the temperature or sending unit. Armed with that I stopped frequently to crawl under the engine and take temp readings all over the place. What quickly became obvious was that most of the temp readings were well within ideal operating temps for the engine. The exception was right around the sending unit, which sits roughly on the first piston on the passenger's side of the engine. That area was notably hotter than everything else, though still not overheating hot. - -Despite the heat I made it Amarillo without overtaxing the engine. And just for fun, since I have the digital thermometer anyway, I started taking readings in cab of the bus... about 122 degrees on the dashboard (which is direct sun), about 108 on most other surfaces and 115 by my right foot where a bit of engine air still leaks out. Hot. Damn hot. - -That night I sat out sweating the Amarillo night talking with my uncle Ron who serves as official bus mechanical repair consultant. He walked me through a few scenarios/possibilities, but in the end the most likely fix will probably involve flushing the engine block. In the mean time, the temp readings stayed pretty constant and within operating params for the engine so we decided to push on out of Texas, out of the heat wave and into the mountains where the bus, and we, would be much cooler and happier. That meant bypassing one of my favorite places in this region, Comanche National Grassland, but with a forecast temp in the mid 90s and not a hookup for three hundred miles, we were hesitant to push it. We still hadn't actually camped without hookups in the bus so we didn't know what sort of temperature would be comfortable and what would be miserable. But 93 degrees sounded miserable so we decided to skip it. - -I left Amarillo at 5AM, well ahead of Corrinne and kids, trying to push through to the mountains before the heat of the day kicked in. I was halfway out of Texas when the sun finally did start to glow on the eastern horizon of the vast nothingness that is the western Texas desert. This is part of Texas I know reasonably well and happen to really like, the wide open, barren land, parched badlands of windswept sand and nearly endless grass and creosote. But only crazy people come out here in June. Even if you're not crazy when you get here, you will be soon, the heat bakes you until you come unglued. The day we passed through the forecasted temp was 112. - -I was well into New Mexico long before the sun got high enough for those temps. When I stopped to take this photo: - - - -This train honked and I looked over to see the engineer waving and giving me the thumbs up. I've driven a lot of miles in this country, seen a lot of trains, but I've never seen or heard of train honking and waving at a car. The bus is like that though, it extracts the extraordinary from the ordinary. - -The bus struggled to get over Ratan pass, which is just shy of 8000 feet. It made it, the engine wasn't overheating even, but I didn't have much power. I was doing about 35 by the time the road finally started down again. From there I coasted on down to Trinidad Lake State Park, which has two campgrounds, one with full hookups and one totally dry with nothing save a communal water spigot and some pit toilets. We grabbed a site in the latter area, filled our new water tank and settled in to enjoy an afternoon at the lake. - -Unfortunately I made the mistake of asking the ranger if there were any good sandy, beach-like areas further down the road. I was prompted informed that there was no swimming in the lake. Say what? The ranger was unable to provide any reason for the no swimming, but I'd already blown it -- there's no plausible deniability after you ask. Never ask permission, just do and play dumb when you need to. I know this, but sometimes my mouth gets ahead of my brain. - -So we ended up just sitting around the camp, which was nice enough, if a little warm. The heatwave was still too much on us, so we hatched a plan to head higher into the mountains the next day. That night was a first in the wide open big sky of the west. I let the fire burn down and watched the sky instead. The sunset was obscured by thunderheads over the peaks of the Uncompadghre range. Arcing flashes of lightening bounced around the clouds like streaking silver pinballs. Just as the last light faded away coyotes because to bark and sing. Finally, the west. diff --git a/published/2017-06-12_escaping-texas.txt b/published/2017-06-12_escaping-texas.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..8b3e895 --- /dev/null +++ b/published/2017-06-12_escaping-texas.txt @@ -0,0 +1,43 @@ +By the time we left Denton we'd put in a new radiator core, new water pump, new thermostat and new power steering hose that had cracked when I made too tight of turn in the hotel parking lot. In Texas we had in fact pretty much redone the entire cooling system of the bus. Ideally that would have solved the overheating issues, but it did not. I left ahead of Corrinne and kids, hitting the road by 6AM to avoid the forecasted 105 degree midday temps. + +The night before I purchased one of those nice digital thermometer guns in hopes that perhaps the problem was the temperature or sending unit. Armed with that I stopped frequently to crawl under the engine and take temp readings all over the place. What quickly became obvious was that most of the temp readings were well within ideal operating temps for the engine. The exception was right around the sending unit, which sits roughly on the first piston on the passenger's side of the engine. That area was notably hotter than everything else, though still not overheating hot. + +Despite the heat I made it Amarillo without overtaxing the engine. And just for fun, since I have the digital thermometer anyway, I started taking readings in cab of the bus... about 122 degrees on the dashboard (direct sun), about 108 on most other surfaces and 115 by my right foot where a bit of engine air still leaks out. Hot. Damn hot. + +That night I sat out sweating in the Amarillo night talking with my uncle Ron who serves as official bus mechanical repair consultant. He walked me through a few scenarios/possibilities, but in the end the most likely fix will probably involve flushing the engine block. In the mean time, the temp readings stayed pretty constant and within operating params for the engine so we decided to push on out of Texas, out of the heat wave and into the mountains where the bus, and we, would be much cooler and happier. + +That meant bypassing one of my favorite places in this region, [Comanche National Grassland](https://luxagraf.net/jrnl/2010/07/comanche-national-grasslands), but with a forecast temp in the mid 90s and not a hookup for three hundred miles, we were hesitant to push it. We still hadn't actually camped without hookups in the bus so we didn't know what sort of temperature would be comfortable and what would be miserable. 93 degrees sounded miserable so we decided to skip it (turns out it's not bad at all if you have a breeze, but oh well). + +<img src="images/2017/2017-06-16_062553_escaping-texas.jpg" id="image-582" class="picwide" /> + +I left Amarillo at 5AM, well ahead of Corrinne and kids, trying to push through to the mountains before the heat of the day kicked in. I was halfway out of Texas when the sun finally did start to glow on the eastern horizon of the vast nothingness that is the western Texas desert. This is part of Texas I know reasonably well and happen to really like, the wide open, barren land, parched badlands of windswept sand and nearly endless grass and creosote. But only crazy people come out here in June. Even if you're not crazy when you get here, you will be soon, the heat bakes you until you come unglued. The day we passed through the forecasted temp was 112. + +<img src="images/2017/2017-06-16_062702_escaping-texas.jpg" id="image-583" class="picwide" /> + +I was well into New Mexico long before the sun got high enough for those temps. + +When I stopped to take this photo: + +<img src="images/2017/2017-06-16_080436_escaping-texas.jpg" id="image-584" class="picwide" /> + +This train honked and I looked over to see the engineer waving and giving me the thumbs up: + +<img src="images/2017/2017-06-16_081335-3_trinidad-and-around.jpg" id="image-585" class="picwide" /> + +I've driven a lot of miles in this country, seen a lot of trains, but I've never seen or heard of train honking and waving at a car. The bus is like that though, it extracts the extraordinary from the ordinary. + +<img src="images/2017/2017-06-16_110347_trinidad-and-around.jpg" id="image-587" class="picwide" /> + +<img src="images/2017/2017-06-16_103228_trinidad-and-around.jpg" id="image-586" class="picwide caption" /> + +The bus struggled to get over Ratan pass, which is just shy of 8000 feet. It made it, the engine wasn't overheating even, but I didn't have much power. I was doing about 35 by the time the road finally started down again. From there I coasted on down to Trinidad Lake State Park, which has two campgrounds, one with full hookups and one totally dry with nothing save a communal water spigot and some pit toilets. We grabbed a site in the latter area, filled our new water tank and settled in to enjoy an afternoon at the lake. + +Unfortunately I made the mistake of asking the ranger if there were any good sandy, beach-like areas further down the road. I was prompted informed that there was no swimming in the lake. Say what? The ranger was unable to provide any reason for the no swimming, but I'd already blown it -- there's no plausible deniability after you ask. Never ask permission, just do and play dumb when you need to. Sometimes my mouth gets ahead of my brain. + +<img src="images/2017/2017-06-17_090014_trinidad-and-around.jpg" id="image-588" class="picwide caption" /> + +We ended up just sitting around the camp, which was nice enough, if a little warm. The heatwave was still too much on us, so we hatched a plan to head higher into the mountains the next day. + +<img src="images/2017/2017-06-16_212745_trinidad-and-around.jpg" id="image-589" class="picwide" /> + +That night was a first in the wide open big sky of the west. The sunset reflected on the clouds for hours. I let the fire burn down and watched the sky instead. Later on thunderheads rolled in over the peaks of the Sangre de Christo range. Arcing flashes of lightening bounced around the clouds like streaking silver pinballs. Just as the last light faded away coyotes began to bark and sing. Finally, the west. diff --git a/published/2017-06-18_the-high-country.txt b/published/2017-06-18_the-high-country.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d8ee8fb --- /dev/null +++ b/published/2017-06-18_the-high-country.txt @@ -0,0 +1,67 @@ +After one night at Trinidad State Park we had to leave. The weekend thing. Saturday night even the "walk up" dry camping sites were booked, because in Colorado state parks "walk up" means whatever hasn't been reserved online. It's a crazy, chaotic system that makes no sense at all. All I know is that we had leave on Saturday because there were no campsites. + +We decided, since it was still a little warm at bedtime for the kids, that we'd head higher into the mountains. There were a couple of National Forest campgrounds up higher in the mountains above Trinidad so we booked one and set out. + +<img src="images/2017/2017-06-17_102449_trinidad-and-around.jpg" id="image-590" class="picwide" /> + +Inside my head there are tons of voices, but one dominates the rest most of the time, it's the voice that always says, sure, let's try it, what's the worst that could happen? + +Most of the time the answer to that question is very tame. Once you get past your prejudices and irrational fears and give some serious thought to, well, what *is* the worst thing that could happen and how likely is it to occur, you find that it's really not that bad and it's pretty unlikely. The simple truth of life is that most of what you fear is very unlikely to occur. For example, could you fall to your death while hiking a mountain trail? Well, technically yes, but millions of people go hiking in mountains around the world everyday and don't fall to their death, so there's a very good chance you won't either. And so on. + +That's just to preface this adventure slightly, or rather to explain my thinking when I tell you that the campground we were headed to was at 10,500 feet. + +Did I really think the bus would make it to 10,500 ft? Honestly? No. But I was damn sure going to try. And so we did. + +As per our usual these days I left early, around seven, though once I got a few thousand feet I knew air temperature wasn't going to be the problem. The problem was even simpler -- air, or the lack thereof. Internal combustion engines need three basic things -- fuel, fire and compression. The higher you go the less compression. The less compression, the less power. The less power the less a roughly 8000lb 1969 Dodge Travco goes forward. + +The drive started well, the bus breezed on up to about 8500 ft like it was nothing, and it was, the grade was mild, the air cool and traffic almost non-existent. I stopped at a tiny store and let the engine rest a while. There were rocking chairs on a nice wooden porch lined with hummingbird feeders. I listen to two locals talk about how they spent the winter, and got the impression that, despite living less than 10 miles apart they hadn't seen each other in months thanks to the snow. As I keep telling Corrinne, it's beautiful here, but if you want to know the truth about Colorado mountain towns, check how far up the stovepipes extend. Now you know how much snow sits on your roof all winter. + +I enjoyed the country store porch so much I went back to the bus and pulled out a 100-300 zoom lens I bought off eBay back when we were in Dallas. Producing an decent image of a hummingbird while hand-holding a massive, heavy, manual focus 100-300 zoom from the early 1980s turns out to be as difficult as it sounds. + +<img src="images/2017/2017-06-17_105606_trinidad-and-around.jpg" id="image-591" class="picwide" /> + +But photography is a lot like fishing in that the fish aren't really that important sometimes, sometimes it's all in the trying. I discovered an interesting thing that happens with digital viewfinders -- the screen refresh rate is far slower than a hummingbird's wings beating, which means that through the viewfinder you get a live-action, slow motion movie of a hummingbird's wings beating. It's gorgeous, but it's only in the viewfinder. + +I was about to go dig out my tripod and get serious about taking a hummingbird picture when Corrinne and kids caught up and we all set out up the mountain again. The next 1500 vertical feet happened much faster than the first 1500. I didn't track the mileage, but I doubt it was more than ten. It was hard climbing. The bus just didn't have the power (I was also carrying about 35 gallons of water since it was unclear from our research whether there would be any water at the campground, that added about 300lbs, which I could definitely feel dragging in the rear). + +<img src="images/2017/2017-06-17_122600_trinidad-and-around.jpg" id="image-592" class="picwide caption" /> + +The final grade up to the pass was a long, winding, steady climb with no breaks. It was too much. I dropped to about ten miles an hour and then five and then I felt the transmission slip. Because I am an extremely lucky person, the only pull out on the entire grade was about 50 feet back from where I was and so I gave up. + +I cut the engine and rolled back down, backing into the turnout (a private dirt road really) and shut the bus down. I probably could have sat there, let the engine rest and cool for a while and then given it another try. But I knew from the maps that the pass wasn't the end of the climbing. After the pass the road went down about 1000 feet and then back up 1500 more to the campground. It just wasn't going to happen. + +Like Kenny Rogers' said, you got know when to fold 'em. + +I let the engine rest a bit, called Corrinne back and then we started back down. We made it down to a lower, larger pullout and parked the bus so we could scout around and maybe find somewhere to boondock for a few nights. We headed up into some National Forest land on a dirt road that eventually led to a campground, but had plenty of boondocking spots on the way. We know this because they were all full of happy looking van dwellers and RVers. Damn you Colorado in the summer time. + +Eventually we made it to all the way up to the lower campground, which was still at 9500 ft. It was beautiful, tucked in an aspen grove on the edge of an alpine meadow with crystalline, wildflower-lined streams cascading down the mountainside seemingly everywhere. There aren't many places where you can drive to scenery like that, usually you have to strap on boots and hump it over the mountains on foot to see alpine meadows. + +We sat there for a while and debated whether or not the bus could get up the road. I still don't know, it might have. But it turns out there are some consequences to driving, rather than walking, to an elevation like that. + +I've never really suffered much from altitude sickness, I get it a little bit, dizziness usually, but I've seen more acute symptoms in plenty of hiking companions -- dizziness, nausea, disorientation, confusion. It's rather difficult to describe if you haven't experienced it. Usually you can just sleep it off and be fine the next morning, but with everyone a little off, and the bus not running as well as I'd like, it was an easy call. We headed back down to Trinidad. If we want to camp in an alpine meadow we'll do it the right way -- by hiking to it. + +Getting down the mountain was nerve wracking for me, not because of the drive, but because I was unsure what kind of gas mileage I had been getting on the way up and I had calculated the gas such that we'd just make it to the gas station on the other side (I was trying to keep weight down). Going back the way we came meant adding 20 miles to the drive, which eliminated the 2-3 gallon cushion I'd calculated. I was sweating by the time we neared Trinidad, not entirely from the heat, but I did make it to a gas station. I paid mountain gas prices and was happy to do so. + +By then it was near dinner time and everyone was tired, frustrated, hangry and cranky. We grabbed one of the last hotel rooms in Trinidad, took some showers and headed out for burgers. Really good burgers as it turned out, bison burgers and fries at the What A Grind Cafe, which also served up a proper pour of Guinness, something that goes a long way to getting your tail out from between your legs at the end of a long frustrating day. + +<img src="images/2017/2017-06-18_131243_trinidad-and-around.jpg" id="image-593" class="picwide caption" /> + +The next morning we decided to go ahead and stay in the Trinidad area for a while. It was sunday so there were campsites available again. And it was warm, about the mid 90s during the day, but it wasn't too bad because there was a reliable breeze to keep things bearable. At night the temperature dropped quickly in the evenings so putting the kids to bed was fine and we could always use the van to head up into the mountains if we really needed to get away from the heat. + +We managed to get a campsite with a view at the far end of the campground. We went hiking, I made a few repairs to the bus, I got some work done and spent plenty of time relaxing. + +<img src="images/2017/2017-06-19_084919_trinidad-and-around.jpg" id="image-596" class="picwide caption" /> +<img src="images/2017/2017-06-19_103700_trinidad-and-around.jpg" id="image-597" class="picwide" /> +<img src="images/2017/2017-06-19_104646_trinidad-and-around.jpg" id="image-598" class="picwide" /> +<img src="images/2017/2017-06-19_105036-2_trinidad-and-around.jpg" id="image-599" class="picwide" /> +<img src="images/2017/2017-06-19_115524_trinidad-and-around.jpg" id="image-600" class="picwide" /> + +The water pump that came with the bus -- which sounded a bit like a jet engine when it was running -- gave out one day and so we drove out to an RV supply shop to get another one and discovered an abandoned mining town on the way. + +<img src="images/2017/2017-06-20_151520_trinidad-and-around.jpg" id="image-602" class="picwide" /> +<img src="images/2017/2017-06-20_151507_trinidad-and-around.jpg" id="image-601" class="picwide caption" /> + +Our friend Mike was headed from Paonia, CO to Texas and since Trinidad wasn't far out of the way he stopped by and camped with us for a night. He happened to have some Elk antlers, which entertained the kids for a good solid 6 hours or so. + +<img src="images/2017/2017-06-19_083108_trinidad-and-around.jpg" id="image-595" class="picwide caption" /> +<img src="images/2017/2017-06-19_081844_trinidad-and-around.jpg" id="image-594" class="picwide caption" /> diff --git a/published/2017-06-21_happy-solstice.txt b/published/2017-06-21_happy-solstice.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6979d7f --- /dev/null +++ b/published/2017-06-21_happy-solstice.txt @@ -0,0 +1,18 @@ +The fire exhales in soft gasps and whispers, occassionally snapping a shot of sparks into the air. It's the longest day of the year, well past 9pm and the last reddish glow of twilight is still clinging to the high mountains of the Spanish Peaks wilderness, a good thirty miles from our camp here at Trinidad Lake. + +We celebrated the Solstice by heading back up into the Sangre de Christo Mountains, to Bear Lake. We had to see it, even if we couldn't get the bus to it. It turned out to be a wonderful little glacial lake at the base of tk Peak, with a good view of the Culebra Range. + +A mostly spruce forest, with glades of aspen here and there surround the Bear Lake. + +The name comes from a large black bear that was causing a lot of havoc back in the early 1900s. An early forest ranger set a trap for it and the next day he went to retrieve the trap but it was gone. He tracked the bear and trap to the middle of the lake. The bear was so big that it had dragged the trap cross-country several miles before dying in the lake. A story that serves as a remider that the pre-Aldo Leopold forest service was not noted for it's ecological outlook. + +A tributary of the Cuchara River runs down the hill and into Bear Lake. The water is cold. Too cold for any of us to give it a try. The kids contented themselves with throwing rocks in the shallow water. + + + + + + +<img src="images/2017/2017-06-21_145828_trinidad-and-around.jpg" id="image-606" class="picwide" /> + +<img src="images/2017/2017-06-21_135627_trinidad-and-around.jpg" id="image-604" class="picwide" /> diff --git a/published/2017-06-28_arc-of-time.txt b/published/2017-06-28_arc-of-time.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..53688c8 --- /dev/null +++ b/published/2017-06-28_arc-of-time.txt @@ -0,0 +1,125 @@ +I have only one note from Chaco Canyon[^1]: the wind gusts, a light whistling sound through the thin curled leaves of creosote; in the interludes the stillness is filled with raven calls reverberating across the canyon, a conversation bouncing around sandstone, echoing in arroyos until, like everything else here, they fade into the darkness of the past. + +<img src="images/2017/2017-06-25_162724-1_chaco-canyon.jpg" id="image-623" class="picwide" /> +<img src="images/2017/2017-06-26_080453_chaco-canyon.jpg" id="image-631" class="picwide" /> + +There is only so much one can say for sure here. Try to cling to some idea and it will slip through your fingers as another contradictory one arises. That something happened here once upon a time at Chaco is really all I or anyone else can say about this place. + +There are ruins to prove that something happened. Great stone structures that have stood for over a thousand years in many cases. Once there were people, now there are stones. And ravens. + +<img src="images/2017/2017-06-25_165938_chaco-canyon.jpg" id="image-629" class="picwide" /> +<img src="images/2017/2017-06-25_163826_chaco-canyon.jpg" id="image-624" class="picwide" /> +<div class="cluster"> +<span class="row-2"> +<img src="images/2017/2017-06-25_164354-1_chaco-canyon.jpg" id="image-625" class="cluster pic5" /> +<img src="images/2017/2017-06-25_164434-1_chaco-canyon.jpg" id="image-626" class="cluster pic5" /> +</span> +</div> + + +Craig Childs, whose book <cite>House of Rain</cite> I highly recommend[^2], recounts the various theories on what happened here. In the end there are nearly as many theories as archaeologists. + +> The evidence gathered from a century of digging and mapping can support nearly any speculation thrown at Chaco Canyon: religious center, military center, government center, economic center, ceremonials center -- the list is extensive. The place is thought by some to have been a colony of churches, its numerous great houses exhibiting certain recurring features thought to be religious. The repetition of specific architectural designs could also be interpreted as a form imposed by a ruling elites, the abundance of goods as tithing. The outrageously copious artifacts found inside these great houses look like ritual paraphernalia: feathers and bones representing nearly every bird species found with a thousand mile radius; a large number of wooden staffs like shepherds crooks, their handles inlaid with fines stones; and many rooms filled precious, expertly crafted mementos, may of which were found positioned as if on alters. + +> Other people take the abundance to mean that Chaco was a commercial center, a pre-Colombian shopping mall built to redistributes good in the Southwests notoriously unstable environment. In that sense the buildings are seen as store houses with some rooms tacked nearly to the ceiling. + +<img src="images/2017/2017-06-26_095915_chaco-canyon.jpg" id="image-633" class="picwide" /> +<img src="images/2017/2017-06-26_100426_chaco-canyon.jpg" id="image-635" class="picwide" /> +<img src="images/2017/2017-06-26_100523-1_chaco-canyon.jpg" id="image-636" class="picwide" /> +<img src="images/2017/2017-06-26_100202-1_chaco-canyon.jpg" id="image-634" class="picwide" /> + +Probably all these theories are wrong. The first things to do at Chaco is accept that you cannot know. + +The question that most nagged me in Chaco seemed simpler, but perhaps was not -- why here? What was that lured so many people here, inspired them to some of the finest construction in North America in this otherwise rather unremarkable wash, one of about a dozen that come off the San Juan river in it's path down off the Colorado Plateau. + +That's the question I pondered on the trails, walking through the dusty flatlands, up the rough, rocky climbs to the mesa tops where the sun is hot and relentless. + +<img src="images/2017/2017-06-26_095310_chaco-canyon.jpg" id="image-632" class="picwide" /> +<img src="images/2017/2017-06-25_164447-1_chaco-canyon.jpg" id="image-627" class="picwide" /> + +Standing in thousand year old buildings tends to fill you with awe, it doesn't matter if it's Cambodia, Austria or New Mexico. As fragile, impermanent beings we're drawn to permanence, we are inspired by by what we lack -- sturdiness and longevity. Even today, when we could build with anything, we choose steel girders, concrete, and asphalt, imitations of stone. Because laying in and fitting stone like the builders of Chaco is labor intensive and time consuming, time we don't seem to have. But they did. + +<img src="images/2017/2017-06-26_100901_chaco-canyon.jpg" id="image-638" class="picwide" /> +<img src="images/2017/2017-06-26_100945-1_chaco-canyon.jpg" id="image-639" class="picwide" /> + + +The Chacoans had time. Not just for these buildings, but for even more labor intensive projects, like a network of roads running absolutely straight and true across the desert, possibly for thousands of miles. Raised stone road beds thirty to forty feet wide running for thousands of miles -- even with modern technology that would likely take decades. How the Chocans did it remains a mystery, but the faint outlines of them can still be seen from space. + +Similar head-scratching feats of design and building surround the builders of Angkor Wat, Machu Pichu, Teotihuacan and elsewhere. But there is something different about here, something extra about this place. You hear it in the murmur of the wind through creosote, you see it in the stone work of the greathouses. Something happened here, something happened in a way it never has again. Whatever these people saw, whatever they had access to, it was more than we do today. Their world was unutterably alien to ours and you feel it every second you are here. + +You should come here. You should sit here and consider it. Don't worry about the heat, it is everywhere. You will make peace with it. Or you will die in it, either way there is no need to worry about it. It will be here. You must come when it is here. You will not know the core of this place if you do not come in the heat. + +Some archaeologists think these citadels may have been painted white. Gleaming white beacons rising out of the shimmering mirage of heat. It must have been something to arrive here having walked from Mexico, California, The Gulf Coast and all the other places for which there is evidence that people came. + +<img src="images/2017/2017-06-26_111013-2_chaco-canyon.jpg" id="image-641" class="picwide" /> + +We hiked in the mornings, climbing up the canyon walls, while there was still some shade to be had, and up on to the mesa where there was none. Or so it seems at first glance. But then you look closer, you start to think differently, you realize you could crawl up under that juniper tree and get a break from the sun, you see ledges in the rocks where you could wedge yourself flat against what might still be cool sandstone. There are escapes here, but you will have to work for them. + +Chaco remains largely off the grid. The road in from the north is rough enough that it takes nearly an hour to drive 13 miles. And the first two miles are paved, so really it takes about 50 minutes to drive 11 miles. That's part of the remoteness, but there is more. There's something about this wash that once you are in it it consumes your past in some way, you are no longer just you, you are you in Chaco. + +This is one of those places that can influence things. It seems to have a will about it, whether it's the place or some echo of the people who were here I could not say, but if you come here you will feel it. + +You might see some things you're pretty sure aren't there. They are there. Everything is here. + +The first day we left early to stay out of the heat, we headed up the eastern wall of the main wash, no real destination in mind, simply following that ancient human need to get to high point and survey the land, wrap your head about where you are. + +<div class="cluster"> +<span class="row-2"> +<img src="images/2017/20170625_155039.jpg" id="image-650" class="cluster pic5" /> +<img src="images/2017/20170626_100255.jpg" id="image-652" class="cluster pic5" /> +</span> +<img src="images/2017/2017-06-26_122041-2_chaco-canyon.jpg" id="image-643" class="picwide" /> +<img src="images/2017/2017-06-26_110941-1_chaco-canyon.jpg" id="image-640" class="picwide" /> +</div> + +<img src="images/2017/2017-06-26_121127-2_chaco-canyon.jpg" id="image-642" class="picwide" /> + +We stuck to the trail for a good while, then we deviated. Chaco is the most tightly controlled national parkish area I've ever been in. In my experience National Parks typically have a tightly controlled area, generally around whatever the feature of the park is -- Yosemite valley, Sequoia trees, the grand canyon, etc -- and then the backcountry is more or less unregulated, at least in terms of where you can go. Not enough people venture beyond the first mile of trail to bother regulating the backcountry too much. + +Not true here. + +It's still true that no ventures beyond that first mile, but here the backcountry is regulated just like the rest. There's not even overnight camping allowed in the backcountry. It's a little bit like being a kid again (not in a good way), you have to be home by sunset and you're not to detour from the trail. Ever. + +We might have gotten lost you could say. There was a tiny wash, up near the end of it I spied an overhang that promised at least shade, perhaps more. I could not say, we did not make it. The kids are kids after all. They tuckered out in the heat and the soft sand of the wash, which was just wide enough to look trail-like, plausible deniability should we have run into a ranger. I can do a mean dumb tourist when I need to. But no ranger came for us, just the heat and the exhaustion it brings. We ate a snack, rested on some rocks. Every now and then a breeze would puff our sweaty clothes like air conditioning. It was wonderful. Then we gathered up our things and walked back. + +<img src="images/2017/2017-06-26_124153-1_chaco-canyon.jpg" id="image-644" class="picwide" /> +<img src="images/2017/2017-06-27_140005_chaco-canyon.jpg" id="image-648" class="picwide" /> +<img src="images/2017/20170626_122346.jpg" id="image-653" class="picwide" /> +<img src="images/2017/20170625_181918.jpg" id="image-651" class="picwide caption" /> + +The campground is tucked back in a tributary wash, up against a short sandstone bluff, wedge between the road and some 900-odd-year-old buildings tucked back under an overhang. About 30 feet up the wall to the right of the buildings are some petroglyphs, some ancient, some recent. + +In another of Craig Child's books, <cite>Finder's Keepers</cite>, about the rather outrageous world of archaeology, artifacts and the people obsessed with them, Childs recounts a story he heard from a flamboyant and occasionally flagrantly law breaking Santa Fe antiquities dealer who invited over a bunch of archaeologists and local pueblo tribal leaders for a barbecue party. Half way through the party the host announced that food everyone was eating was grilled over a fire built with charcoal from a dig on private land -- 1000 year old charcoal used to grill up some burgers in a backyard in Santa Fe. The archaeologists all went pale and started to toss their food in outrage. The tribal leaders just smiled and shook their heads. + +What does that mean? I don't know. I wonder though, was that charcoal made 1000 years ago perhaps as part of a backyard barbecue? Would that charcoal maker by mortified or satisfied to know that 1000 years later it finally seared some meat? + +In America we experience the past mainly as a roped off thing, something carefully catalogued and carted off to museums where only a fraction of it ever visible to people like you and I. In Chaco the past is right here, all around you, you step into it, you are part of it. The big artifacts are gone, that's true. The rooms are bare, the pots, baskets and mysterious staffs, to say nothing of the bones, have been carted off to the Peabody and elsewhere. The walls of the ruins by the road are reinforced with modern concrete, the kivas roped off, but it's surprisingly easy to leave that behind and get out to the real ruins. + +The second day we climbed the south mesa. It was slightly more accessible, though still pretty much straight up the side of mesa. We went a couple of miles on the mesa until we spied an overhang with just enough shade for all of us to eat lunch out of the sun. Corrinne wandered off for a while, down the hillside, until she found some potsherds. + +<img src="images/2017/2017-06-27_104021-1_chaco-canyon.jpg" id="image-645" class="picwide" /> +<img src="images/2017/2017-06-27_105836_chaco-canyon.jpg" id="image-646" class="picwide" /> +<img src="images/2017/2017-06-27_112123_chaco-canyon.jpg" id="image-647" class="picwide caption" /> +<div class="cluster"> +<span class="row-2"> +<img src="images/2017/20170627_090812_RWPoCrB.jpg" id="image-655" class="cluster pic5 caption" /> +<img src="images/2017/20170627_095050.jpg" id="image-656" class="cluster pic5 caption" /> +</span> +<img src="images/2017/2017-06-27_114318_chaco-canyon_3uTKtSi.jpg" id="image-659" class="cluster pic66" /> +</div> + + +They are everywhere here, if you have an eye for them. I do not, but she does. That is some of what makes Chaco special, it has not all be catalogued and carted off, most of it perhaps, but there is still plenty here all around you. We held the potsherds and then put them back where they had been so you can come and find them too. + +If Chaco Canyon has a disappointment it's the visitor center, or rather it's the official line the visitor center takes on the demise of the Chaco culture. There's a movie in which someone actually says "it's amazing that they could just walk away from all this, think of the strength it would take to just walk away." It's amazing because that's utter bullshit. No one has ever just walked away from any civilization. Like everything else civilizations rise, hit an apex and then decline. They follow the same pattern over and over again. The Greeks, the Romans, India, China, Mesoamerica, every civilization for which have even the faintest historical records has followed a nearly identical trajectory. If you don't believe me set aside a couple of months and tackle Arnold Toynbee's <cite>A Study of History</cite>. + +Chaco's decline was likely as bumpy, violent and unpleasant as that of the rest of humanity's experiments in civilization. No one just walks away, and to pretend otherwise says far more about our culture and its stubborn insistence that it will not, cannot decline, even in the face of increasingly difficult to ignore signs of its decline, than it does about Chacoan culture. Skip the visitor center. + +Stay outside instead. The truth of this place is not behind glass, not in books, it is out here in the wind, in the heat. Go to the stones that remain, step inside, find the cool of the shade, feel the breeze that comes through doorways even on the stillest afternoon, the temperature difference between outside and the rooms deepest within creates a breeze to this day, the way I assume its builders intended. + +Walk the mesas if you can, look for shade and you will probably find you are not the first to spy whatever shady spot you spy. You may find ruins, you may only find rodent droppings and the impressions of something larger that lay in the sand, a deer perhaps, a mountain lion possibly. Whatever you find, know that you are not the first to walk here or anywhere else. Like those who passed before you step softly, walk quietly, and remember to listen. + +Note: If Chaco sounds at all interesting to you, I highly recommend first reading <cite>House of Rain</cite>. + +[^1]: luxagraf is created by piecing together half-legible thought fragments scribbled in tattered notebook that lives in my pocket. +[^2]: Rather conspicuously absent from the Chaco bookstore, despite stocking Finder's Keepers. I suspect because Childs does not sugar coat the archaeological evidence that suggests that late Chacoan history was marked by violence and decline, which is very much not part of the narrative the visitor center presents. But then I could be wrong, maybe they were just sold out. diff --git a/trinidad-lake.txt b/trinidad-lake.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 9ea6b2f..0000000 --- a/trinidad-lake.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,33 +0,0 @@ -After one night at Trinidad we had to leave. The weekend thing. Saturday night even the "walk up" dry camping sites were booked. Because in Colorado state parks "walk up" means, whatever hasn't been reserved online. It's a crazy, chaotic system that makes no sense at all. All I know is that we had leave on Saturday because there were no campsites. - -We decided, since it was still a little warm at bedtime for the kids that we'd head higher into the mountains. There were a couple of National Forest campgrounds up higher in the mountains above Trinidad so we booked on and set out. - -Inside my head there are tons of voices, but one dominates the rest most of the time, it's the voice that always says, sure, let's try it, what's the worst that could happen? Almost all of the time the answer to that question is very tame. Once you get past your prejudices and irrational fears and give some serious thought to, well, what is the worst thing that could happen and how likely is it to occur you find that it's really not that bad. Most of what you fear is very unlikely to occur. For example, could you fall to your death while driving a mountain road? Well, technically yes, but millions of people drive mountain roads every and don't fall to their death, so there's a very good chance you won't either. And so on. - -That's just to preface this adventure slightly, or rather to explain my thinking when I tell you that the campground we were headed to was at 10,500 feet. - -Did I really think the bus would make it to 10,500 ft? Honestly? No. But I was damn sure going to try. And so we did. - -As per our usual these days I left early, around seven, though once I got a few thousand feet I knew air temperature wasn't going to be the problem. The problem was even simpler -- air, or the lack thereof. Internal combustion engines need three basic things -- fuel, fire and compression. The higher you go the less compression. The less compression, the less power you have. The less power the less an 8000lb 1969 Dodge Travco goes forward. - -The drive started well, the bus breezed on up to about 8500 ft like it was nothing, and it was, the grade was mild, the air cool and traffic almost non-existent. I stopped at a tiny store and let the engine rest a while. There were rocking chair and hummingbird feeders. I listen to two local talk about how they spent the winter, and got the impression that, despite living less than 10 miles apart they hadn't seen each other in months thanks to the snow. As I keep telling Corrinne, it's beautiful here, but if want to know the truth about Colorado mountain towns, check how far up the stovepipes extend. Now you know how much snow sits on your roof all winter. - -I enjoyed the country store porch so much I went back to the bus and pulled out a 100-300 zoom lens I bought off eBay and shipped to Corrinne's sister's house back when we were in Dallas. Producing an decent image of a hummingbird hand-holding a massive, heavy, manual focus 100-300 zoom from the early 1980s turns out to be as difficult as it sounds. But photography is a lot like fishing in that the fish, the photos, aren't really that important some times, sometimes it's all in the trying. I discovered an interesting thing that happens with digital viewfinders -- the screen refresh rate is far slower than a hummingbird's wings beating, which means that through the viewfinder you get a live-action, slow motion movies of a hummingbird's wings beating. It's gorgeous, but it's only in the view finder. - -I was about to go dig out my tripod and get serious about taking a hummingbird picture when Corrinne and kids caught up and we all set out up the mountain again. The next 1500 vertical feet happened much faster than the first 1500. I didn't track the mileage, but I doubt it was more than ten. It was hard climbing. The bus just didn't have the power (I was also carrying about 35 gallons of water since it was unclear from our research whether there would be any water at the campground, that added about 300lbs, which I could feel in the steering). - -The final grade to the pass was long, winding and steady climb with no breaks. It was too much. I dropped to about ten miles an hour and then five and then I felt the transmission slip. Because I am an extremely luck person, the only pull out on the entire grade was about 50 feet back from where the transmission slipped. I gave up. I rolled back down, backing into the turnout (a private dirt road really) and shut it down. Could I have sat there, let the engine rest and cool for a while and given it another try? Sure, but I knew from the maps that even after the pass I'd have to go down 1000 feet and then back up 1500 more and that was never going to happen. - -Like Kenny Rogers' said, you got know when to fold 'em. - -I let the engine rest a bit, called Corrinne back and then started back down. We made it down to a lower, larger pullout and parked the bus so we could scout around and maybe find somewhere to boondock for a few nights. We headed up into some National Forest land on a dirt road that eventually led to a campground, but had plenty of boondocking spots on the way. We know this because they were all full of happy looking van dwellers and RVers. Damn you Colorado in the summer time. - -Eventually we made to all the way to the campground, which was at 9500 ft. It was beautiful, tucked in an aspen grove on the edge of an alpine meadow with crystalline, wildflower lined streams cascading down the mountainside seemingly everywhere. There aren't many places where you can drive to scenery like that, usually you have to strap on boots and hump it over the mountains on foot to see things like that. - -We sat there for a while and debated whether or not the bus could get up there. I still don't know, it might have. But it turns out there are some consequences to driving, rather than walking, to an elevation like that. I've never really suffered much from altitude sickness, I get it a little bit, dizziness usually, but I've seen more acute symptoms in plenty of hiking companions -- dizziness, nausea, disorientation, confusion. It's rather difficult to describe if you haven't experienced it. Usually you can just sleep it off and be fine the next morning, but with everyone a little off, and the bus not running as well as I'd like it was an easy call. We headed back down to Trinidad. If we want to camp in an alpine meadow we'll do it the right way -- by hiking to it. - -Getting down the mountain was nerve wracking for me, not because of the drive, but because I was unsure what kind of gas mileage I had been getting on the way up and I had calculated the gas such that we'd just make it to the gas station on the other side (I was trying to keep weight down). Going back the way we came meant adding 20 miles to the drive. I wasn't sure I had the extra two or three gallons I needed to do that. I was sweating, not entirely from the heat, by the time I made it back down to the first gas station. I paid mountain gas prices and was happy to do so. - -By then it was near dinner time and everyone was tired, frustrated, hangry and cranky. We grabbed one of the last hotel rooms in Trinidad, took some showers and headed out for burgers. Really good burgers as it turned out, bison burgers and fries at the What A Grind Cafe, which also served up a proper pour of Guinness, which goes a long way to getting your tail out from between your legs at the end of a long day. - -We decided to go ahead and stay in the Trinidad area. It was warm, but not too bad. The low nineties during the day, but there was a breeze to make things bearable and the temperature dropped quickly in the evenings so putting the kids to bed was fine. And we could always use the van to head up into the mountains if we really needed to get away. |