Welcome back - to winter

When I wrote last, from Blackfoot, Idaho, the pastoral scene above from a short walk in the hills of Idaho was still fresh in my mind. Here,the temperature was a pleasant +15 Celsius, a group of mountain bluebirds rose from the low pines, and the nearby creek was running freely: it might not look much like spring yet in the photo, but it definitely felt like a possibility.

Even in Montana, where we crossed the continental divide without a problem on Thursday morning although a brief winter storm had gone through during the night, the weather was fine, and the sun shone from a deep blue sky for much of the day. 

We drove farther than most days, eager to cross the border and get closer to home. It's a strange and sad phenomenon that once it gets close to the end of a journey it is hard to focus on anything else along the way.  

We stopped at the last rest area before the border crossing in Sweetgrass, Montana to eat our oranges, just in case they were on the 'forbidden food' list (though I believe this is only a concern when entering the United States to keep their own citrus crops free of disease etc.). The wind had been blowing hard all day, sometimes so much that I had to have a really firm grip on the steering wheel, and now it felt quite cold. From time to time thin veils of snow were curling away from the tires of the vehicle ahead of us like smoke, but the roads were still fine. 

A trucker, also stopped at the rest area, asked us if we had heard about the huge accident up north. No, we hadn't; so far we hadn't even listened to the radio. Apparently a bad winter storm had created white-out conditions south of Edmonton, and 60 cars or more had piled up on Hwy. 2. We had read about a winter storm watch for the Westlock area, but since we wouldn't be there until sometime late Friday at the earliest we hadn't been too worried yet. This, however, sounded really bad.

Another car pulled in, encrusted with dirty snow. This family had come from Edmonton and circumvented the accident scene. The accident had occured around noon, and Highway 2 would stay closed well into the evening. They assured us that the roads were fine until about Red Deer. 

Good! We would find accomodation somewhere south of Lethbridge, then, and hope that conditions improved on Friday further north as well. 

The border official was much less amiable than his American colleagues had been on the way south, but we were quickly sent on our way. We were back on Canadian soil, but here as in many cases the border is only an imaginary line: the landscape is the same in the very southern part of Alberta and the northern part of Montana we had just passed through. 

It was snowing a little again, and the sun had disappeared behind the horizon. We watched for 'Motel' signs in the little towns through which Highway 4 led us, but obviously they were not sought out by weary travellers. The only place we found was a downtown hotel-cum-bar in one of them, and I vetoed that idea, even if it might have turned into a nice story. 

Instead - after facing one more disappointment when we didn't find a single motel in the sizeable town of Coaldale where we arrived after a stretch of snowy roads and poor visibility - we spent the last hotel night of our journey at the 'Comfort Inn' on the outskirts of Lethbridge, as clean, quiet and unadventurous as it could get. Not even the crowd of young hockey players occupying most of the rest of the rooms interrupted our sleep.

Saturday greeted us with sunshine and a newly white landscape. We were going to take our time, stopping twice along the way to see friends. There was no hurry for us to get home: the snow storm had left roads in very poor condition in the Westlock area, and we got reports of people being snowed in or barely able to get home. We didn't want to tackle the five kilometres of gravel road from Busby late at night if we weren't sure they had been plowed: we have got stuck there before, and with a car full of travel gear - but no snow shovel, and not even high boots - we were ill equipped to face that kind of late-night adventure. We spent the night at friends not far from Wetaskiwin, just south of the scene of that awful accident.

In the end, however, there was no more evading the facts: if we wanted to return home we would have to deal with winter one more time.  

The first two miles of gravel road north of Busby had been cleared when we got there around noon, but for the last mile we just stayed in the twin tracks made by vehicles that had braved the road ahead of us, snow scraping the belly of our little Toyota. The wind had beautifully sculpted snow drifts especially on the west side of the road, much higher than the car - and much higher than when we left three weeks ago! 

Whatever made us return to these conditions? Maybe we should have stayed a bit longer ...

But there is Leo, overjoyed at the sight of us, hurling himself into our arms, there is a new granddaughter to enjoy, and there is the sun setting over the quiet, familiar landscape. 

 Surely spring will arrive here, too, eventually.


                                 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


I will close this blog for now - until the next journey. In the meantime I will again do my musings from the farm, where, after all, I belong. 

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A day in a fairytale world

Wednesday night, March 20

A short while ago the stars were visible here in Blackfoot, Idaho where we have landed for the night. Now, however, a strong wind is driving sheets of rain against the window pane of our motel room. I wonder if we'll wake up to snow in the morning. We are on our way home, and even though it is the first day of spring this means a return to winter. It is still hard to imagine, even here, where only a hint of green has started to touch the trees, and the grass has barely started to grow. Soon enough, I fear - as early as sometime tomorrow - snow will dominate the landscape once again.

 We drove most of the day today, leaving from Kanab, Utah, where we spent another night at the Treasure Trail motel beside the big red-brick Mormon church with its hymn-chiming bells. Yesterday, however, we enjoyed one more day in one of the magnificent national parks in this part of the US.

I didn't manage to finish my blog entry last night, but will get back to it now:

The sky was grey when we left in the morning, but a hint of light had sneaked in already, and things were casting shadows: maybe we'd be lucky and see a bit of sun in Bryce Canyon National Park, today's destination.

The drive led through beautiful landscape once again, first dominated by the coloured rocks and cliffs I have come to love, later along a shallow river meandering through a valley, lined by tall trees, higher hills in the background. I was not surprised to see cottages on the hillsides in the pine forest, and a fair amount of hotels, motels, and B&Bs in the small, non-descript towns. They, however, were for the most part still closed for the season: spring has not yet arrived here, and the river banks are still partly covered with snow, the trout ponds not all free of ice yet. 

Higher and higher we climbed, and the temperature dropped from 13 degrees in Kanab to only five at the turnoff to the park. It looked uninviting and cold, but we still had hopes of doing a hike in Bryce Canyon. We would need our winter jackets, woolen hats and maybe even gloves. 

When we got out of the car at the park's visitor information centre, however, the sky was starting to clear, and the sun peeked through the clouds. The ranger we asked for advice about trails pointed out a few that would suit us, and said he had hiked them two days earlier: they were open, and there was no problem with ice or snow. This was great news!

We decided to follow his suggestion and do the combined Navajo Loop/Queen's Garden trail, and possibly take the connecting trail to hike part of Peekaboo Loop, if we felt up to it. 

After a lunch consisting of bread, ham and cheese and an orange, which we consumed on a picnic bench at Sunset Point, one of the two possible starting points, we walked up to the outlook for a first impression of the so-called 'Amphitheater'. There can be no doubt how it got its name! Coming upon it largely unprepared, I was overwhelmed at the view that presented itself below us, stretching far into the distance.

It wasn't quite clear to us where the trail started, and a woman pointed us into the right direction. We started walking along the rim of the canyon, with spectacular views into the depth that made me queasy: this was no Grand Canyon, maybe, but I still would not want to lose my footing.


We had walked for about a kilometre already when we realized that this trail could impossibly be the one we had thought we were on. The 'right' direction must have been the wrong one. This had to be a rim trail, with lookout points accessible from the road along the way, not our Navajo Loop which was supposed to descend right down into the canyon. It was unfortunate, because it would take three quarters of an hour away from the Peekaboo trail, but it couldn't be helped. All of this place is spectacular, and of course it would be wrong to call it a waste of time.

Back at the parking lot we shed our extra jackets and the hats: it was warmer than we had thought, and as long as we kept moving we wouldn't need the extra gear. Now we found the right entry to the downward trail, and soon joined others on zig-zagging Navajo loop. The trail was steep, but with the switchbacks it posed no problem, and the ice, still present in the shadowed world of this rocky chimney, was covered in dirt.

At the top we had heard the excited, happy voices of a group of people below, and I had reflected on the reason for their excitement. Now, in this narrow channel, it became clear: the acoustics were amazing, and sound was amplified and carried clearly as in a huge church.

This part of the trail actually looked not so different from the zig-zagging of the last part of South Kaibab trail in the Grand Canyon, except, of course, on a much smaller scale.It went on like this all the way to the bottom of the canyon, for about a kilometre. There, we  had the choice of taking the Queen's Garden trail to hike back up for about 3.5 kilometres right away or first take the connecting trail to Peekaboo Loop, an eight kilometre hike classified as strenuous, but very rewarding. 

We checked the time: it was just past 2:30, and we were curious what expected us. We'd hike up at least partway; we could always return the same way we came. 

The valley floor was covered with low shrubbery, and ancient pines, pinyons and spruce trees made it look much less forbidding than it had seemed to us when we gazed  down from the top of the canyon. The trail climbed higher and higher, through the forest and now, in the shade, we were walking on mushy snow, sometimes through dark yellow mud, more rarely on dry trails. Left and right strange spires rose in fantastic shapes and interesting colours. This landscape really does look like something from a Dr. Seuss book, as one travel guide suggests. I wonder if he (Dr. Seuss) got the inspiration for his books here. It certainly seems possible.

While the Navajo loop decline was well used, this trail was much quieter, and for a long time we didn't encounter anyone. Ravens circled above, their hoarse cries interrupting the silence, and small birds twittered in the branches of the evergreens. Other than that it was silent. 

We passed a marked viewpoint that informed us that we had barely hiked a kilometre of Peekaboo Loop. The next viewpoint was about twice as far again. It was still not very late, and it was really hard to resist the pull of yet another vista, a new perspective, one more surprise: we'd go on a bit further. 

Once again we hiked down on the serpentine trail. High above us two lines of hoodoos stood lined up like two rows of chess pawns facing each other, their shapes carved from pink-tinged alabaster. It seemed that they should become translucent if the setting sun lingered on them. 

Another corner, another steep ascent. By now the trail was totally covered in snow, and we could see that we would not be able to hike its whole length in the time we had left. After a few, 'just one more corners!' we finally turned around reluctantly. This would have to be enough for this time.

We stopped for a while at the branch-off point for Queen's Garden. Two benches, huge trunks cut in half, polished to soft golden glow by many hikers before us, invited us to lie down for a bit; nobody else was around. I lay on my back, watching white tufts of cloud drift by in the deep blue sky visible between the branches of a huge pine, feeling the warm sun on my face. Alerted by the flutter of wings I searched the tree: a white breasted nuthatch had landed and was now on a spiraling descent of its own, down the trunk, looking for insects hiding in the thick bark. It stopped just inches above my feet, its finely pointed beak with its slight upward curve busily chiseling here and there, oblivious to my presence. A streak of metallic blue caught my eye a bit higher in the tree. Here it was, the pinyon jay a guy on the South Kaibab trail had talked about, beautiful cousin of blue jay and whiskyjack. 

A couple of other hikers approached, and we made room for them on the bench, exchanging a few appreciative words about this amazing place. It was time for us to go: we wanted to be at Sunset Point when the sun was getting ready to set. 

Queen's Garden trail is almost three times as long as the descent on Navajo Loop, but not as steep, and we slowly hiked upward, enjoying yet more of the otherworldly beauty of the canyon. According to a Paiute legend these rocks are all 'legend people' who were turned into stone by coyote, the trickster, because they behaved badly. I like this story: it felt true when I walked among these strange rock creatures. 

 

We reached the top shortly after six. Most of the park visitors seemed to have left, and only a handful stood, like us, watching the play of the late sun on the pillars of rock. The light picked out one group here, another there, highlighting reds and pinks and warmly glowing orange. 

 

 Shadows grew and shifted, and again the amphitheatre changed in front of our eyes. We stood while this daily drama was being performed on its magnificent stage as it has been for thousands and thousands of years. How small we are, and how insignificant. 

In the distance, I could hear the laughter of Coyote, the Trickster.