Crickets singing all night: Arizona hotsprings

Again the parking lot is full, but not as full as the year before. From experience we know that most of the hotspring revellers would be gone by nightfall. We pack our backpacks – this time mine is a bit smaller since our load is divided by three instead of two – and have one of our standard lunches: bread, cheese and ham before we are on our way close to three in the afternoon. The temperature is perfect, nice and warm but not too hot. Finally we can wear shorts!

Finally, too, I can greet some familiar blooms: brittlebush and globe mallow, lupins and desert primrose appear here and there along our trail, though nowhere near in full bloom yet. It has been a long, cold winter everywhere, it seems – or are we just that much earlier than other years?

People start coming back from the hotsprings; by the time we arrive at our camping spot I will have counted about 70 – it's a good thing they didn't all stay down. On the first somewhat tedious part of the trail, down through the wash and then in a slow uphill to the top of the rocky descent, a young couple with backpacks passes us. Uh-oh, are we losing our camp spot this time? There is no way we can keep up with them, light-footed and with a swifter pace than ours. There is, of course, no guarantee anyway that we'll find 'our' camp spot unoccupied; it's always a bit of a worry. But (often cited words): We'll cross that bridge when we get there. 

Not too far along the steep and sometimes rocky descent we come upon the young couple again: she obviously is scared, and they are taking it slow. We pass them and stay ahead of them for the rest of the way. Yay! Who would have thought?

It feels so good to be here! Every once in a while I have to stop and just gaze down into the canyon, let my eyes rest on the mountains in the distance. I don't think we'll ever get tired of coming here. How long will we be able to make this hike, especially the hike out, with big packs? Again, we'll cross that bridge ...

Trying to stay ahead of the young couple we make it down in record time, just an hour and fifteen minutes. We can hardly believe that we're there already when we reach the last opening of the canyon and see the widening wash ahead of us, but there can be no doubt: those mesquite trees along the high wall are where our tent has always been pitched – and there is nobody else's tent either. Great!

We put up our tents and get settled in while the sun slowly starts to disappear behind the high walls of the canyon. Some small birds are singing, talking back and forth from one blooming creosote bush to another. More people pass us on their way back; I count 68 altogether from the beginning of our hike.

Johann wants to show Dorothee the Colorado and the canyon on the other side, but I've had enough for one day. Sitting on a rock across from the tents I just let myself be taken over by a feeling of utter wellbeing, suddenly tinged with sadness when I think of my brother who would have loved all this, too. Evening descends. Insects are starting their night music, and bats dart back and forth above me, sometimes close to my head. Taurus with the bright smudge of the Seven Sisters appears above me, followed by Orion, Sirius showing up a bit later. When I lean back I can see the Big Dipper, its handle pointing earthward, Castor and Pollux partway between the two constellations.

Later, just when we are enjoying our noodle soup supper, a lone hiker arrives, carrying a backpack. He greets us in passing, then turns to the right shortly after. We see his headlamp on the low ridge across from us: he, too, is putting up a tent, it seems, though it's hardly noticeable from where we are.

Slowly the sound of voices from the hotsprings – magnified by the narrow canyon so that it always sounds as if there are more people than there actually are – abates. It is time for us to soak. Quickly we traverse the short gravelly draw to the pools, cross the almost unbearably hot first small pool, then the second, slightly cooler, and find the third, biggest pool empty of people. Here, we can sit and relax; it might be a bit on the hot side but is totally fine for enjoying a glass of wine. In vain we try to keep our candles going: the slight breeze coming down the canyon keeps extinguishing the small flame. That's okay; it's a bright night even though the moon is only about half now.

To cool off we climb over the sandbags a while later to sit in the lowest, coolest pool right beside the ladder I haven't climbed in seven years (and don't intend to climb now, even though it has been replaced with an even sturdier structure and railings, so I wouldn't have to worry about it anymore). We share the pool with two young women, and after a while we start talking. They came by canoe on the Colorado, two sisters who do this every year together, and are staying at the campground below the pools. We inquire about Goblin Valley State Park, a destination in Utah we have tentatively added to our route on the way back after I read about it, and they enthusiastically encourage us to go there. They reminisce about times their parents took them there as kids. We'll see if it works out, if we have enough time, but at least we now know that it really is worthwhile. 

Warmed through thoroughly we make our way back to our tents. We wake up long before the sun has peeked over the ridge and arrive at the pool early enough to be alone for a little while. That changes earlier than I would have expected, and we leave to have our noodle soup and sandwich breakfast.

Just like the last couple of times we take a different trail out. Instead of hiking up the steep, rocky trail we turn to the right. Will we be able to climb up beside the dry waterfall? If not, we'll have to go back to where this trail branches off – but we don't intend to! It is nearing noon, and with the sun shining into the canyon more blossoms have opened. A few more days, and brittlebush will light up this whole area. We stop to rest at the petroglyphs, again puzzling over what the depictions could mean, again marvelling at the fact that people have lived here for thousands of years. Are we trespassing here? There is nothing to indicate that, but I do feel the faintest hint of some other presence. Just like the people who etched their stories or instructions, or whatever else they might have been, into these rocks, we share the space with the other living beings of this place, from lizards to bees to the smallest desert plants. It is good to keep that in mind.

After climbing over a couple of shorter sliprocks we finally arrive at the 'place of no return': we have reached the dry waterfall, and now there is nothing for it, we have to brave the rocks. Likely this is an issue only for me, but just like the time before it is less so than I anticipated. Hands and feet find their holds easily enough, and in a few minutes we are up and back in the wash. Only a little while later we have reached the main trail, and about 24 hours after we arrived here we are once again ready to move on.

After a short stop at the Lake Mead overview – the water level, sadly, still low – we are on our way to Beatty, Nevada, our starting point for the next day's visit to Death Valley National Park. 

The first California poppy

Meanwhile I remembered something I wanted to mention when I wrote this a couple of days ago:

At the camp check after packing up, something strange and yet strangely familiar caught my eye in the lower branches of the tree under which we had pitched the tent. Could it be? The tousled horse hair of a broken violin bow was draped over the branch! It was the frog that alerted me: even though I haven't touched my violin in years my unconscious couldn't let me forget; too often my fingers held this particular piece. This was surreal! Who would bring a violin into this canyon? How could you be careless enough to break the bow - and how just abandon it here? On the other hand, the way the bow was suspended from the tree had an almost artistic flair.

How to get to Kingman: driving the historic Route 66

 

Now we were looking forward to another one of our favourites – maybe the favourite: Arizona Hotsprings, just south of the Hoover Dam.

We also wanted to drive on the historic Route 66 – or rather the remaining stretch out here in the west – for a while. Here, on the narrow, a bit bumpy road, still early in the morning, we met hardly a car for kilometres at a time. We passed the small town of Seligman with its nostalgic (or should I say kitschy?) tributes to times gone by when Route 66 was in its heyday. This time I paid closer attention to the 'Burma Shave' signs between Seligman and Kingman, at some time probably designed to keep drivers from falling asleep on long trips with their 'poetic' offerings. From a distance already you can spot the red signs, always four of them spaced so that you can comfortably let the words of one sink in before reaching the next. Here are a few examples:

"He tried to cross/when fast train neared/he wasn't   drafted/he volunteered."

"If hugging on highways/is your sport/trade in your car/for a davenport." 

"Cattle crossing/means go slow/that old bull/is some cow's beau."

And my favourite:

"If daisies are/your favorite flower/keep pushing up/those miles per hour." 

We had a huge burger and fries at Mr. D'z Route 66 Diner for lunch, another 'obligatory' stop on that route, and by 2 pm we reached the parking lot at mile marker 4, the trailhead for the hotsprings. 

 

The grandest canyon of all

 

I've been looking at my blog entries from our earlier visits to the Grand Canyon, and I realize I can't say anything I haven't said before: this place remains as awe-inspiring as when I first gazed down into its unfathomable depths, the play of light and shadow on the layers upon layers of rock, the way the sun, rising or setting, defines sharp contours of cliffs as if they are rising out of some primeval darkness. What more can I say? Even in the snow, in a way we never experienced it before, all this holds true.

Walking was more treacherous – we definitely needed our crampons whenever the trails were steep – and the sky was cloudy part of the time, we got wet and cold in sleet and rain showers. The amount of people, always huge here, I suspect, still didn't affect me in the same way as in Zion, maybe because they spread out more, or maybe because the same awe I felt is palpable everywhere.

Early morning

 

I think that this time I'll let the photos speak for themselves, from rim walks to a hike down to Cedar Ridge, from sunrise to sunset to the dramatic display of rain clouds on the way back from Desert View and the tower built by Mary Colter, the architect of several buildings on the south rim of the Grand Canyon, including Hermit's Rest and Hopi House.

Getting close to sunset

Afterglow right after the sun has set

At Desert View on the east side

Will we ever return here? A bit wistful, as every time we leave a place I have come to love and ask myself that question, I said goodbye to the Seven Mile Lodge on the last morning. But new adventures were awaiting. Maybe we could even finally shake the snow for good, or at least for the next couple of weeks or so. 

 

Still wi ... No, impossible!

 

Since our hotel in Kanab didn't offer breakfast we decided to delay it until Page, AZ, about an hour and a half or so away. Once we were on our way I punched the name of the restaurant I had found online into our GPS. Nobody thought of checking the map again; we had decided on the route, after all. Strangely, we received instructions to turn left, and left again, when we reached the next little town, Fredonia. Something didn't seem right. Now we consulted the map – no wonder we were being sent back: we were on the alternate route to the Grand Canyon, and Page was no longer on our way. We hadn't taken into account that our Sun n' Sand motel was on the way to the smaller scenic route – also Hwy. 89 – that would take us through the Kaibab National Forest. Fine. Apart from the fact that we needed to look for a different place to have breakfast this was likely the more attractive option.

The road climbed higher, and the snow in the pine forest left and right of the road got deeper and deeper. The access road to the north rim of the Grand Canyon branches off the highway at Jacobs Lake; during the winter it is closed, of course, and the entrance to the Jacobs Lake Inn parking lot was framed by huge snow piles. Here, we thought, we had a good chance of getting breakfast: it was open. Open, however, was only the gift shop with its beautiful native jewellery and art; due to a current staff shortage they didn't serve breakfast at the restaurant, though we could order some to take along. Neither sitting outside in the freezing wind nor eating it in the car were desirable options, so, hoping for better luck in the next little town along the way, we decided against it.

Now the road declined until, finally, it led us parallel to the magnificently coloured rock walls of the Vermilion Cliffs. No more snow here. We met hardly a car on the lonely road, the stunning cliffs to our left glowing red, pink and purple even though the sun didn't break through the clouds. We passed the few houses comprising Marble Canyon, then Cliff Dwellers – no breakfast. We passed the turnoff to Glen Canyon, the starting point for rafts going through the Grand Canyon, and Navajo Bridge where we saw the condors on our first trip to the Grand Canyon ten years ago, though none today. The breeding-in-captivity program in the Glen Canyon area has been very successful, and there is now a healthy population of these magnificent birds. Finally, at Bitter Canyon, we left the scenic route to rejoin the bigger Hwy. 89. Traffic increased considerably: this is one of the major pathways to the Grand Canyon. At the Cameron Trading Post, right at the turnoff to Hwy 64, we finally found what we had been looking for for the past hour and a half: a restaurant serving breakfast. It had been worth waiting for: the 'Navajo Taco' – Navajo fry bread topped with chili beans, ground beef, lettuce, cheese, tomato and mild green chile – made up for the fact that it took to 11:30 to finally find a place to eat.

Thus sustained we were now on our way to the Grand Canyon, or rather Tusayan right outside the south gate, about an hour more on Hwy. 64. Once again we had made reservations at the Seven Mile Lodge, the motel where we stayed every time we visited the Grand Canyon. It was hard to believe that we hadn't been here for seven years!

It was just as hard to believe that we were once again back to winter, but there was no doubt: after standing at the Little Colorado River Gorge, only about half an hour from the Grand Canyon, pummeled by wind but in warm temperatures, the road continued to climb, and by the time we reached the eastern entrance to the park there was ample snow, and the temperature was not much above the freezing mark.

 

 

A day in Zion National Park - blue sky and muddy feet

 From Cedar City, where we spent the night after leaving Diamond Fork, it was only about 2 1/2 hours to Zion National Park, our next destination. It went downhill for most of the way, and every few kilometres we gained another degree in heat until we were at +14 Celsius when we neared the park. That was more like it! Still, it didn't look exactly spring-like in Springdale, even though the buds on the trees were visibly swollen and looked like they were getting ready to burst into bloom any day now. There was a bit of green grass here and there, too, but pastures still looked as if they were hibernating.

Heading for the park entrance we soon realized that much had changed in the ten years since we were here last: a lot of new houses and hotels, roads a lot busier. That was especially true when we neared the park gates: slowly traffic crept through the narrow valley, slowed down even more by some construction along the way where, however, not a single working man or machine was in sight.

A volunteer at the visitor centre advised us that the scenic route was closed because its capacity for cars had been reached, and that there was no way of telling when it would open again; “maybe by 4:30,” he said, “but there is no guarantee”. He suggested a hike that started right from the visitor centre and led to an overlook, about three hours in total. The trail had just started to get a bit steeper when we met a group of hikers who stared at Johann's sandals. 'It's muddy up there,' they told us in German; funny how quickly one picks up on the mother tongue being spoken nearby in a foreign country :-) Oh well, it seemed too far to turn around now, and how bad could it be anyway? 

 

We quickly gained altitude and had good views of the gorgeous scenery that makes this park so special. Now, we saw the first cacti beside the trail: definitely this was a warmer area than the one we had just left. After hiking on dry, rocky ground for a good while we came to a bend where trees were growing, fed by a spring in a rocky niche, a good place to stop for a moment in the shade. It was here that we saw a young family approach from where we were headed, the little boy's boots muddy to the top. The melting snow and ice on the side exposed to the sun had created a layer of mud over ice, a rather slippery affair. A woman who had just traversed the mud told us it went on for a few minutes, and right when it looked like you were on dry ground again you'd encounter another section of mud; after that it was fine to the end of the trail. I started following Johann and Dorothee, but just then a big group of people came towards us, and I stayed behind to let them pass. I passed a white pair of shoes by the side of the trail: someone had decided that the shoes wouldn't survive the trail conditions. A moment later I found Johann's sandals, abandoned until his return: obviously he had decided he'd go barefoot for the rest of the way. Trying to stay out of the mud with my runners – hiking boots didn't seem essential when we set out – I decided against continuing when another group of people made it necessary to side-step when there wasn't really a place to retreat to. 

Instead, I sat on a big rock by the side of the trail, a perch from which I had a great view not only of the mountains surrounding us but also of the trail coming from below and the section where, eventually, Johann and Dorothee would emerge. Every once in awhile I saw some young guy, mostly of college age, walking by barefoot. They said their feet were just warming up again on the dry trail after they had got very cold because of the ice still hidden under the sticky reddish mud. After about half an hour I watched Johann and Dorothee traversing the muddy section again. Since we weren't all that far from the visitor centre Johann used the rest of our drinking water to clean his feet enough to slip into his sandals; the river at the bottom of the valley would do the rest.

As beautiful as this visit to Zion was, the sheer amount of people very much reduced the enjoyment for me. I imagine it didn't help that so much of the activity concentrated on only three trails because the scenic route was closed, which meant that most of the hiking trails were inaccessible for everybody else. While I enjoyed the beauty of the brown, red, beige and yellow rocks as much as last time I was here I just didn't seem to be able to connect with my surroundings in the same way. This feeling was reinforced on our way out of the park, now heading for Kanab where we would spend the night.

We wanted to do the short hike to an overlook right after the mile-long tunnel and the park gate, a place where we had also stopped when we were here the first time. First, we had to wait for about ten minutes before we could pass through the tunnel where, for some reason, only one of the lanes could pass at a time. Looking for a parking spot on the other side we had no luck, but when we stopped for a moment we saw a car just leaving the parking lot behind us. Johann turned around, thinking he could enter the parking lot from above: it was only maybe thirty metres, so what harm could be done in ignoring the sign with an arrow pointing to the right, the park gate? He hadn't quite reached the parking lot entrance when a female park ranger walked up towards us, looking very determined. “Back up right now!” she ordered, with a look on her face that told us she meant business. Johann started to say, “ we only want to go to the parking lot”, but she cut him short: “Back up!” I think had he argued any more she would have ordered him out of the car or – who knows? - pulled a gun. There was nothing for it, we had to go through the tunnel again, turned around at the first opportunity, and headed back up again, this time without any waiting time since, for some reason, now both lanes were open. We found a spot to park somewhere further up and now were finally able to start our second hike of the day.

Here, heading up some stairs at first, the trail hugs the canyon wall, slowly climbing higher. We passed through a large rock overhang that formed a cave that could well have been used by people hundreds or thousands of years ago, although there was no sign that this was the case. The views along the way were gorgeous, changing with every corner we turned, until we were at the overlook itself, offering views into the canyon but also of the surrounding rocks which, with their coloured layers, look like mounds of marble cake dough poured by a giant hand. 

The evening sun wrapped everything into a warm golden glow on our way out of the canyon, and in time we reached our pleasant 'Sun 'n Sand Motel' on the outskirts of Kanab. Unlike last time when we stayed more in the centre of Kanab ten years ago, where the bells of the Mormon church beside the motel played “ How Great Thou Art” in the evening, there was nothing to indicate that we were in Mormon country; it felt like any other motel area at the edge of a smaller town. 

 

The sounds of summer

The sound of a lawnmower engine somewhere on the premises of our 'Saddle West' hotel room in Pahrump, Nevada, immediately conjures up summer. Funny, I can smell the cut grass even through the closed window. :-)

How in the world did we land here in a hotel-cum-casino, of all places? It would probably not have been our choice, even though it turned out to be much nicer and quieter than I would have thought last night when I waited in the car in the parking lot while Johann and Dorothee tried to find out if we could get a room here ...

I have quite a bit to catch up on, looking at the last blog entry from our snow adventure at the Diamond Fork hotsprings, and I will try to do that while I have the opportunity.