We’ve decided to just hang out, taking it easy today. We can get things in order, have a nice meal. It has been a lot of travel for several days. We’ve found a good place to just enjoy for a time. When it seems right, we have walks to look forward to, long and short.
We’re new in the neighborhood. A neighbor stops by, a curious ground squirrel visits in the fresh morning sunshine that beams in our camp’s clearing. He hasn’t gotten around to the huge red object beyond him with its the strange smell of rubber. He heads first to the strange dome shaped contraption caging us humans. This might be a first for the tiny young critter. It shows no fear, coming right up to the net tent’s side wall, close to my face.
I lie sideways, awake, newly opened eyes adjusting to the light. I’m a bit surprised by the local greeter. The eyes placed on each side of its head, tell the direction of its vision. It stands up on hind legs, as we exchange staring looks with each other. It seems that we are each wondering, “How far will the other go?” I wonder how close this encounter will be, once my resting body moves.
The diminutive student of the world retreats to a nearby log. I later find debris there. It shows that it has spent quite a bit of time there, chewing on pine-cones.
As the morning passes, I sit in my chair, read and put some time into looking out to the far distance and the foreground, listening, smelling, taking note of my circumstances and my relationship to it all.
A grosse slowly strolls through camp, not ten feet from my feet! I’m acknowledged, as it lumbers. This is a bird the size of a very large pigeon, a small chicken, enough for dinner! Yet, it acts like it has no concept of human behavior. I’m a stranger, just another animal, not a predator, as I sit and observe. I’m being treated to a sight not ruined by the treachery of man. I’m a part of a gift delightfully received. I’m free to experience the uninterrupted observations, a close up of nature, the feathered arrangements, the critters movement and actually my sense of comradery and trust between species.
After breakfast, we’re heading up the trail past the barriers into forest behind the ridge that we’re camped on. We’re just planning to see what we find and to move freely.
We take nothing, expecting to see no one. DF has a small towel to comfort her shoulder strap, maybe to sit down on at some point. We desert rats always have some water, not knowing how far our adventure may continue. Stripped down, there is an additional sense of freedom and sensuality.
NOTE: I have divided this story into three parts. It may feel a bit long, maybe not. I’m still in the middle of computer issues and change over. I was able to get this done without blowing up the old computer. Looks like I’m changing over to Mac soon and hopefully, I’ll learn that quickly. So, I apologize for any delays.
Continue reading
We’ve just left Kodachrome State Park in southern Utah. We wander down a two lane highway through little Mormon towns and settlements. This is beautiful country where green pastures and creeks pass through colorful hills, buttes and mountains.
Each farm has an old homestead house. These are the remnants of standardized homes provided for pioneers by the church community, when they would settle an area. These early shelters are still there for memory and identity.
This valley has the meandering Pariah River running through it. It is currently only a small creek maybe six or eight feet across. We’re heading to the mountains instead of more slot canyons. It is too hot for DF and maybe me, the diehard. A temperature of 83F was nice, but well into the 90F’s with little or no shade is uncomfortable. Perhaps another time, we did get a late start this year. There is another concern, fire. We smell the smoke which is emanating from the west in a towering cloud. There is a fire out west and we’ll head north-ish for cleaner air.
Off of a bend in the main highway that connects the local towns, we find the dirt road that leads up a canyon to higher elevations. Supposedly there are pine trees and cooler temperatures. I’m tired. There is a creek running along this route, which is encouraging. I find a small rough road, a two track jeep trail that is running through tall brush and trees to something, perhaps campsites.
Eventually, it leads to the base of a “North Creek Reservoir’s” dam.
Driving along the bottom of the dam it stops at a fine camping area. We are delighted by the good fortune. We park under the tree’s shade. Through a thicket, there is a creek. The only sound that we hear is its calming trickling waters.
After a sigh and a deep relaxing breath, we get out and walk around. Down a trail at the end of this kind of a road, there is running water out of a concrete shoot from the reservoir. The creek is the excess water from the small lake.
There is a second small dam here and this presents us with a small swimming hole. This coupled with the shallow mountain creek, may cause us to stay a couple of days. We take note of the colorful river rocks under the clear mountain water.
The trail coming in was rough, winding and tight. It would discourage most drivers. We would hear a slow lumbering visitor with plenty of notice. This spot is looking very good.
Continue readingWe’re camped up in the White Mountains of Arizona at one of our favorite spots next to a great field. We’ve decided to sit in the great field and take photos of the sunset colors on the trees, which define its borders. We have a camera and cell phones, as we take steps, we’re aiming for our usual spot, a pile of volcanic rocks. We are wearing nothing else, barefoot. We are intent upon soaking up the moment in all of its sensuous gifting. The line from the bible rings true,“Remove the sandals from your feet, for the place on which you are standing is holy grounds: Exodus 3.5”. We’re immersed simply, barefoot all over.
We slowly make our way into the great field, each step deliberate, being careful to avoid the sharper rocks.
Continue readingBears Ears, Utah #43
2024-06-11
We are in the White Mountains of Arizona and have just arrived at the site of the 1997 Rainbow Gathering, where the main circle was once the focus of 10,000 in prayer.
The first part of our long walk can be found here:
We’ll continue, now: We decide to take a walk up the corridor to where one of the Rainbow’s “shitters” had been dug and buried nearly 30 years before. In the mountain meadow, I look for a place to cross the creek. I see the long meadow bending and disappearing into the forest.
We proceed.
Continue readingBears Ears, Utah #42
We walk off and away from camp, down the raspy forest service road, attempting to stay off on the side to avoid the dust puffs. They are little clouds at each step of our feet. Just a few strides and our shoe’s colors blend into the surroundings. DF hangs back as my puffs head her way, traveling in front of her. It’s not sandy here. This is dried soil churned by vehicles. It turns to thick gooey mud when it rains and it then washes away, exposing the local rocks more and more. This is good for us. It makes a terrible trail, fit only for thick tires, 4×4 and destructive ATV’s. The latter churns up the soil deeper, making more dust, but this creates the solitude. Few people come this way and they move slowly, with caution.
Bears Ears, Utah #41
We’re camped in the White Mountains. We’ve returned to our favorite spot, where we spent a month glamping in the big top tent, back in 2023. It is 11am. It’s Dry, with a capital “D”. We are returning to Arizona from Utah in anticipation of the monsoon rains, but the “Monsoon Season” is still languishing down in Mexico. Late yesterday afternoon, we pulled in and the dust that we made while parking made a foggy cloud that just hung there. It finally floated off, as the aspen leaves began to quake.
Familiar with the whole area, from years of wonderful explorations, we are noticing change. Back at camp we see that the small tree that we used to hang dishes to dry has fallen over, perhaps the snow cover from winter, or perhaps a large elk callously used it. Our aspens that we saved by placing our tent just so and using them to decorate our tent’s patio, remain and have kept growing. Nobody has come by to chew of the leaves, or rip them out of the ground. We take measurements for the first time. Perhaps, we’ll see how these saplings do as the years go by in this harsh environment.
(To see the rest of this post, you’ll have to find the “2” and click the page turning button, below.)
After so much time in the outback, arriving in Blanding, Utah had been the shock of civilization. The quiet little town was quite a contrast to the solitude and elbowroom of the uninhabited mountains. It felt hectic to go from store to store, preparing for the next leg of our journey, get a camp set up, shower, pay bills and hear the news on the phone and internet. Civilization, with all of its convenience, by comparison, seemed stressful.
Today, we no longer awaken under the call of birds breaking the silence, the peace, or the pleasant smell of a forest. We’re in a trailer park, amongst monstrous vehicles, with the footsteps and chatter of elderly anonymous tourists, our friendly neighbors. They are moving in less than perfect health, but content, leashed to their small dogs, smiling with waves to fellow assumed Good Sams. I pack up our sleeping quarters and compliment the owner on the tidy grounds, as we leave.
We travel south, through the increasingly more desolate and surreal lands. The last vestiges of civilization are crammed into the thin canyons with the highway.
In iconic rock faced valleys are monuments to “Indians” and offers a stay in conical teepees within a luxury resort.
Along the way are a restaurant and a local cross between a convenience store and a very small general goods outlet. I make sure that I slip out to pump the last available gas, probably for a long long time.
It seems that here, people need to make a buck with what they have available, or they’re retired.
Two hours down this road, ancient Canyon de Chelly sits. It is a bigger, more complex grouping of ruins, which were a part of systems of a very different civilization.
We are understandably traveling every bit of naturally naked, save the walls of the SUV.
(To see the rest of this post, you’ll have to find the “2” and click the page turning button, below.)
All the while, as we lumbered along the thin winding graded roads that traverse the Manti-La Sal National Forest and from the canyon lands of the south, Blue Mountain was an imposing landmark. Today, it has been a goal to be met…or maybe not….
The ancient mammoth formed out of volcanic magma has been a home, hunting ground, and water source. Its height has collected seasonal rains and snow, producing springs around the base for millennia. It has been called sacred by peoples. It looks likely to harbor camping sites under the cover of trees. Still dark clouds threaten.
To see the rest of this post, you’ll have to find the “2” and click the page turning button, below.
We headed up to Redington Pass the other day. It is an easy access and with the climbing, it is such a more well-rounded exercise, more than just walking a path. It is also, traditionally, a nude area and trail with nude use signs posted. So, on this day, we needed a nice quick hike; one which we could be freely nude without being bothered to cover up for weekend and holiday crowds. We park and then have to legally cover our bodies long enough to walk from the parking lot to the other side of the road and then sufficiently away from the road. There, from the “nudity ahead” sign, it is liberation. The minimal coverings are tucked away into a backpack, or under a shoulder strap. There is no need of them, no matter who we encounter.
This day, we decide take the high route, so as to descend further upstream.
To see the rest of this post, you’ll have to find the “2” and click the page turning button, below.
The Free Range Naturist 