Valley of the Gods: Bears Ears IV

2024-05-19

Last night, we went to the public campground up on Muley Point. We wanted to see what the view was on the other side of the hill, why the other visitors were going that way and if we may be missing something. I wrapped a kilt around me and DF pulled over her sundress as we were sure to be confronted by convention. We encountered friendly people, families and a pair of pals playing catch in the road with a football. Bike riders sat looking too exhausted to set up any camp.

The view was magnificent, of course, generally the same from a different angle.

There were pets. A cattle dog comes running out at me with her objections, as some dogs do. Then she stops to wag her tail and accept a scratch behind the ears. I figure that we’re good, as with all other dog encounters throughout my life. As soon as I stand upright she viciously bites my ankle with full force. Not a nip, but full attack.

No apparent breaks, I’m with pain and bloody as the owner arrives. “She hasn’t been herself since she got in a fight a couple of days ago.”

I’m thinking, “If I had been a small child, or if I had had a pistol with me,” as I limp off. Eventually, the deep wound doesn’t heal until a month passes.

This peninsula in a sea of sky is not our style at all. This is nothing about nature other than an impressive view. We are happy to return to our camp of solitude.

The Next Morning:

The next morning, we are up for breakfast and to break camp. We’re going to the Valley of the Gods. By 11am, once again, we’re in the one lane curves and cliff’s drop-offs of the Moki Dugway. This time however we’re heading downhill and there’s more traffic today. I’m relieved to reach the green plain at the bottom.

Very soon after reaching the base, there’s a turnoff into “The Valley of the Gods,” which has just a simple blue sign pointing to a dirt road. Soon, we arrive at a simple forest service kiosk. It pleads, “Please don’t make any new campsites and stay on the roads. No fires.” Every campsite has a fire pit and ashes. It presents a frequently heavily dipped road. The sign reads, “impassible when wet.”

Obviously, this place, like the Ironwood National Monument has an inadequate budget, or no real protections. It is a victim of the resentments and tug of war in our two party political system.  It is strained by one side doing its best to preserve our people’s heritage and another side representing wealthy groups that would gut and exploit it all.

After a series of mammoth platform pedestals, the behemoths rise up. I can see “Valley of the Gods” in rock forms, near and far!

We imagine a pantheon of Gods and Goddesses. Gigantic upright powerful egos seem to be grandstanding like at Mt. Olympus. The shapes easily form features. Horus appears with Ra.

Broken eggs have fallen to the base of the pedestal of a giant rooster.

I’m feeling certain that through ages, people have been projecting onto these great forms any number of various mythic creatures powering amongst us, living and ruling here.

The road winds and has frequent dips. I’d not recommend coming through this in a motorhome.

It loops through the magical valley and out somewhere on the main road to Bluff, Utah.

We’re looking for a nude hike, maybe some archeology and a place to camp the night. A dirt bike meets us nearly head-on as it jumps a rise in a hurry. Within a quarter mile on a blind bend amongst several sharp dips and bends, there are more dirt bikers all in leathers and dark helmets gathered around a downed comrade. We pass the man with a short grey stubble of a beard and a pained expression, who obviously made a bad judgment on a slippery surface. He is still lying in the thin road. We gather cloth to throw over us and as we navigate between these people a few feet on each side of us, looking into the cab of my truck. The foolish excited young biker, who nearly jumped on to my truck, was running for help.

I soon pull over to use a bush, turning off the engine. I listen to the quiet. I should be able to hear anyone coming at a distance. I feel comfortable wandering about nude.

There is little cover, but I find a wash etched out of the deep red soil and rock. The green desert plant life is a sharp contrast and quite beautiful. In this wash I notice turquoise rocks. It reminds me of the gem quality turquoise that the Native American jewelry often uses. It reflects the colors in the sky where it meets the horizon with reds.

I wait for a large black truck and a tricked out jeep pass, then I am free to my senses again.

The sun’s heat penetrates the exposed skin, the light breeze occasionally passes through to chill in contrast.

I find a pull off at the base of a monument as large as a battle ship. This looks like a place to park.

There is a dry creek behind it, which washes down through an ancient canyon. Speculating that there may be a trail in it of some kind, we discover one, but soon, the wash’s loose sand and bedrock disperse it.

We quickly find a plastic stake with signage warning us to not tamper with any archeology. Well, this only tells me to come by and look for the ruins, or petroglyphs or whatever that they’re trying to protect. The sign has told everyone something is there.

Generally, we follow just a few fresh tracks. There is no trail mostly. I spend my time watching my footing, as I periodically look up hoping for petroglyphs.  There are still large formations, a Hanuman, manifesting as a curious gigantic monkey sock puppet peeks around a block of rock above. It looks menacing, not a Curious George.

We spend two hours exploring the canyon, until the broken rocks, that have fallen into the canyon bottom, get ridiculous.

We are more in the mood for lunch than climbing over hundreds of these obstacles. A huge elephant head Gennesha, which removes obstacles, isn’t to be found among this patheon.

No relics of ancient America are found either. I am suspicious of a nearby climb up, a short cliff. There is a rock wall whose base might hide the relic, but heat and hunger are starting to get to us.

A flooding has removed probably 8 ft. of topsoil and vegetation leaving broken rock and that cliff. There were once better conditions to grow food here. It would make sense for people to leave a sign of their habitation.

One thousand shades of terracotta, burgundy and orange are everywhere.

Bright turquoise accents decorate many slabs, I think that there must be copper around there. In time, I realize that the bright blue in the rocks is actually a reflection of the brilliant sky. A fool’s turquoise, like a fool’s gold.

We make our way downstream, not stopping to follow the trail back to our SUV. A small snack seems to have satisfied us, for now.

Off of the trail, by luck, I find an expensive pair of Sony binoculars lying on the sand. Apparently, someone dropped them from a belt, or something, as they climbed up a tall dry waterfall step. I’m sure that somebody got back to camp and stomped around feeling a big loss. I feel some sadness picking them up, but then I can’t leave them to rot. These will be useful. 

An old Chevrolet truck body, a carcass, lies rusting in the desert. It is a reminder of just how dangerous this desert can be. We decide to just take a short walk up a steep hill where the truck sits. “Yup, Chevy..maybe GMC.”

There’s a loop through the valley through the collection of views. There are few spots to turn off and camp, or park. After DF nixes a spot along a wash with a couple of cottonwood trees down in the wash for shade, we press on looking for an alternative.

Part II will post in a couple of days.

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