We’re in Southeastern Utah, camped out near the Butler Wash, alone and free.
The sand around camp is cool and refreshing on bare feet. Soles meet mat-like substrata. Sound and wind is dead still. The Sun is still behind a hill to the east. The light of dawn tells us that the golden glow is nearly ready to burst out, as it rises. In time, there is a slight breeze, a push by the new warmer air, a micro-warm front. I hear the cottonwood trees rustle lightly. Across the valley, the barren ridge is taking on the luminescent colors of the sky.
Then I notice that rumble in the air in the distance. Will it build, or will it occur and go away. I decide to let the mind quiet. With that exercise, the wind also quiets, once again. I smile at a little voice inside, “Purr-fect.”
Last evening, we took a walk to see where this road leads. It brought us to a surreal landscape on the ridge on top of the cliff to the south of camp. On the way, we saw some other unusual geology on the side of the road and later, from above, it became evident that that was a part of a field of other different unusual forms.
We had been up early, hiked the canyon and visited the Fish Mouth cave and ruins, here in southeastern Utah. Visiting the ruins was enriching. Afterwards, we spent the heat of the day, relaxing and resting from our excursions.
The afternoon was spent listening to the sound of insects, while we rested and waited for the air to cool off again. The sun has been getting more and more uncomfortable in the afternoon. The desert is getting hotter. Without clothing, this warmth feels good, but as the seasons change, it will become to feel like too much of a good thing.
We now know that this being comfortably naked in the heat of the day won’t last long, because the Weather Service says that it will get hotter Thursday.
When the time comes, before dinner, we have decided to explore the area around camp and the road behind us. For miles around, there are no other people. None have been seen driving on the so called main road, all afternoon. It is a desolate looking conveyance which dips so much that it is a motor homes nightmare. There are pockets of deep dust that would swallow the tires of a conventional sedan.
Main Road
We are around a half mile back on a tributary to that that appears to go to nowhere in particular. There is no concern to keep nearby cover-ups around, let alone any clothing. We can go for an unburdened walk as far as we care without concerns.
We have arrived at the second ruin site of the hike and it looks extensive. Among it, there are a series of granaries in a different style of construction.
Smoke soot blackens the ceiling of the overhang that has sheltered these communities’ efforts since the beginning.
We’re about to leave civilization again, Blanding, Utah. We have waited all day for the mobile wood fired pizza trailer to exude the aroma of a classy tasty slice, or two, or three.
There is no seating for this restaurant. We’re sitting on the door stoop of a nameless building, a hollow store with windows that reveal only a waiting opportunity for a mercantile idea. The evening sun beams in, exposing old dusty carpet and a path leading to dark shadows beyond.
Before us, framed by old sidewalk concrete, sits a typical flat oil soaked cardboard carton, Americana, with the familiar golden color of roasted baked cheese.
Soon, a fitting notion of appropriate desert will find us around the corner at the end of a too slow line for a chocolate covered frozen banana.
Earlier that day, there was some quick business finding the proper common tool at one of the best stocked Ace Hardware ever. Right next door happens to be the ice-cream shop. DF indulges my gluttony now and then, as I falter at the consumption of a rather larger than expected bucket of Huckleberry, she helps me out with a very small plastic spoon. Civilization is tempting.
We had spent the afternoon wandering in a wonderful dinosaur museum. After those encounter’s with ancient tracks in the bedrock, we have found another aspect of history to be fascinated with. It is fun.
The prehistoric critters are stunningly huge.
A flying bug’s remnants look enough to have ability to carry off anything that a large raptor might.
We had expected less, but the place is quite serious and we now have more valuable information to apply to our walkings. We leave with a better sense and understanding of the terrain that we are visiting.
We are leaving, going into raw nature, after a couple of days of nice small town people, pleasant tidy newish homes on incredibly wide streets and its one intersection light, a four way stop. We pass our refuge with its hot water showers and chilled fruit flavored Pellegrino and then that ominous sign warning a foreboding 121 miles to the next services.
In contrast to the comfort of the community, there is a sense of adventure, freedom and health on this, the open highway. As we cruise, we wriggle out of our protection against the consequences of uniform conformity. From opened windows, the dry air circulates around us, sensually cooling and caressing, as bare skin adapts. A barrier is lifted allowing natural symbiosis, an intimate mutualism in a close reunion.
We find a campsite perhaps a mile across a valley from where, tomorrow, will be our morning’s first hike.
The big cave, looking as if an open fish mouth, looms in the distance. We have a light healthy snack and climb into our cozy open air cocoon when the sky turns dark. Another short reading out loud to each other of Edward Abbey’s “Desert Solitaire” and we drop off, during a last look up at the blanket of stars.
The Free Range Naturist 