We got to the mouth of Arch Canyon in time, happy to get a spot under a tall shady cottonwood stand. There’s a colorful stone wall face on one side and an actual ancient ruin next door.
I found this canyon on a map in a travel book. There are several archeological sites in the vicinity. The scenery is as is the usual in southeastern Utah, beautiful and rugged. There is a 12 mile 4×4 road running through the length of the canyon, which ends at a view of an iconic stone arch. I figure that there will be a spot or two around there to car camp, for a few days. Also, at the end of that road, are three feeder canyons. We can hike one nude each day. It looks remote enough to get away from the Labor Day Weekend crowds. Well, that is the initial plan, but things change.
We’ve just spent over a week out in the desert wilderness of Bears Ears National Monument. It has been monumental and we have acquired a compelling interest in the local archeology.
It is time to take a deeper look into our options. We’ll need some gas. Each week we’ll need fresh blocks of ice. We’ll need fresh produce for our microbiology’. Blanding is the most likely source. I’ll need to get on the internet to research where we might go next and get the bills paid. There will be cellphone service there to check on home.
Civilization feels like a return into a strange and busy world.
Some people might die of embarrassment, shrink in humiliation, or feel violated by the exposure of their bodies. DF and I don’t have that anymore. The hesitation so many feel when disrobing, with its connotation of striptease, is buried under healthy natural behaviors and practices. What was uncomfortable is now simply what it is, removing clothing.
We have climbed to the top of a mountain in Bears Ears National Monument in southeastern Utah. We are sitting on the top edge of the Comb Ridge. We’ve been taking in the awe of the massive rock formations and its vistas from this peak.
There is no want to leave, but we must. Down slope, the five finger shoes engulf my toes, as my feet slide through toward the tip of the shoe. The feet are held back by the structure, stopped by the inner toe next to the ball of my foot, unlike a regular shoe. I will lose no toe nails. I’m grateful to have these expanding toes. A couple of miles of this would definitely take my toenails in any other shoes.
We’re in Bears Ears National Monument. I believe that we have found a remote and less used canyon etched into the Comb Ridge near the Lower Butler Wash Road. Arriving in the afternoon and scouting, we had been blasted by a massive dust storm into last night. It brought us cooler calmer weather this morning, quite peaceful in contrast. This morning, we’re heading up into the canyon to explore the rugged geological awe and search for evidence of an 800 to 1500 year old Native American lifestyle.
After finding our way out of the Valley of the Gods, we’re turning back onto the asphalt road. Before heading out into some hiking along the Comb Ridge, we need to visit another unknown, Bluff Utah. We’re hoping for gas and ice. It didn’t look like much on the satellite image. Again, we just don’t know what to expect in this region. We pass and nearly miss a turnoff onto a dirt road. Strikingly, this is the Lower Butler Wash Road, which is the main conveyance north along the east side of The Comb Ridge. It looks desolate, empty and the map shows that it goes for dozens of miles.
After Bluff, the plan is to double back and drive up this surprise, looking for hikes and solitude, in random canyons and whatever else that we encounter. My information tells of well-known canyons, cliff dwellings and petroglyphs in the area. I’m hoping to find the canyons less traveled, where I’m told surprising rich experiences abound. The plan is not a trek through such a bland looking desert!
As we slowdown from highway speed as per the signage, Bluff begins to unfold. Still, it doesn’t look like much. The outfitter store/pizza restaurant is regrettably closed, but there is a Bears Ears Visitor Center next door. Generally, my experience with visitor centers is to be simply channeled toward crowded tourist places to glean my money, a tool of manipulation of the local Chamber of Commerce. This information center looks small and the signage shows the support of other entities, preservation people. It is called “Bears Ears Education Center.” It somehow gives me the impression that it isn’t just a tourist trap. We decide to check that out on our way back. I still have a very muddy knowledge of how to find the solitude and freely nude experience that I’m looking for. I need more than books and a few tips from friends. I need local’s knowledge and experience.
This morning and the previous, have tended to train us to wake up with the sun, then emerge into excitement. Eventually, the wonder, sometimes surreal, that surrounds us, begins to teach.
This morning, while DF sits with a journal, I venture out for my latrine building duties. I find only a thin layer of red sand, just inches and the bedrock. I try a small indentation of a wash, hoping to find thicker soil that has built up around the bushes that are surviving there.
As I stated before, we always play our game of stepping to not disturb the delicate floor and flora. There are signs to caution humans to not trample the precious soil and biology, but here there is evidence of cattle grazing. In the distance, I can see them standing in the Monument. The cattle’s weight and hooves have destroyed way more than the simple paths that we may make. The effect of their prints can be seen. I follow a trail, an indentation paved with loose sand, made by them. They rip out plants that we walk around and admire. This plant life takes many years to root and then grow. The flora do this and flower with only a couple of opportunities each year. Even the lichen wait.
Today, the vegetation is almost all new, displaying a different green and blooming. All of this is rare.
What I know as a Mormon tea plant is different here, because of its stature and structures. Here, it also commonly grows in mass, as a dominate adaptation, unlike at home. A green ground-cover stretches out to the Gods and Goddesses. The iconic Monument Valley can still be seen on the horizon.
The soil is sand on rock. Here it has become particularly fluffy from when it rained and froze. We sink to our ankles where we walk off of the trails. It seems a shame to walk on it. It’s like freshly fallen snow, so beautiful, but you know that your tracks will change it forever. I’m feeling a bit guilty, as the black biology is protective and it will not be back until the moister meets it again, when conditions are just right.
This place is one of those places where morning brings contemplation.
Here, naked on a fallen boulder’s wide surface, I sit. At similar times, the world may seem to pass by. In this valley, it is evident that it is us that pass by this world.
After arriving in the Valley of the Gods and pursuing a hike up a lonely lovely canyon, we begin to look for a place to stay the night. Camping is allowed where the desert has already been disturbed. We pull off on a couple of jeep trails searching for privacy and some shade to sit under, but nothing feels just right. The search continues.
I know of a small road from my maps and we find an exposed place at the base of Rooster Butte. The wind is howling, it pushes my body for a while. Then, it leaves me alone in the calm. We make camp taking the time to decide how to lay out the tent and the truck to counteract the high winds. The truck makes some windbreak, but it takes two of us and a good sized collection of rocks to get the job done in the reoccurring wind, anyway.
We are on a exposed open knoll, overlooking many miles of iconic rock structures. There are a dozen tiny tents gathered around a campsite, maybe a mile away. Later, a lone man camping and sleeping in his SUV takes a similar spot on another far distant hill. Our SUV, as planned, protects us from his line of sight.
We can be seen and see for miles, but the nearest neighbors are too far to see our lack of clothes. We’re hiding in plain sight. Although we’re up on a hill, our camp can be seen from the rough road below, but there are a very few on it. When we arrived, we had to wait behind the truck for a van load of loud kids to pass. It has been peaceful since.
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!
I’ve been going through a bad reaction to some medications after some dentistry, for a week. Headache, unclear, I just haven’t felt like much. Any time I felt a bit better, has been getting ready to host a memorial ceremony/celebration of life at my place, ie. “The Sweat.” Someone very dear and of the community has past on.
When I get back on track, I’ll finish the story of the Valley of the Gods and post it in one or two parts. For now, we hope that you’ll enjoy your “Nude Recreation Week” and “International Skinny Dip Day.”
This is DF just before a windy chill of an early morning in the Valley of the Gods warms up. She is before an iconic vista of massive grand monoliths and she reminds us to stop and enjoy the small wonders.
It may be just a barefoot step in squishy mud. It might be getting out of the shower and not getting dressed, taking a walk, holding someones hand. There are so many wonderful little things to appreciate.
I am on the forum of FreeRangeNaturism.com often, if you would like to converse.
The Free Range Naturist 