The plan is to get out early and quickly. We prepared last evening before bed for an earlier start. It may be a long day. We want to take advantage of the cliff shadow’s shade up the long hill.
We are climbing a 1200 foot, two mile cliff side road. It is the old main road to Colorado, which we are told, is now abandoned and in disrepair. As the day rolls on, the old travel route will reveal itself as a challenging 4×4 nightmare.
Somewhere up there are two ancient interests, a distinct petroglyph and a ruin that still displays a tower.
We’re off to explore north of Arch Canyon, along the rock slope west of Comb Ridge, Utah. I’ve been aligning a series of canyons, what I can see, with lines on a crude map. On the map, there is marked a cave, pictographs and ruins in a few of the several canyons. Which canyons are which, at this point I’m reasonably sure about, but heading north through the canyon on winding roads, trails may get confusing.
Then, there is a blank piece of the knowledge. I have no information about any trails, or routes to get to each canyon. There may be none. We’ll have to keep an eye out for any clues along the way. We may even find ourselves bushwhacking.
It is Memorial Day Monday, the end of the long festive getaway weekend. People are packing up, for their return to working lives. They are savoring the last walks, final drives, the moments before leaving their good time playgrounds. It is quieter, a calm is returning, passersby are much less frequent.
Memorial Day, I begin to think about my dad, the soldier, sadly, but proud and respectful.
By dinner’s end, we are feeling less impinged. The softer light permeates. Heat is turning progressively down to perfect warmth. Everything seems to mark the close of the holiday.
There is a sense of expanding freedom. We can relax easier in our nudity and stretch out of our hiding boundaries, safe to walk and wander.
There is in my guidebook, a reference to some ruins. They are somewhere on down the road that leads from our camping area, here where the creek empties out into the valley at the base of Arch Canyon. There is an old trail, a dotted line, probably another 4×4 route, leading up the stone surface. It is probably a good long hike on a less busy day, an ancient route, now marked by rubber skids and rubble.
There is “the old Perkin’s Ranch” a landmark. There is the symbol mark for ruins. As best as I can cipher, it is at the top of what is referred to as a nipple. I suspect it may be at the peak of an attention grabbing hill that I have spent time looking at, even curiously searching its nature with binoculars for details. It looks like a short walk. I’d like to see if I got it right.
I recently finished the book “White Trash: The 400 Year Old History of Class in America” by Nancy Isenberg. I thought her harsh, in some ways wrong on Thomas Jefferson. I perceived some general bias and anger, but the reasoning and multitudes of facts surely justify some degree of anger. There has been a history of abundant injustice.
All Things MUST Pass
I picked the read up because I had been pondering class war and the media’s obvious fear to talk about it, the enlarging economic schism, the powers that be and why there are all of these people about that just don’t understand and share many of my perspectives. I’ve been concerned.
Since I am how I am, I couldn’t help but mentally insert the historic role of the use of clothing during the read. Although there was quite a bit on that topic in her book, I’ve got my own predilections, my way of seeing the world and sorting out thoughts.
Somehow briefly, I’d like to inform, sow seeds, or trigger reflection and awareness. I recommend the book. It brought to me many forgotten memories of my youth and some ingrained class distinctions. It opened a better understanding of my parent’s generation and why I was raised as I was, during that era, and the subsequent social upheaval within me and around me.
I doubt that anyone has lived in a truly classless society of equality and equity. I realize that clothing has had and continues to have a significant part in the structures and preservation of class. This needs to be talked about.
We have climbed a gradual slope, somewhere around 1200 feet near our campsite at Arch Canyon. The rock surface has given way to a plain (See the previous post “Hotel Rock”)
In the distance, I see what has to be Hotel Rock.
It is a massive bubble of colorful stone, seemingly popped out of the flat terrain to prominence. There are ruins placed into its structure. People used to live here.
Having changed our plans to explore Arch Canyon, Utah, I must make alternate arrangements. There are several hikes and archeological sites in the area. We can remain busy, but I have to research routes particulars and make some strategic choices.
We’ve taken an evening after dinner walk to the top of the local hill next to camp. Up here, we can be alone, bare ourselves to the lovely elements and watch the 360 degree panorama changing with the fantastical coloring of the sunset. Our western view leads up the white, now turned blue, ridge of solid rock. It looks like a small mountain, but we know that it turns into a plain above the cliff walls of Arch Canyon and other canyons in the region.
There is a surprise. We notice a small white light up there. There gives no sound with its movement, it is simply just too far away. Could someone be camping up there?
As dusk’s light fades into darkness, the light begins to move down the long slope. We watch a steady stream of ATV lights snaking down the hill of stone. Perhaps they have been having a sunset cocktail party up there. So there must be some sort of road, or road-like route. One map showed the possibility. One crude drawing showed a route roughly to Hotel Rock, simply a black line.
When these vehicles finish their descent, we can see where the road meets the turnoff below us. This is clue enough. Tomorrow, we’ll explore. At the least, we will find a stunning view and get our exercise, naked. On the other hand, we may have found the way to Hotel Rock.
In the tent, I get out a crude map under the night light.
When we left off last time, we had been exploring Arch Canyon’s ruins. We have a goal in mind up the road that should keep us busy for the next few days. Fellow explorers on quads have disappeared. We are left happily enjoying the air, sun and sense of free ranging freedom. Encounters with others will be very few from here.
Driving on down this challenging 4×4 route, my neck is getting sore and my back tired from the strain. I consciously let up on my grip, but I must also keep a sustained alert eye out for sharp objects and other obstacles. There is a constant turning of the wheel on the up/down weaving thread of a trail, avoiding the potential for catastrophe. We are not alone. ATV’s and well-appointed jeeps are out here, too.
The road is absolutely narrow, and the brush thick. Anyone sharing the route must pull off to the side and there are few spots for that. At one point, a string of professional looking jeeps have pulled off of the side of the trail. They are politely making room for us. I’m thinking that our lone truck would be the one to yield.
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.
The Free Range Naturist 